Delia, in her drugged innocence, answered everything he asked her. Truthfully. Without a shred of nervousness.
Later on he made love to her.
That bit, as far as she was concerned, was the best bit of all.
Chapter Forty-five
Tommy watched Briony as she pushed her food around her plate. He watched her closely, taking in everything about her, from her hair, piled high on her head to reveal her slender neck, hardly creased with age, to her coral-painted fingemails. Dressed as she was in a deep green three-quarter length dress with matching sandals, she looked every bit the lady to him. Her eyes were expertly made up. The fine lines around them made her look more interesting than old.
He wished with all his heart that she would tell him what was ailing her. Whatever it was it had been on her mind for over a week. She had lain beside him, pretending to sleep, but with the knowledge of someone who has spent countless nights beside her, he knew she was faking.
‘Come on, Bri ... Tell me what’s up. We’ve never kept things from one another, have we?’
Briony looked startled. Her eyes glanced into his and he saw first the hurt, then the confusion.
‘I think that whatever’s on your mind, girl, should be shared. Just talking about a problem can automatically make it seem less gigantic.’ He smiled as he said that.
Briony half smiled. Tommy was shrewd enough to know that whatever was wrong with her was big. Was enormous. Otherwise she would have sorted it herself.
But should she tell him?
Should she open up to him and tell him all the demons that were plaguing her day and night? About the guilt and the fear, yes, fear, because she was frightened of her son, frightened of what he thought of her. What he felt about her.
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
‘I’ll tell you soon, my love, I promise you.’
‘Is it very bad?’
Briony heard the hurt in his voice and was sorry. ‘It’s bad enough. It’s a family problem.’ Well, that was true anyway.
‘It’s not about me then?’
Briony did smile now. ‘No, Tommy Lane. It’s not about you. It’s about something that happened a long time ago and has come back to haunt me.’
Then Tommy knew.
There was only one thing in her past that could rise up and have this effect.
Her son.
Nodding his understanding, he carried on eating the excellent steak and kidney pudding cooked by Cissy.
He made a mental note to find out about Benedict Dumas. If that little bugger was causing hag, then he wanted to know about it. It wasn’t until dessert that he realised the epithet ‘little bugger’ was completely wrong. Briony’s son was only thirteen years younger than she was.
This thought stayed with him all night. Suddenly he saw again a beautiful young girl, dressed in blue velvet. And, being a gentleman, he told himself she hadn’t changed a bit.
Daniel combed his hair in the hallway mirror of Boysie’s house. He could hear Suzy’s voice coming from the lounge and closed his eyes. She was one mouthy cow, that Suzy. If she was his old woman he’d give her an almighty slap, shut the bitch up.
‘So I’ve got to stay in all night on me own then, is that it, Boysie Cavanagh? Is that this evening’s plan then? You fuck off out and I stay here bored out of me brains?’
Boysie stared at his little wife and sighed.
‘I’ve got a bit of business, Suzy, I’ll try not to be late...’
She interrupted him.
‘Oh, don’t you worry about me, Boysie, or should I say us? Me and the baby. Your baby by the way. We’ll sit in here and watch telly. Like we always bleeding well do. You go out and enjoy yourself!’
Boysie picked up his jacket from the back of the settee and quickly left the room.
Suzy, though, wasn’t letting him get off that lightly. She followed him. Bursting out into the hallway, she launched herself at him, nails and hair flying.
‘You big gormless bastard! You walk out of this house and that’s it, the finish! I mean it!’
Boysie grabbed at her wrists and held her away from him.
‘Enough!’ Daniel’s voice was scandalised. ‘I ain’t never heard anything like it in my life!’
Boysie and Suzy stared at him. He had come through the front door as Suzy’s mother had left. He’d been waiting in the hall for the fight to finish before showing himself. Now, however, he had listened to enough from Suzy Rankins, as he still thought of her.
‘Listen here, darlin’, you married a fucking man. Ever heard of one of them, have you? If you wanted a nine to fiver, love, you should have spent your time down at the Ilford Palais or some other dive full of civil servants and insurance brokers. You wanted the excitement of being Mrs Cavanagh. Well, you’ve had your day, darlin’. Most dogs get one, you know. So shut your fucking trap up and give us both a bit of peace!’
