No Mercy (20 page)

From the moment she left Rose Avenue, Maddie kept her eyes peeled for anyone who might be following her. The trouble was that after a while everyone began to look suspicious: the man standing on the corner, the middle-aged woman with the shopping bags, even the group of lads loitering by the entrance to the station. She went to the office, bought a return ticket to Chingford and walked down the steps on to the platform.

While she waited for the train, she continued to scrutinise the people around her. Was anyone watching, paying too much attention? She exercised her peripheral vision, her gaze sliding sideways. The last thing she wanted was to antagonise Lena Gissing, and that was exactly what would happen if the woman found out she was visiting Jay Cato. It would be like a red rag to a bull.

Maddie took the train to Liverpool Street, where she had to change. There was a fifteen-minute wait for the connection to Chingford and she went for a browse in the shops. By now, however, the paranoia was really starting to kick in and she spent more time staring at the other customers than at the goods on display.

By the time she got to Chingford and caught a bus to Thornley Heath, her stress levels were going through the roof. She gazed out of the rain-spattered window, questioning yet again the wisdom of what she was doing. Cato wasn’t a man who could be trusted. She had to be careful. She had to watch her step. Standing in the crossfire between him and Lena Gissing was not a safe place to be.

Maddie had checked the bus route on her laptop and knew that the prison wasn’t far off. Quickly she looked through her bag, making sure she had all the ID she needed. To be sure, she had brought her passport and her driving licence, even though the visiting order only specified one or the other. She had come this far and had no intention of being turned away at the gates on a technicality.

A couple of girls got off at the same stop as her. They were young, in their early twenties, with long straight blonde hair. The two of them wore tight blue jeans, stilettos, skinny vests and, despite the weather, matching Prada sunglasses. As this area was hardly the social hub of London, Maddie could guess where they were heading.

She fell in behind them and after a while found herself walking adjacent to a high grey stone wall. A minute later, she was standing in the queue waiting to book in. The reception area was crowded and noisy, the general babble of conversation interspersed by shrieks from crying babies. The room, which was too small to fit everyone comfortably, smelled of wet coats and perfume.

Eventually, Maddie got to the counter and passed over the VO and her driving licence. The prison officer typed something into his computer. ‘First time?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

He looked at her, looked down at the passport and glanced back up again. ‘You can’t take your bag into the visiting hall,’ he said. ‘Only a purse. Do you want a locker?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘It’s a pound deposit. You’ll get it back when you hand the key in at the end of the visit.’

Maddie dug out a coin and slipped it under the grille.

The officer handed her back the passport along with a piece of card with the number 31 printed on it and a key tagged with the number 26. ‘They’ll start calling at two,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’

Maddie forced a path through the crowd to the back of the room, where there was a bank of old metal lockers. She scanned the row until she found the right one, unlocked it and put her coat, umbrella and bag inside. It was only as she closed the door that she remembered about the purse. Quickly she opened it again, removing the purse from her bag.

She looked at her watch. What now? It was ten to two. Not much longer before the visit began. Clutching her purse to her chest, she let her gaze roam around the room. It was women mainly, women and kids. There were only a few guys. She wondered what it would be like to be visiting someone you really loved in a place like this. Soul-destroying, she decided.

The minutes ticked by slowly. She realised as she stood there that she didn’t even know what Jay Cato looked like. How was she going to recognise him? Something else to add to the stress that was already washing over her. Maybe she should get her phone out of the locker and give Hayley Whittaker a ring. Should she? Did she have time? But even as she was contemplating it, the doors behind her opened and the first numbers were called.

Maddie waited impatiently while the other visitors went through for their visits. She was torn between hope and anxiety.

Please, God, she silently prayed, let me get some answers.

It was getting on for twenty minutes before she finally got to go through the first set of doors into the search area. There were three prison officers and a dog there. One of the officers took her purse to check through it. She passed successfully under the metal-detecting arch and was made to stand briefly in front of the chocolate Labrador. It sniffed suspiciously around her legs and groin, its nose searching out any trace of drugs. She resisted the urge to pat its head, fearing that this might be viewed as an attempt at bribery.

After the dog had done its job, she was passed on to a female officer, who asked her to spread her arms. A quick search followed, the woman’s hands racing expertly over her body, along her arms, down her legs. It was no worse than the kind of routine search that might take place at an airport and yet Maddie felt curiously violated. Although she wasn’t carrying anything illicit, she was starting to feel guilty, as if she’d already been judged and found wanting.

After the purse was returned to her, she was ordered to wait in a small holding area at the rear of the room. Four other women were already there, including the two blondes she’d seen on the bus. When their number was up to six, they were escorted across a grey courtyard and into another building.

