The Alibi: A gripping crime thriller full of secrets, lies and revenge. Jaime Raven
with the police? Because they’ve already been here and checked the place over.’
‘I’m not with the police,’ I said.
‘Then you can’t come in. So bugger off.’
‘If Mr Shapiro isn’t here I’d like to speak to whoever is in charge.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s my business. But I can tell you this. If you turn me away without checking you’ll get in trouble. Do you want that?’
That gave him food for thought. He was just a lackey, after all, and the last thing he wanted was to get on the wrong side of the guys who ran this place.
After a couple of seconds of indecision he picked up the desk phone and spoke into it with his back to me. Then he gave a rigorous nod, replaced the receiver and said, ‘Mr Bishop says you can go up to the office.’
Frankie ‘The Nutter’ Bishop. It had to be. He was Danny Shapiro’s right-hand man and it was said that he went out of his way to live up to his reputation as a sociopath.
I mounted the stairs to what turned out to be a suite of offices above the snooker hall. A bloke in a black polo sweater was waiting for me. He was completely bald and had the build of a gorilla.
‘Follow me,’ he said.
I kept pace with him along a long corridor past several closed doors. The door at the end of the corridor stood open and the gorilla moved to one side and waved me in.
That was the precise moment when I realised I might be making a huge mistake. Not for the first time my eagerness to chase a story had blinded me to the risks. I was about to enter the inner sanctum of south London’s most violent criminal gang. A voice in my head was telling me to turn around and walk away. But another voice told me to brazen it out.
‘So what are you waiting for?’ the gorilla said. ‘Go in.’
I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding and entered the room. It was a large, airy room with a long mahogany table surrounded by about a dozen chairs. Five of the chairs were occupied by burly men in casual clothes. They were all leering at me like I’d walked in naked. Two other men were standing to my right next to what looked like a drinks cabinet. I was at once aware of a palpable air of menace.
My heart started pounding high up in my throat and I was sorely tempted to beat a retreat. But at that moment the man at the head of the table stood up and gave a twisted smile.
‘It’s good to see you in the flesh at last, Miss Chambers,’ he said in a broad cockney accent. ‘I’m Frankie Bishop and I have to say I’d willingly pay to give you one, as I’m sure would every man in this room.’
There were groans of agreement from the others and I felt my system flush with rage and indignation.
I was about to fire back an angry retort when the two men to my right lunged towards me. One seized my shoulder bag while the other grabbed my arms from behind and held me in a firm grip.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I screamed. ‘Let me go.’
‘We need to be sure that you’re not recording what goes on in this room,’ Bishop said. ‘It’s just a precaution.’
The man with my bag emptied the contents on the floor. Then he picked up the phone and voice recorder and checked that they weren’t recording.
‘All clear,’ he said as he set about putting everything back into the bag.
The other man now pushed me forward and onto one of the chairs. I wanted to resist but felt paralysed as raw fear flooded my body.
I sat there, trying to control my breathing, as Frankie Bishop lowered himself back onto his chair and stared at me.
He was a big, hard-looking bastard. His face was dimpled with small scars as if from terrible wounds. His nose was splayed and crooked, and his bulging biceps strained at the black T-shirt he was wearing. He had short cropped hair and eyes that were small and cold.
‘I will say this for you, Chambers,’ he said, dropping the Miss. ‘You’ve got some front coming here and telling a big fat lie to get in. You never had any appointment with Danny. He never speaks to reporters as you well know.’
‘I thought he might make an exception today,’ I said with false bravado. ‘In view of what’s happened to his ex-wife.’
‘Well, Danny’s not here.’
‘So where is he?’
He ignored the question. ‘I don’t think he’d be pleased to see you even if he was here. In fact I reckon he’d give you a slap for what you said to those coppers. We just watched it on the telly.’
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