Nothing but Trouble Read online

  It occurred to Harry that Jess had paid a lot more attention to the dark-haired woman than he had. ‘And?’

  ‘And I was right. Her name’s Vita Howard. She’s a local solicitor.’

  Harry’s ears pricked up. ‘A solicitor?’

  ‘Yeah, interesting, isn’t it? Maybe your client isn’t the only one seeking professional help. Or the only one looking for a divorce. Could be the wife’s going to get in there first.’

  Harry kept his eyes on the door of the restaurant while he thought about it. ‘Could be,’ he agreed. And maybe she’s already lined up husband number two.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘She doesn’t strike me as the type who’s likely to be on her own for long.’

  ‘By that I take it you mean that she looks like the type who prefers someone else to keep her.’

  He shrugged. ‘You think I’m being overly judgemental?’

  ‘It’s a big conclusion to jump to after less than an hour’s observation. It could be that her husband is a bore or a brute and she’s simply had enough of him.’

  Harry thought back to his afternoon meeting with Martin Locke. ‘That’s not beyond the realms of possibility.’

  ‘So, did I do well getting Vita Howard’s name?’

  ‘I still think it was risky,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, Jessica, thank you very much for that useful bit of information. That’s all right, Harry, it was a pleasure.’

  He grinned. ‘Thank you very much, Jessica. I appreciate your input.’

  5

  It was another five minutes before a smart minicab, a dark green Toyota, pulled up in front of Adriano’s. Shortly afterwards, the two women came out of the restaurant and got into the back of the car. The driver set off, indicating left after he’d gone a couple of hundred yards. Harry followed, keeping a safe distance.

  The cab made a short journey through the back streets of Kellston until it came to Lemon Road, a row of small but neat terraced houses. Harry drove past as the cabbie stopped, then slowed down and pulled in a little further along. They watched as Vita Howard got out, leaned in to say a few final words to Aimee, then gave a wave and closed the door.

  ‘No steamy girl-on-girl action, then,’ Jess said. ‘I hope you’re not too disappointed.’

  ‘I’ll try and live with it.’

  The cab set off again, returning to the high street before heading west. Well, if there was one place Aimee Locke wasn’t going, it was home. Harry let a couple of cars get between them. He doubted if the cabbie would notice the tail, but he wasn’t prepared to take any chances. Blowing his cover on the first night of the job wouldn’t be too impressive.

  The Friday-night traffic grew denser as they approached the West End, the roads clogged up with black cabs and slow-moving buses. By now it was getting on for ten o’clock.

  ‘Perhaps she is going to work,’ he murmured, talking as much to himself as he was to Jess.

  ‘Where’s that, then?’

  Harry hesitated, but then decided that there wasn’t any real harm in telling her. If he was right, she’d find out soon enough anyway. ‘Selene’s,’ he said.

  ‘In Mayfair?’

  He gave a nod. ‘You know it?’

  ‘I know who owns it.’

  He thought back to that article he’d read in the magazine. ‘Some aristocrat, isn’t it? Lord someone or another?’

  ‘James Harley-Cunningham. Yes, he’s the front man, but he’s got a partner behind the scenes – an old friend of yours, as it happens.’

  Harry gave her a sidelong glance and frowned. ‘Why do I get the feeling that I’m not going to like this?’

  ‘Because you’re not.’

  He waited a few seconds but she didn’t say any more. ‘Come on, Vaughan. Don’t keep me in suspense.’

  She took a quick breath. ‘It’s Ray Stagg.’

  ‘Shit, you’re kidding?’

  ‘I said you wouldn’t like it.’

  Harry didn’t. Ray Stagg was an East End villain. Not a gangster exactly, but a lowlife all the same. He was involved in drugs, prostitution, loan-sharking and any other dodgy deal he could dip his grubby fingers into. ‘How the hell did he get involved with a place like Selene’s?’