Suzy stood stock still, the naked hatred in her brother-in-law’s face enough to stem any further words from her.
She looked at Boysie, expecting him to defend her, but he stared at her, eyes like flint. She knew that this humiliation in front of his brother would cut deep, and felt a prickle of fear then at what she had done. Her breathing was erratic in her chest. Pain constricted her windpipe, made her eyes water. Fear emanated from her in waves. Looking at her, Boysie wondered why he couldn’t smell it. It was acute, almost tangible.
So great was his temper, his feeling of complete humiliation at his brother witnessing his domestic strife, he could easily have wrung her neck.
‘Boysie...’ It was a plea.
Turning from her abruptly, he walked from the house. Danny shook his head at her and poked a finger into her chest.
‘You’ll push him too far, girl, then you’ll be sorry. But if ever I hear you carry on like that again, you’ll have me to deal with and all. Just remember this. He raised you, darlin’, when he married you, and he could cast you back down any time he wanted to.’
DC Sefton sat before DI Belling dressed in his straight gear. His long hair was tied back in a ponytail and his earring had been removed. He accepted the proffered cup of coffee and sipped the scalding liquid cautiously.
‘So, Sefton, what’s the buzz on the streets?’
He shrugged.
‘The usual really. I’ve put in my report the names of the dealers, the suppliers, and also some of the addicts. Only the ones we’ll get info from though. Most of them are two sandwiches short of a picnic.’ He paused so Belling could give his perfunctory laugh, then continued. ‘There’s something I’ve found out though, sir, that isn’t in the report. I thought I’d have a word with you about it.’
Belling nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, sir, I’ve picked up a girl. Delia Dowling actually. Well, she’s a known face around the clubs, she can introduce me to a lot of people. Her cousins are the Cavanagh twins and her father is Marcus Dowling.’
He heard the sharp intake of breath from Belling and was gratified.
‘The thing is, while under the influence of LSD, she told me about the death of a certain Jimmy Sellars. It seems her father and the Cavanagh twins murdered him, but they all stuck together to protect them. I get the impression she’s rather out of favour with the family as a consequence of this. I think, reading between the lines, she set Sellars up. It’s definitely preying on her mind. Sellars is, or rather was, her child’s father.’
Belling frowned.
‘I know about that. Limmington is an old crony of mine, we go way back. You did right not to put it in the report, son. Do you think she might spill the beans if pushed? If we had something on her like?’
Sefton grinned. ‘To be honest, I think if you gave her the edge, she’d do anything. She’s one of those people who have to be in the centre of a drama. You know the type. If there ain’t one, she’ll create one. You get the picture. I think she’d grass up her own granny if the price or the time was right.’
‘I’m telling you, Mr Cavanagh, that’s what he said.’
Vince Barlet was frightened of Boysie, but he had to tell the truth, didn’t he? He had to make sure that Boysie knew it wasn’t anything to do with him. He wiped a dew drop from the end of his nose with a grubby fist, and seeing Boysie’s disgust at his action, hastily wiped his hand on the jacket of his mohair suit.
Vince watched the changing expressions on the other man’s face and sighed. Why did he always get the shit jobs?
‘So what you’re saying is, Vince, Pargolis is inching in on our territory. Who’s the stooge?’
‘That’s just it, Mr Cavanagh, I don’t know exactly. But I heard a word on the street that he’s been seen with Mitchell, Davey Mitchell.’
There, it was out, he had said it, and Boysie Cavanagh could do what he liked with the information.
‘Piss off, Vince.’ This was said calmly, almost nicely, and Vince, never one to overstay his welcome, left the room in double quick time.
Boysie watched the man leave. He looked like a snotty-nosed ferret, made Boysie feel sick. Silversleeves, they called him behind his back. He was disliked, hated even, but he knew his scam and so for that reason the boys put up with him. He was a grass, but he was too frightened to grass them. He didn’t have the guts.
