No Mercy (13 page)

The two women had forged a strong bond, broken only by Lizzie’s death a few years ago. Not a day went by when Lena didn’t think of her. It was Lizzie who had supported and consoled, guided and encouraged. It was Lizzie who had given her the gun and showed her how to use it.

‘It ain’t difficult,’ she’d said. ‘Next time Brendan has a go, just point it at the bastard’s bollocks and shoot.’

And Lena would have done too, if someone else hadn’t done the job for her. There was no one now she could trust absolutely. Well, apart from Delia, but Delia didn’t count. You couldn’t have a proper friendship with an uptight spinster who’d never even shagged a man. What did they have in common? Nothing – other than a past that refused to go away, a past Lena would rather forget about.

Cato’s face rose before her, mocking and accusing. She gave a jolt and blinked open her eyes. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? The man was crazy, sick in the head. She took the files off the table and put them in her lap. Quickly she found the one from Yeats, dug out the pictures of Maddie Layne and stared hard at the girl.

‘Who’s that?’ Adam asked.

‘No one,’ Lena said.

‘She’s a fit no one. What’s her name?’ He reached out a hand. ‘Here, pass it over. Let’s have a look.’

But Lena held on to the file. ‘Just one of the tarts,’ she said dismissively. ‘Just a sad, pathetic little tart.’ Except that this tart was in league with Jay Cato. And that made her the enemy. She could feel the anger welling in her chest. Well, if she couldn’t take out her frustration on Cato, she’d do the next best thing. She stared hard at the pictures, memorising the girl’s features. It wouldn’t be long now before the two of them came face to face.

Zac didn’t stop talking for the first five minutes after he got back, an endless flow of excited chatter about the museum and his day with Uncle Sol. He paused only to take a sip of the glass of milk that Maddie had poured for him.

‘And last night, we watched
Jurassic Park
.’

‘Wow,’ Maddie said, ‘a whole day of dinosaurs. That must have been fabulous.’ She grinned at Solomon. ‘The two of you must be experts on the subject by now.’

Solomon was slumped at the kitchen table. He was wearing the dazed expression of a man who had gone ten rounds with a stegosaurus and lost. ‘Yeah, I ever see one of them lumps walkin’ down the street, I’ll be sure to know it’s a dino.’

Zac tugged at his uncle’s sleeve. ‘You can’t see them now, Uncle Sol, not in Kellston. They’ve all gone extinct. They don’t live here any more.’

‘You sure, kiddo? ’Cause I reckon I saw one hiding behind the bushes when we were walking over the green just now.’

Zac giggled. ‘Nah.’

‘Maybe there’s just one left. Like that Loch Ness Monster.’

‘They’re too big to hide. They’re even bigger than you, Uncle Sol.’ Zac looked at Maddie. ‘Oh, and we had pizza too.’

‘Healthy pizza,’ Solomon said. ‘Had tomatoes on it.’

‘And a Coke,’ Zac said. ‘I had a Coke too.’

‘Hey,’ Solomon said, throwing him a glance. ‘What are you doing, pal? You’re not supposed to give away the secrets of a boys’ night in.’

Zac stifled a laugh and put his hand over his mouth.

‘Yeah, that’s it. Keep it zipped or everyone’ll want a piece of the action. What happens at Sol’s place stays at Sol’s place.’ He looked at Maddie. ‘How about you, babe? You get out last night?’

‘Just down the Fox. I went for a drink with Shauna.’

‘You have a good time?’

Maddie gave a nod, trying to act casual about it. ‘Yes, it was nice, thanks.’ In truth, the night had gone much better than she’d expected. Rick had walked her home after the pub had closed, and although she hadn’t invited him in – she was too wary to jump headlong into a new relationship – they had arranged to meet again on Saturday. This time he was taking her for dinner at the local Italian, Adriano’s. ‘And thanks for having Zac.’

‘Made a change to get out, huh?’ Solomon gave her a long, scrutinising look. ‘You should do it more often.’

‘Maybe I will.’

Zac finished his milk and put the glass in the sink. ‘Maddie? Please can I play on my Nintendo?’

‘I suppose. But only for an hour, right?’

‘Thanks.’ He picked the gadget off the table and zoomed off into the garden.

‘Guess the novelty of my company’s starting to wear off,’ Solomon said.

