Frank said nothing. Farrelly smirked and folded up his knife. My only option was to get out, which would have been a whole lot easier if Eddie hadn’t whimpered, ‘Please don’t go, Kenny’, like a six-year-old begging not to be left in the dark.
‘It’s your own fault,’ I snapped. ‘None of this would be happening if you hadn’t nicked the fucking booze.’
I descended the stairs and retraced my steps back into the kitchen. After locking the door, I walked into the street and threw up into a drain. Then I dropped the keys through its puke-spattered bars. A passing brass tut-tutted. I told her to fuck off and she returned the compliment before tottering off towards Old Compton Street.
I wiped my mouth, took a couple of deep breaths, and began walking in the opposite direction.
After leaving the Galaxy, I went on a forty-eight-hour bender that took me another forty-eight to recover from. The same agency that had placed me with Frank found me a job as a barman in a Bloomsbury hotel. Its concierge wasn’t constantly reminding me what a cunt I was and the guests didn’t carry concealed weapons.
Sometimes it’s the little things you miss.
After shifts, I found myself drifting towards Soho like a rudderless schooner. Before long I ran into Brian and took up where I’d left off. Within a fortnight I’d been late for work twice and the manager gave me my cards. I kidded myself that it was all for the best and that I could concentrate on writing my first novel.
Weeks turned into months that concertinaed into years. I took a series of casual jobs that generated enough cash to live on, as long as I didn’t want uninterrupted supplies of protein or electricity. In September ’82 a sign appeared outside the Galaxy saying that it was up for sale. By this time Frank’s soft-core porn juggernaut was gathering serious momentum and I suppose the club was a distraction.
Two years ago it became a Tesco Metro.
ELEVEN
The morning after finding Harry Parr’s body, I awoke and stared at the ceiling until my loaded bladder could be denied no more. My secondary requirement was water. I filled a pint glass from the kitchen tap and dispatched it in one go. While I was contemplating a second, my phone rang.
‘Hi, Odeerie.’
‘Christ, you sound rough.’
‘Bit of a heavy night.’
‘Anything to do with Frank Parr’s daughter?’
‘You know about that?’
‘It’s all over the news.’
‘What are they saying?’
‘That she’s been found dead. It puts me in a bloody awkward position with the credit card.’
‘You’ve got the info?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘The cops are going to be checking things out. If they twig that someone’s logged into her account, they’ll want to know why.’
‘Isn’t your guy authorised?’
‘The system leaves a footprint.’
‘So tell him to exercise his imagination.’
‘Thanks, Kenny. That’s a big help.’
‘Go on, then,’ I said. ‘Where had she been using the card?’
‘Information on payment. In cash.’
‘I feel like shit.’
‘Not my problem.’
‘Can’t I drop the money off tomorrow?’
Odeerie didn’t even dignify this suggestion with an answer.
‘When can I come round?’ I asked.
‘How about an hour or so?’
‘Sure you won’t have popped out to do a bit of shopping?’
‘That’s fucking hilarious, Kenny,’ Odeerie said. ‘I’m pissing myself with laughter here.’ The line went dead and I refilled my glass.
So much for keeping the fat man sweet.
I switched on the BBC News channel and didn’t have to wait long. The newsreader announced that a body had been found. The police had confirmed it was that of Harriet Parr, but made no further comment. We were told that Harry was the youngest child of media magnate Frank Parr and shown a clip of Fairview Lodge. Three police vans were in attendance, and a couple of bouquets had been laid against the gate.
Despite the water, plus a cup of coffee, plus two rounds of toast, plus three Nurofen, making me feel marginally better, the idea of leaving the flat was about as attractive as mounting an attempt on the Eiger. The information about Harry’s card use was irrelevant now that she’d used her PIN for the final time.
Left to my own devices, I would have returned to bed. But I’d promised to stump up Odeerie’s cash and at least he was only a quarter of a mile away. I took a shower, pulled on some clothes and set out to face the day.
At eleven in the morning the need for Kamagra, poppers and/or Czech housewife audition DVDs is probably at its lowest. Nevertheless a bearded man in a Che Guevara T-shirt was raising the shutters outside Mega Mags & Vids at the eastern end of Brewer Street. The rattle this made almost caused me to miss the trill of my Samsung. Hoping it wasn’t DI Standish wanting to make another appointment, I pressed the Accept button.
‘Hello.’
‘Kenny, it’s Frank.’
I stopped in my tracks.
‘You still there?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m here. Look, Frank, I’m so sorry about Harry. I tried to call you last night but . . .’
‘I got your message,’ he said. ‘The police said you were the one who found her, but they wouldn’t tell me much more.’
‘Where are you now?’ I asked.
‘On my way back into town. I identified the body half an hour ago. Kenny, I want to know everything that happened, including anything the police told you.’
I took him through the events of the previous day, excluding the details as to the state of Harry’s body. The poor sod already knew about that.
‘That’s everything?’ he asked when I’d finished. ‘Nothing you’ve left out?’
‘Nope,’ I said. ‘That’s it.’
A gap in the conversation during which all I could hear was the thrum of a car engine. Presumably Farrelly was at the wheel.
‘Did the police say how Harry died?’ I asked.
‘They said it looked like strangulation.’
‘Whoever did it, Frank, there’s a better-than-average chance they’ll nail him.’
‘I want you to carry on.’
‘With what?’
‘Are there any leads you haven’t followed up?’
‘A couple,’ I said, thinking of Dervla, and Callum Parsons. ‘But don’t you think it’s best to let the police take it from here on in?’
‘Nothing you do will get in their way.’
‘Maybe, but the thing is . . .’
‘I asked you to find Harry and you found her. Two more days, that’s all I’m asking.’
I could have said no.
I should have said no.
I didn’t say no.
‘If you’re sure that’s what you want, Frank.’
‘It’s what I want,’ he said, and hung up.
Odeerie was still in a pissy mood when I arrived at his flat. If his mole at the card company cracked, the boys in blue would be over him like dermatitis. They’d also take a serious interest in his hard drives, and almost certainly want him to attend the station. Not a happy prospect for the secrecy-obsessed agoraphobic.
Counting out four grand’s worth of fifties into his pudgy paw went some way towards lightening his mood. He transferred the notes into his office safe and took out a piece of folded paper. ‘You didn’t get that from me, Kenny.’
‘Course not,’ I said.
‘I mean you really didn’t get it from me.’