Payback, Page 3

  *

  Frank closed his eyes, letting the drone of the plane’s engines lull him into a half-sleep, while the scent of Karla’s hair pulled him back fourteen years . . .

  The persistent ring of the phone woke Frank from a deep sleep and he fumbled in the dark, brushing Marcia’s long hair from his face.

  Clamping the receiver tightly to his ear so as not to awaken her, he grunted into the mouth-piece. “What?”

  “Frank, that you?” Jeffrey Hunter’s voice.

  Swearing under his breath, Frank sat up. What the hell time was it anyway? Flicking on the bedside light he checked his watch. 3:30 am. God-damn it, he’d only been asleep for about an hour. What now?

  Marcia moaned softly and rolled her head on the pillow, so he slipped his hand under the covers, rubbing her buttocks. She wriggled deeper under the covers and began to snore.

  “What the fuck’s up?” he whispered into the phone.

  “I need you here. Now!”

  Swinging his legs out of bed, Frank stood up and scratched his head, squinting his eyes against the bedside light. “Give us half-an-hour, I need a shower.”

  “You been shagging again?” The question was followed by a throaty chuckle.

  *

  The streets were empty, just a mangy fox slipping along the dark hedges bordering the front gardens of tall houses. Closing the door of his car with a soft click, Frank started the engine. The low growl of the metallic-blue BMW always made him feel better.

  At twenty-three, Frank was on his way up - a fast car, plenty of money, and a stunning girlfriend on his arm. What more could a guy want?

  Jeffrey Hunter’s club - Nite-Lite - was situated halfway down Vincent Street. At five in the morning there were few cars about and he was able to park right outside. Giving the doorman a nod, he made his way down the steep steps to the nightclub and pushed open the double doors, walking into a wall of thumping music. Ahead was a large stage, where a couple of bored dancers went through their routines. The place smelt heavily of sweat, make-up and stale beer.

  One of the girls smiled at him as he passed the stage on his way to a room at the back of the bar, but he ignored her. Opening the door to the small office, he found Jeffrey Hunter sitting in his usual place behind a large battered desk.

  Frank and Jeffrey had been friends since the age of ten. There had been something about the big rambling bear of a boy that had instantly attracted Frank’s curiosity when he’d first seen him all those years ago. His scruffy clothes were thin - obviously hand-me-downs. His shoes, unpolished and scuffed, were a size too large. One grey sock had fallen down and lay puffed around his ankle.

  The boy was standing head bowed, a look of bemusement on his face. A trickle of blood ran from a wound at the corner of his eye. His assailant circled him, fists raised. The rest of the pupils in the playground were gathered around the pair in a tight pack, chanting, “Fight, fight, fight.”

  Frank pushed his way to the front, just as the smaller boy landed another blow. Again, the larger boy didn’t react, just stood quietly, hands dangling at his side, eyes unfocused.

  Frank stepped forward and pushed at the bully’s shoulder. “That’s enough,” he said.

  The small boy turned, throwing a punch at Frank’s face. Frank ducked the blow and the boy’s fist flashed harmlessly passed. Then, while his attacker was off-balance, he scraped the inside of his shoe down the boy’s shin, slamming his knee into the boy’s exposed thigh while he was hopping about on one leg.

  The bully went down and Frank stood over him. “I said that’s enough,” he growled before turning his attention to the large boy who’d raised such an unexpected protective feeling in him.

  Walking his new friend over to one of the playground’s benches, Frank sat him down and pinched the boy’s bloody nose between thumb and forefinger, holding his head back to staunch the flow of blood.

  “I’m Frank,” he said, smiling down at the pale face.

  “Jeffrey,” the boy replied, licking blood from his top lip.

  Later he had asked Jeffrey why he hadn’t just beaten his assailant up, as he obviously had the size and strength to do so. Jeffrey just stared into the distance for awhile thinking. Then he shrugged. “Don’t know how to,” he finally replied.