Maddie gazed through the window, watching as Zac made his way past the vegetable patch and then sat down cross-legged in the small central square of lawn. ‘I wouldn’t take it personally. You’d have to be Tyrannosaurus rex to compete with that gizmo.’

She turned back to Solomon. ‘You look worn out. Is it just my imagination or are you in desperate need of a Red Bull?’

Solomon’s eyes lit up. ‘You got Red Bull?’

‘No, but I’ve got coffee.’

‘Coffee it is, then.’ He stretched up his muscular arms and yawned. ‘I’ve never been so knackered in my whole life. That kid never stops.’

‘Only when he sleeps.’ Maddie put the kettle on and waited for it to boil. ‘So how come you weren’t working last night? Aren’t Fridays busy at Belles?’

‘I just fancied a few days off. And it’s always busy. Man never tires of the beauty of the female form.’

Maddie leaned against the counter and instinctively folded her arms across her chest. Belles was a lap-dancing club in Shoreditch, a popular haunt of the slick City boys looking for somewhere to squander their bonuses. It was owned by the Streets, the family of villains that Solomon worked for. ‘Maybe man should learn a little self-restraint.’

‘Ah, Lord, you ain’t gonna give me a lecture on the evils of lap dancing, are you? Have some pity, babe. I’m not sure I can take it after enduring all those dinosaurs. Might break down and run screaming from the room.’

‘Well, I’d hate to have that on my conscience.’ She paused for a moment and then added, ‘But it might not stop me.’

‘Girls earn good money. Guys get an eyeful. What’s the big deal? Everybody goes home happy.’

‘You don’t believe that for a second.’

Solomon heaved out a breath. ‘There’s worse things happening out there, babe. Bit of baby oil and a few bare tits ain’t nothing compared to some of the shit going down. Worse stuff happening every day; that’s the way I look at it. Talking of which, I’ve got more news on your Mr Cato.’

‘Really?’

‘Make me that coffee and I’ll fill you in.’

‘I can listen and make coffee at the same time.’

Solomon grinned. ‘Sure you can, hon, but it’s hard to talk when your throat’s this dry.’

Maddie quickly made the drinks and took them over. She put the two mugs down, pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. ‘Okay? Now, what have you found out?’

Solomon took a gulp from his mug and frowned. ‘You put sugar in this?’

‘Two,’ she said. She passed him a teaspoon. ‘Here, give it a stir.’ She waited impatiently while Solomon stirred, sipped, stirred and sipped again.

‘Yeah, that’s better.’ He put his elbows on the table and looked at her. ‘Right, back to Cato. Seems he wasted a geezer by the name of Brendan Vasser. You heard of him?’

‘No. Should I have done?’

‘Not really. He was a face for a while, but more around the West End than here. Did a bit of business with Terry Street, though. That was back when Terry had interests up West. We’re talking years ago, before my time. Vasser had more or less retired when Cato put a bullet in him, and from what I’ve heard, no one did a whole lot of grieving.’

‘Do you know why he did it?’

‘Vasser was a shit, apparently. Reason enough for some people.’

Maddie thought about this for a moment. ‘So this Cato, was he a “face” too? Was it a gangland killing?’

Solomon shook his head. ‘More personal than business. Ain’t sure of all the ins and outs, but one thing’s for certain – there was a woman in the middle of it.’

‘Lucy Rivers,’ she said with confidence.

But Solomon gave another shake of his head. ‘Nah, it wasn’t Lucy Rivers. This war was over Lena Gissing, or Lena Vasser as she was then.’

Maddie, who had thought she was beginning to understand, now found herself back at square one. She picked up her mug and frowned at Solomon over the rim. ‘Lena Gissing?’

‘Don’t tell me,’ he said, grinning, ‘you ain’t never heard of the Gissings neither.’

‘Sorry.’

‘You need to brush up on your villains, girl. Can’t live in the East End and not know who’s who.’

She raised her brows a fraction. ‘Lucky I’ve got you to educate me, huh?’

‘It’s a mercy,’ he agreed. ‘Now, you think you can remember all this, or do you want to take notes?’

‘Just get on with it.’

‘Okay, here we go. Well, the Gissings have been around since Noah – family going back generations. And all of them on the wrong side of the law. Nothing big time, just petty thieves, dodgy scrap merchants and the like. But they got a history of trying to muscle in on the major firms.’