  ‘Because he knows where the money is, and it’s not in a sleazy lap-dancing joint in Shoreditch. He sold his old club to some Russian geezer and then teamed up with one of England’s blue-bloods. Stagg has the money and Harley-Cunningham has the connections. It’s a marriage made in heaven.’

  Harry slapped the palms of his hands against the wheel. Stagg was one of those Teflon criminals who through either good luck or good management – perhaps a combination of the two – had always managed to evade the law. He’d been arrested on more than one occasion, but no charges had ever stuck. It had been a few years since their paths had last crossed, and Harry wasn’t in a hurry to renew the acquaintance. ‘That bastard should be in jail.’

  ‘Maybe he’s seen the error of his ways and decided to go straight,’ Jess said drily.

  ‘That’ll be the day. He’s just found a more lucrative outlet for all the lousy gear he peddles.’

  Mayfair was busy, the streets humming with activity. Harry concentrated on his driving as they went down Park Lane, skirting the shadowy tree-filled expanse of Hyde Park. Selene’s, which was just around the corner from the Dorchester, had a long queue outside. The taxi drew up beside the door and Aimee Locke got out. She stopped briefly to have a word with one of the doormen and then went into the club.

  Jess undid her seat belt. ‘I guess this is goodbye, then.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Well, I’m presuming you’ll want to follow her inside.’ She pointed towards her jeans. ‘They’ll never let me in dressed like this, so I’d better leave you to it. It’s not a problem. I can easily get a black cab.’

  Harry nodded towards the Toyota, which still hadn’t moved off. ‘You don’t need to. Unless the driver’s picking up someone else, I think she may be coming back.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ Jess said, settling back in her seat. ‘So what is it that this woman does? What’s her name, by the way? I can’t keep calling her this woman.’

  ‘She’s a croupier,’ he said. ‘She works in the casino.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And?’ he echoed.

  ‘Come on, Harry. You know I won’t blab to anyone. Cross my heart and hope to die. At least tell me her Christian name.’

  Harry pulled a face, unsure as to whether he should or not.

  ‘Ah, come on,’ Jess said again, her voice more wheedling now. ‘If it wasn’t for me, you still wouldn’t have a clue as to who she had dinner with tonight.’

  ‘No, but it wouldn’t have taken me long to find out. I have her address, remember? I only had to check the electoral register to find out the rest.’

  ‘So I saved you the bother.’

  ‘What does it matter what her name is?’

  Jess gave a light shrug. ‘I don’t know. I’m just curious.’ She glanced at him, her grey eyes widening. ‘You do trust me, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t pull that one on me, Vaughan.’

  ‘You’re getting very cynical in your old age.’

  ‘Just being discreet.’

  ‘And you think I can’t do discretion?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  They watched as the long queue outside Selene’s shifted slowly forward. Unlike the VIP guests, who turned up in limos and waltzed straight in, the lesser mortals had to endure the chill evening air. Harry couldn’t recall the last time he’d been in a nightclub. It must have been years ago.

  ‘So?’ Jess said. ‘Are you going to tell me her name or not?’

  Harry, knowing from past experience that Jess wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted, finally decided that it would be less of a hassle to give in gracefully. ‘It goes no further, right?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Okay, her name’s Aimee, Aimee Loc
ke.’

  ‘There,’ Jess said triumphantly, ‘that wasn’t too difficult, was it?’

  He heaved out a sigh. ‘Just make sure that—’

  Jess lifted a hand and made a fleeting flat-palmed gesture across her mouth. ‘My lips are zipped, hun. Your secret’s safe with me.’

  ‘Good.’

  It was fifteen minutes before Aimee reappeared. She didn’t look any happier than she had in the restaurant, but even an unhappy Aimee Locke, Harry noted, still made heads turn. It was more than just beauty; she was one of those women who had an aura about them, a charisma that went beyond the physical.

  ‘So, she isn’t working,’ he said. ‘I wonder what was so important that she had to come all the way over here.’

  ‘To pick up her wages, perhaps?’

