Billy, her brother, not having given the money that he had stolen to Negril Bob, had repaid Phillip Loeb in person when they met for the second time. As the acting manager of the shop that he had stolen from, he was enthusiastic and rushing from here to there, moving the stock around, making special offers, enticing the customers to buy. Before his descent into hell, he had been enthusiastic, but the shop had only been a means to an end; now, having risen from purgatory, he could see a future in running a store of his own.
Troy had plans for him and Charisa; Billy had plans for his future. The anguish over the deaths of their mother and their brother was lessening with each passing day, although Charisa continued to visit the cemetery every other day to stand over their graves and to say a few words.
As Billy was working in the shop, a man he had not seen before came in. The man, in his forties, was black, spoke in the familiar lingo of the home country, and was well-dressed in a pair of jeans and a white shirt, with a large medallion suspended by a gold chain around his neck. On his fingers were rings, large and expensive.
‘You’ve got yourself a good number here,’ the man said. Billy studied the face, did not recognise him.
‘We have the best prices in the area. What are you interested in?’
‘I’m interested in you, Billy. You still owe us money.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m not important. How much was it before? Twenty-two thousand, plus a thousand a day. How is your sister, she’s a pretty little thing? I wouldn’t mind her myself.’
Billy knew that the man was dangerous. He was frightened, and he could not tell the man to leave the shop. If he refused to talk to him, or if he phoned the police, then the consequences were too frightening to imagine.
‘I don’t have the money,’ Billy said.
‘You do, and plenty more.’
‘Not the shop.’
‘There’s to be a burglary this weekend.’
‘This place is alarmed; the police will be here in minutes.’
‘That’s why we want you to immobilise the alarms when we tell you.’
‘Are you with Negril Bob?’
‘What does it matter who I’m with? You will do what you are told, or we’ll take your sister. She’ll be turning tricks for one hundred pounds a time within a week.’
‘You bastard.’
‘I’m your new best friend if you want your sister to be left alone.’
‘Have you harmed her?’
‘Not yet, but we will.’
‘I’ll get you the money, the twenty-two thousand pounds.’
‘What about the interest?’
‘Very well, whatever you want, but please leave Charisa alone.’
‘Until after we empty this place.’
‘And then?’
‘You can get a job in another shop, case it out, ingratiate yourself, and then immobilise the alarm.’
‘This one time if you leave Charisa alone.’
‘And miss her company? Her safety is in your hands, Billy Boy, you make the decision.’
‘Okay, you’ve got me.’
‘And don’t tell the police. We will phone you in the next few days.’
The man sauntered out of the shop. Billy phoned his sister.
Chapter 17
Isaac met with Jeremy Brice. ‘You’re not getting anywhere on this,’ Brice said. The two men were seated in a restaurant, not far from the radio station where he had made his scurrilous comments about the police investigation into the death of his daughter.
Isaac did not like the location, not because it was expensive, although Brice had said he was paying, but because every other person in the restaurant felt the need to stop by and say hello to the celebrity. Isaac was glad he was unknown. There had been a few times, as a result of a televised press conference, where he had been recognised for a few days afterwards. The first time it had happened, he had enjoyed the experience, but with Brice it was constant. ‘Do you enjoy all that?’ Isaac asked.
‘Not really, but it comes with the job.’
After a suitable interval, when both men had ordered, and the constant beeline to the table by the other patrons had diminished, the two men talked. ‘You were hard on us the other day,’ Isaac said.
‘Is that why you’re here? To calm me down?’
‘Not at all. I wanted to lay out the facts. It may bring another insight into the investigation.’
‘Commissioner Davies?’
‘I’ve not heard from him.’
‘Nor have I. I gave him a hard time when he phoned in that last time.’
‘I heard a recording,’ Isaac said.
‘What did you reckon?’
‘You were tough.’
‘Davies wouldn’t have liked it.’
‘I suppose he wouldn’t but he’s not running the investigation, I am.’
‘You don’t like the man?’ Brice said.
‘He’s the Commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police. It’s not for me to either like or dislike him.’
‘You’ve met him?’
‘On one occasion.’
‘How did it go?’
‘He put across his point of view. It was an open and frank discussion.’
‘DCI Cook, I know what open and frank means.’
‘Very well,’ Isaac conceded, ‘he’s not my kind of person.’
‘You would have preferred Commissioner Shaw?’
‘You knew him?’
‘Very well. He did a good job. Confidentially, there’s a move to unseat Davies,’ Brice said.
‘And your invective on your broadcast?’
‘In part it’s
