Gangster Girl

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  ‘We’re alright,’ he announced as he moved into the main room. Daisy quickly followed him. Startled, she watched as he headed for the adjoining room.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

  But he didn’t answer. Just opened the door. Moved inside. She followed. Inside the room were the monitors for the camera that kept an eagle eye on the comings and goings inside the brothel. She scanned the screens and stopped on the one that showed Stella in the hallway downstairs with her mobile against her face.

  ‘We should go,’ she whispered frantically to Ricky.

  But once again he didn’t answer. Instead he reached for a button. Turned it. Stella’s voice filled the air as she spoke on the phone . . .

  ‘You wanna get your two poodles to stop trying to piss up my leg.’

  ‘How did you get this number?’ replied a voice, someone that Stella hadn’t spoken to for years.

  ‘The same way I get everything: by waving a wad of cash in someone’s face. It’s very effective’

  The other voice grew low and tight. ‘Don’t mess with me, Stella, because I could really hurt you.’

  ‘You want me to tell your daughter the truth and see the hurt written across her face?’

  There was a gasp at the other end. ‘Now you listen . . .’

  ‘No, I think it’s time for you to listen. Don’t threaten me, because I’m holding the one thing that could blow your world and I ain’t only chatting about the insides of Charlie’s safe-deposit box. Push me and you’re going right over the edge as well. The cliff’s wide enough for all of us.’ Silence greeted her words. ‘Keep Clarke and Johnson well back from the action. The way they’re going at it they might as well have a megaphone broadcasting what happened on the twentieth of July back in ninety . . .’

  ‘Never, ever, mention that time on the phone.’

  Stella held back her words because she knew the other person was right.

  ‘Take care of Daisy, won’t you?’ Stella wasn’t surprised by what the other person said.

  ‘Of course I will. She’s my daughter, ain’t she.’

  They watched as Stella cut the call and waltzed out of the front door.

  It was Daisy who spoke first. ‘Who do you think she was talking to?’

  ‘Dunno. Real bitch we couldn’t hear the other person, but whoever it was has got a daughter.’

  ‘A daughter who is going to get hurt if she finds out the truth. What truth?’

  Ricky finally pushed himself off the wall as he let out a weary sigh. But he didn’t speak, so Daisy carried on throwing out her questions. ‘And who are Clarke and Johnson?’ Her skin wrinkled across her forehead as she thought. ‘Those names sound familiar . . .’

  Ricky’s whole attention fixed completely on her. ‘How familiar?’

  Daisy bit into her bottom lip as she thought. Finally she shook her head. ‘I can’t remember. Maybe it was a case I did once. And what happened back in July 1990?’

  This time Ricky looked away from her. He wasn’t about to tell her it was the same month his sister had disappeared.

  ‘This bank job is starting to sound like a lot more than it looks.’

  Finally Ricky spoke. ‘I’m paid to keep my beak out of everyone’s business. You wanna take a leaf out of my book and stop behaving as if you’re in the courtroom.’

  Daisy ignored his advice. ‘Stella is not doing this bank job on her own. She’s working with someone who has a daughter and who has two associates called Clarke and Johnson. And this all might be connected to a day in July 1990.’

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ was Ricky’s only response. ‘Don’t forget we’ve got to be up bright and early cos you need to suss out if Charlie Hopkirk’s widow knows anything from the will and then we need to find out where Mr Bank Manager lives.’

  As they crept back downstairs the information Daisy had just learnt began to shift through her head. She couldn’t figure it all out, but she did know that her dad was involved in it up to his neck. Why else would Charlie have kept information about Frankie Sullivan in a safe-deposit box?

  ‘You want me to tell your daughter the truth and see the hurt written across her face?’

  That was the line from Stella’s conversation that played in her mind before she found sleep that night. She knew two other people connected to this who had daughters – Charlie’s widow and Randal Curtis.

  Then there was Clarke and Johnson. Where had she heard those names before?

  Chapter Thirty

  The next morning, a bright but breezy Wednesday two days before the robbery, Charlie’s daughter opened the front door of her parents’ house.