‘Ambition,’ she said dryly. ‘That’s always good to see.’

‘All well and good having ambition if you’ve got the nous to go with it. Trouble is, the Gissings ain’t got nada up here.’ Solomon tapped his forehead with his index finger. ‘Tossers, the lot of them. Type that give stupidity a bad name. Don’t stop ’em trying, though. Got to give ’em credit for blind optimism, if nothing else.’

‘And what about Lena?’ asked Maddie, keen to find out more about the woman at the centre of it all.

‘Hang on – I’m getting there. Seems Cato had the hots for her back when she was married to Vasser. Depending on whose story you believe, he was either trying to save her from a vicious thug or just eliminating the competition.’

‘So they were having an affair? Cato and Lena, I mean.’

Solomon picked up the teaspoon and began to tap out a rhythm on the table. ‘Not according to her. She reckoned she barely knew him.’

Maddie frowned again, confused. ‘What?’

‘Yeah, reckoned he was one of those stalker types, that he’d got this obsession with her, wouldn’t leave her alone. Didn’t do nothing about it, ’cause she figured he’d get bored before too long, move on to someone else.’

‘And was she telling the truth?’

Solomon threw back his head and laughed. ‘Man, that Lena Gissing wouldn’t know the truth if the Angel Gabriel came down to earth and delivered it in person.’ He took a moment to recover himself and then added, ‘Nah, she was probably screwing the poor bastard. Maybe got him to do her dirty work for her too. Least, that’s what most folks suspect. Not the jury, mind – they swallowed the grieving widow routine hook, line and sinker.’

‘So Cato went down for murder and she —’

‘Got away with it. Yeah. That’s how it looks. A year or so later, she went on to marry Tony Gissing.’

‘Lena certainly likes her villains.’

‘Don’t she just. But second time round, she was careful to marry one who wasn’t smarter than her. Tony struts around like he owns the neighbourhood, but she’s the one calling the shots. Everyone knows that. Doing a damn fine job of it too: fancy apartment in the Heights, couple of tasty motors, nice holidays in the sun every year. Yeah, Tony landed on his feet there.’ He put the spoon down and leaned back. ‘Anyway, that’s the story, hon. Got any questions?’

‘Yes,’ Maddie said. ‘What’s Cato’s connection to Lucy Rivers?’

Solomon gave a shrug of his mighty shoulders. ‘Sorry, babe, can’t help you there. No one I spoke to has ever heard of her.’

‘Still a mystery, then.’

‘Could be she was just a friend or an old girlfriend, someone he was thinking about. You do a lot of thinking inside. You’ve got plenty of time for it.’

Maddie had the feeling he was speaking from experience. Had Solomon been to jail? She didn’t know and didn’t like to ask. ‘Maybe,’ she said softly, although she thought there was more to it. The cleaning of the grave, the weekly flowers, all spoke of some grand gesture – but did that gesture spring from love or guilt?

Solomon glanced at his watch before rising to his feet. ‘I’d best be off. Promised the old man I’d take a look at that clapped-out motor of his. Thanks for the coffee, hon.’

‘Thanks for the info.’

He went to the garden, waved and shouted out to Zac, ‘Hey, pal! I’m off. See you soon, yeah?’

Zac waved back. ‘See you, Uncle Sol. Thanks for taking me to the museum. Can we go again?’

‘Sure we can.’ He walked to the front door with Maddie. ‘You reckon he’ll grow out of these dinosaurs soon?’

‘Probably,’ she said. ‘In a year or so.’

Solomon’s face took on a pained expression. ‘Lord, a man could suffer a lot in a year.’

Maddie grinned, said goodbye and went back to the kitchen. She washed the mugs and left them on the drainer to dry. Then she stood by the window watching Zac while she mulled over what she’d learned about Cato. It was a relief, she supposed, to find out that his victim had been a less-than-pleasant character. But Cato was still a murderer. Had he killed to protect Lena Gissing or to get her for himself? Either way, Maddie didn’t want anything more to do with him.

Opening the drawer beside the sink, she reached into the back, rummaging behind the tea towels until she found the gold wedding band. She held it up to the light for a second and then drew it closer to her eyes. She studied the engraving on the inner rim.
For ever
.

