Angel of Death

Sandra! Was she alone or had she brought that waste-of-space, Jack, with her?

The question was answered for him a second later when Jack said ‘We’re on our way to Southampton, going on a Mediterranean cruise. Starting at Toulon, flying back from Istanbul. Twenty wonderful days. Ever been on a cruise, Sean?’

‘We went to the States one year, on the QEII.’ Sean’s voice was apathetic. ‘It was OK.’

‘How did your engagement party go?’ Sandra asked. ‘Any piccies, Sean? I can’t wait to see your girl.’

‘In the top drawer of my desk,’ Terry flatly said from the doorway and they all looked round at him.

‘Oh, hello, Tel,’ Sandra said, looking him up and down.

Jack gave him a placatory grin. ‘Hi, there, Terry, how’re you?’

‘Go and get the photos, Sean, don’t just stand there gaping!’ Terry ordered. He got angrier every time he set eyes on his son.

‘Don’t snap at the boy!’ Sandra bristled.

Her hair was a brighter gold than ever; courtesy of a recent visit to the hairdresser, noted Terry. It suited her, though; he had to admit he liked it, especially when it had just been done and her dark roots didn’t show. She wore twice as much eye make-up as she needed, looking like Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra; a very blonde Cleopatra, of course, but with the same sultry stare, the same red mouth, the same long, dangly Egyptian earrings which chimed and shimmered every time she turned her head. The leopard-skin clinging dress she wore was heavily sexy, too.

To his own irritation, Terry wanted her. Bitch. Why did he still feel like this? What was it about her that got him even now? The over-the-top allure, the come-hither smile? Or just plain sexiness? Whatever women needed to have, Sandra had it. In spades. It really bugged him that Jack had her in his bed.

Why had she left him for that loser? He would never know, couldn’t fathom it. It couldn’t have been money. Terry had more money. What did Jack have? He was a crook; obvious where his money had come from. He and Sandra threw the stuff around as if it would last forever.

But if you spend it, you haven’t got it any more. When it was all gone what could Jack do but go back to the old life; to crime and risk. Sandra couldn’t have fallen for Jack’s looks, either. He wasn’t anything special. Just a big, noisy git.

Am I still jealous? Terry asked himself angrily, and knew the answer was yes. He had never got over Sandra leaving him for a man he despised.

Sean came back with the photos, handed them to his mother who began flipping through them, excla

iming.

‘She’s a lovely girl. You’re a very lucky boy. And her father’s got all that money, too! Jammy little bastard, aren’t you?’

‘How’s your business?’ Jack asked Terry.

‘Great. What are you doing?’

Jack’s eyes shifted. ‘I’m retired, you know that. We’ve just been up to Manchester to see my family. My nephew’s wife had a baby a month ago, it was being christened. I was godfather.’

‘You were?’ Terry said, brows lifting. ‘I didn’t know you had even been into a church.’

Jack glowered. ‘It’s just a ritual, you don’t have to be religious, my bro said. It was a terrific party. All the family there. And while we were in Manchester we visited a few old friends.’ He gave Terry a quick, searching look. ‘Someone told me you had just been up there. Rumour was you had called in to see Bernie. I saw him, myself, but he was as tight-lipped as a clam about your visit. He’s looking old, isn’t he? He’s paralysed, you know; shot in the spine, a turf fight with the Yardies. He never recovered properly. Don’t suppose he’s got long.’

‘Bernie’s tough. He’s a survivor.’

Sandra suddenly chimed in, staring across the room at them, ‘Why were you up there? You always said you’d never go back, you were out of everything. What’s changed?’

Sean moodily swung away, stood with his back to them, staring out of the window, his hands stuck in the back pockets of his old jeans.

‘We’ve got ourselves into some trouble,’ Terry carefully said. ‘I needed Bernie’s help, that’s all.’

‘Me,’ Sean grated without looking round. ‘I’m in trouble, that’s what he means.’

His mother went over to him, put her hand on his arm, stroked her long, red-nailed fingers up and down. ‘What sort of trouble, boysie? Anything we can do to help? We’d be glad to, you know that.’

Terry was silent. If Sean wanted to talk it was up to him. After a minute Sean said, ‘Girl trouble. Look, she drowned, somehow; the police haven’t found the body, but there was a witness. The police have stuck her away somewhere, we have to find her. Dad thought this guy Bernie might be able to help, might get a cop to tap into the police computer, find her address.’

‘She drowned?’ Sandra repeated. She had gone pale under her tan. She looked at Terry, who stared back without expression. ‘Does he mean what I think he means?’ Terry didn’t answer. Sandra broke out, ‘My God, Sean, how could you be so stupid? If her body turns up they’ll put you away for years.’