  Over the ensuing months, Frank taught Jeffrey how to defend himself, and by the following year there wasn’t a pupil in the school that didn’t look uneasy when the pair appeared in the playground. By the time they had transferred to their Secondary School, they had aquired a reputation that worried Frank’s parents immensely.

  Jeffrey Hunter lived with his younger brother and father, his mother having left them years before. His alcoholic father regularly beat the two brothers and often sent them out to steal food and alcohol. But for all the beatings, Jeffrey got from his father, he never retaliated and Frank was at a loss as to why.

  Growing up together in the rougher parts of Camden Town - back when the Irish and Greek communities ran most of the gangs in the area - the pair learnt how to look out for themselves. They were seldom seen apart, regularly playing hooky from school during the summer, so they could swim in the local canal.

  At fourteen, Jeffrey Hunter began to sell marijuana to the kids in the area, before gravitating to harder drugs as he widened his contacts. At twenty, with his younger brother Conrad, he took over one of the bigger Greek gangs, leaving the former leader crippled for life. His weapon of choice was a bicycle chain, and for short while after the attack he was known as Links. During his quick rise through the ranks of London’s gangs, Jeffrey always kept Frank close by his side, treating him like another brother.

  Now as he took the chair opposite Jeffrey’s desk, Frank wondered why he’d been summoned here. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t going to be good.

  “We have a little problem,” Jeffrey said in his low, rumbling voice.

  “Problem?” Frank said, his fears confirmed.

  Without a word Jeffrey stood up and walked to the door. He walked very lightly for a big man, on feet that appeared ridiculously small.

  Frank followed as his boss led the way along a short dark corridor into a dank room. It was the first time Frank had seen a dead body and he stopped on the threshold, his stare riveted on the man slumped against the far wall.

  “Come in, he won’t bite,” Jeffrey said.

  “Not now he won’t,” Frank agreed.

  The man’s eyes were half-closed. A line of blood had trickled from one ear and a large red smear on the brickwork showed the path his head had taken when he’d slid down the wall.

  Frank squatted by the man’s head, pushing a tentative finger at the chalk-white cheek.

  “Rigour Mortis,” Jeffrey said, joining him by the body. “Least I think that’s what they call it.” He kicked softly at one stiffened leg, the highly polished toe of his shoe glinting in the overhead light.

  “So what the fuck happened?” Frank asked.

  *

  Woken by the feel of Karla’s hand on his arm, Frank opened his eyes, pushing the memories back into the darkness from where they’d risen.

  Karla’s seat table was down and there were two cups of coffee on it.

  “I got you a cappuccino,” she said.

  Wriggling into a more comfortable position, he smiled. “Sorry I must have nodded off.”

  “Yes. I think you must have been dreaming. You were muttering something about someone called Jeff.”

  Frank stiffened when Karla mentioned the name, but she seemed not to notice, leaning back in the seat so the air from the overhead nozzles blew across her face.

  Chapter 5

  The cortège from Marcia and Duncan Franklin’s house headed through Hampstead Heath towards Golders Green and the cemetery that had been the last resting place of countless Londoners.

  The occupants of the big black limousines were quiet. Mostly they just stared from the windows as they watched the large houses and occasional shop pass by. The lead car slowed and turned left
into the cemetery, stopping at a small car-park outside a chapel. The other two cars squeezed their way alongside and the drivers opened the doors to help the occupants out.

  Frank drove his hire car into another car-park at the rear of the chapel, then he and Karla joined the crowd in the front. Marcia was making the introductions and welcoming new arrivals. She studiously avoided eye contact with him, so he held on to Karla’s hand and kept well back from the throng.

  Not recognising anyone, he felt awkward and hoped the funeral would soon start. Finally the priest indicated that they should enter the chapel and they all followed the coffin and the bearers into the cool interior.

