Next morning Annie awoke in the master suite of the Holland Park house, to find Max sleeping beside her. They’d started off in separate bedrooms, but some time during the night he’d obviously decided he wanted to be in here, with her. As she stared at him, so peaceful, his navy-blue eyes opened and looked into hers.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Hi,’ said Annie.
After a moment, Max stretched, yawned and then pulled her in against his naked skin.
‘Did all that just happen?’ he murmured against her hair.
‘It did. And it’s over now,’ she said, cuddling in close against him. Her rib protested, but she didn’t care. She’d missed this close contact with him so much.
Yeah, but has he forgiven you? Have you won, or lost?
‘You went to Sicily to see Gina,’ said Annie. ‘You didn’t . . . ?’
‘Oh, come on. She was sick, frail. It was her heart. It just gave out.’
‘Right.’
‘And did Golden Boy really say he’s knocked up my daughter?’
Annie disentangled herself, moved to the edge of the bed and slipped on her robe. ‘I’ll make some tea,’ she said.
An hour and a half later, DCI Hunter was standing on their doorstep with a new companion at his side. This one was male, tall, and not at all sour-faced like DS Sandra Duggan had always been whenever she was close to Annie Carter.
‘Mrs Carter, I just wanted a word,’ said Hunter. He half-turned to the younger man with him. ‘This is DS Nolan.’
Annie nodded to the handsome, bright-eyed young man and opened the door wide. ‘You’d better come in then,’ she said, and they followed her and Max inside the house. Annie led the way to the drawing room and indicated that they should sit. Max stayed at the back of the room, standing by the door.
‘Where’s DS Duggan then? I miss her smiling face, I really do,’ said Annie.
Hunter gave her a look. ‘On a training course. DS Nolan’s filling in.’
‘What’s this about?’ asked Annie, sitting down.
‘We’ve been checking the telephone records at the Blue Parrot and the Palermo club and the Shalimar. The Blue Parrot received a lot of international calls. Some from Barbados, but others too.’
‘Where did these other calls come from?’ asked Annie, but she knew.
‘Sicily,’ said Hunter.
‘The Palermo had some calls from Barbados to Miss Farrell.’
‘That was me, phoning Doll.’
‘None to the Shalimar at all.’
Annie and Max exchanged a look. Poor old Gina Barolli. Losing her marbles and telling secrets to Gary. Who tried to cash in, like the grasping bastard he was – and found himself in too deep, falling foul of Redmond Delaney.
‘What you were saying, Mrs Carter,’ Hunter went on. ‘What Sandy Farrell told you . . .’
‘About the train driver,’ said Annie. ‘Arthur Biggs?’
‘Who took his own life,’ said Hunter.
‘He couldn’t live with the guilt,’ said Annie. ‘Sam Farrell’s death was murder. Redmond Delaney told us what happened. It wasn’t an accident. All Sam Farrell’s co-workers were told what he was, what he’d been doing to his daughters, and they ganged together in a mob and killed him. And really? I don’t blame them.’
‘A dirty business,’ said Hunter.
‘Yeah,’ said Annie, thinking that it wasn’t finished, not yet.
When Hunter and his DS left, she phoned Tony and told him what to do.