She had dropped the idea of simply turning off the alarm. It would look too suspicious. And anyway, there was nothing to say that her father wouldn’t notice and turn it on again. No, it wouldn’t do. It was a sloppy, careless plan that could too easily go wrong. Plus, the slightest hint that it was an inside job and the police would immediately turn the spotlight on the family.

Mona drank some more vodka, feeling the rush as it hit the back of her throat. She would have to make sure that both she and her mother had cast-iron alibis for the time the bastard was despatched. A Thursday would be good because that was the night her mum went to play bridge; she’d be out from seven until after eleven. And as for herself? Well, she could always arrange to meet some friends in a bar, up West perhaps or in Chelsea.

But that was all detail, stuff that could be sorted later. What she really needed to figure out was how Sadie was going to get into the house. It might be possible to smuggle her in during the day while her father was out at work, for her to hide her in Mona’s bedroom until everyone else had gone out, but that would be risky. What if one of the neighbours saw them together or they bumped into her mother on the stairs? And then, of course, a break-in would need to be faked. She pulled a face. It was overly complicated. There had to be a better way.

Slowly, she made her way back across the lawn. She paused by the pool, empty of water now it was winter, and gazed into the eerie oblong of black. There were blue tiles on the bottom but they had merged into the darkness. The hole was like a giant grave waiting to be filled. Lifting her eyes, she looked across at the timber chalet, the place where people changed into their swimming things when it was warm enough to bathe. And it was then, suddenly, that the germ of an idea came to her. Her fingers tightened around the bottle and her lips slid into a smile.

Mona turned away and hurried through the snow towards the back of the house. There was a light on in one of the ground-floor rooms – the study – and as she grew closer she could make out the figure of her father. He was there every night after dinner, on the phone or sorting through his papers. He was a man of habit, never changing his routine.

She slowed when she was a few yards away, moving as quietly as she could. She could see him clearly now. The desk was at right angles to the wide mullioned window and he was hunched over, reading through some documents. Would he realise she was there? She waited, holding her breath, but nothing happened. He didn’t even lift his head.

With the bright light on in the study, Mona guessed she was invisible. Even if he did glance up, all he would see in the panes of glass was a reflection of the room. Smirking, she raised her hand and pointed with her forefinger. Bang bang. How easy would that be? The bullets would pass straight through the window and into his fat, disgusting flesh.

Mona stepped to one side, making sure her feet didn’t crunch in the snow. This was the way, wasn’t it? Her heartbeat had accelerated, her pulse starting to race. Sadie wouldn’t even need to be inside the house. She could shoot him from out here. If Mona got a copy of the key to the back gate – the one the gardener used – Sadie could come through the grounds and wait in the pool house until the time was right. Then, when she left, she could lock the gate behind her again. It was simple, perfect. All they’d have to do is to make it look as though someone had come over the back wall.

Mona grinned as she imagined coming home and finding the cop cars parked outside the house, their blue lights flashing. How would she react when she heard the news? There would have to be a show of shock, of grief, of tears. Her poor daddy murdered in his own home. Well, she could manage that. She could manage just about anything when she put her mind to it.

21

It was Sunday morning and Petra Gissing had already been up for four hours before her son finally dragged himself out of his pit and staggered downstairs. She had heard him come in late, pissed and cursing, banging against the furniture as he tried to negotiate the living room. Now, as he slumped down at the kitchen table, she showed no mercy in noisily clattering the saucepans together.

‘Jesus,’ said Wayne, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. ‘What’s with the racket?’

‘You want to eat, don’t you?’

‘Do I look like I want to eat?’

‘You look like something the cat dragged in.’ She gave an exaggerated sniff. ‘Come to mention it, you smell like it too.’

‘Ta very much.’

‘Just saying it like it is.’

‘Well, don’t bother. I’m not in the mood.’

Petra began chopping the carrots, hammering the knife rhythmically against the board. ‘What’s the matter? Got a headache?’

‘So I had a few bevies. Since when did that become a crime?’ He gave a thin groan. ‘For fuck’s sake, do you have to do that right now?’

‘I could have asked the same thing of you at two o’clock this morning.’

Wayne peered at her. ‘What?’

‘When you came in. You were making enough noise to wake the bleedin’ dead.’

‘It wasn’t that bad.’

Petra gave a snort. ‘As if you can remember. I’m surprised you even found your way home.’

‘Yeah, well, I needed a drink after what I’d heard.’ He paused and glanced around the kitchen and then towards the living room. ‘Where’s Kel?’

‘She’s gone to Romford to see Eddie’s parents. What did you hear?’

‘I’ll tell you if you give me some peace and quiet for five minutes.’

Petra put down the knife. ‘Well?’

Wayne leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. ‘Seems that Sadie girl ain’t quite as innocent as she makes out. You know that picture in the paper, the one of her and Eddie?’

‘What about it?’

‘Old Pym recognised her. He reckons she and Nathan Stone are at it. Says he saw them together down the dogs the night before Eddie got wasted.’

‘And you believe him?’

‘Why not? Makes sense, don’t it? She and Stone are in this together. She wanted Eddie out of the way and so Stone got one of Terry’s boys to take him out.’

Petra pulled out a chair and sat down. She put her chin in her hands and thought about it. Pym was a skinny furtive bloke who had once worked – albeit in a lowly position – for Terry Street’s predecessor, Joe Quinn. He dealt in information, in rumour and gossip, in anything that might earn him a few bob from interested parties. ‘How can he be sure it was her?’

‘You know Pym. He’s good on faces. He swears it was. Says the two of them were all cosied up, having a meal with some other couple. Can’t be a coincidence, can it?’

‘Does the law know?’

Wayne gave a shrug. ‘You think we should tell Kel?’

Petra shook her head. ‘Not right now.’ It was only a week since Kelly had found Eddie’s body and she was still all over the place, ranting and raving one minute, crying uncontrollably the next. ‘Let’s keep it to ourselves until we’re sure. There’s no saying what she’ll do if she gets wind of this.’

Wayne gave a belch, expelling his beery breath across the table. ‘I told you, didn’t I? This has Street’s name written all over it.’

‘Not exactly,’ said Petra, grimacing as the smell invaded her nostrils. ‘What you said is that it could be payback for Vinnie Keane.’

‘Same difference.’

‘It’s not though, is it?’

‘And how do you figure that?’

Petra, knowing that her son hadn’t been blessed with a surfeit of brains, had to spell it out for him. ‘If Sadie Wise wanted rid of her husband and got Stone to arrange it for her, Eddie’s death has nothing to do with what happened to Vinnie Keane. You’re making a connection where there isn’t one. You’re taking it personal.’