The cleaning lady had immigrated from Nizhny Novgorod, Russia, in 2001. She had a son, Peter, aged twenty-three, who still lived at home. He decided to focus on the Donleavys first.
That was Friday. And then John had received the text from Ted on Saturday evening, calling his bluff, and he knew that Ted was on to him. He also knew that Ted was scared shitless– someone was blackmailing him, and he obviously didn’t know who. Clearly, whoever had planted those cameras was clever enough not to reveal who they were. Ted must be desperately trying to find out. But Ted was a bit of an idiot. John was much smarter than Ted. He’d had to be. He hadn’t grownup with everything handed to him on a silver fucking platter. John had made good use of his time in prison. He’d cultivated people with the right kind of skills, and who he knew would be getting out before too long. People who might be useful if he ever needed them.
So he knew who to call when he wanted someone to study the Donleavys’ place and figure out how to break in. Billy was a B&E expert, out on parole, and willing to work. He was also loyal and discreet. They arranged to meet on Monday night at a deserted location– under an overpass in the Bronx.
John arrives first and smokes a cigarette leaning against his car while he waits in the dark for Billy to arrive. Billy is a bit late, but John finally sees the headlights of his car approaching. The car pulls up beside him and Billy gets out. He comes over and stands next to John.
‘Can I bum a cigarette?’ Billy asks.
John hands him the pack. Billy reaches in and takes one, then uses a cheap plastic Bic to light it. He takes a deep draw and says, ‘Good news.’ He exhales and says, ‘I got in, no problem. They’ve got all these alarm signs up, but no actual security system hooked up to anything.’ He shakes his head. ‘These people are so stupid. I just picked the lock to the back door. Easy. So you shouldn’t have any trouble. If you can’t pick the back door, just quietly break a kitchen window in the back, you’ll be fine. It’s pretty private. And,’ he adds, ‘it looks like they’ve gone away for a few days, so the coast is clear.’
John hadn’t told Billy why he wanted access to the house. Now, unfortunately, he’ll have to wait till they’re back, and he hates waiting. ‘How do you know they’ve gone away?’
‘There was a message on the fridge to somebody about feeding the cat. Said they’d be back Thursday evening. So you’ve got time.’
John nods and smokes his cigarette. He’ll just have to wait.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
THEY’RE FINALLY BACK.Good. He’s missed them. He hasn’t seen them since he’d watched them packing in a hurry last Thursday morning, and now it’s Tuesday night. He holds the phone screen closer to watch and listen.
They look tired, miserable. In the bedroom, they unpack their suitcases without speaking. She slips off her clothes and says, ‘I’m going to take a shower.’ She disappears from view. Her husband doesn’t join her in the bathroom. He sits on the side of the bed, slumped, as if exhausted, scrolling through his phone.
After a while she emerges, wrapped in a bathrobe. She turns to him and says, with a whine in her voice, ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Stop asking me that,’ he says crossly. ‘I don’t know yet.’
She looks like she wants to smack him, he thinks, enjoying it.
He can tell how stressed they are. He should probably feel sorry for them, but he doesn’t, because these rich, privilegedbastards have had it good for far too long. It’s someone else’s turn.
Late that night, Ted sits alone in the front room, staring blindly at the fireplace. The room is dark, except for a pool of light from one small lamp. It’s been exactly a week since they discovered the hidden cameras, but it feels like a lifetime ago. It’s very late, but he doesn’t want to go up to bed. He doesn’t want to be with his wife. She’s unravelling, and it pains him to see it. He cannot comfort her; she has lost all confidence in him. She wanders around their brownstone like a ghost. The short trip to Venice hasn’t helped at all.
He nurses a drink and asks himself, cruelly,Is it my fault?It was a good plan, a clever plan. It should have worked. Yes, he should have considered the possibility of cameras on the boat. An almost fatal error. Even so, there were none, and there’s no body, no evidence,no case. No matter how suspicious Ramirez is, he hasno case.
Butsomeonewas suspicious enough that they planted cameras in their house. Who? He had never considered that possibility either. Obviously, he should have. He feels that Jill blames him, although she hasn’t actually said so. She doesn’t have to; he blames himself anyway. Because of course people would be suspicious, would wonder if it wasn’t really an accident. Greg was a well-known figure, and Ted inherited most of his money. Ted just hadn’t anticipated someone getting into theirhouseand setting up equipment tospyon them. That’s what they have a fucking security system for! He’d swept the house from top to bottom again tonight on their return, despite the new locks andsecurity system they’d had installed, and found nothing. But it’s like closing the barn door after the horses have bolted.
He’s craving a cigarette, although he quit over a decade ago. He pours himself another scotch instead. This room has been spoiled for him. It’s where someone watched them talking about how he murdered his brother. But it’s where the liquor is, so… A bit drunk, tired from the travel, he imagines that the walls have ears, and it’s disturbing, deeply unsettling. Someone might still be watching him right now. He tells himself to get a grip.
Ted hates not knowing who’s behind this. Without knowing, he can’t do anything about it, he’s paralysed. He can’t hire anyone to find out, because then someoneelsewill know. He has to do this, somehow, on his own.
But John Burnley already knows, he thinks uncomfortably. Thanks to his stupidity, John knows that he’s being blackmailed and that he’s prepared to pay millions to make these recordings go away. That’s another worry.
Unless… maybe John can help him? Is this the booze talking or is it an actual idea? It would be making a bargain with the devil, he thinks. But does he have any other options?
He thinks about it. If he were to approach John for help, he couldn’t let Jill know. She’s too delicate right now. He must fix this, for her. For both of them.
He stays up late into the night, considering it.
Then he sends John a text, asking to meet.
Jill is in bed, and she’s glad Ted is downstairs; she doesn’t want to be in the same room with him. She hopes he falls asleep in hischair. The short trip to Venice, rather than bringing them some clarity, has almost driven them out of their minds.
She blames Ted for everything. How could he have been so stupid? Now John Burnley, a convictedcriminal, has something to hold over them.
And they still don’t know who is behind the cameras and the texts.
She’s frightened of Lara. She can’t be sure of who Lara is any more. Did she ever know her at all? She knows Lara suspects. But she didn’t really think she could be behind the cameras, not until Venice– she didn’t think Lara was able to fake it that well. But maybe she is a psychopath and can fake anything. Maybe she’s playing a game with her, and these are her true colours, and Jill’s just finding out now.
