She might as bloody well, if that was the kind of thing she’d been getting up to behind his back. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear there was something more going on between her and that girl than just friendship. He’d seen how uncomfortable Suzie had looked when he’d stumbled across the photos. It was like she’d wanted to keep them strictly between her and Holly. Their little secret from which he was excluded.
Whether or not there was any truth to his suspicions, Rob didn’t like the girl and wanted her out. He’d seen the sly looks the little bitch kept giving him, and it had pissed him off when Suzie had said that Holly had asked her not to tell him what was going on with her and her stupid, neglectful mother. And it didn’t matter that Suzie had eventually told him. It was the fact that she had considered not telling him which infuriated him.
One way or another, he needed to get rid of Holly. He’d tried to scare Suzie into seeing sense by warning her that the police would come down on her like a ton of bricks if she didn’t hand the girl over to them, but she had stubbornly dug her heels in on that one, so he’d had to let it go. He knew she would be furious if he went behind her back and talked to the police himself, and he didn’t want to risk getting kicked out again now he’d burned his bridges with Angie. So he would just have to find another way around this.
Brain ticking over as he walked, Rob’s thoughts turned to Josie. Suzie seemed convinced that the woman would come back for Holly soon, but there was no guarantee that was going to happen. But if Suzie was right and she had spent all these years trying to protect her child, would she really abandon the girl? Suzie didn’t think so, and neither did Rob – despite what he’d told Suzie. No, Josie was lurking somewhere nearby, he was sure of it. He just needed to flush her out.
Still thinking about that when he arrived at the shops, he bought wine and cigarettes using the money he’d stolen out of Angie’s drawer, and then headed back to the house. Suzie’s research into the background of the dead man had led her to believe that the murder was drug-related. Whether or not that was true, the killer had never been caught, according to the articles Rob had read. In his experience, those types of criminals rarely committed only one offence, so it was likely that the man was still operating. And he had to be pretty high up in the game to have evaded capture for so long.
Rob had reached the corner of Suzie’s road, but he abruptly stopped walking when another thought struck him. If Josie had spent all these years on the run fearing that the killer wanted to silence her, then it had to be a genuine threat. In which case, the killer would probably be prepared to pay a nice sum of money to find her.
Narrowing his eyes thoughtfully as the idea took root and began to blossom into a get-rich-quick scheme, Rob pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contact list.
‘Decca, it’s me,’ he said when his call was answered. ‘Don’t sound so nervous, mate, I’m not calling to have a go at you for grassing me up to Kev. It did piss me off, but he is a cunt, so I couldn’t give a shit. Anyhow, listen . . . remember when we were both in the Strange three years back and I was padded up with Harry Cox? The old dude, yeah, that’s the one. I left before you, and I forgot to ask for his number. Don’t suppose you got it, did you – or know anyone else who might have it? Cheers, mate, that’d be great. Give us a bell as soon as.’
Grinning when he’d finished the call, Rob glanced over at the flats again before walking on. Decca was lucky he had contacts or Rob would have kicked his arse next time he saw him. But if he managed to get hold of Harry Cox’s number, they were even.
It was 4 p.m. before Rob’s phone rang. It was a withheld number, and he’d got into the habit of ignoring those in case it was Angie drunk-dialling for another argument. But he’d been waiting all day for Decca’s call, and he didn’t want to miss it if it was him, so he got up off the sofa, where he and Suzie had spent the afternoon watching DVDs, and went out into the hall to answer it.
‘Is this Robert?’ a man asked.
‘Harry!’ Rob grinned, instantly recognizing the fifty-rollies-a-day rasp of his old cellmate’s voice. ‘Wow, man, it’s been a long time,’ he said, heading into the kitchen and closing the door. ‘How you doing?’
‘All good,’ Harry said. ‘So, a little birdie tells me you’ve been asking for my number?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Rob said, guessing that Decca must have given his number to his contacts and one of them had passed it on to Harry. ‘Hope you don’t mind, but I need a favour, and you were the go-to man inside, so . . .’
‘How much you after?’ Harry asked bluntly.
‘It’s not money, or anything,’ Rob assured him. ‘It’s, um, personal,’ he said, reluctant to say too much over the phone, because he was wary of who might be listening in. ‘I thought maybe we could meet up and discuss it over a pint? My treat.’
‘Personal, eh?’ Harry repeated, sounding intrigued. ‘Tell you what, give us your address and I’ll pop round when I get some spare time.’
‘I’d rather come to you, if that’s OK?’ Rob said, lowering his voice as he added, ‘The missus
