He stared at her, his eyes wide, afraid.
“My dad like Blondie.”
“Maria is a quality song,” Abbie conceded. “Answer the question.”
Blondie considered. Abbie got the impression he was in pain, struggling to keep his thoughts straight.
“You’ll never see me again.”
“Perfect,” she said. “Now, piss off. Try find some gainful employment.”
He staggered down the road as many drunks leaving the same doorway no doubt had in the past. Abbie changed the body count in her text from six to five. Hit send. Within half an hour, Ben’s people would arrive to handle the scene. Possibly there would be a fire. Abbie tried not to follow the news when it came to the towns she had left, the lives she had ended. Already someone would have wiped her photos and prints from the police database. Nothing would tie her to any crimes committed in her short stay here.
Once Blondie had disappeared around the corner into the distance, Abbie stepped from the doorway of the club-turned-mausoleum and waited for Eddie. Her body ached all over. Her clothes were stained and ruined. Luckily, the whiskey which had drenched her as she hid behind the bar had diluted the blood. She stank, but of booze rather than death. Still not a pleasant aroma, and a trip to the club toilet had done little to alleviate the stretch.
When Eddie arrived, Abbie dropped into his car, and they drove for ten minutes before parking on a deserted street. In the distance, the sun was visible above the horizon. It would be falling soon. Abbie had saved Eddie in the light. A rare treat.
The father-to-be had stopped the car but kept his hands on the wheel. They shook. Wide eyes were fixed on the road ahead, though they were no longer moving. With a gentle but impatient touch, Abbie eased Eddie’s hands from the wheel and placed them in his lap.
“I don’t understand what happened,” said Eddie. “The money—“
“Was irrelevant,” said Abbie.
Eddie stared at her. “You said it was in his safe.”
“I did.”
“You put it there?”
“No.”
“But you knew it was there?”
“I’ve no idea where it was,” said Abbie. “There was eighty grand in his office at the club. That might have been some of it. Who knows.”
Eddie glanced to the back seat, where Abbie had thrown the bag containing the money she’d stolen from Francis’ office. She shouldn’t have taken it. She knew that. Usually, she would not have. But it wasn’t for her, and she didn’t regret it. It was going to a good cause.
“I don’t understand,” repeated Eddie.
With a sigh, Abbie withdrew from her pocket two folded bits of paper. Blessedly, neither whiskey nor blood had destroyed either slip. Abbie unfolded each, placed them side by side on the dash, and smoothed them out with a palm. Pointing to the first, she said, “Who wrote this?”
Eddie trembled at the sight of it.
“Leona,” he said.
“What is it?”
“I assume a list of people she slept with, along with, um, details about them. Things they like.”
“Right,” said Abbie. She pointed at the other sheet she’d taken. “And this?”
“I don’t know what that is. Accounting stuff? I don’t know.”
“Accounting stuff,” said Abbie. “My guess as well. Who wrote it?”
“I have no idea.”
“Leona?”
“No,” Eddie said. He pointed. “Different handwriting.”
“Right,” said Abbie. “Different handwriting. Looks to me like a guy’s writing. It’s messy. Maybe that’s sexist.”
“I don’t understand,” said Eddie.
“What is that, a catchphrase?”
Eddie said nothing. Was that a flicker of pity Abbie felt for him, right in the pit of her stomach? Maybe. She still felt pretty numb, as per usual, post-murder.
“I text a new friend of mine after seeing this list,” said Abbie, pointing at Leona’s piece of paper. “This name—“ she pointed at the item two before DEAN “—is the surname of my friend Bobby and his father, Ranvir. After being made redundant, Ranvir got in bad with loan sharks working for Francis. Desperate for cash, Ranvir teamed up with someone on the inside and robbed one of Francis’ nightclubs. After Ranvir had paid off the loan sharks, he learned Francis had caught him on CCTV. He had to pay back the robbery debt with interest. He’s still paying it off over a year later.”
Staring at the names, Eddie said, “Just like with Danny.”
“Even more than you think,” said Abbie. “I asked Bobby to find out from his father who was this insider who convinced him to rob the big man. Ranvir didn’t want to say. After some pushing, he confessed. No prizes for guessing.”
“Leona,” said Eddie.
“Right.”
“She sleeps with these men. Convinces them to rob her husband and then…”
He tailed off. He wasn’t sure. Again, Abbie tapped the second sheet of paper.
“Leona told you only she knew about the bungalow. Francis didn’t. Yet, someone other than her has sat in that study, as evidenced by this note. You think she let one of her sexual liaisons use the bungalow as an office?”
“Unlikely.”
“Unlikely,” Abbie agreed. “And if it wasn’t one of her conquests, my next guess would be…” she waited, wanting Eddie to answer. He did.
“Francis.”
Abbie nodded. Eddie shook his head. Tears entered his eyes.
“It’s a con.”
“Yeah,” said Abbie. “It’s a con. With Francis’ permission, Leona seduces desperate men, sleeps with them, and convinces them to rob her husband. If this person is already on the hook with one of Francis’ loan sharks, as with Ranvir, Leona lets them clear that debt, then Francis comes to collect the stolen dosh. Otherwise, as with your situation, Leona steals back the money before she or Francis come calling. It’s pretty clever if you’re not worried about sexually transmitted diseases. And, of course, Francis would have expected his wife to use protection. Getting pregnant would have been out of the question. He was never worried about his wife cheating. Only that she might be with child and that she might keep that child.”
Still shaking, tears in his eyes, Eddie continued staring at the dash after Abbie removed the sheets, folded them, and
