The Villain’s Daughter (34 page)

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his grey eyes full of sympathy. ‘Are you all right?’ Then he shook his head. ‘I don’t know why I even asked you that. Look, there’s nothing urgent to deal with. Why don’t you go home, take some time out.’

Iris looked at the mess on his desk and smiled. It occurred to her that William Grand was too kind for his own good. This was the second time in two days that he’d urged her to go home. ‘There’s a limit, you know, as to how considerate any man should be. Are you telling me there’s nothing important that needs attention here?’

‘Nothing that can’t wait.’

She knew he was lying, albeit in the nicest possible way. ‘To be honest, I’d rather keep busy.’

William paused before giving her an understanding nod. ‘If it’s any consolation,’ he said, ‘it does get better. At the time it feels like—’

‘It doesn’t,’ she quickly interrupted. Iris appreciated his concern, but didn’t want his pity. Every girl had her pride and she wasn’t prepared to tell him she’d been dumped. ‘It’s not like that. We’ve been having problems for ages. It was a mutual decision. ’ Before he could pursue the matter further, she smartly changed the subject. ‘And if that offer’s still open - the job, I mean - then I’d like to apply for it.’

‘Good,’ William said. ‘Consider yourself hired.’

‘You don’t want to talk to Gerald first?’

‘I’m sure he’ll be as pleased as I am.’

Iris wasn’t so certain. Ever since that trouble over Lizzie Street, she’d had the feeling she wasn’t in Grimm Senior’s best books. Still, as he wasn’t around to argue, she may as well seize the opportunity while she could. Having just returned to singledom - and with a new home to find
and
fund - she needed every penny she could lay her hands on. ‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’

 

It was after twelve before Guy Wilder called. Iris had been watching her mobile for the past twenty minutes. As soon as the phone started to ring, she snatched it up. ‘Hi.’

‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to worry. It’s sorted.’

Iris, unaware that she’d been holding her breath, released it in a long sigh of relief. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Oh, thank God for that.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘So they believed you? They understand that I don’t know where he is?’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, this is the Streets we’re talking about, but they don’t need me stirring up trouble for them. I’ll spare you the details, but my mother was hardly discreet when she’d had a drink or two. She told me things they’d rather the law didn’t get to hear about. One anonymous call and . . . well, I’m sure you get my drift. So they’re prepared to lay off for a while although I wouldn’t put it past them to try and keep tabs on you. They’re convinced your father’s out there somewhere and you’re the person he’s most likely to contact.’

‘You think they’ll have me followed?’

‘It’s possible,’ he said, ‘but if we get any promising leads I’m sure we’ll find a way to shake them off.’

‘I’m going to have a chat with Michael this evening, see if I can get the numbers and addresses of any of the people Dad used to hang about with.’

‘Would you like me to pick you up after work?’

Iris thought about it. ‘Thanks, but I’m better off talking to him on my own. I also have to explain about me and Luke splitting up.’

‘Were they close?’

She gave a light laugh. ‘Let’s put it this way: I don’t imagine he’ll be crying into his beer. He thought Luke was an idiot - although he never admitted it - and Luke thought he was a useless drunk.’

‘No love lost then.’ Guy paused before he added, ‘But look, you will be careful, won’t you? I know the Streets have promised to back off, but they’re not exactly men of their word. So try not to go places on your own and give me a call if you ever get worried. I’m sure it’ll be okay, but there’s no point in taking unnecessary risks.’

‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘And I’ll be staying at Vita’s for a few days so I won’t be alone.’

‘That’s good. And maybe you should contact the agents of that flat opposite and tell them you’ve heard noises. The last thing they’ll want is squatters so I’m sure they’ll check it out. They’ll probably change the locks too.’

Iris hadn’t thought of that. ‘Good idea. I will.’ She had no desire to go back to Silverstone Heights, but unless she found a new flat quickly she could well be forced to. Vita, she knew, would welcome her with open arms, but the little terraced house she occupied was barely big enough for her and Rick. With a third person in residence, they’d soon be falling over each other.

‘I’ll give you a ring tomorrow.’

‘Hold on,’ she said. ‘Before you go, did they . . . did the Streets give you any idea of why they believe my dad’s come back?’

‘No. No details at least. But I got the distinct impression that he has been seen. Maybe it was Jenks who tipped them off. He never forgot a face; even after nineteen years he’d still have remembered him. Probably got a few quid from the brothers for the info and then decided to take another bite of the cherry by approaching you.’

‘But if Jenks told them where he was, why haven’t they found him?’

