Dangerous Promises Page 2

  ‘Sometimes people don’t know what they want. And the plan only went wrong because Bruno was a drunk and didn’t stick to the rules. If there’s no communication, there’s no connection. The cops wouldn’t have anything to go on.’

  Sadie had the feeling that this wasn’t the first time Mona had thought about such an arrangement. The girl, she decided, was a fantasist. Did that make her dangerous? Probably not, but it still didn’t make for comfortable listening. Thankfully the train had picked up speed again and would soon be arriving in Kellston. She tried to steer the conversation back on to neutral territory. ‘So where do you live, then?’

  ‘Hampstead, 12 Constance Avenue. You can’t miss it. It’s a bloody great mansion, got turrets on the roof and everything. Tennis courts, swimming pool, eight bedrooms – and there’s only the three of us living there. How ridiculous is that? And there are marble floors everywhere. I hate it. The place is like a goddamn mausoleum.’

  Sadie’s eyebrows shifted up again. ‘I dare say there are worse places. I’ve lived in some real dives in my time.’

  But Mona, even if she’d heard, didn’t take any notice. ‘You know how he gets his money, don’t you? He makes guns and rockets and stuff, shit for people to kill each other with.’ Her face took on a hard, angry expression. ‘People like him shouldn’t be allowed to live. All he brings is pain and misery. I’d be doing the world a favour by getting rid. Of course the house is alarmed – he’s bloody terrified of anyone breaking in – but I know the code. I could easily turn it off.’

  Sadie began to gather her things together, willing the train to get into the station. Mona was freaking her out. The sooner she was away from her the happier she’d be. She knew that the train wasn’t going anywhere near Hampstead and so she asked, ‘You’re not on your way home then?’

  ‘Of course not. I’m going to see…’ Mona hesitated. ‘I have to go somewhere, see someone. He doesn’t trust me on my own so he always picks me up and takes me there. He’s paying by the hour, you see, so he can’t bear to be late. He’s a fucking millionaire but he hates the thought of wasting a penny.’ Mona scratched at the skin on her wrist with her scarlet fingernails. ‘It’s a joke. It really is.’

  Sadie didn’t push her on who she was going to see. She didn’t want to know. She had already learned more about Mona Farrell’s life than she wanted. ‘Right,’ she murmured. Feeling the train beginning to slow, she breathed out a sigh of relief. Quickly she rose to her feet and grabbed her holdall. ‘Well, nice to meet you. Take care.’

  ‘I hope you find him.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Sadie made her way through the compartment, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder. She had a sudden fear that the girl might decide to follow her, like one of those stray dogs that attach themselves and refuse to go away. It was only when the doors opened and she was about to step out on to the platform that she risked a quick look back. The seat was empty. Mona was gone. And suddenly the whole strange encounter felt like a figment of her imagination.

  2

  A bitter wind blew the length of the platform, making Sadie shiver. She turned up the collar of her coat as she hurried towards the steps that would take her out of the station. Now all she had to do was find somewhere to stay, somewhere cheap she could use as a base until she caught up with Eddie. She couldn’t afford to waste money on a fancy hotel. The private detective had cost her a fortune, although whether it had been cash well spent remained to be seen. Maybe Eddie had already moved on, concerned that she was snapping at his heels.

  As she emerged on to the small but busy concourse, her eyes automatically raked the faces as if by some miracle her husband might be in the crowd. But of course it would never be that easy. She felt a wave of tiredness wash over her as she contemplated all the pubs and clubs and cafés she would need to check out over the next few days. And what if it was all a waste of time? No, she couldn’t afford to think like that. She had to stay positive, to believe that she would eventually find him.

  Sadie’s knowledge of Kellston was slight. She had only been here once before, years ago when Eddie had shown her the place where he’d been born. What she did remember, however, was the row of guest houses on Station Road. As she walked through the exit, she was relieved to find that they were still there.

  The big red-brick Victorian houses, once home to the wealthy middle classes, had long since fallen into disrepair, the exteriors shabby, the interiors divided and subdivided into as many money-making rooms as possible. Most of them had a Vacancies sign in the window.

  Sadie crossed the road, weaving between the cars that were waiting for the traffic lights to change. She hurried along the row, peering at all the houses. Which bell was she going to ring? There was plenty of choice, but little way of knowing what the actual accommodation would be like. With the cold nipping at her face and fingers, she decided to take pot luck and plumped for one called Oaklands, purely on the grounds that there was a light on in the porch.

  The woman who answered the door was elderly, small and thin with a tight, blue-tinted perm. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hello,’ Sadie said. ‘I’m after a room for a few days. A single. Do you have anything available, please?’

  The woman looked Sadie up and down as if she’d come for a job interview, her beady eyes raking her body from head to toe. ‘I only rent out by the week. That any good for you?’

