Chapter 18
The Krayfish fish-and-chips emporium was a small but thriving business in a hamlet just north of Whitby. The mainly older
customer base who queued up for the OAP soup, cod or haddock special with tea, bread, butter, and a sherry trifle dessert
had no idea they were contributing to the upkeep costs of a “front” for a nest of criminals whose offices were tucked covertly
behind the kitchen, hence the tongue-in-cheek name. The leader of this northern division of a much larger organization, Billy
the Donk, was rather proud of thinking up that one. The two worlds of the pensioner genteel and the lawless existed side by
side in sweet symbiosis and had for a decade and more.
Orville Bell was in the back office as summoned by Billy. Sitting on the bus, he’d imagined Billy clapping him on the shoulder
and saying, “Well done, boy, you are officially off the hook.” He might have even reached into his desk drawer and taken out
two shot glasses and his favorite Irish malt whisky, nudging one toward him, or invited him for a game of pool in the other
room with the big telly and the massive sofas. This, however, was quite different from the reality of the side of his head
being flattened against Billy’s desk while Square, Billy’s “muscle,” held him in an armlock. Square, aptly, was as wide as
he was tall and had the jawline of a shoebox.
“Not exactly a high-performance motor, is it, though, Orrible?” Billy said, after puffing a mouthful of cigar smoke in his face.
“I gave you an order of a Range Rover—a Range Rover, mind, just sitting there waiting for you, couldn’t have been easier, and you miss the time slot and bring me a piddly little thing pensioners go shopping in—are you having a giraffe? ”
“It’s got a catalyptic convert—” Orrible squeaked, but Billy cut him off.
“I know it has, and that catalytic converter is the reason I’m only going to break one of your arms today,” he said with a bone-chilling grin.
Orrible made a noise of pain that ordinarily only bats and dogs could hear.
“Oh, let him go, Square, before he busts my eardrum,” said Billy, to Orrible’s relief. Square gave his arm a sneaky extra
twist before finally relinquishing his hold. Orrible straightened up and rubbed at the sore spot left by the imprint of Square’s
fingers.
“Was there anything in the trunk, Billy?” asked Orrible, grovelingly. “I never looked. I just brought it straight to you.”
“Ah yes, the luggage,” said Billy, leaning back in his chair, taking another puff of his fat Cuban cigar. “I have to salute
you, Orrible, for the luggage .”
Orrible didn’t see Square grinning behind him.
“I know you didn’t look in it, Orrible, because you’d have taken the Krugerrands out, wouldn’t you? A very nice little haul.”
Damn , thought Orrible. He hadn’t seen them when he had a forage.
“And the emeralds,” said Square. “Don’t forget the emeralds, Billy.”
Billy smiled widely, showing off the full piano of his teeth: Simon Cowell white interspersed with Goldie gold.
“And that diamond hiding right at the bottom, the one that makes the Cullinan look like a sequin.”
The penny dropped. They were lying. Orrible didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse.
Billy leaned forward and his leather jacket creaked menacingly. “Shall I tell you what we found in the cases, Orrible? Knickers, bras, socks, skirts, blouses, a brush, toothpaste, some makeup. This old lady going on holiday, was she?”
“I don’t know, Billy, she never said,” answered Orrible, before realizing his mistake. He’d told Billy he’d taken the car
from a car park and found the keys resting conveniently on the front tire.
“Ah, so now we’re getting to the truth.” Billy’s eyes darkened; it was what he was renowned for, as well as his love for donkeys,
hence his nickname. The light drained out of them when he got mad and they transformed into shark’s eyes. “Where did you really
get the car, Orrible?”
“I found it, Billy.” Panic set into his voice as he felt Square’s hand grab his barely recovered arm.
“Come on, Worzel, I really don’t want to have to hurt you again,” said Square, which made Billy chortle. His crew always said
that if ever there was such a thing as a walking, living, breathing scarecrow, it was Orville Bell.
“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. I went to see Uncle Benny up at the beauty spot above Slattercove and there was a woman up there
on a bench, looking at the view. Sitting duck. I told her to give me her keys and she did.” He nodded and let the truth, minus
a few choice details, sink in.