  Harry, remembering Martin Locke’s address, his expensive clothes and the flashy gold watch he’d been wearing, shook his head. ‘I can’t believe she’s that desperate for cash. And anyway, don’t most people’s wages go straight into their bank account these days?’

  ‘I guess. And she doesn’t exactly look destitute. Maybe she needed to speak to someone.’

  That was what Harry was worried about, especially if that person was Ray Stagg. There was no particular reason why it should be – the club must employ lots of people – but he had one of those uneasy feelings in his guts. Somehow, whenever there was trouble Stagg was never too far from the centre of it. ‘That’s what phones are for.’

  ‘She might have left something at work, something she needs.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said, although he wondered what could be so urgent that it couldn’t wait until her next shift.

  Aimee got back into the taxi and they set off again. It didn’t take long to realise that they were heading back in the same direction that they’d come.

  ‘Ever had that déjà vu feeling?’ Jess asked as they approached the outskirts of Kellston.

  ‘Looks like she’s going home.’ He wondered what Aimee was going to tell her husband. Her shift, he presumed, wouldn’t normally finish until the early hours, and so she’d need a good reason for being back at this time.

  The cab veered south and wound its way into the more exclusive part of the district. The streets were brightly lit, illuminating the fancy houses beyond the high security gates. Jess peered out of the window. ‘God, not much evidence of a credit crunch here. Your client must be rolling in it. If I’d known, I’d have ordered the lobster.’

  ‘I’m sure that would have gone down well on the expenses claim.’

  The cab indicated right, turned into Walpole Close and drew up outside number 6. Harry drove past and pulled in further up the road. He watched in the rear-view mirror as Aimee Locke got out, walked up to the tall wrought-iron gates and punched in a code on the security pad. A second later the gates swung smoothly open. The driver waited until they’d closed again before taking off. Harry didn’t move until the cab was out of sight, then he did a U-turn and cruised slowly back.

  The house was a large white two-storey ranch-style construction with a steep roof, shuttered windows and a covered veranda running the length of the building. In front of the house the path split into two, with the left half winding around to the back. The floodlit front garden, awash with pink and white rhododendron blossoms, was empty. There was no sign of Aimee; she’d already disappeared inside.

  ‘Very nice,’ Jess said. ‘Do you reckon there’s a pool?’

  ‘Why? Are you thinking of moving in?’

  Jess flicked back her hair and smiled. ‘Well, if your client’s after a divorce, he could be looking for a replacement soon. I’m not proud. If it means getting my bank balance out of the red, I’d be more than happy to fill the vacancy.’

  Harry laughed. ‘So much for independent women. Drop your CV off at the office and I’ll be sure to pass it on to him.’

  ‘I may just do that.’

  Harry didn’t hang about outside the house. There were cameras fixed to the pillars either side of the gates, and so after a quick look he took off and accelerated down the street. ‘Right, let’s get you home.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to wait to see if she goes out again?’

  ‘No, I reckon that’s it for tonight. She’s been drinking so she can’t drive herself, and she’s just let the cab go.’

  Jess leaned her head against the back of the seat and yawned. ‘So I was right after all. She isn’t playing away.’

  ‘Hey, just because she didn’t do anything tonight doesn’t mean she’s Little Miss Innocent. It’s early days yet.’

  ‘You say that like you want her to be cheating on him.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. All I’m saying is that if someone’s not being truthful, you have to wonder why. She told her husband she was working, but instead she went and had dinner with a solicitor. That’s suspicious in anyone’s book.’

  ‘We don’t know that Vita Howard is her solicitor. They could just be mates.’

  ‘So why lie about meeting her?’

  ‘But did she actually lie?’ Jess said. ‘Perhaps she just forgot to mention it.’

  ‘Hang on, Vaughan. Wasn’t it you who suggested earlier that she could be the one getting in first with the divorce proceedings?’

  ‘I’m always suggesting things. It doesn’t mean they’re right.’ She inclined her head and smiled at him again. ‘Although it doesn’t mean they’re wrong either.’

