‘She did,’ Jo-Jo shot fiercely back. ‘She said she loved me.’ Tears gathered in her eyes. ‘Said she’d missed me. Wanted me to come back home where I belonged.’
Her brother’s hair flew wildly around his face as the wind tossed around him. He stared hard at his sister. Then let her go. ‘If I find out you’ve so much as said one word . . .’
She placed her tiny finger on his lips. ‘Sh. It’s still only between me and you.’ Her voice dropped low. ‘I’m on your side, remember? Why don’t we go inside and you can play me a tune on the piano? You’re dead good at that, it’s very soothing . . .’
She looped her hand in his. They made their way to the meet ’n’ greet room where the first piano he’d ever played was. Jo-Jo’s other hand twisted into a fist and her fingers jumped inside her palm. Her nails gouged into her skin. She desperately needed to find a solitary place so she could cut herself.
It was too risky to talk inside the brothel, so Daisy and Billy had slipped outside, and met in his car. She’d been shocked the day Stella tried to drown her to find one of the men in the room had been the same man she’d met in court the day she’d found out about Charlie’s death. The big tough guy who helped the boys at the gym. Helped the boy who she’d defended and got off the ABH charge and then introduced himself to her. And he’d promised her anytime she needed a favour she was to look him up.
‘Don’t think I’m happy about this. But needs must,’ Daisy said brazenly. A lawyer got used to plea-bargaining in the tightest of situations.
‘I think you’ll like what I’m offering.’ With that he shoved his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket. Pulled something small out. Laid it in her lap. She looked down to find a gun. Compact pistol. Her breath caught in her throat.
She reached for the gun, but before she could pick it up his large, rough hand slammed over hers.
‘Only one rule.’ She looked up at him. ‘You never use it against Stella. If you do I’m going to come gunning for you.’ He released her hand. Leant over her. Popped the passenger door open. She got out as she shoved the gun down the back of her pants.
The four-year-old girl knelt on the floor, playing with her teddy bear. She sang ‘Ring-a, ring o’, roses’ softly to herself as she swung her teddy around. She wiped away the tears on her cheek. Something funny had happened to her upstairs, which had made her cry. But now she was with teddy and everything was alright. The room was large with a pale, blue carpet, a red sofa, a bar and pastel green walls. She played in her favourite corner. The one next to the piano. Abruptly she stopped singing when she heard the voices. Big people’s voices. Men and women. Coming from upstairs.
‘Oh my God. Oh my God.’
‘Fucking calm down.’
‘What we’re gonna do?’
‘Shut up.’
She knew that voice. That was her mum. She pressed two fingers against her lips as she stared at the door. As she angled her head, something from above dripped onto her forehead. Her fingers moved from her lips to touch her forehead. She ran her fingertips into what had fallen onto her skin. It felt wet. Sticky. She looked at her fingers. It was horrid and deep red.
The blood fell on the girl, then on the bear. The girl screamed and ran out of the room. Up the stairs. Into the first room she came to. And what she saw . . .
Daisy bolted upright, breathing so hard she thought her chest was going to cave in. She didn’t open her eyes. That’s when she felt the arms around her and she started to fight. Her arms and legs thrashed out. They weren’t going to take her. They weren’t going to take her. They weren’t . . . The air cracked as someone slapped her across the face. She stopped and slumped forward. The arms tightened around her.
‘Daisy?’ She opened her eyes at the sound of the male voice.
Ricky. Holding her secure in his arms. She rested her cheek against his shoulder.
‘You’re alright, babe. You’re alright.’ His hand ran in soft, soothing motions across her back as her breathing calmed down.
He held her for a few minutes, just rocking her. Finally she pulled herself out of his arms. ‘Sorry about that. Just a bad dream.’ She couldn’t meet his eyes. Felt like a complete idiot.
His hand reached out and cupped her jaw. He pulled her head up, so that she could no longer avoid his troubled gaze. ‘You don’t have to feel embarrassed in front of me.’ His voice fell softly into the room. ‘We all get them you know. Fucked up dreams.’