“Just like that, Orrible? I’m impressed,” Billy said eventually, his eyebrows lifting as far as the Botox would allow, which
was farther than usual because he was due for a top-up.
“Well, yeah. She obviously felt freatened .”
A beat and then Square, Billy, and Big Charlie, who was adding up some receipts at the desk in the corner, burst into laughter
at the thought of this lanky streak of piss being able to threaten anyone. Then Billy snapped off the laughter and Orrible
shuddered.
“Talk me through the truth, Orrible. And I warn you: Lie, and Charlie will damage your bollocks.”
Orrible gulped because Charlie had form for damaging bollocks. It was his signature modus operandi.
“Okay, well...” Orrible paused to wipe the sweat fast forming in beads on his forehead and top lip.
“So Saturday, I thought I’d go and see my uncle Benny, say hello like.
He weren’t there but that woman was, just sitting on a bench.
There was no one else there. I couldn’t have missed that opportunity, could I?
She did ask me to leave her the luggage in the trunk, but.
.. well, I wasn’t going to do that, was I?
There might have been valuables in it that I could have given to you. ”
“There might indeed,” said Billy, nodding sagely.
“I asked her for her handbag because I didn’t want her ringing the police on her phone. But there was a bit of a... sort
of a... scuffle, and it ended up... sort of flying over the cliff edge.” Orrible gave a horrible smile, his teeth the
stuff of Billy’s nightmares, and an eel of revulsion rippled down his back.
“What happened to the lady, Orrible?” asked Billy, his voice low, his eyes still black.
“Well... she sort of... fell.”
“Lot of ‘sort ofs’ in your recounting,” Square said. “Did she fall or didn’t she?”
“Well... I... she sort of fainted. And she banged her face on the iron fence as she went down. Not hard, though, just
a bit.” Orrible was at pains to point that out, because for all his faults—and there were many of them—Billy did not condone
violence toward women. He had three daughters he doted on, a wife he adored, and a mother he idolized.
“Where is this woman now?” asked Billy.
Orrible shivered. The air seemed to have chilled by degrees in seconds. “I dunno, Bill. She just... sort of... slumped.
I left her in the recovery position, though, and I knew my uncle Benny was due back any minute. He’ll have sorted her, I know
he will.”
Billy let all that sink in before he began to speak again. Orrible felt sweat slide between the hairs on his head and slither
down his neck.
“I’m not liking what I’m hearing, Orrible.
What have I told you about shitting on your own doorstep?
Too many people know you in Slattercove, including the police, and you’re going to be on their radar when that lady goes to them and tells them some manky little prick in a stupid hat and string round his middle has nicked her car, presuming she hasn’t come to permanent harm.
If anything about what you did on Saturday leads back to me, you and Charlie will be taking a trip up to the beauty spot for some flying lessons, if you get my drift. ”
“Yes, sir,” said Orrible.
“You’d better find out where this woman is, Orrible. I want eyes on her.”
“Yes, Billy. I’ll find her.”
“Thank you for the catalyptic converter. But you still owe me a car. Now piss off,” said Billy.
Orrible got out of there as fast as he could. The rings on the woman’s fingers had all been just silver, not white gold or
platinum, and netted him a mere tenner at the pawnshop. They’d laughed when he’d asked how much for the watch. All that for
nothing. He hadn’t thought this through at all. Then again, if that woman had gone to the police and given them a description,
they’d have been round at his and Tina’s house in a flash. So why hadn’t they? What if she’d somehow rolled off the cliff?
A cold wash of dread claimed his scalp. He took out his phone to ring Uncle Benny for a “Hi, long time no see. Anything interesting
been happening?” chat. He figured he’d leave the blackmail for another day.
Bev left not long after, but Sylvie had no intention of following her for a while. She sat back against the cushions of the
sofa and bided her time. Out of all of their houses, she liked Marielle’s the best. This big, open-living kitchen with the
sea view and the huge squashy sofas. More than just the furniture, though, it was filled with an ambience that was quite simply
“Marielle.” She’d long thought someone should capture it and make it into reed diffusers. She’d buy the lot and put them in
her salon.
