“Their names are tattooed on your shoulder blades,” says Steve. “Elizabeth and Louisa.”
Mickey shakes his head and smiles to himself.
“God rest ’em both,” says Mickey.
“Lou and Bet,” says Steve.
“Lou and Bet,” repeats Mickey. He thinks for a long while, then smiles. “That’s all you got?”
Steve shrugs. “It’s just good to know I’m right, that’s all. I’m happy I worked it out. And that’s why you should always wear a T-shirt in the sauna.”
“I’ll buy the next round,” says Mickey. “There’s your reward.”
“I don’t want a drink from you,” says Steve.
Mickey nods. “Let me tell you something, Steve Wheeler. I was raised, back and forth, between my two grans. My mum died; my dad disappeared. I never asked why, and no one ever told me. But those two women were the making of me.”
“Lou and Bet,” says Steve.
“Lou and Bet. They taught me to work hard, to save what you earn, to look after your friends and family, and, most of all, never be flash. No one likes a show pony. So I live a quiet life. My villa’s got everything I need. Little pool, thirty seconds to the golf course, spare bedrooms for the kids and grandkids to visit. No one is ever going to be knocking at the door, asking how I can afford it. The police have looked into me from time to time. Inevitable with the company I’ve had to keep over the years. But if you have the choice of investigating a man with a Lamborghini or a man who drives a Volvo estate, who do you investigate?”
“So why do it?” says Steve.
“How long have I got left on the planet? Twenty years or so? When I die my son and daughter are going to be very surprised. They’ll be expecting to be left a bit, for sure. The villa’s worth a few bob, but they won’t be expecting two point six billion.”
“Billion?” says Steve, smiling. “Family. You’d do anything for them, eh?”
“I’d do anything for them,” says Mickey.
“Me too,” says Steve. “That’s why you picked on the wrong person this time.”
Mickey laughs. “I’ll need to keep an eye on you and Amy from now on. But if you leave me be, I’ll leave you be.”
“Afraid not,” says Steve. “You’ve killed innocent people. And you’ve tried to kill my daughter-in-law.”
“It’s all business,” says Mickey.
“Mickey,” says Steve, “your family is not more important than my family. I promise I’ll leave you alone when you’re in prison. Probably Al-Awir, where you had Courtney Lewis killed.”
“If you say so, old son,” says Mickey. “But I’m not sure my tattoos are the killer evidence you think they are.”
“No, the tattoos just helped me piece it all together,” says Steve. “That’s how I knew you were Loubet. And that’s why I was able to get the video evidence.”
“No one’s been videoing me,” says Mickey. “No one even photographs me. I’m just a boring old man. No one’s watching.”
“And yet I know you left your house at 2:05 with that long canvas bag, and that you returned home a little faster at 2:31, one minute after Rob Kenna was shot, canvas bag unzipped, shotgun on show.”
“Impossible,” says Mickey. “I’d have seen if you were hanging around filming me. You’re not that good.”
“No one was hanging around, Mickey,” says Steve. “Though a bodyguard called Abby’s been busy this afternoon.”
“Riddles, Steve,” says Mickey. “No one ever got convicted on riddles.”
“Well,” says Steve. “My final question should clear it up for you.”
“Go on,” says Mickey. “What’s your final question?”
Steve drains the last of his pint and places it, carefully, back down on the table. “What sort of doorbell do you have, Mickey?”
97
You have to change your angle sometimes, if you want to see what’s right in front of you.
On that hot wet pavement, with his life slowly leaving his body, Archer can finally see it all.
There are pools of light from gas lamps, but they’re useless against the dark, useless against the shadows that haunt these black streets. Shine as many lights as you want, but Soho, that dirty old town, always has a way of staying hidden.
Archer thought he’d had him this time, could taste it like iron and gunmetal. After all those years hunting, there he was. The man people swore was a ghost, right in front of him. This whisper of a man, spiriting himself through the Soho underground of jazz clubs and dive bars, no two people ever seeing the same thing.
“I’ve seen the cat, sure, electric-blue suit, three women on his arm.”
“I met the dude once, I’m sure. Taller than a doorway, cane tipped with gold.”
“If you ever see him, make sure you unsee him fast.”
“Now that Archer had finally seen him, seen the flesh and blood, he finally understood.”
• • •