  The chapel was small, the rows of pews on each side of a central aisle facing a low stage with a lectern off to one side. After placing the coffin on the conveyor and arranging the flowers on top, the bearers bowed their heads in respect and retired to a room at the rear.

  The congregation moved quietly into their seats and Frank directed Karla to a row at the back of the chapel, where they could sit alone.

  The service passed quickly and afterwards Frank couldn’t remember much about it, just Karla’s cool hand clasped in his as they sat in their own isolated little world. They followed the mourners back to the car-park, then to Marcia and Duncan’s house, where the wake was being held.

  Frank stood in the large living-room, a plate of small sandwiches in one hand, watching the dynamics of the crowd. Most people had already approached Marcia and Duncan to express their sadness and sorrow for the death of their daughter, but so far he’d kept back. Then the pressure of Karla’s hand on his arm propelled him forward.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he whispered, voice just discernible above the surrounding buzz.

  “You’ll know what to say when you start,” Karla whispered back.

  Frank stood in front of his daughter’s mother and licked dry lips - a schoolboy waiting to be punished.

  “I’m sorry, Marcia,” he managed.

  Marcia nodded. “Thank you Frank.”

  She looked at Karla.

  “Oh sorry. This is Karla. Karla, Marcia and Duncan.” Frank waited a beat before continuing. “Will it be alright if I go up and have a quick look at Mandy’s room?”

  Duncan started to protest but Marcia held up a hand and nodded. “Yes, I’ll show you the way. Duncan could you show Karla where the tea and coffee are please? We won’t be a minute.”

  Following Marcia up the sweep of the wide staircase to the upper floor, Frank marvelled at how big the house was. His footsteps were silenced by the deep-pile carpet as they walked down a long corridor to an oak door.

  “Big place,” he commented for something to say.

  Marcia ignored his remark and threw open the door.

  Frank wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but the sheer size of the room took his breath away. The predominant colour was light yellow, which gave the room a golden glow in the late afternoon sunlight. A large bed took up most of one wall, with three small teddy-bears arranged on the pillows. He looked around, his gaze lingering on an enormous walk-in wardrobe and en-suite bathroom situated opposite the tall windows. A computer desk stood in one corner, next to an enormous flat-screened TV.

  Mandy had certainly lacked for nothing.

  Marcia’s breath caught in a hiccup as she tried to speak. She gave a slight shuddered before trying again. “She’s gone, Frank. God I miss her so much.”

  Without thinking, he half-raised his arms to comfort her, then hesitated before dropping them to his sides again.

  What could he do to comfort this woman? He didn’t know her anymore, their relationship had ended years ago.

  “Is it okay if I look around a bit?” he asked instead.

  Marcia nodded, sniffing back tears as she headed for the door. But before she’d reached it, his quiet words caused her to turn back with an icy glare.

  “I didn’t do it Marcia, you know that. I was innocent and you took my daughter away from me. I just wish I’d been allowed to be a part of her life, have some sort of relationship with her. That’s all I’m saying. You took that away from me.”

  Marcia’s face twisted in anger. “You gave up your rights to any of that the minute you went to prison,” she snapped. “You still don’t get it, do you? It’s your fault she did what she did to herself!”

  The accusation sliced deep into Frank’s chest and he stepped back, as though he’d been physically attacked.

  What the hell was she saying?

  Marcia took a step towards him, her voice rising even further as the tears streamed down her face. “Don’t you understand, you idiot? She traced you, found out who you were, where you lived, what you did. Why do you think she killed herself? It was because of you, that’s why. She couldn’t live with what you’d become.”

  Marcia ran from the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Frank’s ears rang with the sudden silence. The truth of her accusations stunned him for a moment, and he stood stock-still, trying to make sense of what he’d just heard. Head buzzing, he turned, walking over to Mandy’s bed on legs so leaden, he could hardly move them.

  Collapsing on the edge of ther bed, Frank gulped a deep breath as a hot iron ring tightened around his head. He could smell Mandy’s scent in the room - almost hear her voice - see her shadow - feel her reproachful look. She seemed to be reaching out for his soul.

