Without Conscience Read online

‘What sort of trouble?’

  ‘Apparently, he was being bullied.’

  I felt a pang in my stomach. The orphan boy bullied. I’d been there. I’d suffered the hurt and humiliation too, but I’d never had the courage to run away.

  ‘The poor sod,’ I murmured, my mind filled with an image of Peter when I’d first encountered him in that dark doorway, curled up, hiding from the night and all the cruelties of the world.

  ‘I’m ringing because we think that he’s headed back to London. Rose, my sister, thinks he’ll come looking for you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Of course, you. You’re his hero. He missed you. He said very little to my sister, but he was always happy talking about you. You never did get down to visit him, did you?’

  Another pang. This time of guilt. I had intended to go and see the lad, but it never happened. Things had cropped up and … well, I made excuses I suppose. Created reasons for not traipsing all the way down to Devon to see a ten-year-old boy I hardly knew. Well, that’s what I told myself.

  But I did know him.

  He was me.

  I should have gone and now I felt angry and disappointed with myself.

  I kept my reply simple. ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Well, now it’s likely that he’s coming to see you. He was spotted on a coach travelling to Exeter and no doubt he’ll have tried to get a train to London from there.’

  ‘The police have been informed then?’

  ‘Of course. Look Johnny, I’m just ringing to warn you. If he does turn up on your doorstep please let me know. Rose is out of her mind with worry. She blames herself …’

  ‘I understand. I’ll be in touch if … he …’ I found my throat getting very dry. ‘And please let me know if you hear any news.’

  ‘I will. OK then. Goodbye Johnny,’ she said, in a flat matter-of-fact voice. I could tell that she was disappointed in me too.

  I had hardly time to say my ‘Goodbye’ before she had put down the phone. The resulting click and buzz resonated accusingly in my ears.

  SEVEN

  ‘I’m hungry,’ Rachel said, as she slipped out of bed and started to dress.

  Harryboy grunted and stretched lazily, before reaching out for the packet of cigarettes and matches on the bedside table. ‘Yeah, well, I reckon you’ve earned some grub,’ he said, lighting up. ‘What say you and I slip out for a meal in some decent gaff, spoil ourselves a bit.’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘Yeah, it would, cos then we gotta get to work.’

  The smile on Rachel’s face faded. ‘Work? What d’you mean?’

  ‘We need to increase our stash, baby. Hotel rooms and fancy meals don’t come cheap.’

  Rachel was frowning now. A fearful notion had just struck her. ‘I’m not going on the game, if that’s what you had in mind. You can knock me about all you want, but I’m not up for that.’

  ‘Do I look like a pimp?’ Harryboy snapped, before blowing out a cloud of smoke that drifted past his face, obscuring his features.

  ‘What then? What d’you mean, work?’

  Harryboy grinned. It was an unsettling grin which turned his already unpleasant countenance into something resembling a lascivious gargoyle. ‘Patience, my sweet. Let’s eat first and talk about that later.’

  Rachel gave a reluctant nod and turned away so that he could not see the worried look on her face. What in Heaven’s name had she got herself into? Never had she been as reckless, her behaviour as outrageous and unfettered as she had been with Harryboy. She didn’t know what had possessed her. It was just that being in his company seemed to have intoxicated her with a strange feeling of release. She had sloughed off the shell of the old, dull, respectable Rachel, the girl who had only had one man in her life and only made love under the covers with the lights out. The chains of Welsh Methodist respectability had melted away and it was exciting. At least it had been exciting, daring even, in the heights of the physical passion … but now … now she was not so sure.

  Like a drunkard who had had a raucous time the night before, with the bleak dawn she felt differently. She felt ashamed and frightened. She was adrift on a vast dark sea with only one man for company – a man who had threatened to kill her.

