Waverley phoned Gwen from his office when he arrived. ‘Sorry, the stress of work,’ he said.
‘I understand,’ Gwen said. ‘We’ll talk later.’
‘Your father?’
‘I’ve not told him.’
Waverley breathed a sigh of relief, one less problem to deal with.
***
Larry arrived in the office at Challis Street. It was already past 9 p.m. ‘Rasta Joe’s wife identified the body.’
‘How is she?’ Isaac asked.
‘Fine. It appears Rasta Joe was supporting his family.’
‘I knew Gloria.’
‘You never mentioned it.’
‘Was it important? I knew that she’d want her privacy respected.’
‘How?’
‘We were all friends when we were young. She was always a very private person, but she had wanted Joe. They were total opposites, but I had heard that she was fine.’
‘And if she wasn’t?’
‘I would have done something for her.’
‘Where are we in our hunt for Negril Bob?’ Larry asked.
‘Billy and Charisa Devon are fine. They’ve seen no sign of him.’
‘He’s not the sort of person to lie low for too long.’
‘He’ll be around here somewhere. Probably someone’s protecting him.’
‘He could leave London.’
‘Not him, or, at least not for long. His support network is here. Anywhere else, he’ll just be another hustler out on the street. He’ll be weighing up the options, checking out the case against him, seeing if he can get out of the crime.’
‘Can he?’
‘It’s always possible with a smart lawyer. The evidence at the crime scene is not strong, against him at least. We have fingerprint matches on the other two, although they’re not very good, but not his.’
‘But the homeless man said he’d heard his name called out and his replying.’
‘Reliable witness?’
‘In a courtroom, in the witness box? Five minutes of rapid questioning from a smart lawyer and he wouldn’t even be able to remember his own name.’
Chapter 16
Gwen Waverley phoned her father. She knew there was a risk that it could backfire, but she could not let Quentin get the upper hand. He had been willing to throw her over for Amelia if he had half a chance, and he was still an attractive man; he’d find another one soon enough to replace her. ‘Quentin hit me,’ she said. She knew the reaction to expect.
‘That man will pay for hitting my little girl.’
Gwen forgot to mention that she had hit her husband on a few occasions, not that her father would be concerned. The relationship between father and daughter was all that was important, not that of the interloper who had married one and ingratiated himself with the other.
‘I’m fine. He was angry after I accused him.’
‘Of what?’
‘That he was seeing Amelia Brice.’
‘Was he?’
‘I’m certain of it. I could smell her on him sometimes.’ Gwen knew she had told a lie. Her father was a man who doted on his daughter, and whatever she told him, he believed. It had been the same when she was young, and even up through puberty and the raging hormones and the boys she had slept with.
Her father had trusted her implicitly, even taken her side when the evidence was overwhelmingly against her. She loved him for it, this blind trust in her. She knew that Quentin was in trouble, and if she handled it well enough, she’d have him back under her control with no legal way to get out, not if he wanted to run the bank.
George Happold was not a fool, and whether it was the truth that he had been told or a fabrication did not concern him. He was a man who supported his family against all others. And now, his daughter’s husband was hitting her when she was pregnant. Happold rose from his chair and walked down the corridor of the top floor of the bank’s headquarters.
On one of the doors, a sign: Quentin Waverley, Senior Director. George Happold listened at the door, no sound emanating from inside. He knocked with a closed fist and opened the door.
‘George, what can I do for you?’ Quentin Waverley said, surprised to see the bank’s chairman in his office.
‘Are you in the habit of hitting Gwen?’
‘It’s a misunderstanding, nothing more.’
‘You bastard, how dare you assault my daughter and call it a misunderstanding. If I were younger, I’d take you out of here and thrash you to within an inch of your life.’
‘You? You could barely lift the skin off a rice pudding. Look at you, all skin and bones. You’re hardly likely to last until the end of the year.’ Waverley knew he was playing a dangerous game. Whatever happened with George Happold, it wasn’t going to help to be subservient and allowing the man to get the upper hand. Happold, he knew, was a bully who intimidated if he could.
‘I could have you out of here today. And then what will you do?’
‘You won’t do that. I’m married to your daughter, father to your grandchildren. You’ll put up with me, and so will Gwen. She accused me of sleeping with Amelia Brice. I’m not guilty of that, at least.’
‘I knew you’d be trouble,’ Happold said.
‘No, you didn’t. The two of you thought I could be controlled, and believe me, I have been. Did you put your daughter up to it?’
‘Up to what?’
‘Did you arrange with her to make sure that I was in bed with her when Amelia walked in?’ Are you that devious that you’d allow your daughter to be a whore?’
‘I thought you loved my daughter.’
‘I did. Now I’m not so sure, but you,
