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  There were, of course, no handy diaries or old address books. She did find, however, a couple of A4 Jiffy bags and she pulled them out to take a closer look. The first contained the original mortgage papers for the Islington flat, insurance details, solicitor’s letters and the like. All dry legal stuff. Nothing, she could see, that was of any particular interest. The second looked more promising: inside was a small bundle of handwritten letters still in their airmail envelopes and tied with an elastic band. Ah, at last! Something more personal.

  A quick flick through showed her that the letters had been sent from Paris to an address in Budapest and were from a woman called Ann-Marie Allis. Her name was on the back of the envelopes. Love letters? Possibly. She felt a flicker of jealousy, resentment, even though she knew it was irrational. Everyone had a past and Tom was no exception. It was, perhaps, the fact he’d kept them, that they’d clearly meant something to him, that made her feel faintly threatened.

  The dates on the envelopes were from June to December 1967. That was a shame. A year earlier could have gone some way towards proving that Tom wasn’t living in London when the robbery took place. She pulled out the first sheets of paper and discovered they were written in French. Her schoolgirl grasp of the language, although enabling her to understand a sentence here or there, was by no means good enough for a proper translation. She would have to sit down with a dictionary.

  Eden was aware that Tom was unlikely to be happy about her reading the letters, but decided to take them home with her anyway. There could be clues inside, important information about what he’d been doing and when. Maybe even a mention of Jack Minter. Or was she just using all that as an excuse to satisfy her own curiosity?

  She was still pondering on this when she heard a noise behind her. Startled, she whirled round to find herself face to face with a stranger. She pulled in a breath, the gasp clearly audible in the quiet of the studio.

  ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  The man was in his forties, stocky with a plump, pale face and receding sandy-coloured hair. ‘No need to panic, love. Police.’ He reached into the pocket of his overcoat, took out his warrant card and held it up. ‘DI Vic Banner. And I’m presuming you’re the wife, yeah? Eden, is it?’

  Eden continued to stare at him. ‘How did you get in here?’

  Banner raised his eyebrows. ‘The front door was open. You should be more careful, love. Anyone could walk in.’

  ‘I locked it. I locked the front door.’

  ‘No, it was definitely open.’

  ‘It was not,’ she insisted, refusing to back down. She wondered if he’d used Tom’s keys but didn’t bother to ask. He was hardly likely to admit it. ‘What do you want? Why are you here?’

  ‘I was just passing and saw the light was on. I wouldn’t have been doing my duty if I hadn’t checked it out. I mean, there could have been a burglary in progress. You never know, do you?’ He glanced around the studio. ‘And there’s some expensive kit in here. Be a shame if some thieving toerag decided to help himself.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to worry on that score. As you can see everything’s in order. So if there’s nothing else? I wouldn’t want to keep you.’

  ‘And what exactly are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?’ A sly smile crept on to his lips. ‘Not trying to dispose of evidence, I hope.’

  Eden saw the way he was looking her up and down, his eyes lingering on her breasts, judging her, assessing her, and not in any professional capacity. The guy was a slimeball. ‘What do you think?’ she replied. ‘Tidying up after you lot turned the place upside down, of course. You hardly left it like you found it. And anyway, what kind of evidence could there be? My husband is innocent. You’ve got it all wrong, seriously wrong, and when the truth comes out —’

  Banner gave a snort. ‘Shit, I wish I had a pound for every time I’d heard that. Not been married long, have you, love? What is it, a year or so? Sometimes people aren’t always what they appear to be. They have dirty little secrets that their nearest and dearest know nothing about.’

  Eden gave a thin smile. ‘Perhaps you’re right – but not in this case.’ She casually placed the letters back in the safe as though she was simply tidying them away. The thought of Banner getting his hands on them sent anxious flutters through her chest. ‘If you knew Tom, knew him properly, you’d realise what an awful mistake you’d made.’

  ‘You don’t know him, love. You just think you do.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  Banner shrugged, the gesture belying the glint of malice in his eyes. ‘Or maybe you like the bad boys, huh? Maybe that’s what attracted you in the first place. Some women get off on that kind of thing.’

  Eden, aware that he was goading her, bit her lip and didn’t rise to the bait. He wanted to provoke a reaction, to get under her skin, and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. She kept her voice clear and calm as she replied, ‘Tom is a good, honest man and what you’re doing to him is criminal. It’s unjust. It’s a travesty.’

  ‘A travesty, huh?’ Banner grinned as if the word amused him. ‘Our witness doesn’t think so. He reckons your husband is a murderer.’

  ‘So I’ve heard. And what does your witness do for a living? A decent upstanding member of the community, is he? Reliable? Honest?’

  Banner took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one and blew the smoke in her direction. ‘He’s a robber, just like your old man. Sometimes it takes one to know one.’

