The Last Girl (30 page)

It would take him hours to complete the list of addresses, and he would fill in the time by imagining what I was doing with Godley, in the vilest terms possible. I couldn’t stop him from thinking the worst of me. I couldn’t bring myself to feel bad about leaving him in the lurch either. Godley’s car was air conditioned, and comfortable, and I sat into the passenger seat with a beatific smile.

‘So who are we going to see?’

‘An old friend.’ Godley revved the engine. ‘A very old friend indeed.’

It shouldn’t have been that hard to guess who the boss meant. There was, after all, one person who knew exactly what was going on across South London, given that he had set it in motion. One person who I knew, and Godley knew better still. The notorious gangster, murderer and thief John Skinner, detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure for the remainder of his natural life, but not content to go quietly. Especially since it was his arch-rival Ken Goldsworthy who stood to benefit from Skinner’s current whereabouts. If I was slow on the uptake it was because as far as I knew Skinner had been moved out of London a couple of months earlier, once he’d started his sentence. The London prisons struggled to accommodate their share of inmates, between the large numbers of remand prisoners and those who were just starting their sentences. They had to be held close to the courts where they were being tried, but it placed a strain on overcrowded and outdated facilities, and the usual practice was to send as many as possible off
to
far-flung corners of the country once they had got used to the idea that they weren’t going home. It was something that upset their families and the inmates themselves, but part of their punishment was that they had no control over where they ended up. I felt more sorry for their children and partners, condemned to long, frustrating journeys or no visits at all, through no fault of their own. But as John Skinner had no living children and his estranged wife was unlikely to visit, that really didn’t apply to him. Still, it was useful that he was back, and so close to the current crime scene. Not quite close enough to hear the sirens, probably, and certainly not the shots, but close enough to feel like he was a part of it, maybe. And we could be certain about one thing: he was up to his neck in it.

Wandsworth Prison was one of London’s Victorian jails and far too useful to be put out of service, even though it was showing its age. It was the largest in the city and one of the biggest in Europe, sprawling over the top of a hill in the otherwise plush area that bordered the green and shady beauty of the nearby common. From the road there was little enough to see, the bulk of the prison extending a long way back. Large containers of flowers were a jaunty addition to an otherwise bleak open courtyard, which was dominated by a double-height panelled gate that led into the prison itself. The walls were grey and almost windowless, sombre even on a glorious summer’s day. I had never visited a prisoner there before, though the procedure was much the same everywhere. I handed over my phone and anything that could be used as a weapon, passed through a security arch, submitted to a further pat down, and eventually followed Godley down a tiled corridor that smelled of school dinners and bleach. The meeting room that awaited us was wholly unremarkable. There was nothing as grand as a glass wall between us and the far side of the table, but there was a guard on duty outside the door, a reminder that Skinner didn’t have much to lose.

I had stayed quiet for the short car journey once I’d found out who we were to see, thinking about the handful of encounters I’d had with him. Silence seemed to be what Godley preferred anyway. He drove with precision and great concentration while I sat beside him wondering why he had wanted me, why I had been selected to go with him. I doubted the gangster would remember me at all.

The ticking of the clock on the wall was making me edgy. To break the silence, I said, ‘I thought Skinner was up in Lincolnshire.’

‘He was until a week ago. I had him moved down here.’

‘Why?’

‘Easier to get to talk to him, for one thing. And I thought it might disrupt communications with his lieutenants. However he’s managing it, he’s got an open channel with his thugs. He’s still telling them what to do, even now.’

‘Hard to see how you could stop it, unless you got him put in solitary. He couldn’t stay there forever, anyway. And once he got out––’

‘He’d be up to his old tricks,’ Godley finished. ‘Yes, I know.’

‘So what are we doing here? Appealing to his better nature?’ I said it jokingly, but the expression on the superintendent’s face told me I was right. It also told me that I would be wise to backtrack, and quickly.

‘Do you have any better ideas?’

‘No. I mean, I think it’s a good idea. It’s definitely worth a try.’ I sounded like the worst kind of sycophant. ‘I’m not sure he has a better nature, that’s all. I think we saw the best of him when his daughter went missing.’

‘Around the time he started a campaign of torture and murder. It’s not what most people would characterise as good behaviour.’ Godley shoved his hands into his pockets and paced up and down the room, burning off some nervous energy. ‘I just want him to call a halt, that’s all. It’s so pointless. All of these young men dying, and for
what?
Dead bodies don’t make money, and John Skinner was always all about money.’

‘But he’s out of all that now. He can’t spend money in here. And he’s not supporting his wife, is he?’

‘They split up.’

‘So he can’t enjoy it, and she’s not going to spend it for him. What does that leave? Pride, I suppose.’

‘That’s a good insight.’ Godley stopped pacing. ‘I might be able to use that.’

I blushed to the roots of my hair, but I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I’d taken the credit for it. ‘Oh, well, actually DS Maitland said it first.’

‘Not to me, and not at the right time.’ He smiled, ridiculously handsome even under the horrible prison lighting that seemed designed to emphasise bags under eyes and jowly chins. ‘I knew there was a reason I brought you.’

‘I’m glad,’ I managed, fighting back outrage. I felt like some sort of talisman, a good-luck charm Godley had decided to take with him on a whim. Was that it? The off-chance I might say something useful? I sat down on one of the starkly uncomfortable chairs to wait for Skinner and went back to saying absolutely nothing in the meantime.