  ‘Hi, Daisy,’ Jennifer Hopkirk greeted her, reminding Daisy immediately of her impersonation of the other woman at the bank. Daisy nervously looked behind her towards the car that Ricky was sitting in on the opposite side of the road.

  ‘Come on in,’ Jennifer said ushering her inside. ‘Mummy’s in the lounge.’

  As Daisy followed her all she could think about was what she would say if Mrs Hopkirk asked after the deposit box. She knew she would lie of course, but would Charlie’s wife believe her? She entered the light, airy room, with its view of the pretty garden in the back, to find Charlie’s wife sitting straight and regal in one of the floral armchairs. Daisy nervously walked across the soft carpet as the other woman stood up.

  ‘I’m so pleased you could come.’ A warm smile lit up her face. ‘Please,’ she waved at the other longer sofa. ‘Take a seat.’

  As Daisy eased herself down, Mrs Hopkirk retook her seat. ‘Can I get you some tea? Coffee?’

  ‘No thanks, Mrs Hopkirk . . .’

  ‘Priscilla, please,’ the other woman cut in, folding her fine hands in her lap. Although Daisy had met Charlie’s wife many times and had been welcomed into their home on numerous occasions she’d never felt comfortable calling the other woman by her first name. Maybe it was a respect thing, she just wasn’t sure.

  Priscilla’s fingers tapped against each other like a nervous tick. ‘My Charlie was really proud of you. He always said that you’re going to make one of the best lawyers the firm’s ever had.’

  Daisy smiled. Then it disappeared when she thought what Charlie would say if he could see how her life was turning out now.

  Priscilla scooted to the edge of her seat. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking to see you.’

  ‘Of course not. If there’s anything I can do.’

  The older woman ran her tongue over her lips as her deeply mascaraed eyelashes fluttered. The tapping of her fingers grew quicker. ‘Yesterday we read Charlie’s will and he said that he had a safe-deposit box. But I’ve looked high and low and can’t find any information about it.’

  Daisy’s throat ran dry as she gulped. Shit. She quickly looked down at her hands.

  ‘I know you’ve been sorting through his belongings at work and just wondered if you came across anything.’

  ‘No.’ Daisy lifted her head and rapidly shook it. ‘No. I’m really sorry I can’t help you.’

  ‘I just thought maybe . . .’ Suddenly Priscilla’s hands balled into fists in her lap. ‘I know Charlie trusted you so I know this information won’t go any further.’ She wet her lips with her tongue. ‘I think Charlie may have been, let’s just say, looking after some things for one of his clients. One of his more infamous criminal clients, if you understand what I mean.’

  Frankie. The name blasted through Daisy’s mind. ‘What makes you think that?’

  The other woman waved her delicate hand in the air. ‘Just things he said over the years.’ Her voice shook with her next words. ‘I’ve just got a funny feeling that whoever broke into the house when we were all at the funeral was looking for something. Maybe something to do with this deposit box. And I’m terrified that if I’m right they’ll be back.’

  Priscilla covered her mouth with her hand and sobbed. Daisy flew across the room to her. Knelt down and put her arms around the shaking woman. ‘No one’s going t
o hurt you.’ She rubbed her hand over Priscilla’s back. ‘Besides, Barbara Benton swore it was a random burglary. Some scumbag saw us leave for the funeral and took their chance. Don’t worry about this deposit box. I’m sure the papers are at work. When I return to work in a few days I’ll find them for you.’

  Priscilla looked at her through tearful eyes. ‘Charlie was right; you’re a girl in a million.’

  Daisy smiled reassuringly, feeling like a complete fraud. What if this devastated woman was right and the burglary had something to do with the deposit box? There was so much about what she’d gotten herself into that she didn’t know about.

  She eased to her feet slowly. ‘Really sorry but I’ve got to go.

  ‘I wish I could help, but . . .’ She left her words hanging in the air.

  ‘You take care,’ the older woman said. ‘But if you find anything do let me know.’

