His mobile rang, dragging him out of his murderous thoughts. ‘Yeah?’
‘Go over to the large, plastic bin in the far right corner.’
‘Look,’ Raymond snarled. ‘I don’t do business with ghosts.’
‘I hear that Ricky’s saying he’s going to take over the Kings’ manor and the first thing he’s going to do is put you and your business into “administration”.’
‘Yeah? We’ll see about that . . .’
‘If you do what I say it ain’t going to happen. Now walk across the car park.’
Ray-Ray held onto the phone as he followed the instruction. Once at the bin he put the phone back to his face. ‘Open the lid.’
‘Open the lid? Why, did you miss dinner?’
‘Just do it.’
He pushed the lid with one hand. Peered inside. On top of a black bag lay a small holdall bag. He pulled it out and pushed the phone back to his face at the same time.
‘That’s just to say thank you.’
He dropped the bag on to the grainy, concrete ground. Hunched down. Unzipped it. His breath sucked in when he saw what was inside. Neatly piled cash. He pulled the phone back up. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
But he was talking to thin air because the line was dead. He smiled. It wasn’t the only thing that was going to be dead that night.
Ricky spotted Brett Baxter as soon as he entered the Happy Duck pub. Brett stood out like sunshine on a winter’s day. For some unknown reason, which Ricky could never figure out, his friend liked to wear porkpie hats, even when he was beavering away inside his lab.
‘My man,’ Brett called out as Ricky quickly eased opposite him at the table in the corner. ‘I’ve got to get back or Bettina will be serving me with divorce papers.’
Ricky shoved the plastic bag across the table. ‘I need you to do some tests on this right away.’
The other man peered inside and whistled. His gaze darted up at Ricky. ‘Why act so clandestine if this is official police business?’
Ricky leant across the table, his voice dropping low. ‘Let’s just say, it isn’t now but it will be later.’
‘Um,’ Brett let out, leaning back, with one hand still on the bag. ‘Is this going to put me in the firing line?’
‘Not if you do it right away.’
Brett shifted the brim of his hat with one hand and scratched his head. ‘Do you want the usual tests? Possible DNA evidence? When it was last fired?’ He shuffled forward peering back into the bag. ‘Although I’ll tell you now that it looks slightly old, which means I might not be able to lift anything.’
‘Do what you can. Give me a bell asap. Thanks, man.’
Ricky eased to his feet and started walking away.
‘That was bollocks about the rugby team, wasn’t it? You aren’t going to join at all.’
Ricky carried on walking, a smile settling across his face. Then he thought about what the gun might mean about why his sister never came home that night. Thought about DI Johnson . . .
Daisy glanced down at the white business card in her lap, taking her eyes momentarily off the road as she drove. Reread the name. This was a risky move, which was why she hadn’t told Ricky who she was planning to see. But she didn’t know where else to turn. Her shoulders relaxed back as her nerves eased down.
‘I told you not to run.’
Daisy nearly jumped two feet out of her skin at the sound of the voice next to her. She swung her head around to find her dad in the passenger seat. Things were really getting bad if she was now seeing her dad without the aid of her happy pills. He wore black, from head to foot, even the leather gloves on his hands. His blond hair was tousled as if he’d been shoving his fingers through it. His blue eyes were shining and alert.
She turned her gaze back to the road as she took the car into a sharp right. ‘I was staring at a no-win situation, knew I had a pair of legs and decided to use them,’ she finally answered.
‘We’ve all got choices . . .’
‘I don’t need to hear a shit load of psycho babble right now.’
‘Mind your language, my girl.’
‘Sorry, Dad. I just don’t know how I got into all of this.’
He leant forward. Switched the radio on. The Mamas and Papas, already halfway through ‘Dedicated To The One I Love’, floated its dream magic inside the car.
‘That’s always the problem with you respectable people. She shot him a quick look on hearing his words. ‘Too much looking back and too many regrets. This is one night you need to keep your mince pies looking forward.’
She let out an agonising breath. ‘I could just keep driving until I find a police station and hand myself in.’
Frankie snorted. ‘That’s another thing you respectable people do, always full of guilt. You know what I always used to say? “Never complain, never explain.”’ His voice became hard. ‘You need to do less thinking and worrying and more concentrating.’
The silence settled around them, until Frankie said, ‘Who would have thought it? My girl fancying a copper.’
Daisy let out a huff and blushed at the same time. ‘I do not fancy him.’
‘Yeah, right.’ He cocked his head towards her. ‘And I ain’t dead.’
They both looked at each other, eyebrows raised and laughed. It felt so good to laugh. Suddenly she was reminded of the days they had once spent together. Afternoons splashing and funning in the indoor pool of their huge Essex house; evenings together, as cosy as two bugs, on the sofa watching the box; nights spent bopping their lives away at the Hammersmith Palais. The tension drained from her as she remembered the good ol’ days. Their laughter tickled away as they continued to stare at each other.
‘I had real high hopes for you when you were little.’ Frankie shifted in the seat to make himself more comfortable, his lips carved into a gentle smile full of memories. ‘You weren’t going to grow up to be a somebody like me.’ Daisy ached as she saw regret touch his face. ‘I wanted you to be decent. To live on the right side of the street. To never have to look over your shoulder.’ Suddenly his voice blew soft and gentle in the space between them. ‘I only ever regret two things in my life. Every time I turned up for parent–teacher evening at your school your teacher always looked like I was going to blow her head off. Always made me think that because they were scared of me they never treated you right.’
She’d always wondered why the teachers sometimes whispered when she strolled past. It wasn’t until she was a teenager and found out who he was she understood. ‘And the second thing?’ she asked as the car drew into a well lit car park in front of a large glass and steel building.
