Chapter 102
Me and Bobby had a little reunion drink in the Black Bridge, after we all left here. In Le Pont Noir, anyway.”
Jason Ritchie takes a swig from his bottle of beer. Ron has a beer too, as he always does if Jason is around. It is important to be a role model.
“You could tell we sort of trusted each other, you know? It felt like we’d both changed for the better over the years. Bobby wouldn’t let on what he’s up to these days, but he seemed happy, so fair play. I don’t suppose anyone wants to tell me what he does now?”
Jason looks expectantly at Elizabeth and Joyce, and they both shake their heads.
“Good,” says Jason. “No one likes a grass. But we still couldn’t be sure. Couldn’t be certain one of us hadn’t done it. Couldn’t be sure that it was Johnny, alive and kicking and back for revenge. So I made a call.”
“Ooh, who to?” asks Joyce.
Jason smiles. “What does no one like, Joyce?”
Joyce nods in defeat. “A grass.”
“So let’s just say I called a friend, someone we all trusted, but someone who Johnny would have trusted too, for different reasons.
And he came down—no choice, really, if it’s the two of us ringing—and we asked him straight out.
Has Johnny been over? You seen him? Just between us, and it never goes further? ”
“And had he?” asks Elizabeth.
“He had,” says Jason. “Johnny came over three days before Tony was murdered, and left the day he died. He blamed Tony for grassing him up all those years ago, so he said. Who knows with Johnny?”
Joyce nods sagely, and Jason continues.
“Maybe he just felt the time was right. Put the record straight. Some people have long memories.”
“And you trust this source? And Peter trusts him?” asks Elizabeth.
“Peter?” asks Jason.
“Sorry, Bobby,” says Elizabeth. “That’s my age showing. You and Bobby both trust him?”
“With our lives,” Jason says. “He’s the straightest shooter you’ll find. And he had his reasons to help Johnny. If your friends in the police don’t work out who the guy is, then I promise I’ll tell them. But I reckon they’re bright enough to work it out.”
“Why did Johnny send you the photograph, Jason?” asks Ibrahim.
Jason shrugs. “I think he just wanted us to know it was him. Showing off. Johnny was always like that. He could find my address pretty easy too—everyone knows me round here. Whatever Johnny did, he always had to tell you.”
“And did Johnny look the same? What was his new name?” asks Elizabeth.
Jason shakes his head. “None of our business. We just asked what we asked; we wanted to know for sure. That was enough.”
“Shame,” says Elizabeth.
“Well, if the police don’t track him down, I’m sure you four will,” says Jason.
“And listen, me and Bobby, we just wanted to say thank you. For bringing us together and for helping us get to the truth. None of this would have happened without you. Let’s be honest, without you I’d probably be banged up for this. So I got you all a little something.”
He unzips a sports bag at his feet and pulls out his gifts. He hands a wooden box to Ibrahim.
“Ibrahim, cigars. Cuban, of course.”
“That is the height of urbanity, Jason, thank you,” says Ibrahim.
The next gift goes to Ron.
“Dad, a bottle of wine, and a nice one too. You can stop pretending you still prefer beer in front of me.”
Ron takes his gift. “Ooh, a drop of white. Thanks, Jase.”
Jason hands Joyce an envelope. “Joyce, two tickets to come up and see Celebrity Ice Dance being filmed next month.”
Joyce beams.
“VIP, all that. I thought you could bring Joanna.”
“Not Joanna,” says Joyce. “It’s ITV, and she won’t have that on.”
“And Elizabeth,” says Jason, with nothing in his hand but his phone. “My gift to you is this.”
He holds up his phone and, very deliberately, swipes his finger across the screen and then puts it back in his pocket. He looks to Elizabeth, who isn’t sure how to react.
“Well, thank you, Jason, although I was rather hoping for some Coco by Chanel,” says Elizabeth.
“I think I know what you’d like more than that, though,” says Jason. “To catch whoever killed Ian Ventham?”
“Is that in your gift, Jason?” asks Elizabeth.
“I reckon it is. Dad and I worked it out. Didn’t we, Dad?”
Ron nods. “We did, son.”
“And without wanting to sound cocky,” says Jason, “I reckon that one little swipe will confirm it.”