  A wave of guilt swept Daisy at the soft anxiety in the words. She nodded and left. Once she was outside she sucked in a cool stream of air. She started to make her way to the car but halted when she heard her phone ping. She pulled it out. Text message.

  c u at mum and dad’s tonight.

  I’ll meet u there.

  ILU x

  Damn. She’d completely forgotten about Jerome’s parents’ cocktail party. There was no way she could not go. It was too important to her. She wasn’t sure how she was going to do it but somehow she was going to have to give Ricky the slip later on and get there. She had the address. If she missed this opportunity to meet his parents it might never come her way again.

  She texted back.

  I’ll be there

  LU2 x

  By hook or by crook she was going to make it to that cocktail party tonight.

  Priscilla Hopkirk waited a half a minute after Daisy had gone, then headed for the phone.

  ‘She’s just left.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘That she knew nothing about it.’ She wiped a stray tear from her face. ‘What are we going to do now?’

  Daisy lied to Ricky when she sat back next to him in the car.

  ‘So what did the lawyer’s old lady want?’ He sucked on a half spliff.

  ‘Nothing really.’ Daisy shook her hair back. ‘I think she was missing Charlie and wanted a talk about him to someone who knew him. It’s hard letting someone you love go.’ She tried to keep her eyes steady on his face as she spoke, but couldn’t do it. She dipped her head and stared at her lap. The scent of cannabis floated down on her as she felt him inch closer. She almost jumped when his finger tucked under her chin. He tipped her head up. Now she had no alternative but to stare in his eyes.

  His voice was soft and steady. ‘What you’ve got to understand about me, babe, is that I’ve taken the kind of road in life where I’ve met every sort of human being. Murderers, thieves, kiddie fiddlers.’ He paused and then whispered, ‘Fibbers.’

  She gulped and tried to move her head. But he wouldn’t let her go. ‘And those big blue eyes of yours are saying porkie pies and whoppers. So why don’t you tell me what she really wanted?’

  ‘Make your mind up – are you playing Al Capone or Jeremy Paxman?’

  ‘I can turn my hand to both as necessary, I’m very flexible. A week ago we would’ve passed each other on the street, you going one way and me going another. But that ain’t where we’re at anymore. You’re walking on my side of the street now. My world. A place your little pretty head is all confused over because you can’t figure it out. And let’s face it: you need someone looking after your back and there’s only one person at the top of the queue with a sign that reads “this way back to respectability” – me.’

  She finally managed to hitch her head away from him. ‘You work for the Kings, so anything I tell you, gets passed up the line.’

  ‘Not necessarily. We’ve all got our secrets. Look at you for example – I’m sure you’ve got plenty. And anyway, I don’t work for Stella, I’m freelance. Of course I’m always willing to go into partnership with others but that’s up to you.’

  She folded her arms. ‘You’re forgetting, I work with men like you professionally. I know what you’re like. How can I trust you, a man who’s been under lock and key for some things while no doubt getting away with plenty of others?’

  Indecision covered his face. Then, with a sigh, he dug deep into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He held out a small photo to her. It showed the laughing face of a mixed-race girl in her late teens with loose corkscrew black hair and a smile that any man would be grateful to see greeting him at the front door after a hard day’s work.

  When he started talking Daisy was surprised by the soft tone of his voice. ‘This is my sister Jenna. Well, half-sister. Same dad, different mums. Most people where we lived looked down their noses at her and you wanna know why?’ Daisy said nothing. Her teeth twisted into her bottom lip. ‘Cos she was a pro. A Tom. A whore.’ The words were filled with pain. ‘But you know what? I didn’t care what she did cos she was the best sister a boy could have. She did what she had to do to put bread on the table. Then one night when I was thirteen, she tucked me into bed and never came back.’ Daisy knew exactly how he felt, because she’d felt the same after her dad died. ‘I never stopped looking for her. In clubs, among the girls walking the street corners. Then I found out that she worked for Stella King. That was the last place she was seen on the twentieth of July, 1990.’

  Daisy froze to her seat. ‘That’s the date Stella mentioned when she talked about the deposit box on the phone yesterday.’