  For a brief moment she wished she were back in Mumbles with boring Will. He wasn’t very exciting in bed, or anywhere else for that matter, but at least he had never hit her. She glanced back at Harryboy, who was still smiling as he watched the smoke from his cigarette spiral towards the ceiling. Although she found him attractive in a dangerous kind of way – he was probably the most exciting man she had ever met – now a little rat of fear gnawed at her innards. She knew, even at this early stage of their relationship, that there was no escape. She was the fly and she was well and truly caught in his treacherous web. Unless she was pliant to his demands, he would devour her. Despair settled like a dark dust on Rachel Howells’ heart.

  Later that evening they were finishing the best meal that Rachel had eaten for ages – possibly the best meal ever, she thought. Harryboy had taken her to a swanky restaurant, the kind of establishment she had never dreamed of being able to visit. It was the sort of place where crinkly white notes had more currency than food coupons. She began to realize that it wasn’t just the poor who exploited the black market. The restaurant was cocooned in a fake gentility. Both waiters and customers behaved in a blinkered artificial way which belied the reality of the war that had ravaged much of the city that lay just beyond its pampered portals.

  Harryboy had been at his most relaxed that evening and she had felt bold enough to ask him to tell her about himself.

  ‘What d’yer want to know? I’m very good in the sack! ‘Course y’know that already.’ He laughed at his own wit.

  Rachel blushed.

  ‘I’m a London boy. Brought up in Pimlico. Number seven, Waterloo Street. Brought up by my mum. Dad dropped dead a year after I was born. He was gassed in the last war and never got over it. That’s why you’ll never get me fighting. All those bastards sitting in offices in Whitehall drinking tea and sticking flags in maps while our lot are getting blown to smithereens. I’m not offering myself up for cannon fodder, I can tell you. Suppose I was a bit of a tearaway when I was a lad. Still am, eh? I was always the outlaw, the baddie when we were playing as kids. I was tough, see. And I had my hideout. When the goodies were after me, I always went to my hideout and no one would dare come and get me.’

  He chuckled at the memory.

  ‘I get easily bored,’ he continued, easy for the moment, talking about himself. ‘Can’t stand rules and regulations. That stuff is for little toads with thick glasses and celluloid collars.’

  ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

  Harryboy’s smile faded and his relaxed features stiffened. He hadn’t thought of his brother in a long while. He deliberately blanked him from his mind, but on occasions, he managed to slip past the shield. Rachel’s indirect reference to him was one of those occasions. Suddenly, he saw his face and could hear his voice and Harryboy was back in that railway yard. He heard the clanking and groaning of the shunting train. He smelled the smoke and oil of the locomotive. And he heard the scream again.

  ‘Yeah, I got a brother,’ he said gruffly, shaking off the memory as he might shake off an opponent. ‘What is this? The third degree?’

  ‘I was just interested.’

  ‘Look, darling, there’s no need for a history lesson about Harryboy Jenkins. What you see is what you get. OK?’

  She knew that he was effectively drawing the shutters on his past, so Rachel just nodded.

  At this moment the waiter arrived with their dessert course. This timely interruption helped to restore the relaxed mood once more. Harryboy, like a greedy schoolboy, devoured the pudding with glee.

  ‘Great stuff,’ he said, allowing his spoon to clang noisily into the empty dish.

  Rachel gazed across at her companion. Harryboy certainly knew how to live. He seemed at ease in these
surroundings. He had even given the waiter a large tip just to demonstrate his extravagance. Harryboy grinned at her, rubbing his tummy in a pantomime display of pleasure and then sat back in his chair cradling a brandy glass. ‘Now that’s what I call a tasty bit of grub. You enjoy that, angel?’

  Rachel nodded. ‘It was lovely.’

  ‘Good girl.’ The gargoyle grin returned. ‘You stick with me and I’ll see you all right.’

  Although he hadn’t mentioned it yet, Rachel knew that there would be a price to pay for such an allegiance and she felt sure it was a price that she wouldn’t care to pay.

  For a moment Harryboy stared reflectively at the brandy in the glass as he swirled the liquid around, as though hypnotized by its circular motion. She ventured to break the spell to ask him again about the ‘work’ he had mentioned, but she thought better of it. He didn’t like questions.

  Suddenly, he downed the brandy in one gulp, the fiery liquid causing him to choke a little.