Skinner had changed, in the couple of months since he’d been inside – that was the first thing that occurred to me when he finally appeared. It was hard to tell how much of that was down to the surroundings, to the prison uniform he was wearing instead of a thousand-pound suit, to the loss of his exile’s tan. His hair had been collar-length, thick and iron-grey, but now it was clipped almost to the skull and what was left of it was dirty white. The short hair did nothing for his features, which seemed to have blurred a little, softened from enforced inactivity. His cheeks were puffy, his jawline soft. His eyes were the same, though – hooded and reptilian – and I couldn’t suppress a jolt of nerves as they swept over me, lingered for a second, moved on.

‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘I think you know, John. Have a seat.’ Godley was still standing, but when Skinner sat down he did the same.

‘I don’t know, actually. I’m beginning to think I might know why I was moved, though. Your idea, I take it.’

‘Sorry about that.’

‘Back to London. Back to good old Wandsworth nick.’ He grinned, a crocodile smile. ‘Did me a favour, Charlie. Put me back in touch with a few old pals. Better than being stuck out in the middle of nowhere.’

‘Don’t pretend you’re pleased to be here.’

One shoulder lifted in a shrug. ‘It’s all the same to me, mate. I go where I’m told.’

‘Good as gold, that’s you.’

‘I wouldn’t say that. But one place is much like another.’

‘How are you doing it, John? How do you communicate with them?’ There was a note in Godley’s voice that I’d never heard before, a kind of desperation that he was cloaking in fake bonhomie. It wasn’t fooling me and it certainly wasn’t working on Skinner, who laughed.

‘You’d like to know, wouldn’t you? Moving me around won’t stop it, that’s all I’ll say.’

‘What will?’

‘I don’t know. Made any arrests? That might help.’

‘We’re pursuing a number of lines of enquiry.’ Godley stopped himself. ‘What do I sound like? You know we’re a long way behind. Everyone I want to arrest is already dead. Or in prison.’

‘Might as well be dead.’ He didn’t sound troubled by it, but the words were bitter.

‘I’ll be honest with you. I’ve come to ask you to put a stop to it.’

‘To what?’

‘The war. You and Goldsworthy. Dead bodies all over South London. Any of this ringing any bells?’

‘I know what you’re talking about, but I don’t know
why
you you think I’d be able to stop it.’ There was a surpassingly sly expression on Skinner’s face. He was enjoying this, I realised.

‘Because you set it in motion. There’s too many of them, John. Too many young kids.’

‘You know I can’t do anything about it. I’m in here.’

‘Don’t pretend you’re not in touch with it. You knew about the deaths this morning before I did, I’m sure of it.’

‘I’d heard something was coming.’ He looked at me again. ‘Where do I know you from, sweetheart?’

I had to clear my throat to answer. ‘The investigation into your daughter’s disappearance.’

‘You were in the interview room. And the flat, before that.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Now I’ve placed you.’

The hairs were standing up on the back of my neck. I tried to look unconcerned. I wasn’t usually intimidated by criminals, especially ones who were locked up on a whole-life tariff, but Skinner had a well-earned reputation for taking revenge on people who crossed him. And that included Superintendent Godley.

‘What’s your name, darling?’ Skinner’s expression was pleasant but his eyes were cold.

‘Leave her alone. She’s not important.’ Godley’s voice cracked through the room like a whip before I could even draw breath. I wouldn’t have dared to answer Skinner even if I’d wanted to.

‘But I’d like to know more about her. She must be good or you wouldn’t have made her come along. Or is she just here for decoration?’

‘She’s a junior member of my team and not likely to be of interest to you now or in the future. She happened to be free to join me. That’s all.’

I kept my face neutral, watching Skinner’s reaction. He didn’t look convinced, exactly, but I could see his interest was waning. It was another way of yanking Godley’s chain, that was all, a cheap trick to divert attention away
from
Skinner’s murky dealings. But the boss wasn’t so easily distracted.

‘Three of them dead this morning, John. Three young lads. Different backgrounds, different families.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Gone.’

‘Very tragic. They must have picked the wrong side.’

‘There’s no such thing as the right side in this mess. No one’s winning. Not you. Not Ken.’

‘Ken’s doing all right for himself.’

‘I doubt that. He’s desperate for this to end. Has he reached out to you?’

‘He tried.’ Skinner looked pained. ‘I told him what I’m telling you. I can’t stop this now, and I don’t want to.’

Godley shook his head. ‘Do you really hate him that much?’

‘He’s been knocking off my missus.’

‘That’s personal. You’ve never confused personal issues with business before.’ Godley leaned on the table. ‘You’re making mistakes, John. These Eastern Europeans you’ve brought in – they need stopping. It’s time to give them their marching orders.’

‘You’ve got it wrong, Charlie. I don’t employ them. It’s a bit of freelance work they’re doing. Speculative stuff.’

‘They can’t kill everyone who’s associated with Goldsworthy.’

‘Kill enough of them and no one will want to be associated with him.’

‘Is that what you told them to do?’

‘Not exactly. They worked it out for themselves.’ He stretched. ‘I’m not in touch with them, whatever you think. I don’t make the decisions. I may have pointed them in a certain direction, but what they do is their own business.’

‘Who are they?’

‘No one you’d know.’

‘Where are they from? We know they’re European, from
one
of the former Soviet bloc countries, according to my sources.’

‘Your sources don’t know shit, if you’ll pardon my French.’

‘We’ll find out who they are. We’re getting close.’

‘That’s the nice thing about subcontractors – I don’t have to care. If you catch up with them, fair enough, they’re fucked. But as long as you don’t, they’re doing a good job at pissing Kenny off, and pissing you off, and that’s fine by me.’

‘They’re out of control. They’re not playing your game. They’ve got one of their own running.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You’re right, they are out of control. And they’re not going to stop until they’ve got what they want, which is everything Ken has and then some.’

Godley shook his head. ‘Not good enough, John. You can’t let it go on. You’ve got to step up. You started this, you have to finish it.’

‘I can’t help you.’