The beat of her heart jumped up and she knew it had nothing to do with her nightmare. ‘I think we should pop the light on.’
Instead of answering his head started moving towards her. Oh my God, she thought, he’s going to kiss me. And she knew she wanted him to. But what about Jerome? Her gaze fixed onto his full lips. She couldn’t drag her eyes away. His lips got closer. And closer. She shut her eyes ready for his kiss. But instead of her mouth his lips brushed her ear. And whispered, ‘Mrs King has got a camera in here.’
Her eyes snapped open. ‘What?’ She hitched her head back and stared full at him.
‘Sh. She must have cameras in all of the rooms the customers use. So anything we talk about we do it outside.’
A wave of disappointment hit her, not because her mum was spying on her, but because he hadn’t followed through with the kiss. She threw her disappointment off and leant over the bed to pick up her bag from the floor. She dug inside. Took a pill.
‘Saw you take one of those in the car. Didn’t take you for a pill popper.’ His surprised eyes dug into her.
‘Just something to help me sleep.’ Her reply was rough. ‘Thanks again.’
She lay back down and turned towards the wall. The bed moved as Ricky shifted back to his side of the bed. The pills swung into action and eased her nerves. Her eyes settled on the framed photo of her dad at Southend. She remembered that day. They’d built sandcastles, dipped their toes in the sea, sank back and relaxed in the summer sun. Carefree days a million miles away from the dangerous jam she now found herself in. Suddenly Frankie winked at her from the picture. She snuggled deeper into the bed as she smiled back at him. He grinned and then started to softly sing, in that smoke filled voice of his, their song – ‘Dedicated To the One I Love’. She closed her eyes as he serenaded her to sleep, just as he used to do when she was little. Her breathing gentled as his voice faded and she fell into a trouble free slumber.
2.33 am
Ricky eased quietly out of bed as soon as he knew Daisy was asleep. The brothel was quiet and the only sound was a car rushing by. In the dark he pulled on a T-shirt, tracksuit bottoms and his trainers. Walking lightly, but quickly, he made his way to the door. Slowly he eased it open. Stepped outside.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Ricky walked through the chilled air and down the stairs. He reached the next landing. Through the dark he moved towards Stella’s office. The one room he knew she didn’t monitor with a security camera. He pressed his ear against the door. No sounds. He reached for the handle. Turned. The door was locked. He pulled out a pair of steel tweezers from his back pocket. He leant down and inserted the tweezers into the top of the keyhole. Gently he pushed it forward and pressed up until he felt the pins in the lock. Pressing against each pin one at a time, he pressed them all the way up. He applied more pressure until he heard a click as the upper pin fell back onto the lock’s inner cylinder. He used the tweezers to lightly turn the cylinder anticlockwise and then clockwise. The lock sprang back from the doorframe.
Quickly he turned the handle. It opened.
Stella’s car stopped outside the brothel. She’d just been to sort out some argy bargy at one of her other houses in New Cross, South London. One of the girls had OD’d on some smack. Stupid cow. She’d considered dumping the body, but that wasn’t how she liked to treat her ladies. Instead she’d organised for one of the girl’s family to pick her up and stuffed a grand in his top pocket to make sure he kept his gob shut about where the body had been found.
She tilted her head and
looked up at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Shit, she looked like . . . shit. Her foundation powder had worn off revealing the tiny wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Her lipstick was long gone. She reached for her make-up in her handbag. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see Stella King looking like some tired, beat-up old dog. No, in the life she’d chosen appearance was everything. She patted her powder puff over her face. Ran some cherry lipstick across her mouth. As she creased her lips together she gazed back up at herself in the mirror. She tilted her head left, then right. She smiled, happy with what gazed back at her.