  ‘That’s good stuff. I’d have another if we weren’t doing the business tonight.’

  Rachel leaned forward across the table. ‘What exactly do you mean?’

  Harryboy clutched her hands and lifted them to his lips and kissed them. ‘You’re my girl now, ain’t you?’

  There was something unnerving, threatening almost in this assertion which chilled Rachel. She knew there was only one response that would be acceptable. She lowered her lids and nodded gently. ‘I guess so,’ she said.

  ‘ ’Course you are. We’re good together, you and I. We’re a team.’

  She nodded, half delighted, half terrified.

  ‘Well, my dear, if we are going to continue enjoying ourselves in the current manner, we need to get our hands on some more dough. I’m running a bit low on funds. The old wallet ain’t as full as it was this mornin’ what with the hotel and this nice meal. Got to make sure we have enough to continue living life as we like it, don’t we? So, we need some more cash. And as far as I know there are only two ways of obtaining cash: get a job or take it. Now which method do you think appeals to me?’

  It was a question that did not require a reply.

  He released the hold on her hands and lit a cigarette. She waited for him to continue.

  ‘There’s an off-licence on the Old Kent Road. Stays open late. Little gold mine, I reckon. Just run by an old Jewish geezer. We’re going to do the place tonight. It’ll be a pushover.’

  Rachel’s stomach squirmed violently; she felt all the food she had just consumed rise up into her gullet so that she could taste it at the back of her throat. For one horrible moment she thought she was going to be sick.

  ‘You mean … rob it?’

  Casually, Harryboy blew a cloud of smoke over his shoulder. ‘That’s the idea, darling,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t …’ was all she managed to say.

  Harryboy smiled, but the eyes remained glacial. ‘Oh, yes you can, angel. Yes you can. And what’s more, you will. That’s if you still want to have a pretty face in the morning.’

  It was just after nine o’clock that evening when they drove slowly down the Old Kent Road past the off-licence. ‘That’s the place. Looks pretty quiet now,’ Harryboy said. He pulled the car into a side street less than a hundred yards away from the shop and turned off the engine.

  ‘Right, baby, as I explained, all I need is for you to be my lookout. I’ll do all the hard work. Me and my little friend.’ He pulled the gun from his jacket.

  Rachel’s blood ran cold at the sight of the weapon. ‘You’re not going to use that, are you?’

  ‘Nah. Not unless I have to. This is just a frightener. You’d be surprised how persuasive you can be with one of these in your hand.’ For a joke he pressed the muzzle of the gun to her forehead.

  She pulled away sharply. ‘Don’t … For God’s sake …’

  He giggled. Harryboy loved his little games.

  ‘Right. C’mon, let’s do the business.’

  In a trance-like state, Rachel followed Harryboy down the side street into the Old Kent Road towards the little off-licence. It was a cool dry night. A couple of pedestrians hurried past them, blurred shadows in the gloom.

  ‘Right. Wait outside. Keep watch. If anyone comes, delay them comin’ in.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Ask ‘em for a light or something. Use yer head. If you spot a copper, come in and let me know. I shouldn’t be long.’

  Pulling the collar of his coat up and tugging his hat down over his eyes, he went inside the shop.

  Rachel found herself alone and terrified on the pavement. She had wanted excitement and drama in her life when she left Mumbles to come to London, but she hadn’t expected this. To become involved in a crime. What would she be? An accessory to a robbery. And an armed robbery at that. In such a short time her life was spiralling out of control. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run away. But she knew she mustn’t and indeed she knew that she wasn’t capable of doing either.

  She gazed at the door of the off-licence and wondered what was going on inside. What drama was being played out beyond that shabby entrance? She prayed that Harryboy didn’t use the gun. He was so reckless, so hot headed; she knew in her heart that he wouldn’t think twice about shooting someone.

  The whole situation seemed so unreal. If only she could shut her eyes and in the darkness squeeze out this threatening reality, expunge it and wake up somewhere else. But she was too sensible to try. Her fear told her that this was her new reality.