“Come on then, what’s on your mind?” asked Sylvie when Marielle didn’t automatically confess what was on her mind, because something definitely was.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Marielle, waving her concern away. “Want a top-up? Coffee or wine?”
“Do you need to ask?” came the reply. “And don’t kid a kidder.”
Marielle got out two glasses and filled them with malbec. She took them over to the sofa, set them on the coffee table, and
then sat down heavily. The two women had met only ten years ago, when Marielle tried out Sylvie’s salon, but they both felt
as if they’d known each other for so much longer.
“Is it Cilla? I know she’s on your mind,” said Sylvie.
Marielle’s cousin was often on her mind, even though she didn’t deserve to be in Sylvie’s opinion. She couldn’t do with high-maintenance
people who were a drain, and Cilla was the sort of person that the word diva was created for.
“No, it’s not her,” said Marielle. “I didn’t want to say and bring the mood down, but it’s Teddy and those damned... bastards.”
Sylvie raised her eyebrows. This was only about the third time she’d ever heard Marielle swear, and never anything more than
a mild expletive.
“Of all the places they could pick to put another one of their rubbish restaurants, why a little town like Shoresend? Ha.
Authentically Italian, my eye. Why not Leeds or Nottingham—somewhere bigger, not next door to us,” Marielle went on.
“Because they are a big, greedy chain and they don’t give a toss about the little guys, that’s why,” said Sylvie. “Anyway,
the people who frequent that type of crappy shove-it-in-a-microwave restaurant will not be the sort that want what Teddy can
offer: authentic authentic Italian.”
Sylvie hoped she sounded convincing, because she wasn’t sure she was right. Teddy’s food was premium and his prices reflected
the quality he strove for, but there were plenty of people who’d compromise if there was a much cheaper alternative nearby.
“I hope so, Sylvie.”
Marielle hadn’t lost her worried look, and Sylvie could see there was more on her mind because she knew her so well. She hadn’t
emptied her soul by a long chalk.
“Come on then, what else? Because there is something.”
“No, that’s all,” said Marielle.
“Liar.”
Marielle let out a long sigh. If she couldn’t tell her best friend, who could she tell? But even then she was wary.
“You know I visit the old people up at the hospital? Well, last week they admitted a woman to the ward. She’s only mid-thirties
I’d say, and she was found unconscious at the beauty spot by the man who has the burger van up there. She hadn’t a clue how
she got there, poor lamb. She’s very confused. She can remember her name and that’s about it, but it’s not shown up on the
database.”
“Drugs?”
“Nope, no drugs or alcohol in her system.”
“Haven’t there been a couple of jumpers up there?” asked Sylvie.
“Years and years ago,” replied Marielle. “There’s big iron railings up there now because it’s like a wind tunnel in bad weather,
so God knows why the council installed all those picnic benches alongside all the danger signs. Bonkers.”
“Well, that’s Slattercove and Shoresend council all over, isn’t it?” said Sylvie, who’d had a few run-ins with them over the
years with various businesses she’d owned. It was one rule if you were on the council or had friends serving on it and another
rule for everyone else, and she fit in the latter category. “Left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing with that
lot, but I could take a guess at what the right hand is doing. Bunch of wankers.”
“Naughty Sylvie,” said Marielle. “Anyway, she’d taken a bump to the face, but the brain scan didn’t show any trauma.”
“No ID on her at all?”
“Nothing. Just a wedding ring on a necklace around her neck. She had jeans and a top on but loads of makeup and all her hair was pinned up with pretty little pins. She looked like a different person above the neck to below it.”
“Where’s Miss Marple when you need her?” Sylvie reached over to squeeze her friend’s arm. “You worry too much about other
people; I can feel it coming off you in waves. You can’t save the world, Marielle. Teddy will be on top of the restaurant
thing, and as for the lady in the hospital, well, it’s sad but I’m sure she’ll remember where she comes from. And if she doesn’t...”
Her voice carried a heavy note of caution in it. “Promise me you won’t do anything daft.”