This, finally, was the visiting hall. It had the look of a works canteen, with long rows of square Formica-topped tables. The room was busy – already many of the inmates had come out to meet their wives and girlfriends, their mothers and their mates – and there was a low, steady hum of conversation. An officer asked her name. She gave it to him and was directed to table 40.

Maddie made her way to her designated position and sat down. Her chest felt tight. Her stomach twisted and turned. While she waited, she examined the room. The walls were a dull magnolia, with the paint peeling off in places. The windows were high up, and the area was lit by tubes of bright fluorescent light. To her left, across the far side, was a counter from where teas and coffees were being served. Behind her was a raised stage where five officers sat behind a wide desk looking down on their charges. It was an uncomfortable feeling being under surveillance, although not as daunting as the thought of the encounter she was about to have.

At regular intervals, a door at the rear of the room opened and an inmate came out. Every time it happened, Maddie felt her heart leap, wondering if it was him. Her mouth had grown dry. She ran her tongue across her lips. How old was he? Probably around the same age as or slightly older than Lena Gissing. Now, instead of looking around, she kept her gaze fixed firmly on that door. Soon, it would happen soon. Jay Cato would come and everything would change.

It was another five minutes before Cato eventually appeared. Maddie had only a second’s doubt before she knew for sure. He was a tall, handsome man with a chiselled face and dark hair streaked with silver. From the way he hesitated, from the way his eyes quickly raked the room, it was clear that he was searching for a stranger. She was one of the few people left sitting alone and his gaze finally settled on her.

Maddie gave a thin smile as he walked towards her. Her heart had started a heavy hammering, a beat so intense that she thought she could hear it. She tried to breathe deeply, breathe slowly, to get her nerves under control. She had come this far; she couldn’t afford to blow it now. Think of Greta, she told herself. Think of Zac.

‘You must be Maddie,’ he said, looming over her.

She gave a nod but didn’t stand up, unsure as to whether her trembling legs would take the weight of her body. Should she shake hands with him? She didn’t know. There were no written rules of etiquette for the first time you met a murderer. ‘Yes, I’m Maddie Layne.’

Cato pulled out the chair opposite to hers, sat down and put his elbows on the table. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said. ‘Jay Cato. Nice of you to drop by.’

His voice was deep with a gravelly tone. A slight London accent perhaps, but the edges had been smoothed off.
Nice of you to drop by?
She wasn’t sure if he was aiming for humour or sarcasm. ‘I thought we should talk. I thought —’

He smiled, showing a row of straight white teeth. ‘I take it that the lovely Lena Gissing has been giving you grief?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ Maddie drew a quick breath and carried on before she lost her nerve. ‘You wanted her to think I was in league with you, that we were working together. Well, that’s what she thinks all right. And now… now I’m top of her list of least favourite people. And you know what? That doesn’t make me sleep easy at night.’

‘Oh, not the very top of the list,’ he said. ‘I’m pretty sure that position’s reserved solely for me.’

Maddie took a moment to study him more closely. What did a killer look like? No different, she concluded, to anybody else. Had she passed him on the street, she’d have had no idea of his history. The only clue was in his eyes. They were an unusually deep shade of grey but had a peculiar blankness about them too – as if he felt nothing, as if he’d withdrawn into himself. ‘I’ve been getting threats, nasty ones.’

‘Empty,’ he insisted. ‘You don’t need to worry. Lena’s just throwing her weight around.’

Maddie thought of the dead sparrow skewered to the piece of card. ‘And what makes you so sure of that?’

‘Because I know Lena.’

‘You knew her ten years ago,’ she snapped. ‘That doesn’t mean you know her now.’

‘I can see you’ve done your homework.’

Again that edge to his voice, as if this whole scenario amused him. ‘Just like you did,’ she retorted. ‘You used me. You used me to get to her.’

Cato gave a shrug. ‘You got paid, didn’t you?’

‘To tend a grave, not to wind up Lena Gissing.’

‘I think I was more than generous.’

Maddie ignored the comment. ‘You chose me because of Greta and Bo Vale, didn’t you?’ She leaned forward, lowering her voice. ‘You wanted her to think that… that I knew something about the murders, something connected to her.’

Cato said nothing. His face remained expressionless.

‘You have to tell me,’ she continued. ‘If there is… I need to know. You understand that, don’t you? Please, it’s been six years and the cops haven’t even got a lead. They’re as much in the dark as they were when it happened.’

‘And if I do know something, what then? Are you really prepared to take on Lena and her family?’

Maddie hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘If that’s what it takes.’

