Death Trap (24 page)

In the end he thumped the steering wheel in frustration and roared away up the main road towards Hyde Park as if speed limits had never been invented. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would raise hell at Notting Hill nick. He had been tiptoeing round this mess for far too long.

B
arnard was as good as his word, although slightly more circumspect than he had felt in the small hours of the previous night, when his usually sound sleep was disturbed by anxiety for Kate. Getting up early, and adopting a calm which was no more than skin deep, he had arranged to meet DS Eddie Lamb in the Sun in Splendour at lunchtime the next day, far enough from Notting Hill nick to be unobtrusive and a busy enough spot, with the market in full swing outside, for them to be safely concealed at a corner table in the crowded lounge bar.

‘Cheers,' Lamb said as he picked up the pint which Barnard had just placed in front of him. ‘What's all this hole-in-corner stuff about, then?'

‘Kate O'Donnell,' Barnard said. ‘I saw her this morning. She works in Frith Street, right in the middle of my patch.'

‘That's handy,' Lamb said equably. ‘I saw her myself last night as it happens. Didn't she tell you? I was going to give you a bell and ask you to sort her out. I told her to keep a low profile with that camera of hers, if you must know. It's a bit volatile out there since they let our murder suspect out. I don't want her sparking a riot with that bloody camera. There's a lot of beggars out there who don't want their picture taken. Can't you get her to stop?'

‘I did ask her to be careful, as it happens. She ran into a few of your local bully boys and they gave her a hard time. And she hadn't enough confidence in you lot to even come and tell you about it. She cried on my shoulder instead.'

‘And I guess you loved that,' Lamb said, downing his pint quickly. ‘Another?'

‘Half,' Barnard said, glancing at his watch. ‘There's another thing I wanted to talk to you about. I've got another date with your boss at two, courtesy of my DCI. I'm to tell him the latest we've got on Ray Robertson and King Devine. I discovered they had a meet yesterday and seem to be getting very lovey-dovey. Robertson seems determined to muscle in on the protection racket, and include some of the rack-renting landlords in his target group. Apparently the tiddlers round here aren't turning over enough to make it worthwhile to bother with them, not like the Soho porn shops and strip joints who fleece the punters dry. Hopefully I'll know a bit more later today when my informant gets in touch. But you might like to chat up some landlords to see if they've been approached yet. I hear there's someone bought up Rachman's houses now he's gone.'

‘Lazlo Roman? Yeah, we know about him. Claims he's doing people a favour cramming them into these crumbling old ruins. What's your girlfriend doing living in a place like that anyway?'

‘She knew no better when she arrived, and she had friends there who've given her a sofa,' Barnard said. ‘She's learned a bit better now and she and her friends are looking for a new place. But that's not easy. Anyway, I'd better be off, or I'll be late for Slim Hickman. And he won't like that.'

‘Right,' Lamb said, draining his glass. ‘I'll see what I can do to keep your little lady safe, if you tell her to keep that bloody camera out of sight. Deal?'

‘Deal,' Barnard said reluctantly as he got to his feet. His mate's heart might be in the right place on this one, he thought, but he doubted whether anyone else at Notting Hill nick gave a toss for Kate's safety. When push came to shove, it was still down to him.

Barnard was back at his desk later that afternoon, after delivering his not-very-welcome information to DCI Hickman, who had glowered over his several chins for the whole ten minutes he had granted him, and asked almost nothing of relevance about Ray Robertson from the one person inside the Metropolitan Police who had known him for most of his life. The whole trip had been pretty much a waste of time, he thought, shuffling through his in tray irritably.

‘Cheer up, Flash, it may never happen,' one of his colleagues offered as he passed him by.

Barnard gave him a faint smile, sure that in fact something would happen and it was unlikely to be good. He wondered what was preventing Shirley Bettany from making her promised call, but it was not until five that afternoon that his phone rang and he heard her voice.