  Harry put his foot down and set off towards Jess’s flat in Hackney. He wasn’t sure how much he’d learned tonight, other than that Aimee Locke was a stunner and that she’d been less than honest with her husband. That, however, didn’t make her a cheat. Oh, and there had been that one other revelation: Ray Stagg was the power behind the throne at Selene’s. That single fact, however, was more than enough to set alarm bells ringing.

  6

  It was shortly after six when Harry was woken by the thin morning light filtering through the flimsy curtains. He had a moment of confusion, of disorientation, as his eyes flickered open and he peered at the unfamiliar green walls. It took a few seconds for his brain to register where he was; not at his old flat in Kentish Town but in the new one in Kellston. This, in turn, reminded him that he still had a pile of unopened crates awaiting his attention. With a groan, he rolled out of bed and padded through to the bathroom.

  Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved and dressed, he was standing by the living room window eating a slice of toast and sipping from a mug of coffee while he gazed idly down on the street. Nothing much was happening. The shops weren’t open yet and even the station was quiet. There were only a few people passing by, on their way to work perhaps, or going home after a night shift.

  He lifted his eyes to the pale blue sky. It was going to be another nice day, but only nice, he suspected, in the meteorological sense; he wasn’t looking forward to his appointment with Sam Kendall or the memories it was bound to revive about the tragic Minnie Bright case. Before the prospect could cast too great a shadow, he pushed it to the back of his mind. He’d agreed to the meeting and there was no point in stressing over things he couldn’t change.

  Turning, he walked across the room, put his mug down on the table and surveyed the surrounding chaos. His heart sank. Just how much stuff did one human being need? He’d had a major clear-out before leaving Kentish Town, but he still appeared to be in possession of enough for a family of five.

  For the next few hours he worked methodically, unpacking the crates one at a time and finding a place for everything before moving on to the next. As he filled cupboards, wardrobes and drawers, his thoughts drifted to the previous night and his first sight of the lovely Aimee Locke. He had a weakness for beautiful women, especially tall, cool blondes, and he wondered if her personality was as seductive as her appearance. Not that it was any of his business. His only business was in finding out whether she was a faithful wife or not.

  From Monday, one of their full-time employees, Warren James, would be doing the sur
veillance during the day. Harry would take over the watch in the evening. Usually these jobs were the height of tedium, with endless hours spent doing nothing more interesting than sitting in the van twiddling one’s thumbs and waiting for something to happen. He wondered if Martin Locke had really needed to go away this week, or if he was simply giving Aimee enough rope to hang herself with.

  Harry’s thoughts were still fixed on the long, shapely legs of his client’s wife as he dug into one of the crates and came across two framed photographs: one was of his father taken a few Christmases ago, the other of himself and Valerie. Both of the pictures, for different reasons, made demands on his conscience.

  It was over a fortnight since he’d last phoned his dad, and he knew that a call was overdue. He’d been putting it off, the way he put off anything uncomfortable. Their conversations were always strained. His father, a firm believer in repression over expression, was of the stiff-upper-lip school of thought: bad stuff was to be swept under the carpet, feelings never discussed. Harry still couldn’t work out whether this had been the cause or the result of his mother’s desertion. Whatever the reason, she had walked out when Harry was five and had never – as far as he knew – been in touch since.

  He glanced at his phone, thought about it, then decided to ring later. It usually helped to have a glass of whisky to hand when he made these calls, and it was too early to start drinking. As a salve to his conscience, however, he placed the photograph in a prominent position on top of the bookcase.

  Walking back across the room, he picked up the second picture and sighed. Valerie’s smiling face could not be so easily dealt with. Over the past few months they’d been seeing more and more of each other, sliding back into a relationship that if not exactly passionate was certainly easy and comfortable. They knew each other inside out, too well perhaps, and it was only a matter of time before a decision would have to be made about their future. Did she want them to get back together on a permanent basis? Did he? They were questions he didn’t have any answers to at the moment. Harry stared down at the photo before opening the top left-hand drawer of the dresser and slipping it inside.