Jay Cato gave her a long, hard look. ‘I could do with a coffee,’ he said. ‘Would you go and get me one? I’m not allowed to go to the counter. Black, no sugar.’

She stared back at him, steadily holding his gaze without looking away. Then, with a sigh, she picked up her purse and got to her feet. As she walked towards the refreshments area, she wondered if he was just playing with her, some cat-and-mouse game to help pass the time.

After she joined the short queue, she took the opportunity to sneak a few more glances in his direction while she waited to be served. He was dressed in the regulation blue-and-white-striped shirt with jeans. His face was strong, memorable, with classically handsome features: a firm chin, a wide sensual mouth, the shadow of a beard. But there was a kind of nonchalance about him, a carelessness that might have been a natural part of his character or just the result of spending ten years behind bars. She hadn’t sussed him out yet and wasn’t sure if she ever would.

After shuffling to the front of the queue, she ordered two coffees, one black and one white.

There was snack food for sale too and she wondered if she should buy something to eat. Crisps? A Mars bar? He hadn’t asked for anything, but she wanted to get on the right side of him. That’s if he even had a right side.

The woman serving put two plastic cups on the counter and held out her hand. ‘That’ll be one pound ten, please.’

Maddie grabbed a couple of KitKats, paid, put the chocolate in her pocket and carried the cups over to the table. Putting the drinks down, she pulled out the KitKats. ‘I got you these too. In case you were hungry.’

Cato’s dark eyebrows shifted up a notch as if unimpressed by her feeble attempt at bribery. Confectionery clearly wasn’t his weak spot. He lifted the cup to his lips and drank some coffee. ‘So what now?’ he asked.

Maddie sat down again. ‘So now you tell me what you know about Lena Gissing’s involvement in my sister’s death.’

‘Who says I know anything?’

She frowned at him, suddenly afraid that this would all be a waste of time. ‘Please don’t play games. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?’

‘I didn’t ask to see you. You were the one who wanted to talk.’ He inclined his head, studying her. There was a short silence and then he said, ‘If I do help you, what do I get in return?’

‘You’ve already had it. Six months of tending Lucy Rivers’s grave.’

‘Like I already said, you were paid for that.’

‘This isn’t about money. You know it isn’t.’ While she was speaking, a couple of prison officers were patrolling the aisles, up and down, up and down, their eyes peeled for anything suspicious. It put her on edge, even more on edge than she already was. Every time the men walked by, she stopped talking, waiting until they’d passed before resuming the exchange with Cato. ‘You put me in the firing line without me knowing it, without giving me a choice.’

Cato sat back for a moment as if he was thinking this over. Then he shifted forward again and said softly, ‘Sometimes it’s more dangerous to know things than not to know them.’

Maddie narrowed her eyes. Her heart was beginning to thump again. ‘I’ll take the chance.’

‘It isn’t a chance. It’s a sure thing.’ Cato paused, rubbing the stubble on his chin. Then, as if he’d made up his mind, he gave her a nod. ‘How much do you know about what Bo was doing before he was killed?’

‘A bit,’ she said, recalling what Shauna had told her. ‘Some work for the Streets, on the door at Belles or the Lincoln. And…’ She hesitated, in two minds as to whether to mention the rest. But she’d come this far – there was no point in holding back now. ‘And he was stealing cars for Adam Vasser.’

He seemed surprised. ‘You know about that?’

‘I only found out recently.’

‘And the rest?’

She gave a small shake of the head. ‘Enlighten me.’

‘He had another lucrative sideline.’ Cato scratched at his chin again. ‘Blackmail.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah, it’s true. Apparently Vasser prefers the company of men to women, but he’d rather it wasn’t public knowledge. The old denial syndrome. Plus the fact that in some circles – especially the ones that he moves in – being gay still isn’t acceptable. Seems he developed an attachment to Bo Vale, probably made a move on him at some point, and Bo saw a golden opportunity.’

Maddie pulled a face. She hadn’t been overly impressed when she’d found out that Bo was nicking motors, but there was something truly sordid about blackmailing a man over his sexuality. ‘How do you know all this?’

‘Because Bo didn’t have the sense to keep his big mouth shut. He went bragging to his mates, telling them all about the money he was screwing out of Vasser. One of those mates ended up in here a year ago. He’s a Kellston boy just like me. We got talking and he told me about it.’

‘Doesn’t mean it’s true,’ she said.

‘Why would he lie? There’s nothing in it for him.’

Maddie considered this for a moment. ‘So this guy, did he tell the police about the blackmail when Bo was murdered?’

‘No.’

‘Would he give a statement now?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he doesn’t want to end up like Bo Vale.’