Maddie felt a coldness wash over her. She thought of Lucy Rivers, dead and buried for over thirty years. When she’d first found the ring, she’d wondered if it was the symbol of some great romance, a tragic love affair, but now she had her doubts. What if there was something more sinister about it? If Solomon was right, then Jay Cato was a man of extreme obsessions. It was better, she decided, to sever whatever limited ties she had with him.

She gave a nod, the decision made. On Wednesday, she would tidy the grave for the last time, put the ring back where she had found it and then send a text message to Cato’s phone informing him that she could no longer tend the plot. And that, all things being well, would be the end of it.

Adam Vasser’s face took on a hard, resentful edge as he pushed through the early evening crowd and walked out of the Fox. One day, people would make an effort to get out of his way instead of blocking his path like he was a bleedin’ nobody. One day, people would show some respect. He could imagine that moment – the crowd parting like he was Moses doing his trick with the Red Sea – and the prospect made him feel marginally better.

‘Shitheads,’ he muttered.

Had his father still been alive, everything would be different. Brendan Vasser had been a somebody, a name, a man with a reputation. Adam could have been working beside him now instead of being tied to his mother’s apron strings, still reliant on her for weekly handouts. The business bored him – motors coming in, motors going out – and it wasn’t as if he was really the boss. She was always looking over his shoulder, checking up on everything he did.

Four pints of beer were sloshing about in his bloodstream, but he still felt stone-cold sober. As he headed across the road and back towards Silverstone Heights, his list of grievances grew longer. Close behind the way his mother treated him was the fact that he was related – albeit only by marriage – to the ridiculous Gissing clan. The whole family was a waste of space and despised by everyone who mattered. They were wankers, idiots, a bunch of losers. His stepfather, Tony, had only managed to avoid the slammer by attaching himself to the Black Widow. Yeah, that name suited his mother down to the ground. She was a poisonous spider spinning her web round everyone she knew.

Well, he wasn’t going to be another of her victims. He was a Vasser, not a Gissing, and he had big plans. He looked along the High Street, lifting his gaze to scan the three tall concrete towers of the Mansfield estate. To be a somebody, you needed turf, a base, a place to rule from, and he intended to have Kellston. Terry Street was on the way out and Adam intended to step into his shoes.

The future was in drugs, in crack, cocaine, cannabis and all that other shit. For the past few months he’d been sussing out the dealers on the Mansfield. They were mainly Street men, but in this world loyalty didn’t count for much. Money speaks, and for those who couldn’t be bribed to come and work for him, there were more physical means of persuasion.

This was where the extended Gissing family would finally come in useful. Tony’s two brothers were banged up, but there were enough sons, nephews, cousins and second cousins to form a small army. Adam wasn’t planning on a war – wars were too bloody, too protracted – but rather a few quick strikes that would take the Streets by surprise and knock them off their perch for ever.

Yeah, if you ran the drug supply, you ran the area. He’d already got a stash hidden away from the prying eyes of his mother, but he needed more – and he knew how he was going to get it. Soon the Streets would get a delivery from their Colombian friend Mendez, and Adam planned to snatch it from them.

For the past year he’d been staking out Chris Street, studying his movements, his comings and goings. This wasn’t so easy when it came to Belles or the Lincoln Pool Hall, but spying on the house itself – where both Chris and Terry lived – was a doddle. Once he’d discovered there was a clear view of Walpole Close from his mother’s penthouse apartment, he’d been able to do his surveillance in comfort. All he’d needed was a pair of good-quality binoculars and enough coffee to keep him awake through the early hours.

Eventually, he’d built up a picture of how the system worked. Once a month, Chris would leave the house at five in the morning, pick up Solomon Vale and then drive down to the lock-ups near the old railway arches. The Colombians would arrive at half past five, always in a white van. The van would drive into the open lock-up, the steel shutters would come down, and the exchange would be made. The whole procedure never took more than ten minutes.

‘Lazy,’ Adam murmured smugly. It was a mistake never to change the routine. But that was the Streets all over. Believing in their own infallibility, they’d grown overconfident and careless. Or maybe Chris Street was too preoccupied by his old man’s slide into madness to give any proper attention to the business.

The Street family had ruled for too long. It was a tired regime, past its sell-by date. What Kellston needed was fresh blood, young eyes, a new perspective, and he was just the guy to provide it. He didn’t care what his mother thought; he felt nothing but contempt for her lack of vision. Safety first, that was always her motto, but you never got anywhere by playing it safe.

