Maura's Game by Martina Cole Page A

One was his Lottery ticket, which annoyed him no end as it was now evidence.
    It was also covered in blood because whoever had hanged the fucker up had also cut his throat. Sighing heavily, Danzig rang the alarm.
    It was going to be a long night and he had arranged to go and look at a flat with his eldest daughter. He had the down payment ready and waiting for her because he was willing to pass on messages from the outside. Now that little earner was up the Swanee with Vic Joliff.
    Marge listened as Maura made arrangements over the phone from Carla’s house. As usual she marvelled at her friend’s ability to turn off her emotions and concentrate on what she felt was more important: the family and their business dealings. Marge, the mother of two grown daughters and a son, lived by her emotions and knew it was her biggest weakness. Though her husband adored his fiery little wife, Marge knew deep inside that she controlled him with her tears, her anger and her loud voice. She nagged everyone around her and ordered their lives. She’d happily order her friend’s life if it would make everything easier for her, and if Maura would let her. Fat chance of that, though.
    Joey came into the room. At thirteen he was a handsome boy who resembled his mother rather than his father, and everyone thanked God for that small mercy every day. Malcolm Spencer had been the stuck-up weedy sort, an architect rather too full of his own cleverness. Heaven only knew what Carla had ever seen in him, but it had worn off fast enough once she discovered what a cheat he was.
    Joey had dark auburn hair and piercing blue eyes, the Ryan nose and square jaw. He adored his Auntie Maura with a passion.
    “Mum said to ask if you needed anything?”
    Maura smiled at him.
    “No, thanks, I’m off out in a minute.”
    “OK.”
    As he left the room Marge said saucily, “If I was only twenty years younger!”
    Maura laughed.
    “Thirty years younger, you mean!”
    Marge grinned.
    “True. Where the fuck did all the time go, Maws?”
    She shrugged.
    “Who knows, Marge? I’d better get moving.”
    “Where you off to?”
    Maura could hear the fear in her friend’s voice. Her own was short as she answered.
    “Who are you, Marge, the police?”
    Marge stared at her, still waiting for an answer. But she didn’t hear what she wanted. Instead Maura said: “It is best for all concerned if you know nothing, Marge. What you don’t know, you can’t repeat.”
    Marge was insulted and it showed. Her stocky little body bristled with annoyance.
    “I would never repeat anything you said, Maws, you should know that by now.”
    “You might, Marge, if someone had a gun in your face or a knife to one of the kids’ necks.”
    Marge paled.
    “Is it that serious?”
    “Marge, whoever this is, they’re killing civilians. No one is safe, love, especially if they’re close to me. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
    Marge stared at her silently.
    “This place is like Fort Knox,” Maura added, ‘but I’m sending Joey and Carla away. They don’t know that yet so keep shtoom.”
    “Even you’re worried, aren’t you?” Marge said incredulously.
    Maura nodded. Then, picking up her bag, she kissed her friend gently on the cheek and said, “Get yourself off home, mate. I will ring you tomorrow, OK?”
    As she heard Maura laughing with her minder Tony Dooley Junior, the enormity of what was actually going on hit Marge. She had to sit on the sofa to gather her thoughts.
    In all the years they had been friends Marge had overlooked a lot of what Maura had done in the name of her job. Anyway, she’d believed the dangerous days were over. She’d just been given a new understanding of her best friend, a glimpse into the world she really lived in.
    Marge shuddered.
    It had been like staring into the fiery pit of Hell.
    Kenny Smith was inside a Ryan safe house in Orsett, Essex. He was none too pleased and it showed. Garry poured him a large brandy from a cut-glass