She got out of the car. She was halfway across the driveway when she heard the rush of a car engine coming from her left. She twisted to see a car speeding towards her. Its headlights blinded her for a few seconds. It was coming with such a speed she knew she wouldn’t have a chance to get out of the way. She reached inside her coat pocket. The glare from her eyes disappeared the same time she gripped and raised her gun. The car was almost upon her. She pointed the gun straight at the car’s windscreen. The wind battered her face as her hand curved around the trigger. The car screeched to a halt inches in front of her. She kept the gun aimed, but didn’t fire. Her accelerated breathing shook in the air.
The right side passenger door sprang open. Slowly she lowered the gun. She looked at the two faces in the front of the car and knew she had no choice but to get in.
Ricky started with the desk. He figured it would be the most likely place that Stella would keep her secrets. He counted four drawers. He tried to pull out the drawers. Locked. So he did the magic with his tweezers again and less than a minute later the first drawer was open. Mostly paperwork. He pulled out his torch. Flicked it on. Ran his gaze quickly over each paper as he shone the small, intense light on it. A few minutes later he scanned the last piece of paper. Shook his head. Nothing. He replaced the paper, careful to make sure it was in the same order as before.
He did the same to the next drawer. Piles of loose cash this time. Hundred-pound notes. He whistled. He still flicked through just in case there was something at the bottom. The next drawer drew a blank. The last drawer revealed something that made him stop. A navy blue notebook, all on its lonesome.
He flicked through the pages with a finger and thumb. Names. All male. And the type of sex acts they liked to indulge in. Bondage, feet, nappies, twosome, threesome, pain. A hell of a lot of them liked pain. A name caught his eye. A major-league politician. He wasn’t surprised. Then more names started to jump out. More politicians. High-profile city faces at the top of their game. A couple of clergymen. Celebs. A few cops. He smiled at that. He took out his mobile. Got the camera ready. Took snapshots of each page. As he turned the final page something fell out and floated onto the desk. He looked at it. A torn piece of paper. He picked it up. It was blank. Turned it over. A photo of a big man, with dyed black slick back hair, grinning displaying a gold side tooth and wearing a sharp blue suit. Ricky ID’d the man instantly. Stevie ‘Crazy’ King, Stella’s long departed husband. Stevie King’s hand was outstretched as if he were shaking someone’s hand. Ricky could not see who the other person was because they had been torn out of the picture. Ricky’s gaze darted to the far left corner of the picture and froze. There in the background, at a table, sat a man and a woman. He didn’t know who the man was but he knew the woman. His sister, Jenna. His heartbeat so fast he thought he was about to keel over. Her hair was styled around her chin, a cut she had had done a few weeks before she’d disappeared. But who was the man with her? He racked his brain. No, he hadn’t seen the dude before in his life. He wanted to take the picture, but knew he couldn’t. Instead he posed it on the table and took a snap of it with his phone camera.
He rubbed his finger lovingly over Jenna’s face, then placed the photo back in the book. He put the book back in the drawer making sure he angled it the same way he’d found it. He turned his attention to the rest of the room. Checked cupboards, under cushions, inside lampshades. He took a breath as he looked around some more. Two adjoining rooms. One led to the bathroom. The other led he knew not where. He approached the second room. Turned the handle. Locked. He got the lock open in no time. Stepped inside. Shone his torch. What he found made him draw in his breath sharply.
‘You could’ve fucking well killed me.’
Stella glared at Johnson and Clarke as she sat in the back of the car.
‘Just having a little bit of fun,’ Clarke replied chuckling.
‘Yeah, but what if your flippin’ foot had slipped and I was a goner? What do you think your guvnor’s gonna say when they find out the reason I can’t pull off the job is because you two fuckers just wanted to have a little bit of fun?’
That wiped the smile off Clarke’s face. Any mention of the other party involved in this mess always had that effect.
‘If this is just your idea of fun and games I’m out of here.’ She reached for the door handle. But Johnson’s voice stopped her. ‘You’re going to need this.’
He flung an A4 manila envelope at her. She opened it. Pulled out a folded piece of paper almost the same size as the envelope. She unfolded it. A blueprint. Then she realised it was a plan of the bank.
‘Ain’t you gonna thank us?’ Clarke said with mock sweetness.