  ‘He’s a liar.’

  ‘Maybe – but not about this. It’s been on his conscience, you see, what happened all those years ago. It doesn’t sit nicely with him. He wants to put things right.’

  ‘What he wants to do is save his own skin by putting Tom in the frame. It’s simple. Why can’t you see that?’ Eden paused before adding, ‘And please don’t drop ash all over the carpet. There’s an ashtray on the desk.’

  Banner took another drag on his cigarette, gave her a look and then went over to reception. He glanced back over his shoulder. ‘You might think you’re the loyal type, but you’ll soon get sick of it. The prison visiting, I mean. Week in, week out. The conversation quickly runs dry. And we’re not talking a few months here; it’s going to be years, fifteen, twenty. How old will you be by then?’

  ‘Why are you saying all this?’

  ‘Just trying to be helpful, love. Truth is, I feel sorry for you. I wouldn’t want to see a nice girl like you waste half her life on a scumbag like Tom Chase.’

  Eden was battling to keep her anger under control. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘I think I can live without your pity, thanks all the same. Has it not even entered your head that you could be completely and utterly wrong?’

  Banner picked up the ashtray and walked back towards her. ‘Ditto,’ he said, smirking. ‘How much do you really know about that husband of yours?’

  ‘Enough to be sure he’s innocent. You’re chasing the wind, Inspector. You’ll find that out soon enough.’

  ‘You’re just another victim, love, and the sooner you realise it the better.’

  ‘The only victim here is Tom.’

  Banner stubbed out his fag, looked at his watch and dumped the ashtray on the top of a filing cabinet. ‘We should have a proper chat soon. You’ll have to come down the station. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she said drily.

  ‘And think about what I said, yeah? You’ve got your whole future ahead of you. Don’t waste it on a man like that. He’s going down, love. There’s no doubt about it.’ He gave her a breezy wave and walked out of the door. ‘Cheerio, then. Have a nice evening.’

  Eden stood very still, her hands slowly clenching into two tight fists. She remembered what Caitlin had said about the police. Well, she’d just met the enemy face to face and didn’t like what she’d seen. The devil was in Vic Banner’s eyes and it scared the hell out of her.

  9

  Rose Rudd was an old hand when it
came to prison visiting. Of the thirty years she and Archie had been married, he’d spent more time banged up than on the out, but she didn’t resent him for it. That was just the way it was. She’d known the deal when they’d tied the knot and there wasn’t any point in complaining about it now.

  An icy wind whipped around the corner and blasted her face. She dropped her chin into the collar of her coat, pushed her hands deeper into her pockets and shivered. God, she hated February: the cold, the bleakness, the sense of summer still being such a long way away. The women in the queue shuffled and sighed, impatient to be inside. And not so much for the men they were about to see, but just to get warm again.

  Rose let her gaze drift along the faces. She knew the expressions, had seen them all a thousand times before: young girls who had made an effort with their hair and clothes and make-up, still with that eagerness in their eyes, still looking forward to a couple of snatched hours with the man they loved; the middle-aged women who had seen it all and done it all before but would still paint on a smile for the benefit of their spouse; the old ones with resignation etched into their features.

  Over the weeks the faces would become familiar and temporary friendships would be forged. News and gossip would be exchanged: hopes of parole, forthcoming appeals, who was down the block and why, who was cheating on their old man, whose old man was having visits from other women. Stuff to pass the time while they stood out in the cold, counting off the minutes.

  Rose, who was the sociable type and made friends easily, had to pull herself up short. It wouldn’t be like that this time. Archie’s decision – and she was still coming to terms with it – had altered everything. It was massive, life-changing. She would have to leave the place she loved and start again somewhere new. Even her name wouldn’t be the same. Rose Brown? Rose Smith? Did they let you choose or did it come with the package? A new identity so nobody knew who you really were.

  But the alternative was even worse: Archie banged up for the next twenty years. Watching the light go out of his eyes. Watching him grow old and fade away. No, she couldn’t cope with that. And when she thought about it, the East End wasn’t like it used to be. Half her neighbours had already moved out, shifting their families to Romford, to Chingford or Thetford. Everything was changing, the old life being swept away.

  The queue shuffled forward as the gates were opened and a murmur of relief rippled along the line. Rose booked in and waited for her number to be called. Fifteen minutes later, after going through the search procedure, she was in the visiting room with Archie.

  ‘You look tired, love,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I’m all right. I’m fine. It’s a bit nippy out there, though. Still, won’t be long before spring; be nice to see the sun again.’ Always cheerful, always ready to look on the bright side. ‘How have you been? I’ve left clean clothes at reception. Make sure they give them to you. You okay?’

  ‘Old Bill was here again.’

  ‘Yeah, well, they’re not going to leave you in peace, are they, not until they get what they want.’