Mitchell, now, he was a different kettle of fish altogether. He had disappeared off the face of the earth after Rosalee’s funeral, which was just as well because for all the twins’ promises to their aunt about not touching him, they would have decapitated the ponce on sight, such was their temper with him. Well, they’d had a few scores to settle with him, and now they had a few more. With all the trouble and aggravation at home, and now this as well, Boysie was practically enjoying the thought of getting it all out of his system.
Limmington had spoken to Belling and was feeling on top of the world.
If what Belling said was true, they could nick the Cavanaghs this time good and proper. It was like a dream come true. Delia Dowling was unreliable in as much as she was a drug user, but she also knew better than anyone what her family was capable of. If she could be a credible witness... He savoured the thought to himself like a pools win. It was too good to be true.
The Cavanaghs had eluded him before, he knew they batted with the big boys. Well, even the big boys got their comeuppance. Eventually, they would make a mistake and he would be waiting for them.
A young PC walked into the room and smiled at him.
‘There’s a lady to see you, sir, rather old, small, says she wants to talk to you about something important.’
‘Who is she? Do I know her?’
‘I don’t think so, but she seems on the level. She reckons you’ll be interested in what she has to tell you. It’s about Briony Cavanagh. Her name is Heidi Thompkins.’
‘Send her in.’
Limmington had a feeling he was on to something interesting. Briony Cavanagh, the madam, the aunt and foster mother of the twins.
He watched in amazement as the woman walked into his office. The stench of poverty permeated the room. She was small and dressed in a collection of outlandish garments that had obviously been given to her at some kind of hostel. After smelling cider he guessed correctly that she was an Embankment maiden - the polite euphemism for the drunken women who slept under the arches. But the most surprising thing about her was her eyes. She blinked constantly. It made him feel dizzy to look at her.
Getting up, Limmington helped her into a chair and then opened the window behind him. He sat down and gave his most encouraging smile, hoping her story was not a long one.
Her voice when it came was phlegmy from years of smoking Capstan and drinking neat alcohol. She smiled hazily and Limmington found it was getting very difficult to keep his own smile tacked into place.
‘I’m after a bit of money, Mr Limmington, and a friend of mine told me you might be the man to provide it.’
‘With respect, Miss Thompkins, why should I provide you with any funds?’ His voice came out harsher than he’d meant it to, but he wasn’t in the mood for this.
Eyes blinking overtime now, she said, ‘Because, mate, I can finger Briony Cavanagh on two murders committed many years ago. You see, as a girl I worked for Miss Cavanagh as a tweenie in her house in Hyde Park. Well, I was young, but I was much shrewder than they ever dreamt. Maybe you’ve heard of Willy Bolger? He was a pimp, and he cut and killed one of Briony’s girls, Ginelle. Her and Tommy Lane caused him to top himself and on the same night they took out Ronnie Olds. I knew everything that went on. Kids do. I also know that Briony Cavanagh has a child by a Mr Henry Dumas. The kid’s nurse was a friend of mine. Sally and me still keep in touch. So you see, I can tell you an awful lot, Mr Limmington.’
He was finding it hard to contain his excitement. ‘How do you know she murdered anyone?’
Heidi grinned. ‘Because I made it my business to find out. I saw Ginelle’s body in the crate the night it was delivered to us. She was well messed up. Briony said in front of me, “Bolger’s dead.” Later he was supposed to have shot himself, but I don’t think he did, do you?
‘Then there was a lot of talk about Olds. Her and Tommy took over as Barons in the East End for a while after his murder. They went to Victoria Park and topped him there. I’ll stand up in court and say the lot.’
‘You will?’
Heidi’s eyes began their strange dance once more before she said: ‘For a price. In fact, I’ll say I saw the lot, Mr Limmington. I’ll say whatever you want me to say. Because let’s face it, they have an answer for everything. And sometimes, to catch a thief, you have to be one yourself.’
Limmington sat back in his chair and relaxed. This woman had a point. He could nail Cavanagh like Christ on the cross. This woman could be told what to say, carefully coached. She could put the Cavanagh woman away for a long time. He was disgusted with himself for the thoughts he was having, but the desire, the absolute need, to put away the twins and their aunt was stronger than his innate honesty.