He went back to thinking about the lock-up. There were security cameras there, but that was the least of his problems. The tricky part would be actually getting into it. Even from a distance he could tell that the shutters were reinforced and that it would probably take dynamite to blow a hole in them. He quite liked the idea of blowing the doors off – there was nothing like making a statement – but what if all the contents went up in smoke too? No, he might have to consider a more subtle approach.

He was still pondering on this when his phone started ringing. ‘Yeah?’

‘It’s me. Where are you?’

‘I’m on my way.’

‘You said that last time I called. I’ve been sitting on this bloody doorstep for hours. I bet you’re still in the pub. Are you? What are you doing? Are you coming or not?’

Adam raised his eyes to the heavens. What was it with women that they always felt the need to nag? The bitch should be grateful that he’d offered her a bed for the night, a roof over her head, but instead she was intent on giving him an earful. ‘Keep your hair on. Two minutes. I’m two minutes away.’

He hung up before she had the chance to say anything else and was tempted to take the scenic route home. It was bad enough having his mother on his back without her joining in too. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was in desperate need of a slash, he might have walked around for another half-hour just to teach her a lesson.

As Adam turned the corner into Cherry Street, he could see the lovely Louise sitting on the top step, flicking through a magazine. She had a half-angry, half-sulky look on her face and was puffing on a cigarette with the same impatience as she was turning the pages. He was already regretting that he’d invited her to stay. In truth, he’d only done it to spite his mother. He frowned. No, that wasn’t the only reason. He reckoned Louise Cole could be useful, although he hadn’t quite figured out how. Still, he’d think of something. A girl like her would never go to waste.

Irritated by her presence, he lifted his gaze to take in the house. The building, a three-storey Victorian conversion, was leaning towards the shabby, but the rooms inside were large and airy. He rented the first floor, a two-bedroom flat that suited him nicely. He could have lived on the Heights, but had no desire to do so. The place was all walls and locks and cameras, like some bloody prison, except it was designed to keep the lowlifes out of the compound rather than in.

Adam was almost at the gate before she clocked him.

‘Jesus, where have you been?’ she said, jumping to her feet. ‘I’ve been here for hours.’

Adam’s lip curled. ‘Haven’t we already had this conversation? Shit, I’m doing you a favour here. A “thank you” wouldn’t go amiss.’

Her eyes flashed as if she was about to have another go at him, but then she thought better of it. When she spoke again, her tone was more peevish than accusatory. ‘I’m just tired, that’s all. I’ve been lugging this case around for ever.’

He put his hands on his hips and stared at her. It was only a couple of days since his mother had chucked her out of the Chelsea apartment and already she’d exhausted all her other options. Sometimes you didn’t have as many friends as you thought. ‘I had a bit of business. I told you.’ He glanced up at the clear blue sky. ‘Anyway, it’s not as though it’s pissing down. Come on, let’s go inside.’

Adam walked along the short path and up the steps, put the key in the lock and opened the door. He entered the shared lobby hallway, went over to the table and checked through the mail. Nothing for him. When he turned round, she was still standing on the doorstep. ‘What now?’

Louise glanced down towards her large brown Louis Vuitton suitcase. ‘You going to help me with this, babe?’

Adam walked back to the door. The case had wheels, but Louise was the type of woman who expected a man to do everything for her. He grabbed hold of the handle and rolled it into the hallway. ‘First floor,’ he said, gesturing with his free hand. ‘You go on. I’ll follow you.’

As she started climbing the stairs, he picked up the case by its handle. It weighed a ton. He was tempted to put it down again and jolt it up on its wheels but decided this might make him look less than masculine. ‘Fuck, what have you got in here – bloody bricks?’

‘Just stuff.’

Adam’s arm was aching by the time he reached the top. It took a concerted effort not to wince in front of her. He unlocked the door and yanked the case into the flat. ‘I need a slash,’ he said, heading for the bathroom. ‘Kitchen’s through there if you fancy a coffee or anything.’

When he got back, Louise was roaming around the living room, picking things up and putting them down. She had the critical look of a prospective tenant examining the fixtures and fittings. After the luxury of her Chelsea apartment, the prospect of kipping down in the backstreets of Kellston was clearly less than appealing. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. She was lucky that he’d said yes.

