‘I don’t think anyone has in this house, do you? Rosy, you don’t seem to be upset that your brother has died.’
‘Why, should I be?’
It was clear to Wendy that the young woman was hostile, although she wasn’t sure if it was a result of her abrupt removal from her lover, or whether it was the woman’s natural state. Regardless, she needed to talk.
‘Rosy, let me be plain here. If you’ve been selling yourself to Billy and others, I’ll have you remanded and placed in care. Do I make myself understood?’
‘You can’t talk to Rosy like that,’ the mother said.
‘I can and I must. You seem to be upset over Ralphie’s death, although your husband and Rosy don’t.’
‘Has your father ever laid a finger on you?’ Wendy asked Rosy.
‘I’ve never touched her,’ the father said.
‘I’ll be reporting Rosy and her behaviour once I’m back at Challis Street. You, Mr Begley, if it is found that you have touched your daughter, then charges will be laid. Now, Rosy, has your father ever made any inappropriate actions against you?’
Rosy sat mute, her eyes looking down.
‘No need to answer,’ Wendy said. She knew the truth; others would deal with the father in due course.
‘Ralphie was worried, I know that,’ Rosy said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He liked Sal, not me, but she was fat and plain.’
‘Ralphie told me that he identified with Sal. Both of them wanted something better out of life, so do you. But giving yourself to Billy Jepson and others is not the way to achieve it. Sal Maynard thought that associating with celebrities would be her way out, Ralphie had no idea of how to get out and had resigned himself to his fate. But you, Rosy Begley, believe that giving yourself to older men is the way. You’re still a child, even if you have the body of a woman.’
‘It’s better than what they do,’ Rosy said, lifting her head, glancing over at her mother and father.
‘It’s not the solution. I’ll ensure that you receive counselling if that’s what you want.’
‘Ralphie said you were a good person.’
‘Not that good. I was wild at your age, but I had good parents.’
‘Mum’s fine, even if she’s unable to control us.’
‘Rosy, what did Ralphie tell you?’
‘It was earlier today. He told me he was going to phone you, but he was frightened.’
‘Of what?’
‘He knew who the second man was.’
‘That Sal Maynard mentioned?’
‘Yes. He’d seen him somewhere, and the man frightened him. Ralphie was thinking of disappearing, and he wasn’t sure of what to do.’
‘Did you advise him?’
‘I told him to vanish, and now he’s dead.’
‘Did he give you a name?’
‘I can’t remember what he said.’
‘Why?’
‘I wasn’t listening.’
‘Or maybe you were spaced out on drugs.’
‘I might remember later.’
‘And if you do, what will you do? Phone me or try to make some money for yourself?’
‘I’ll phone you.’
‘Ralphie was probably killed because of this name. If you try to make a deal, he will kill you. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Unfortunately, Rosy Begley, you don’t. One of the men that Sal Maynard was involved with was a Romanian gangster, not a Stockwell villain, not a Billy Jepson. These men kill without conscience. If they or he suspect you know, then your life will be forfeit, as will your parents’ lives. Does everyone in this room understand?’
Wendy looked at the other two, both nodding in acknowledgement. She knew they did not.
Chapter 24
In St Mary’s Hospital Stanislav Ivanov opened his eyes for the first time since he had been shot. The time had come to see whether the football club owner, entrepreneur, and Bratva Godfather was to be a vegetable for his remaining days, or whether he was to make a full recovery.
Detective Chief Inspectors Isaac Cook and Oscar Braxton stood back from the bed.
Ivanov slowly moved his head, looked at his wife and smiled. She came closer and kissed him on his forehead. A nurse checked the patient’s pulse, a doctor felt proud that the medical care that had been provided appeared to have been successful.
‘What happened?’ Ivanov said to his wife.
‘There was an assassination attempt,’ she replied.
‘Who?’
‘The police don’t know.’
‘They are unimportant. Where is Gennady Peskov?’
‘He is here, but you must rest.’
‘I need Peskov.’
‘Your wife is correct,’ the doctor said. ‘We need to ascertain your intellectual acuity, conduct further tests. You are still under mild sedation, and will be drowsy for the next few days.’
Ivanov moved his head towards his wife and spoke, his voice still slurred. ‘Peskov knows what to do,’ he said. His wife nodded but did not speak.
Isaac Cook and Oscar Braxton heard the words but did not understand; a police sergeant, the child of Russian immigrants, stood next to them.
Outside Ivanov’s room, the police sergeant reported all that she had heard spoken in Russian.
‘Peskov’s the key,’ Isaac said.
‘The key to what?’ Braxton replied.
‘We’re none the wiser, but Ivanov seemed coherent.’
Gennady Peskov came out from Ivanov’s room, as did Ivanov’s wife. Isaac walked down the corridor with the woman, Braxton stayed with Peskov.
‘Mrs Ivanov, you must be pleased that your husband will recover,’ Isaac said.
The woman did not miss a step and kept walking. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘There will be violence. We cannot allow it to happen in England.’
‘I am the wife of Stanislav Ivanov. What he does or does not do is not my concern.’
‘It is your concern. So far, he has not committed a criminal offence in England. If that changes, it could jeopardise your welcome in this country.’
‘Inspector Cook, I am powerless in such matters, the same as you.’
The automatic doors at the exit to the building opened