‘Maybe the old Weasel was smart enough to keep something in reserve. He could have claimed that he’d seen him, but for one reason or another, hadn’t been able to keep on his tail. That way, if he
had
followed him, he could play you off against each other - whoever offered him the most got to find out where your father was. That could be why Chris got so jumpy when he saw Jenks approach you at the Hope.’

Iris gave an inner groan. With Jenks now dead, she had lost her best lead to where her dad might be hiding. It was a horrible, selfish thing to be thinking, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘I’m so damn stupid. If only I’d gone after him.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up about it. He was a complete stranger, and a dubious one at that. He took you by surprise. In your shoes, I’d have probably done the same.’

Iris, although she doubted it was true, appreciated the sentiment. ‘Thanks for everything. You’ve been a star. God knows how I’d have coped if you hadn’t—’

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘That’s what friends are for. Don’t go all slushy on me, girl. You take care, right, and we’ll catch up soon.’

Iris said goodbye and put down the phone. She was grateful for all he’d done, but worried about it too. The Streets wouldn’t have liked giving in to Guy’s demands. In fact they’d have been downright furious. How long before they took the opportunity to get their own back on him? And it would all be her fault. She had drawn him into this mess and now he was in as much trouble as she was.

For a while she sat staring blindly in front of her. She didn’t see the faded paper, the row of framed certificates or the old East End prints that lined the walls - her head was too full of other pictures. How easy it must be, if you were so inclined, to kill another person. You didn’t even need to touch them. One tiny squeeze on the trigger of a gun and . . . A shiver ran through her. What was she getting into? There was still time to leave, to get the hell of here. If her father wanted to reach her, he could do it through Michael.

But then she felt ashamed of her cowardice. Guy had put himself on the line for her. The least she could do was to show some bloody backbone! It was time to stop being so feeble. There and then she made a decision: whatever the cost, she was going to continue in her search. If her father was out there somewhere, she was going to find him. And a couple of gangsters, no matter how psychotic, were not going to stand in her way.

A freezing wind was whipping through the dark streets of Kellston. Iris shivered, her hands raw with cold, as she stopped to cross another number off the list. She was getting used to the odd looks she received as she enquired at each house or flat for a man called Fin. This wasn’t the kind of area that welcomed casual callers or too much curiosity about the people who lived there. She’d already had a few doors slammed in her face.

It was three days now since she’d talked to her uncle and the third time she had come out to roam the district with Guy. Michael hadn’t been too keen on sharing what he knew and it had cost her four pints of Old Peculiar and a spot of gentle blackmail to finally squeeze the information out of him. Didn’t he owe her something for all the secrets he’d kept, all the lies she’d been fed?

Out of the short list he’d provided of her father’s closest pals, they’d been able to eliminate three of them immediately: Jimmy Neal had been killed in a car crash, Bob Layton had emigrated and Paddy Morris was currently residing at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. Only one had remained as a likely prospect. Finlay - more commonly known as Fin - had been her dad’s best mate since school. What Michael wasn’t so sure about, however, was whether Finlay had been his Christian or surname. And he couldn’t (or so he claimed) recall exactly where he’d lived.

‘Somewhere off the High Street,’ he’d said unhelpfully. ‘I dunno, love. I went there once but it was years ago.’

Iris had got out her pocket A-Z, found the right page and reeled off a dozen street names, but no joy. If anywhere had rung a bell with him, he hadn’t been prepared to say. She knew what Michael thought - that she was wasting her time - but she refused to be deterred. Following up any lead was better than doing nothing. It might be a shot in the dark, but it was still worth a go.

Of course, she had done the logical thing first and rung round all the Finlays she could find listed in the phone book. It had been a futile exercise, yielding no results. So many people were ex-directory these days or only using mobiles. And then, apart from the fact that Finlay might not have been his surname, there was also the distinct possibility that he could have moved away. She had tried the electoral register too, noting down the addresses of any local Finlays. They had managed to talk to some of these, but still no fifty-year-old Fin had come to light.

Iris looked up at Guy and pulled a face. ‘I’m starting to get that needle in a haystack feeling.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘The technical name for that, hun, is coffee deprivation. Come on, let’s find somewhere to rest out feet and review our options.’

Iris wasn’t going to argue. They’d spent three hours on Thursday evening and another three on Friday slogging round these streets and knocking on doors. All to no avail. Today was Saturday, getting on for five o’clock, and her spirits were beginning to sink. They had been on the go since twelve.

As they tramped along the snowy pavements, Iris was careful to watch her footing. Only a few days ago a twenty-year-old girl had slipped on the ice and banged her head against the kerb. It had been a freak accident and a fatal one. One moment Jenni Brookner had been happily looking forward to the festive season, the next she’d been whisked off in an ambulance. Now she was down in the basement of Tobias Grand & Sons awaiting Alice’s attention.