  He nodded. ‘My gut is telling me that whatever is in that deposit box is gonna tell me what happened to my sister.’ He quickly placed the photo back in his pocket as if it were too precious to let the world see for too long. He turned back to her. ‘I don’t know what your reasons for wanting to be involved in this crap are and hey, I don’t care, but I’m in this as deep as you. If finally finding out what happened to my sister means hooking up with you, then that’s how it is.’

  Now it was her turn for indecision to do a lap of her face. She unfolded her arms and ran her palms nervously along her thighs. ‘Stella can’t know about this, alright?’ Ricky nodded. ‘Charlie’s wife knows about the deposit box, but she doesn’t know what bank it’s in. She wanted to know if I’d found anything about it. Plus she thinks it might have something to do with the burglary at her home on the day of Charlie’s funeral.’

  ‘What did she look like when she was telling you all of this?’

  ‘Scared out of her wits, but also sort of nervous. Like she’s another person with secrets.’

  ‘Like a woman with a daughter who might get hurt if she finds out about those secrets?’ Ricky put into words what Daisy wouldn’t say. She didn’t want to believe that Stella had been talking to Priscilla Hopkirk on the phone last night. But it all fit. Priscilla had a daughter, Priscilla knew about Charlie’s deposit box . . .

  ‘You think she’s the other person involved in this?’ Ricky cut into her thoughts.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘I just don’t know.’

  ‘Whatever the situation we need to get that box before she does and we need to get back to get ready to follow the bank manager to find out where he lives . . .’ The ring of his mobile cut off his words. He flipped the phone out. ‘Yeah?’ He tutted and sighed. ‘Look, sweetheart, I’ve told you it’s all over . . . And spare me the blubbing, I’m not that kind of boy.’ He looked at Daisy and lifted a finger and mouthed one minute.

  He jumped out of the car.

  Ricky turned his back on the car. Walked a few paces away. The tone of his voice changed.

  ‘The Kings are planning to hit the bank on Friday. I want you to find out everything you can about Priscilla Hopkirk, Charlie Hopkirk’s widow . . . Daisy Sullivan?’ He listened. ‘Don’t worry about her. She isn’t going to be any trouble at all.’

  Stella stared out of the brothel’s top floor window as she watched Daisy and Ricky dr
ive off. Her instructions to them had been clear. This ain’t TV, just follow the bank manager and find out where he lives. They’d bloody well better not screw this up. If they did she would make sure that dying wasn’t going to be easy for either of them.

  ‘Mum, come and run your eye over this.’

  At hearing Jo-Jo’s command she turned away from the window. She’d forgotten that her daughter was there. And sometimes wished she could forget that she was there for the remainder of her life. She still had this awful feeling that letting Jo-Jo back into her life was going to be one of the biggest mistakes she’d ever made. But looking at her youngest child’s wide, innocent doe-like eyes reminded her of the young woman she would’ve liked her daughter to have been.

  She approached Jo-Jo who sat at the computer on her desk. She was gazing intently at the screen.

  ‘Shopping are ya?’ Stella said flippantly. ‘Found a bit of designer tat you want? I suppose you want me to put my hands in my pocket so you can pay for it?’

  Jo-Jo tilted her head sideways to face her mum. She wore one of those smiles that, frankly, Stella found creepy. ‘I think you’re gonna wanna pay me, Mum, when you check out what I’ve found.’

  Curiosity pushed Stella to the computer. She looked over Jo-Jo’s shoulder at the screen. Disbelief caused the skin on her well-powdered forehead to crease as she read. Stunned, she looked sideways at her daughter, who wore a mouth splitting grin. ‘Told you, Mum, you wouldn’t regret taking me back.’

  From what Stella had just read on the Internet she couldn’t argue with Jo-Jo. Maybe her youngest kid wasn’t such a waste of space after all. She straightened up. ‘We’re going for a ride.’

  Chapter Thirty-one

  6.15 p.m.

  Abdul Miah whistled Abba’s ‘Money, Money, Money’ as he stepped out of the bank, carrying an everyday rucksack on his back. He never noticed the two people wearing baseball caps and hoodies watching his every move from a car.