Anyway, there was nothing wrong with the flat. It was clean and tidy, everything in its place and a place for everything. He liked things organised. He couldn’t stand mess. In fact, just the presence of Louise seemed to make the spacious room feel cluttered.

‘What are you doing? Why don’t you sit down?’

Louise lowered herself on to one of the black leather sofas and crossed her long, tanned legs. She flicked back her hair and looked at him. ‘It’ll only be for a few nights, until I get myself sorted.’

‘No problem,’ he said. But girls like her, girls with a habit, didn’t get themselves sorted – at least not until they reached rock bottom. Then she would go running home to Mummy and Daddy, to the house in the country and the month in rehab. But not yet. She hadn’t reached that point yet. She was on a downward spiral – losing her job, losing her home – but was still blindly oblivious to the darkness that was coming.

Louise gave him a thin, slightly pleading smile. ‘So, er… did you get it?’

‘Course,’ he said, digging into his pocket and pulling out the sachets. He threw them on the sofa. ‘Help yourself.’

She snatched them up, her eyes glinting. ‘Ta.’

Adam went over to the cabinet, reached into the back and took out a tortoiseshell box. He placed it on the low table in front of her, flipping open the lid. Inside was an oblong mirror, a small pile of razor blades and a pack of plastic straws. He watched as she leaned over and quickly, impatiently, poured the powder on to the mirror before nudging it with a blade into long, fat lines. Some of the coke spilled out over the coffee table, leaving an untidy trail of dust across the shiny polished glass. He instinctively flinched, fighting the urge to bend down and clear away the mess.

‘Careful!’ he snapped. ‘Doesn’t grow on bleedin’ trees, you know.’

She glanced up at him, hearing the hard edge to his voice. ‘Sorry, hon.’ But the apology was a cursory one and she immediately switched her attention back to the coke.

‘You want a beer?’ he asked.

She didn’t answer.

‘Louise?’

She looked up at him again. ‘Huh?’

‘Beer,’ he repeated. ‘Do you want a beer?’

‘Oh, okay. Cool.’

Adam walked through to the kitchen, grabbed a couple of bottles from the fridge and flipped off the caps. He went back to the living room and sat down at right angles to her on the other smaller sofa. He took a long pull of beer, watching as Louise picked up the straw and bent over the mirror. She was wearing a scoop-necked black and white dress and he could see straight down the front of it. Her breasts were a honey-brown colour, large and smooth. Her white bra had a ruffle of lace round the edges.

He stared at her cleavage, feeling nothing but indifference. Although he occasionally slept with girls, it was only for appearance. He felt no real lust for them, no desire. The trouble with women was that… Well, the trouble was that they weren’t men. He disliked the softness of their flesh, their smell, even the way they moved.

In the company of blokes like the Gissings, Adam was careful to keep these feelings to himself. It might be the twenty-first century, but in certain circles it was still unacceptable to be gay. Once he had power and influence, he could do as he liked, be who he liked, but until then he would conduct his liaisons away from prying eyes and away from Kellston.

Louise snorted a couple of lines, sat back and sniffed loudly. ‘Go on, hon,’ she said, nodding towards the mirror. ‘There’s plenty to go round. Fill your boots.’

Adam shook his head. ‘Nah, I’m not in the mood.’

‘That’s the point, babe,’ she said, giggling. ‘It’s to get you in the mood.’

But Adam rarely touched the stuff. Sure, he had all the paraphernalia, but that was only for when he had visitors. He had seen what addiction did to people, how it pulled them down into the abyss. It was a weakness, and he despised weakness.

‘You know something?’ she said. ‘Your mother’s a bitch.’

‘Get your facts right.’ Adam took another swig from the bottle and grinned at her. ‘My mother’s a
rich
bitch.’

‘You’re not wrong there. Can you believe it, just chucking me out like that? What a cow! And I’m the one who’s been doing all the damn work, lining her pockets while she swans around like Lady Muck. Did I tell you what she said to me? She just turns up out of the blue and…’

As Louise embarked on a tale he’d already heard over the phone, Adam’s thoughts drifted back to the morning and to the file that his mother had been reading. The fact that she hadn’t wanted him to see it had made him all the more determined to do so. He couldn’t stand the way she hid things from him, the way she treated him like a kid.