Page 86 of Someone in the Water
Frankie
1st August
‘Raphael,’ I say, taking a step backwards, trying to pretend I’m not petrified. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Looking for you.’
I wonder if I should run. He’s older than me, less fit. Maybe I’d be faster.
‘I heard you’ve been making up stories. Telling your daughter that I killed your friend.’
‘Wh-what?’ I stutter. Fuck. Lola must have said something to Patrick about our suspicions. Why would she do something so naïve? Surely she’d know that Patrick would take his father’s side over hers? I only ever said it could have been Raphael in the water that night, just like it could have been Jack or Dom. Or Anna or Salvo. But gossip and whispers always become more entrenched as they travel.
‘I didn’t say that,’ I mumble, flicking my eyes right and left. God I hope Dom has found Lola, and that Patrick hasn’t hurt her.
‘Bullshit,’ he spits out. ‘You think I don’t trust my own son?’
‘No, I just … It was only after …’ Do I mention the notes? Will that help explain why I was suspicious, or make him angrier?
Raphael’s eyes narrow and he lets out a snarl. Then he reaches behind his back and suddenly there’s a gun pointing at me. My legs go weak, almost buckle, and my breathing stutters. I should have run when I had the chance.
‘Well, maybe I don’t give a fuck anymore,’ he says, pointing the weapon at me. ‘Because you’re not going to be talking to anyone soon. So yeah, I killed Archie.’
Despite the gun in my face, and Raphael’s angry expression, his words jolt me. ‘Wh-what?’
‘And you were supposed to die too. But somehow – some fucking how – you survived, and Izzy didn’t.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I whisper.
‘I didn’t want to kill Archie, or you, at least not at first. In fact, I never wanted to move that snitch’s body in the first place. I was supposed to be the money man, that’s all. They could give me all the dirty notes they wanted, and I’d flush it clean. I never let Uncle Jean down, not once in thirteen years. And in return, he kept me away from the enforcement side of the business. But then Uncle Jean was murdered. And my cousins were too angry to plan their retribution properly. So suddenly there’s a screaming match in their car, and then a dead snitch, and they’ve got nowhere to hide the body. So of course they call me, the local man with access to a boat.’
He clicks the catch on the gun, reaches up with his second hand to steady his aim. ‘No one ever goes on that stretch of beach at night. Except you were there, weren’t you? You and that Scottish lord. He asked me about it later that night – straight out, like he wasn’t scared of me, even though he was accusing me of something that could get me a ten-year stretch. He didn’t even hesitate when I suggested a walk. Dumb, fucking posh drunk. Life had been too easy for that boy; he hadn’t learned to read the danger signs.’
‘So you killed him,’ I say. ‘And then found out I’d been with Archie, and realised you needed to kill me too.’
Raphael shrugs. ‘I knew you were with him, but I didn’t know what you’d seen, not until Salvo told me about your conversation in the boat the next morning.’
There were some fishermen arguing over a guy so drunk he couldn’t stand up.
I see his ice-blue eyes again. ‘And Salvo told you to kill me?’
Raphael snorts. ‘That man wouldn’t kill a fucking fly. At least, not after his epiphany or whatever that change of heart was. No, he told me he’d already solved my problem for me, that he’d filled your head with mazzeri nonsense so that you wouldn’t remember what you’d really seen. That started an argument. First with Salvo, then my darling wife suddenly decides she’s got an opinion worth listening to. Both of them trying to convince me that a fucking mazzeri tale would save my skin, that you didn’t need to die.’ He shakes his head.
My eyes widen, then crease in confusion. ‘So Salvo thinking I was mazzeri, that my dad was too, it was all a lie? Just a story to distract me?’
‘Of course it was. It’s all just a story, isn’t it? Although Salvo was always adamant that the mazzeri legend was true. That’s probably why he thought it would work with you.’ Raphael takes a step forward. ‘But it wasn’t enough for me; I’ve never liked loose ends.’
‘So you tried to kill me, that night. But you fucked up and drowned Izzy instead.’
Almost before I see him move, I feel the pain of the pistol whip – cold metal burning my cheek. I stumble, sink my face into my hands, then drop to my knees.
‘I would never hurt Izzy,’ he hisses, looming over me. He lowers the gun so it’s aiming at my forehead. Like a mafia execution. ‘She was my flesh and blood.’
I look up. The gun seems to have grown in size, the barrel now a canon, the muzzle lion’s teeth. My whole body shudders in response. ‘What did you say?’
‘Mine and Izzy’s dads were cousins. Salvo always told me that family means everything, but when Izzy turned up at the hotel that first time, he didn’t want to know her. He wouldn’t even look her in the eye, and she hated him for that. So it fell to me to help her. Not that I minded. She was a Paoli in all but name.’
Raphael’s face softens for a moment, then he remembers where he is, what he’s about to do, and it hardens again. ‘Izzy was desperate to work with me, to help me launder the money, but she needed experience first. So I hooked her up with a business partner of mine in London, asked him to show her the ropes. I owed him a favour after that – which is why Jack ended up as my windsurf instructor. He’d got himself into a sticky situation at home – I didn’t want to know the details – and had all the qualifications he needed. It worked out too; Jack’s a good man.’
