‘Not much you can do if they get a court order.’
‘We wipe the footage every seven days, which means there won’t be anything for them to look at.’ By now Bella had another Sobranie on the go.
‘You can’t just destroy crucial evidence.’
‘I’ll do whatever I like with my own property.’
‘But it could mean that . . .’
‘However, if I have your word as a gentleman that you won’t go to the police, then I might ask Michael to hang on to this particular clip.’
‘What makes you think I’m a gentleman?’
‘I have an instinct for these things.’
As though to emphasise that the footage might be available sooner rather than later, Bella went into another coughing fit. Her frail body writhed in much the same way mine had ten minutes earlier. The cigarette dropped from her fingers. Michael picked it up and ground it out in the ashtray.
‘Can you let yourself out?’ he said.
‘You’ll hang on to the clip?’ I asked.
He shrugged and said, ‘If that’s what I’m told to do.’
Bella succeeded in bringing her coughing under control. She grabbed a tissue and wiped congealed flecks of spittle from her mouth. Michael poured her a glass of water. She took a few sips. ‘I’m glad you came to visit, Kenny.’
‘It’s certainly been an experience,’ I said.
‘Isn’t that what life is about? The intensity of our experiences?’
‘You mean beautiful sunsets and the happy sound of children’s laughter?’
Bella smiled and pulled the gown tighter. ‘Children never did it for me and once you’ve seen one damn sunset you’ve seen them all.’ She peered at me through the haze of cigarette smoke. ‘Tell me you wouldn’t like to put the mask on again.’
‘I wouldn’t like to put the mask on again.’
‘Really? Then how about we strap it on to Michael and see how long he lasts? Wouldn’t you enjoy revenge, Kenny? It would be delightful to watch.’
Michael’s face remained impassive. I wondered how many intense experiences he had gone through in La Cage, and how many had been at Bella’s hand.
Was he hoping for a yes, or hoping for a no?
‘Maybe another time,’ I said.
TWENTY-ONE
The Snake Pit was on Farringdon Road. Its plate-glass windows had been blacked out and the club emblem burnished on to them: a grinning cobra in sunglasses above a large pile of gambling chips and a pair of crossed cues.
I paid off the cabbie and pushed through a pair of double doors into a small anteroom. On the walls were framed pictures of guys holding up trophies, or hunched over card and pool tables. A poster that was a week out of date called for entries to an upcoming High Roller competition. Behind a desk was a blonde in her thirties, reading a copy of The One Minute Manager.
‘Welcome to the Snake Pit, sir,’ she said in an Eastern European accent. ‘Can I ask if you are a member?’
‘Is Rocco Holtby in tonight?’
‘Are you Rocco’s guest?’
‘I’m his brother.’ The girl frowned. ‘His older brother.’
‘All guests must be signed in,’ she said.
‘Look, the thing is I haven’t seen Rocco in five years and I was hoping to surprise him. How about you just let me go in and say . . .’
‘It is Rocco’s birthday?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘He didn’t say anything.’
‘You know what it’s like when you get past forty. At least you will in another twenty years.’ The girl smiled. ‘Once I’ve wished Rocco happy birthday, we’ll come back out and he can sign me in officially.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘He is in the club, then?’
‘Yes, but it is against procedure.’
‘It would mean so much to us both . . .’
The sound of clacking pool balls competed with that of a jukebox playing an old Simple Minds track. Behind the bar, three people were serving drinks. A couple of guys perched on high stools looked as though they would crumble to dust in natural light. In marked contrast was a shaven-headed bloke in a cheap suit that struggled to make it across his chest. Judging by the way he was routinely scanning the place, I guessed Beefy was employed to keep the peace.
The poker area was at the end of the room where music was less likely to prove a distraction. Each of the four baize tables was in use. Most players had the intense concentration of people trying to expel cumbersome turds. Poker didn’t look a lot of fun, but what did I know?
Rocco’s Stetson had been perched on the corner of his chair. He was wearing a black shirt and mirrored glasses. Of the six people congregated around the table, only three held cards. It appeared the game was nearing its conclusion. As the receptionist would be expecting me back, I had no option other than to tap Rocco on the shoulder. His fellow players didn’t look happy about the intrusion. Nor did Rocco.
‘Fuck do you want?’ he asked after laying his cards face down on the table.
‘I’ve just been to La Cage.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Why did you lie to me about not having spoken to Harry Parr for weeks?’
‘Who says I lied?’
‘The CCTV footage I’ve just watched.’
‘Is there a problem?’ the croupier asked.
‘No problem,’ I said, and then, to Rocco, ‘On the night I think she went missing the two of you left the club together.’
‘So what?’
‘It makes you a suspect when it comes to her murder. That’s so what.’
A guy in his twenties sporting a mullet and a baseball cap exchanged glances with a porky woman sporting a pair of blue-lensed glasses. However good they might be at cards, none of Rocco’s companions would win any style awards.
‘Can’t you see I’m working?’ he said to me. ‘Do I bother you when you’re blowing cocks?’
The comment caused a few titters around the table. It also annoyed the shit out of me. I extended a hand and flipped Rocco’s cards over.
‘Mr Holtby folds.’
General uproar ensued, not least of all from the other two players still in the game. Rocco got to his feet. ‘I had three fucking grand on that, you wanker,’ he shouted. By now all eyes in the Snake Pit were upon us.
‘Oh, dear,’ I said. ‘Still, I’m sure a player of your calibre could make that back in a couple of hours.’
‘Couple of years, you mean,’ muttered Mullet Boy. It didn’t improve Rocco’s mood any.
‘You are in deep shit, my friend,’ he said.
‘Is that right?’ I asked. ‘Because when Frank Parr hears about this . . .’
A forearm the size of a baby porpoise fastened around my neck and started dragging me backwards. Rocco walked in front of me as I was hauled between the tables like a sack of coal, the backs of my heels bouncing on the carpet. His smile suggested this went some way towards making up for the money he’d allegedly lost.
I was dragged through a fire exit into an alley that had half a dozen industrial-sized refuse bins in it. The bouncer straightened me up and pushed me away. I staggered across the alley into one of the bins. The impact had me seeing stars. Eventually I’d get up off my hands and knees, but it wouldn’t be any time soon.