  Archie chewed on his fingernails, glanced to the left and the right to make sure no one was earwigging and then leaned across the table. ‘You got to be careful, Rosie. Don’t say nothin’ to no one. If word gets out that —’

  ‘I know that!’ she hissed back. ‘What do you think, that I was born yesterday?’ Rose understood his concerns though. If anyone caught a whisper of what he was going to do there’d be hell to pay. The cons didn’t like grasses even though half of them were at it themselves. ‘I know the score.’

  ‘Course you do,’ he said, rubbing his face. ‘Sorry, love, it’s this place. Gets you all wound up.’

  ‘You’re doing the right thing. Just remember that.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘That Minter was well out of order and you know it. Someone has to stand up and tell it like it was. Why should he get away with it?’ Rose put on her indignant face, trying to gee him up. ‘The bastard should be doing life, ain’t no two ways about it. You’re doing everyone a favour by getting him off the streets.’

  Archie heaved out a sigh. ‘That’s not the way some will see it.’

  Rose thought back to that day sixteen years ago when the news had gone round about Paddy Lynch. Shocked, that’s what they’d all been. Who’d do a thing like that? Leaving him to die when the hospital was only down the road. Criminal, that’s what it was, disgusting. And Archie hadn’t said a word – she hadn’t even known that he’d been on the job. Not that living in ignorance was anything new to her; he rarely talked about his blags and, if the truth be told, she preferred it that way. But this had been different. She thought she could recall Don West coming round the house, all flushed and agitated, but it was a long time ago and her memories were sketchy.

  ‘How come you never told me about it? All these years and I never even —’

  ‘Because that’s what we decided. Not a word. Not to anyone. It was safer that way.’ Archie glanced furtively around again. ‘If Vera had got to hear, she’d have had us all down the nick in five minutes flat.’

  Rose pulled a face. Paddy Lynch’s widow was a bolshie, quick-tempered Scouser with a tongue like a whip. ‘As if I’d have said anything. You know me better than that.’

  ‘I know you wouldn’t, love. But how would you have felt when you met her in the street, when she was talking ’bout Paddy and you’d have to pretend you knew nothing? Knowing things makes you act different.’

  Rose suspected that he had a point. It was all very well sympathising with the woman but when you had to look her straight in the eye and lie… Well, that wasn’t so easy. She was glad now, relieved, that she hadn’t been in on it. Vera had gone all over the neighbourhood trying to discover who’d been on the job with Paddy – but she’d never found out.

  ‘They’ll be round to see you soon,’ Archie said. ‘The law, I mean. Careful what you say to them.’

  But Rose wasn’t going to lose any sleep over that. Old Bill didn’t bother her; she’d seen off more cops than she’d had hot dinners. ‘I’ll say the same as I always say: I don’t know nothin’ about it.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  Rose gazed across the table at her husband. There was something on his mind, something he was keeping back. What made her so sure? It was that shifty expression, the way his gaze kept sliding away. She’d been married to him long enough to know when he was holding out on her. ‘What is it?’

  ‘What’s what?’

  ‘Don’t give me that, Archie Rudd. What ain’t you telling me?’

  ‘Huh?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘I’ll find out eventually so you may as well come clean now.’

  ‘What are you talking about, woman?’ Archie’s mouth twisted with irritation. ‘Don’t start, yeah? I’ve got enough on my plate being in this dump. I don’t need you on my back too. Just leave it. Give it a rest.’

  She knew better than to pursue the matter. When Archie was in one of his stubborn moods there was no getting through to him; you might as well talk to a brick wall. ‘Our Davey sends his best. Says he’ll be in to see you next week.’

  ‘Don’t say nothin’ to him yet.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning to.’ It was hard for her, keeping the truth from her own son – especially when it was something as big as this – but she had to keep quiet until it was sorted. Davey wouldn’t be happy, that was for sure; no one wanted to have a snitch for a dad. When the time came she’d have to sit down with him, explain it all properly. It wasn’t a conversation she was looking forward to.

  ‘You okay for readies?’

  Rose gave a nod. Whenever they were in the money, she always had the sense to squirrel some away for the leaner days. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll cope. I always do, don’t I?’

  Archie reached out and gave her hand a pat, his way of apologising for being short with her before. He was never good at saying sorry; the word stuck like glue to his lips. ‘It’ll be all right, love. We’ll be
all right.’

  Rose nodded again. ‘Course we will.’ She said it with as much brightness as she could muster even though her instincts told her otherwise. As she smiled at her husband, she had a bad feeling in her bones, a creeping sense of dread. ‘Aren’t we always?’

  10

  The phone rang at precisely one minute past six. Max Tamer knew this because the evening news had just started as he picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’ There was a series of pips followed by the sound of coins being dropped into a callbox. He waited until the line had cleared before speaking again. ‘Yes?’