She gave another sigh, feeling her frustration rising. ‘So how does any of this help me?’

‘It gives you a motive,’ Cato said. ‘It provides a reason for Adam Vasser to commit murder. Or for Lena to arrange it for him.’

‘But there isn’t any solid evidence.’

‘That’s for you to find.’

Maddie gulped down some coffee. It was weak and watery and slightly bitter. ‘And what about Greta? Where does she figure in all this?’

‘From what I’ve heard, they were in it together. I imagine she didn’t take too kindly to Vasser making a move on her man.’

Maddie didn’t want to believe it, but was gradually coming to realise just how little she had known about her sister. Yet still she continued to clutch at straws. ‘But there wasn’t any cash in either of their bank accounts. Well, nothing substantial. A couple of hundred quid between them. That’s hardly blackmail money, is it?’

‘No one with any nous would put blackmail money into an account. It’s a cash transaction. That way, it’s untraceable.’

‘But there wasn’t any money in the flat either.’ She thought back to that day when she and Solomon had gone over to the Mansfield to clear out Bo and Greta’s home. The place had been untidy, stuff lying around everywhere, but she hadn’t been sure whether that was down to the cops – they’d made a search of the rooms after Bo’s body was found – or if it was the norm. Greta had never been the tidiest of people. A large widescreen TV had been the most expensive item there, along with some music equipment.

‘Perhaps they stashed it somewhere else. Or maybe someone got there before you did.’

It crossed Maddie’s mind that the money could have been taken by a police officer. Was that possible? Nothing was impossible these days. But perhaps the more likely explanation was that the place was turned over before the police even got there. The Mansfield was crawling with lowlifes; any one of them could have got into the flat. Or then again, maybe there had never been any cash to start with. ‘How do I even know that you’re telling the truth? You’ve got every reason to hate Lena Gissing and her family.’

He gave a wry smile. ‘I can’t deny that. She got me banged up for ten years, so yes, I’d be happy to see some justice fly her way.’

Maddie heard the restrained anger in his voice. She looked at him, trying to read his face. Once, he had loved Lena Gissing enough to kill for her, but those feelings must have long since died. Ten years of incarceration had seen to that.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘If I was you, I’d be the same. That I deserve to be in here? That I was convicted of murder and I should just shut up and do my time?’

‘It’s none of my business,’ she said.

‘Maybe it is, though. If you’re going to take on Lena Gissing, you’ll need all the ammunition you can get.’

Maddie lifted her shoulders a little. ‘Did I say I was going to take her on?’

‘Or you could just let her get away with it. I guess it’s up to you. She’s got away with plenty else. Why should this be any different?’

‘What else are you talking about?’

He put his hands behind his head, linking them before quickly dropping them again. ‘I’m just one of her victims, but at least I’m still breathing. I should be grateful for that small mercy.’ He glanced around the room, at the other men hunched over the tables, before returning his gaze to her. ‘Half the guys in here claim to be innocent. By the law of averages, a few of them probably are.’

‘And you’re one of them?’ she asked sceptically, convinced he was about to spin her a line.

‘Depends how you look at it.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Guilt,’ he said. ‘It’s a relative thing. Am I guilty of killing Brendan Vasser? As it happens, no. But what I am guilty of is helping to turn Lena into the woman she is today. I guess I have to take some responsibility for that.’ He paused, his mouth sliding into a sardonic smile. ‘I was set up, but I don’t suppose you’ll believe that for a second.’

‘Does it matter what I believe?’

‘I’ve got no reason to lie to you.’

‘Sure you have,’ she said. ‘You want me on side. You want me to help you get revenge on Lena Gissing. That’s reason enough, isn’t it? Maybe you think I’ll be more likely to believe an innocent man than a guilty one.’

Cato smiled again, this time with obvious amusement. ‘It’s a point of view. I guess you’ll just have to make up your own mind.’

‘So what’s the story?’

‘I’ll give you the edited version. I wouldn’t want to bore you.’ He hesitated as if gathering the words in his mind. ‘Eleven years ago, I fell in love with Lena Gissing and she fell in love with me. She was married to Vasser, a man for whom the word “bastard” was probably invented. He was violent, crazy, the sort of man who has no conscience. She wanted to be free of him – anybody would – but he wasn’t the type to let go.

‘My answer to this problem was for us to quit London, to quit the country, to get as far away as possible. But Lena wasn’t having any of it. She reckoned wherever we went, Vasser would find us eventually. He’d hunt us down and kill us both. Plus, she wouldn’t leave the kid behind and he was too old to be forced into leaving. And so she came up with a more drastic solution.’