  Suddenly she heard footsteps approaching, clip-clopping in a regular beat along the pavement and her heart gave a jump. They were the steady, even footsteps of a man. She peered into the darkness as the footsteps grew nearer. Emerging from the gloom was a tall figure with a familiar silhouette.

  It was a policeman.

  For a brief moment Rachel thought she would faint on the spot. She felt all the breath leave her body. She knew she should warn Harryboy, but her feet were glued to the pavement. Before she could do anything, the policeman approached her.

  ‘Evening miss,’ he said, in a kindly fashion, touching his helmet in a gentle salute. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yes … yes. Yes. I’m fine. I’m … just waiting for a friend.’

  The policeman nodded and smiled. ‘As long as everything’s all right …’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she nodded, her voice breathless and strained.

  He seemed not to notice her unease. ‘Good night, then.’

  He was a young fellow with a neat moustache and a kindly face. He saluted her once more before moving on.

  ‘Good night,’ she said faintly, her voice almost giving up.

  Thankfully, the policeman was soon swallowed up by the dark. For a brief while she could hear his footsteps and then even they faded away. She returned her gaze to the door of the off-licence. What on earth was going on in there? Why was Harryboy taking so much time?

  She glanced up and down the pavement. No one was coming either way. On impulse she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The interior was dimly lighted and smelt of alcohol and dampness. Harryboy was on the other side of the counter scooping money out of an ancient till. For a moment he froze and then pulled out the gun.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing in here?’

  ‘I was worried.’

  ‘So you should be,’ he said with a snarl slamming the till shut. ‘There’s bugger all in the till. I reckon there’s less than ten quid.’

  ‘Where’s the man … the shopkeeper?’

  ‘Down here.’ Harryboy glanced at his feet.

  Rachel leaned over the counter and saw the inert form of a little grey-haired man. His gold-rimmed glasses were broken and blood was streaming from a wound on his forehead.

  ‘He’s not dead, is he?’ she cried.

  ‘Nah. He should be by rights. He was an awkward devil. I had to clout him with the butt of my gun to make him see sense.’

  Harryboy gave the unconscious man a hearty k
ick.

  ‘Come on, let’s scarper,’ he snarled. ‘There’s no point in hanging around here. What a waste of time.’

  With great agility, he skipped over the counter and dragged Rachel out into the cold night air.

  ‘We’ll have to choose our target with more care next time. It’s not worth all the effort for ten bleedin’ quid,’ he was saying as they walked briskly down the road away from the off-licence.

  As they turned into the side road, they saw a figure standing by the car examining the number plate with his torch.

  It was the policeman Rachel had seen earlier.

  At the sound of their approach, he looked up and spotted them.

  Again, he saluted. ‘Hello, miss,’ he said, evenly. ‘I see you met your friend.’ He nodded at Harryboy. ‘Is this your car, sir?’

  For a moment Harryboy seemed lost for words. Cogs in his mind whirred, considering the various options for his response.

  ‘I’ve borrowed it from a pal,’ he said at length. ‘Nothing wrong, I trust, officer?’

  The policeman did not reply, but shone his torch onto the number plate. ‘This is a stolen vehicle, sir. And I have reason to believe it was involved in a crime some days ago. A murder, actually.’

  Harryboy gave a strangled laugh. ‘That’s bloody ridiculous. There must be some mistake.’ He retained the grin as he approached the policeman.

  ‘Well, I’m sure we can sort it out at the police station, sir. I’m afraid I’m going to ask you to—’

  The bullet caught him straight between the eyes. For a moment his spare six foot frame froze, just hanging suspended in the darkness and then dark froth gurgled from his mouth. With a short subdued groan, he fell neatly to the ground.

  Rachel let out a scream. Harryboy smacked her across the face. ‘Shut yer mouth, yer silly cow, and get into the car.’

  ‘You’ve killed him. You’ve killed him,’ she whimpered, as he flung open the passenger door and attempted to force her inside.

  ‘Of course I’ve killed him. What else could I do? Get me down the police station and I’d never see the light of day again. Now get in!’

  Rachel collapsed inside the car, her chest heaving with sobs.