‘Fred's been at home all day in his study,' Shirley said without preamble. ‘They sealed a deal yesterday apparently with the West Indian. Fred says Ray's very happy, though I couldn't get much more out of him. They've still to arrange the details but it seems Ray is going to concentrate on protection and leave the girls and porn to Devine. And Devine's got a sideline in drugs apparently, which Ray doesn't want anything to do with. But from your point of view it doesn't look good. Ray's empire has just about doubled in size. And he's definitely going for the landlords, at Devine's suggestion. Though some of them are proving resistant, apparently, so I've no doubt there'll be some mayhem before they fall into line.'

‘Great,' Barnard said. ‘Thanks, honey. I'll see you soon, OK?'

‘Very soon,' Shirley said, her voice husky. ‘I'll call you.'

Barnard tilted his chair back, careful not to crush his jacket draped over the back, and whistled tunelessly between his teeth, trying to work out the implications of what he had just been told. Ray Robertson's writ already ran from Bethnal Green to the West End, and had now taken a giant leap into West London where, he had no doubt, he would immediately set to work to sideline Devine and take control. On past form, even without his more ruthless brother at his side, he would probably succeed. And the implications of that were alarming. The time was rapidly coming when he would have to go up the line and tell the brass at the top exactly what he knew.

Kate came out of the tube station that evening and glanced around the busy pavements for Tess, who had promised to meet her outside Macfisheries at six to do some shopping before they went to the empty house they still reluctantly called home. But she could see no sign of her friend. Something must have delayed her, she thought, waiting to cross the main road and wondering whether to wait for a while or head towards Argyll Gardens on her own and meet Tess coming the other way towards the shops.

But she was not given much time to consider her options. She realised as she began to cross the road that two men were falling into step beside her, pushing close to her so that she had no room to manoeuvre. She glanced around wildly but no one in the hurrying mass of home-going workers seemed to have noticed anything amiss and as they all stepped onto the pavement a dark car pulled quickly into the kerb beside Kate and the back door swung open. She opened her mouth to shout for help but a hand was placed over it before she could draw breath and she found herself bundled into the back seat with a man on each side of her as the car swung quickly back into the traffic, cutting up a bus whose driver hooted furiously as he had to brake sharply to avoid them. The car ignored a red light and accelerated down Holland Park Avenue and turned into Ladbroke Grove, the bus receding fast behind them. Kate swallowed hard to keep down the panic which threatened to overwhelm her.

‘Where are we going?' she whispered. She recognised the two men without difficulty as the thugs who were terrorising tenants, though this time without the dog which was normally at their side.

‘You're g–g–going to take some pictures you promised,' the man she now knew as Stuttering Stan said. ‘You g–g–got your camera, have you?'

She nodded. ‘King Devine?'

‘The very man. N–n–not a man to cross, sweetheart, b–b–believe me.'

Both her body and her mind felt frozen and she knew there was no way she could extricate herself from a situation which Harry Barnard had warned her so clearly against. She had felt safe enough all day at work and had thought that if Tess met her at the tube station they would have been safe walking the short distance home from there. She had been wrong, she thought, very wrong, and feared she would pay a high price for it.

The car sped past the police station and then turned towards Notting Dale and eventually pulled up outside King Devine's club. A West Indian doorman was waiting outside and she thought she recognised him from what she now knew only too clearly was a misconceived visit to the club with Harry Barnard. She was obviously expected, as the two white men ushered her out of the car and the doorman quickly opened the club door for her, leaving no opportunity for her to even attempt to run.

‘The boss is at the bar,' the doorman said, taking her arm and hurrying her inside, but as soon as he saw them Devine, just as immaculate as he had been the last time in a pale grey suit and silk tie, put down his drink and hurried towards them, his expression cold, his eyes almost invisible beneath the brim of his hat.

‘Miss O'Donnell,' he said. ‘I was very disappointed when you didn't keep our date. Is there some reason you don't want to take my picture? Is that it?'

Kate shook her head. ‘I didn't think you were serious,' she said.

Devine put a hand out to stroke her cheek, as he had done the last time she was here.

