“So, what now?” Adie asked.
“Now I ring Detective Chief Inspector Adams,” Cage said.
While she watched the passing cars and people, Cage made his call. In a few minutes he was pocketing his phone, an expression of satisfaction on his handsome face.
“Well, it seems the demon spawn is still alive and imprisoned at HMP Belmarsh in Thamesmead. That’s in south east London, it seems. Adams said he’d arrange a special visit for us, as Jeffers is in the hospital wing. He’s receiving medical care for prostate cancer. It’s stage 4 and he’s terminal.”
Adie let out heavy breath. Would this be better or worse for them? “How old is he?”
Cage frowned. “Old. I mean… he was forty back in 1965 so he’s in his nineties now. I had a quick read through his interview. Cocky bastard, that was for sure. How does someone like that live so long in prison?”
Adie shrugged. She would have thought prison would shorten anyone’s life. Or maybe if the man was forced to give up drugs and alcohol it had allowed him to survive longer than he might have done on the outside. Maybe his criminal contacts made him a force to be reckoned with on the inside.
“Is a life sentence actually for life?” Adie asked.
Cage shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Chapter 7
The next morning they took the Thames Clipper from the Embankment Pier to Woolwich Terminal, which the concierge told them would take about thirty minutes. The ferries left every twenty minutes, so it was the fastest way to make their way across the city, and the most picturesque. He was right. On the short journey to Woolwich they saw London Bridge and the Tower of London from a different perspective and the Cutty Sark at the Greenwich Maritime Museum, as well as other lesser known but just as interesting sights...
A taxi ride from the pier and they were at the imposing prison. After being closely scrutinized—as if they were the criminals—they were eventually led on a circuitous journey to the hospital wing. Adie hated the feeling inside the prison. The clang of barred gates opening and closing sent her stress levels through the roof, making her bout of claustrophobia so intense all she wanted to do was escape. For her in those frightening moments, not even a million pounds seemed worth their descent into the realms of hell.
Of course, she knew she was making more of it than there was. It wasn’t horrific. No tortured bodies lined the halls. No agonized screams split the air. Occasionally, she heard the tap-tap-tap of boots walking on concrete floors and the voices of men talking or calling out to each other. Nothing bad. Nothing awful. Yet still the ominous feel of the place, and the clank of those gates, beat at her resolve.
Cage picked up on her anxiety. He took her hand in his big warm paw and squeezed it every time those gates opened and closed. It kept her from making good on her escape. It kept her sane.
Eventually, they reached their goal. The man lying in the hospital bed was just as she imagined him: ancient, bald, and emaciated. He had an oxygen line strung under his nose, yet even so he rasped each breath as if it would be his last. Adie was reminded of the man they’d seen on the gurney at Ruby Embers’ home. It must be terrible to be old, sick, and waiting for death.
Cold eyes glanced their way as they were led to Jeffers’ bed. From somewhere, plastic chairs were found for them. Guards stood by, ever watchful. If there were other inmates in other beds nearby, Adie couldn’t see them; a curtain had been drawn to block them from the visitors.
“What do ya want?” the dying man demanded, his voice like a rusty nail scraping across concrete.
Again, Cage did the talking while Adie sat quietly, trying to hide her fear from the hawkish, rheumy eyes. She knew the old man was gloating at the fear he instilled in her.
“We’re looking into a cold case. A girl who used to work for you at The Den. Georgie Wyatt.”
The ancient man turned from studying Adie to take in Cage skeptically. “Why? What’s it to you what ‘appened to that slag all those years ago?”
Adie gritted her teeth at the awful word. That it came from this foul man’s mouth only made it worse.
“Her flatmate recently died. In her will she asked her niece to find out what she could about Georgie.”
“Minerva Reynolds, right? I’ve ‘eard tell a million pounds is in the offing,” he hissed out like a snake, his eyes now glued to hers again.
How could a man so close to death look at her so lecherously? Surely he couldn’t still have a sex drive. But then, maybe the look was meant to unsettle her, nothing more. If that was its purpose, then it was working too well. Adie knew one of the first things she’d do when she got back to the hotel was take a shower. A very long, hot shower.
“Winsley has told you what’s at stake,” Cage said, guessing the source of this man’s knowledge.
“The toff? Yeah, he flapped his gob quite a bit while he was ‘ere. Told me he’d make it worff my while if I led you on a wild goose chase. You want me to send you on a wild goose chase, Little Lady. Quite the pretty one, ain’t ya? Maybe a little more flesh on your bones than I like, but you’ll do. Aye, you’ll do.”
“I’d like you to tell the truth,” Adie said, finding courage from somewhere deep inside her to deal with the old man. “Money won’t be much use to you where you’re going.”
He reminded her too much of her
