Chapter Eight

From the moment we met, I knew Alphonse Royo was trouble. And then some; he was wild, unreliable, romantic at heart, devious and cunning, but somehow he roused something in me that I thought I had buried long ago, my conscience! He was also the bravest, most loyal friend I ever had. Okay, so is Ice. But some things I just couldn't say to Ice, Alphonse knew 'em instinctively without being told.

I just wanna get the bastard that killed him, the one who ran him down and left him to die in the street. Alphonse was the glue that held us all together; he and Ice ran the scams, I provided the safety net, I taught him moves that kept him alive. Any accent, any role and Alphonse could be it. Sometimes I'd watch him and wonder why all the different personalities, why he would switch them on and off at will, then I realised it was his way of keeping himself separate, behind a wall. 'Cause if you got through the wall, that was the real Alphonse, and he couldn't handle that.

Then, outta the blue walks Lucy. The sister from hell. She didn't get through the wall, she blew it up. Well that's Lucy, no subtlty. But it made all the difference. They made each other happy, and somehow I was closer to both of them than I'd ever been before.

Charlie sat alone in front of the computer, brooding miserably. Corky was great, she'd loved Alphonse too and she knew exactly how he felt, but but she couldn't take away the pain. In fact, he was slightly stunned that he felt like this at all. Alphonse's calamitous childhood had left him devious and insecure, he'd exploited the first to the best of his flamboyant ability, making the most of a natural gift for acting, and buried the last beneath a combination of bravado and a shallow approach to life that drove his partners crazy.

Romancer, thief, a wicked fighter, devious, manipulative, downright lazy, at the same time restless and impulsive, brave, generous, by turns funny and irritating, he could wind Charlie up with just a look; Alphonse was the missing half of Charlie's life and he didn't know where he was going from here.

Ice stretched hard, muscles shuddering. Last night he'd come seeking solace and Laura had taken him in without a word. Words between them were unnecessary. Ice had come to her in a storm of emotion and her hunger and anger had matched his.

Now he lay alone in the double bed, alone and empty. The brief euphoria had died and there was nothing in its place. He tried hard to hold onto a small part of that feeling. Now all the doubts and fears were crowding back. Ice rolled over, reluctant to get up. His eye caught the picture above the bed, at first nothing, then the glimmerings of an idea took shape in his brain. An idea so horrific that he felt bile surge into his throat.

Noooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!

He threw the bed covers back and scrambled out of bed. Eyes drawn to the painting, he stared at the shattered remnants of his dreams. Dazed and confused, he dragged his clothes on and left the apartment.

By two in the afternoon, Ice was a man on a mission. He'd quietly appropriated a video camera and a few necessities from FBI supplies, now he waited outside the gallery. He'd carefully set himself up in the coffee shop across the street, where he could see and not be seen; setting up the camera unobtrusively had been difficult, but he needed proof.

He contemplated his options with no joy at all. The axe had fallen and he was seeing things with new eyes.

Three hours of waiting and he was rewarded with what he'd expected, a car pulled up outside the gallery, the gallery owner got in and the car pulled away. Ice jumped up, running outside to his car. Pulling out into the traffic, he managed to get a couple of cars between him and the big gold Caddy.

The Caddy swung west, heading in a totally different direction from the one Ice had anticipated, he made the move, keeping the big car in his sights.

They drove for what seemed like hours. Ice clung grimly to their tail, sometimes only one car separated him from his prey. It was hard work, trying to hang back yet keep up and Ice was feeling the strain.

Finally, the Caddy reached what seemed to be a long series of warehouses on a waterfront. Ice hung back further, idling the engine. Once he was satisfied that the occupants of the car hadn't seen him he moved up closer, parking deep in the shadows of a warehouse. He swung out of the car, more cautious than ever now. Moving quickly and quietly up to the slowly moving tambour door, barely a foot of space, but Ice had sensed blood, ignoring the dust and dirt, he rolled swiftly under the door.

The warehouse was large and filled with packing cases and racks. Easy cover for Ice to work his way back to the office. Laura stood there, talking to a man that Ice didn't recognise. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but a cold feeling swept over him as he acknowledged the truth, whether or not she had pulled the trigger, Laura knew about Diane's death.

So intent was he, he never heard the step behind him. Something crashed down on his skull and the lights went out.

Chrissy was tired and thoroughly pissed. She'd wept like a child for hours, now perversely she was angry, angry that Alphonse made her feel like this. He was a crook, a thief, shallow, vain……..but all she could remember was the kindness, the teasing, the thousand little things that made him her loveable rogue. But being angry with him for dying on her was better than the alternative; the gaping void in her heart.

But she was even more angry with Charlie and Ice. They'd gone off and left her, casually abandoned her to cope alone. Charlie was so wrapped round Corky, he………… She didn't know what she was accusing him of, jealous a little voice whispered in her brain.

Ice was so blinded by his feelings for Laura, he couldn't see the wood for the trees. Which left Chrissy out in the cold, a place she was getting used to being. And she didn't like it.

Lucy had disappeared, taking Dylan and Adam with her. Rhonda was on Chrissy's back to get her son back. Chrissy had pointed out that it was college holidays, Adam was eighteen and well able to take care of himself and he'd just lost his father for chrissakes. Maria was a tearful mess, alternating between accusations of heaven knows what towards the FBI and a pathetic gratitude to Chrissy.

And O'Connor. Chrissy was furious. Her superior officer seemed to have disappeared along with Lucy's partner, Ali McBride. O'Connor had left fieldwork and the need to get his hands dirty far behind him, or so she had believed. So what was this…….mid life crisis?

Chrissy was seriously contemplating a career move, something a little less stressful, like sky-diving without a parachute.

Charlie ran background checks, and then background checks on the background checks. Alphonse had taken a particular interest in Jacoby and his paintings according to Briter. So Charlie paid close attention to the paintings, he cruised slowly through the catalogue of paintings, very nice, Charlie appreciated the avant-garde style. He glanced idly down the descriptions, noting the paintings that had perished with Jacoby in the blaze, he was just about to flick over the page when something caught his eye.

Charlie sagged in his chair, shit! He pulled himself together and reached for the phone.

Explaining his idea to Chrissy was difficult. The burden of guilt between them was enormous. No one had taken 'Phonse seriously and he'd been killed because they'd left him out there exposed.

"It all hinges around the paintings. When Jacoby died, this one was supposed to have gone up in smoke with him. But I saw that painting." He looked down at his hands "It was hanging on Laura's bedroom wall."

"Ice's new girlfriend is a killer!"

Charlie stared at her. "We don't know that. There could be some other kind of explanation."

Chrissy folded her arms. "Such as!!!"

"Such as……..such as……..I don't know………..maybe Jacoby gave it to her…….look, he painted her, we know that………………..so maybe he gave her the thing as a present."

Chrissy looked at him, sceptical. "And maybe he didn't." She got to her feet, "Whatever the story, Miss Neill's got a great deal of explaining to do. Let's go."

Charlie tried to think of an excuse, failed…..dispiritedly he got to his feet. He had the nasty feeling someone was going to be shooting at him, and soon.