‘Oh, I was very serious,' he said. ‘I told you how much I liked to meet all the pretty young things who come to my club. Didn't you think I was serious about that either?'

Kate's mouth went dry and she pulled the camera from her bag. ‘I can take your picture now,' she offered. ‘If that's what you'd like.'

‘It is,' Devine said. ‘Why don't we go into my office and we'll have a picture session in there.' He smiled and took her arm, half leading, half pulling her towards a door at the back of the room, leaving the other men to move towards the bar, smirking.

Devine closed the door behind them and to her surprise turned towards a mirror behind the door and gazed at himself critically in it. He took off the hat he was wearing and picked up another from a coat stand and put that on instead, studied his reflection carefully, and then took it off again.

‘One with, one without? What do you think?' he asked.

Kate shrugged slightly, trying to keep control of her hands, which were trembling. If the pictures were ever developed and printed, she thought, it might be better if they weren't affected by camera shake. ‘Fine,' she said, busying herself measuring the light and adjusting the flashbulb. ‘Whatever you want.'

Devine adjusted the first hat to his satisfaction, straightened his tie, pulled up his trousers to protect the crease and arranged himself in his chair behind the desk with a vulpine smile. ‘Carry on, my dear,' he said. ‘If you are going to put Notting Hill in your magazine then I certainly want to be in it.'

Kate tried to close her mind to the threat she felt under, and to concentrate wholly on what Devine wanted, taking her time with the angles and poses, so as to stretch the photo session out for as long as she could for fear of what might follow. He did not seem to mind, as happy as a peacock, stretching languorously wherever and however Kate dictated while she desperately considered how to get out of the club unmolested.

In the end her salvation arrived, suddenly and unannounced, from the least expected direction. As she was beginning to panic again when she came towards the end of her film, the door was suddenly flung open and a loud cockney voice demanded to know what Devine was playing at as Ray Robertson burst into the room, camel overcoat flying and hat on the back of his head.

‘Tell these idiots out here who I am, can you?' he said. ‘People who get in my way generally live to regret it.' He stopped in mid-flow as he recognised Kate and took in exactly what was going on in the office. ‘What the hell is she doing here?' he asked Devine. ‘Don't you know her boyfriend's a copper?'

There was a long silence as Devine stared, narrow-eyed and questioning, from Robertson to Kate and back again.

‘That would be the friend you brought here when you last paid us a visit?' he asked Kate eventually.

She nodded. She could hardly deny it, she thought, with Robertson standing close behind her looking shell-shocked. ‘Yes, but he doesn't work round here,' she whispered. ‘He works in Soho.'

‘And you? Are you a copper too, Miss O'Donnell? Have you been running rings around me all this time with your dinky little camera?'

Kate shook her head and to her relief Robertson unexpectedly came to her rescue.

‘She's a photographer,' he said. ‘I've no doubt she's taken you some pretty pictures if that's what you wanted. And now I think she should get out of here and not come back, don't you? You've been had, my friend, but I don't think it's this young woman's fault, is it? It's your own.'

Devine rocked back in his chair and pushed his hat to the back of his head while Kate waited for his next move, hardly able to breath. In the end he grinned and raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘You best get out, girl,' he said. ‘And if the pictures are any good, you can post them to me. But if I see you or your boyfriend round Notting Dale again, I won't be so forgiving, believe me. Now run away before I change my mind.'

Kate walked cautiously across the club to the door, aware of being watched every step of the way by the group of men drinking at the bar.

‘Have a good time, darling, did you?' one of them asked as she tried to open the door and found it locked.

The doorman grinned. ‘Give us a kiss and I'll open it for you, honey child,' he said.

‘I think if you don't open it your boss might not be too pleased,' she shot back. ‘He wants me off the premises.'

The doorman shrugged and unlocked the door and watched as she went out. Once safely on the pavement she drew a deep breath and glanced cautiously up and down the street. The evening's revellers were not yet abroad, a few women carried heavy shopping bags home, and at the far end of the street she could see a group of young black men on a street corner right next to the red telephone box she needed to use.