She glared back at him. Who the fuck did this washed-up cop think he was talking to? Some teenage tom grateful for the few quid he’d stuffed in her palm after giving him a hand job?
She tried to keep her simmering anger down as she looked at Johnson and said, ‘This will come in very handy.’
Stupid fuckers. Neither of the men spotted that she was lying through her teeth. Having decided to take the bank manager’s family hostage she didn’t need plans of the bank. But she kept her mouth shut about her plans. She’d learnt years ago that the only way you stayed in the game was to keep one step ahead of all the other players.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ was all she said. Then she got out of the car.
She looked up at the house and made her way to her office.
Ricky stared up at the shrine to Frankie Sullivan. Pictures of him laughing; smooching; playing the gangster. Never in a million years would he have clocked Stella as the devoted type. One look at the way she treated her kids told him that. But this gave him a new insight into the woman he’d come to hate. A woman who maybe had a heart? No, he pushed that thought to the side. She was the woman who had been involved in his sister’s disappearance, and perhaps her murder? He moved deeper into the room the same time he heard a noise. He froze. Held his breath. He punched the torch off. Heard another sound. A footstep.
He waited in the dark, as the footsteps got closer. They stopped outside the door. On tiptoes he moved to the side of the door. Flattened his body against the wall. The door handle turned. He raised the torch up high. The door slowly opened. The person eased inside. Ricky’s hand whipped out. As the person began to turn he jumped forward, his hand snaking around their head. His hand curved around and clamped over their mouth. He jammed them into his body, the same time the torch in his hand came swiftly down. The same time he realised who he held captive.
Daisy let out a sharp groan as something heavy glanced off her arm. Her yelp of pain was muffled by the hand over her mouth.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Ricky whispered harshly in her ear.
His hand dropped from her mouth as he stepped back. And cursed. She twisted around and glared at him in the dark as she rubbed her arm.
‘You could’ve broken my arm,’ she accused.
‘You and your arm would be nice and safe if you were tucked up in bed.’
They threw furious looks at each other. Daisy was the first to speak. ‘I heard you leave the room, so I followed you.’
‘I’m meant to be watching you twenty-four seven, not the other way around.’
‘So what are you doing sneaking around Stella’s house of horrors?’
‘Stretching my legs and getting some fresh air.’
‘I don’t—
’ Her words abruptly stopped. She peered closer at the wall. ‘What’s that?’ She pointed to one of the pictures, but without the flashlight on it was still too dark for her to make it out.
‘We need to get out of here.’ He didn’t wait for her to reply instead moved towards the door. But she didn’t follow him. Instead she moved closer to the wall. Before he could say or do anything her hand whipped out towards the picture. Pulled it down. Raised it close to her face.
‘Dad,’ she let out softly. She caressed Frankie Sullivan’s frozen face with a shaking fingertip. ‘This is a picture of—’
‘Frankie Sullivan. I know.’
‘But what . . . ?’ she began. He didn’t let her finish. Instead he turned his flashlight on to the wall lighting up the other pictures. She gasped with complete disbelief.
‘What are all these pictures of my dad doing here?’
‘They ain’t just pictures of your dad, they’re of Mrs King as well.’
And not one of her, she realised.
‘Maybe she did love him after all. Then why didn’t she love me?’
Suddenly Ricky placed a finger across his lips.
She gave him a puzzled look. The main door of the office was flung open. They froze. Footsteps. High heels. Clack, clack, clack. Neither of them dared move a muscle. The footsteps got closer. And closer. They moved past the room they were in. The door to the adjoining room was opened. Something banged onto the floor. Then silence. Daisy stared up at Ricky. A muscle ticked away in his cheek as he gazed back at her. Clack, clack, clack. The other person was back on the move. The door to the adjoining room banged shut. Clack, clack, clack. The main door shut. Daisy let out a long breath, but Ricky placed his finger against his lip again in warning. She didn’t move. They waited for one minute. Two. Then Ricky moved towards the door. Slowly opened it. Peeped outside.
Gangster Girl Page 21