  The door opened and Karla appeared, face clouded with concern. “She didn’t know what she was saying Frank.”

  Karla came and sat next to him on the bed.

  He couldn’t look at her. “You heard then? It doesn’t matter, she’s right,” he whispered, “You saw the letter Mandy wrote. Marcia’s right. It’s my fault that she killed herself.”

  Karla stood, one hand lingering on his shoulder as she looked down at him. “Frank—”

  Getting no response, Karla shook his shoulder.

  Frank looked up at her, eyes bloodshot and wide.

  “Mandy didn’t kill herself because of you,” she said. “It doesn’t make any sense. Marcia was just lashing out because she’s distraught. Please, listen to me.”

  “Then why did she do it?”

  Seeing how the agony in his voice had brought tears welling to Karla’s eyes, he turned away.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “Maybe she was being bullied at school or something. Did she have a Facebook account we could look at? That might give us some idea at least.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s a social page thing. On the internet.”

  Frank glanced around the room, the computer desk in the corner catching his attention. Here at least was something to do.

  Walking over he saw that there was a screen, keyboard and mouse, but no tower unit - just four small black circles marking the place where it had once stood.

  “There’s no computer here. Looks as if it’s been moved.”

  Opening the desk drawer, he shuffled through some papers, spotting something stuck in one corner. Pulling out a SIM card, he jumped guiltily as Duncan spoke from behind him. Frank palmed his find and turned around.

  Duncan stood framed in the open doorway, balding head catching the light from the window.

  “Are you going to be much longer? Marcia’s feeling a little unwell and wants to thank everyone before they go,” he said.

  Even from where he stood, Frank could smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes. “Where’s Mandy’s computer?” he asked.

  Duncan’s eyes turned towards the computer desk and he walked over, pointedly closing the drawer that Frank had left open.

  He shrugged. “It was stolen last week, just before—” He seemed unable to continue.

  “What else was taken?”

  “Nothing much. The police said it was probably just kids looking for something to sell,”

  Duncan strode back to the bedroom door and held it open, waiting for them to leave.

  As they left the room, Frank shot Karla a look when she thanked Duncan fo
r letting them see Mandy’s room, then followed him down the stairs.

  Rushing passed Marcia without a glance, Frank left the front door wide open so Karla could follow him out. She caught up with him as he reached the car.

  “Really Frank,” she said. “That was very rude. What’s got into you?”

  Chapter 6

  The hotel lounge was quiet, just the two of them. They sat at a glass-topped raffia table, and as Frank replaced his cup in the saucer and licked the foam from his lip, Karla’s look settled on his scar.

  She flicked her hair back behind her ear. She was worried. Frank hadn’t said a word on the drive back to the hotel. He’d ordered them coffee when they’d arrived, and now sat silently sipping it, eyes half-closed.

  Picking up the spoon from her saucer, she tapped it against the end of her finger, clearing her throat as she looked across at him. “You mustn’t blame yourself,” she said when he glanced back at her.

  He grunted, settling in his seat. The raffia rustled as his weight shifted. “That’s easy enough for you to say.”

  The last rays of the sun highlighted his eyes and Karla could see the fear and anger there. Dropping the spoon on the table as though it were hot, she felt her face flush. She leant forward, her own anger lending her voice a hard edge.

  “Frank, I’m not looking to start an argument here. You’re being really unfair and hurtful.”

  He stared at her and nodded, obviously trying to reign in his feelings. “Yes, I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t really believe that Mandy killed herself because she found out about me.” He leant forward, clasping his hands on the table, tapping his thumbs together impatiently. “Something else happened. Something else they’re keeping from me.”

  Karla was nonplussed. Where the hell was this coming from?

  “Bit bloody convenient that her computer was nicked, don’t you think?” Frank continued. “No, they’re hiding something, and I mean to find out what it is.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a bit—”