  ‘How much is it?’

  She gave the price, paused and then added, ‘That includes breakfast and a change of sheets.’

  Sadie hesitated. It was hardly extortionate but she could, perhaps, find something cheaper if she kept on looking. And would she really need it for a whole week? The cold, however, was starting to creep over her and all she wanted was to get inside and get warm. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘I’ll be needing the money up front.’

  Sadie reached into her bag, took out the purse and passed the notes over. Only then did the landlady step aside and allow her into the hall.

  ‘What name is it?’

  ‘Sadie, Sadie Wise.’

  ‘Right, well, I’m Mrs Cuthbert. The house rules are: no visitors, no noise and no food in the rooms. Breakfast is available from seven to nine-thirty.’ She waved a hand in the general direction of the far end of the hallway. ‘Along there, in the dining room. Cereal and toast. If you want something hot there’s a café on the high street.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘It’s the second floor,’ said Mrs Cuthbert, pulling a key out of her pocket. ‘Number six, on the right off the landing. I won’t come up with you, dear. I’ve got the arthritis and these stairs play buggery with my knees.’

  Sadie gave a nod, took the key and began to climb upstairs. ‘Thank you.’ The inside of the guest house was clean, if somewhat down at heel. The décor probably dated back to the Fifties, the paintwork was chipped and the rail of the banisters worn to a shine by the number of palms that had travelled along it. As she made the ascent her thoughts flew back to the girl on the train. It had been a strange meeting and one that she was glad to put behind her. There had been something highly disturbing about Mona Farrell.

  Sadie reached the second landing and quickly found number six. As she put the key in the lock, she could hear the tinny sound of a radio coming from the room opposite: Jennifer Rush’s ‘The Power of Love’. She pushed open the door and flicked on the light, her heart sinking a little as she saw what lay beyond.

  The room was about twelve foot square, sparsely furnished with a single bed, a ramshackle wardrobe, a chair and a chest of drawers. The beige carpet was threadbare and the faded flowery wallpaper was peeling in places. It smelled musty, as if it had been unoccupied for a while. She took a deep breath, refusing to be downhearted. What did it matter? She wouldn’t be here for long.

  Sadie went in, threw her bag on the bed and walked over to the window. The room overlooked the main road, and to the right she could see the station and to the left a pub called the Fox. A roar of
traffic came through the glass, a rush of cars, buses and taxis. Every now and again, as the lights changed, the noise dropped to the more gentle sound of engines ticking over.

  It was cold in the room and there was no central heating. She quickly turned, crouched down and tried to light the gas fire. For some reason it wouldn’t come on. Was it broken? She twisted the switch but again nothing happened. It was then that she heard the voice behind her.

  ‘It’s on a meter, hon. You’ll have to pop in a 50p.’

  Sadie looked over her shoulder to where a woman was standing in the open doorway. She was tall, in her forties, and was wearing a short brown leather skirt, cream blouse and knee-high boots. ‘Oh, right. Thanks, I didn’t realise.’

  ‘The Cuthbert didn’t tell you, huh?’

  Sadie stood up and smiled. ‘No, she didn’t mention it.’

  ‘Must have slipped her mind. She gets mighty forgetful when it suits her. You don’t get nothin’ for nothin’ in this place.’ The woman gave a snort. ‘I’m Velma, by the way. The room across the hall.’

  ‘Hi, I’m Sadie.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Sadie. So what brings you to Oaklands?’

  Sadie got her purse out of her bag and began to search for the money. ‘It’s a long story, but I’m only going to be around for a week or so.’

  ‘That’s what I said, hon. And twelve years later I’m still here.’

  ‘Twelve years?’

  Velma gave a rueful smile. ‘Well, it might not be cheerful but at least it’s cheap. You need a 50p, babe? I’ve probably got one.’

  ‘No, it’s okay.’ Sadie finally found a couple of coins and bent down again to slip them into the meter. This time when she turned the switch the fire gave a pop and roared into life. ‘That’s better,’ she said, rubbing her hands in front of the flames.

  ‘You look frozen. Fancy a cuppa? I’ve just brewed up.’

  ‘God, I’d love one. It was icy on that train.’ Sadie followed her neighbour across the landing. This room was much bigger with pale blue walls and a pair of heavy, dark blue velvet drapes drawn across the window. It was warmer too with the fire on full blaze. There was a sink, a double bed, a table, an armchair, a portable TV and even a few plants.

  Velma turned the radio down and busied herself with the teapot. ‘Where are you from then?’

  ‘Haverlea. It’s a small town up north, near Liverpool.’ Saying it reminded Sadie of Joel and she made a mental note to give him a call from one of the phone boxes outside the station. Already she was missing him and counting down the days until she could go home.

  ‘This your first time in London?’

  ‘No, I’ve been here before. I lived in Tufnell Park for a few years.’

  ‘Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Just milk, thanks.’

  ‘You take the chair,’ Velma said, passing her a mug. ‘I can sit on the bed.’

  Sadie sat down and took a welcome sip of tea. ‘Lord, I needed that. Thanks very much.’

  ‘That’s okay, hon. Anything you need, you only have to ask.’

  Sadie hesitated. ‘Well…’

  ‘Go on. What is it?’

  ‘Well, the reason I’m here is that I want to find my husband and get him to sign the divorce papers. I don’t suppose you’ve got any brilliant ideas on that, have you? He’s avoiding me. In fact, the bugger’s been avoiding me for years.’

  ‘What’s his name, love?’

  ‘Eddie, Eddie Wise.’

  Velma gave a shake of her head. ‘Can’t say I’ve heard of him. You could try the Fox across the road. The landlord, Tommy Quinn, knows most people round here, all the regulars anyway. Or you could ask his missus, Moira. What makes you think he’s in Kellston?’

  Sadie told her story as she drank the tea. Up close, she realised that Velma was probably in her fifties rather than her forties. The woman was wearing a lot of make-up, a thick layer of foundation and heavy eyeliner. Her hair, long and wavy, was a solid, unnatural-looking black. She had a kind face, however, the sort that invited confidences.

  ‘You got a picture of this Eddie?’ Velma asked.

  ‘Hang on a sec.’ Sadie stood up, went to her room and retrieved the photo from her holdall. She came back and passed it over. ‘This was taken almost five years ago but I don’t imagine he’s changed that much.’

  ‘Good-looking guy,’ Velma said, holding the picture at arm’s length.

  ‘And doesn’t he know it.’

  Velma smiled. ‘Yeah, they’re the worst. Bit of a ladies’ man, huh?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘They’re not worth the trouble, babe. You’re better off without him. What does he do in the work line?’

  ‘Good question,’ Sadie said. ‘About as little as he can get away with, usually. He doesn’t do nine to five, and whatever it is, it’ll probably be dodgy.’

  Velma gave her back the photo. ‘Ah, right, then you might want a word with Nathan Stone. He knows all the faces round here.’

  ‘Nathan Stone?’

  ‘Terry Street’s right-hand man.’ Then seeing Sadie’s blank expression, she added, ‘Terry runs this manor. There’s not a villain farts round here without him knowing about it. If Eddie’s working for someone, Nathan will be able to tell you who. He’s usually in Ramones between six and eight. It’s a bar round the corner. Turn right out of the house and then left at the lights. You can’t miss it. He’ll be sitting at the back.’

  Sadie pulled a face, not exactly relishing the prospect of approaching a local gangster. She’d met a few iffy characters in her time with Eddie, but no one in this kind of league. ‘Why should he tell me, though? Blokes tend to stick together and he doesn’t know me from Adam.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a bloke, hon, so use your charms. It’s not as though you’re the law or anything. All you want is to get a few papers signed. Be persuasive and I’m sure he’ll see it from your point of view.’

  ‘Persuasive?’ Sadie echoed, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘You know what I mean. Just be nice, flutter your eyelashes and play the little girl lost. You’ll be fine. Nathan’s got a weakness for blondes so it shouldn’t be too hard.’

  ‘You think?’ Sadie didn’t feel entirely comfortable with the idea. ‘And what if he tells me that he doesn’t know where Eddie is and then tips him the wink as soon as I’m out of sight? The weasel’s going to be gone from Kellston in five minutes flat.’

  Velma gave a shrug. ‘So what’s the alternative? You could visit every pub and club in the district and still not find him. At least this way you’ve got a chance, and you could save yourself a lot of legwork too.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  Velma put down her mug and glanced at her watch. ‘I’d come with you only there’s somewhere I’ve got to be. Sorry.’

  Sadie, taking the hint, quickly rose to her feet. ‘Oh, that’s okay. Thanks again for the tea – and the tip about Nathan.’

  ‘No worries. Good luck, then. Let me know how it goes.’

  ‘I will.’

  Sadie went back to her room, closed the door and walked over to the window. It was ten to five and dark outside. She stood and watched the traffic, mulling over what Velma had told her. Should she go and see Nathan Stone? She found the idea daunting, but she wasn’t overjoyed at the thought of slogging round all the local pubs either. Perhaps, all things considered, it was the lesser of two evils.

  She pulled the curtains across and began to unpack. It didn’t take her long. All she’d brought with her were some clothes and toiletries, the file on Eddie and a couple of books. As she shoved her things into a drawer, she hoped her stay would be a short one. The room was small and depressing and already the walls were closing in on her.