‘That I just wasn’t careful where I put my dick the night you were conceived.’ She gave him a sad look. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I never once in my life regretted the day you were born. Only ever regretted the womb you came out of.’
She nodded in agreement. ‘Knowing that I was nurtured in Stella King’s womb for nine months doesn’t fill me with joy either.’
‘Stella?’
She quickly turned, catching the confusion on his face. What was going on here? ‘Dad?’
His face retreated to unreadable gangland villain. ‘Remember what I taught you about using a gun. You’ve been going around without the safety catch on that gun you’re packing. You don’t want to be shooting yourself, not on a night like this.’
She quickly switched her head back upfront as she eased the car into an empty car park space. As she killed the engine she turned back to question him some more about his earlier words about Stella. But he was gone. And the radio was off. She eased forward and pulled the gun from the back of her pants. Stared at it. Frankie was right, the catch wasn’t on.
Twelve minutes later the person she was after strolled out of the building. Tall and straight, they walked in the opposite direction. Daisy grabbed the business card in her lap and jumped out of the car. Taking long strides she followed the other person. The person turned a corner. So did Daisy. As Daisy came arou
nd a hand grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the wall.
‘What are you doing following—’ Suddenly the other person dropped their hand. ‘Daisy Sullivan isn’t it?’
Daisy leant heavily on the wall as she stared at the Deputy Commissioner of the Met police, Barbara “Basher Babs” Benton.
Chapter Forty-seven
‘What you bloody looking at?’ Jo-Jo yelled drunkenly at the two women she passed. They whispered to each other and darted scornful looks at her as they quickened their steps. Jo-Jo tried to steady her unstable body as she threw at their backs, ‘Think you’re too good for the likes of me? Wanna know who I am? I’m Stella fucking King’s daughter, that’s who.’
But the two women hurried around a corner leaving her ranting and raving to herself. Defiantly she shoved two fingers in the air. Twisted back around and staggered towards Deadwood Hotel. She knew she was buzzing out of her head. She hadn’t been on the gear for years, but the events of the day had tipped her over the edge. It hadn’t been hard to track down a bag of C. She smiled. That was the beauty of London; you could get anything you wanted anytime, day and night. She entered the deserted and dark brothel.
‘Mum,’ she called out. Then she remembered that her mum wasn’t coming home. Ever. The artificial feeling of numbness that the drugs and booze had injected into her system disappeared. Grief gripped her again. She leant her palm against the wall of the hallway and bowed her head as she started to sob. The image of the burning car flashed into her mind.
‘Why, why, why?’ she mumbled again and again. She hadn’t even had the chance to tell her how much she loved her. Tell her about the things they would do together. Just them two, no one else. Shit, she needed to cut herself, to let this grief flow out of her body. She reached into her bag searching for her razor. Found it. As she pulled it out she felt a presence behind her. Heard a shuffling noise against the floor. Knew that person was moving closer to her. Felt their heat grow stronger against her back. She whirled around, razor high in the air, and let out a terrifying scream when she saw who it was.
‘I’ve never seen him before.’
Daisy sank back in her seat as a massive attack of deflation hit her at Barbara Benton’s words. ‘Just thought with your years of experience in the police you might’ve come across him.’
The other woman still fingered the photo Daisy had given her. They were seated inside Misty’s car, still in the car park. The shadows of the deepening night slowly lengthened beside them.
‘What’s all this about?’ Barbara’s grey eyes darted up, as quick as her question.
Instead of answering Daisy hastily stuck out her hand for the picture. But the older woman didn’t give it back. ‘I could take it back to the Yard and see if it matches any faces in our computer records.’
‘No, thanks.’ Daisy tugged the picture back and shoved it back inside her bag.
Barbara pulled out a cigarette and lit up. She took a deep lug and leant back. ‘I’ve been smoking since I was fifteen and every day since then I’ve been telling myself I’m going to give up. But that’s what happens when something has got you hooked. You want to move on but you can’t get away. So what’s got you so hooked about this man in the photo?’
Suddenly the car felt like the tightest space Daisy had been inside. She twisted around desperate to get outside. ‘I know who you are.’ Barbara’s words froze Daisy. The other woman carried on. ‘Charlie told me all about you two years ago.’ Daisy slowed and turned to face her. ‘He knew how much Randal Curtis hated your dad and he needed someone inside the police to feed Randal false info if he started asking questions.’
Dazed, Daisy continued to stare, not sure what to do. Barbara leant forward and pulled out the ashtray and ground out her ciggie. She faced Daisy. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here but I suspect it’s got something to do with Charlie.’
Could she trust this woman? Daisy mulled over the question. Made her decision. ‘I’m worried that Charlie was mixed up with something he shouldn’t have been. Something to do with my dad. Let’s just say I found some stuff that includes a gun.’ Daisy stopped, peering intently at the other woman’s face, waiting for the shock to show but she saw none.
‘Go on,’ Barbara urged softly.
‘A friend of mine is getting someone to check out the gun to see if it links to anything nasty.’
‘Believe me, Charlie wouldn’t have been involved in anything dodgy.’
‘Don’t you think I’ve told myself that?’
‘Have you ever considered that Charlie might have been holding the stuff for your dad without realising what he had?’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘It’s not uncommon for solicitors to hold onto things at the request of their clients.’
‘But Charlie wasn’t even my dad’s solicitor.’
‘I ran this case years ago. It was a child abuse case. We knew this scumbag had a child porn stash somewhere, but we couldn’t find it. I turned this city upside down.’ Barbara’s tone was filled with determined grit as if she were involved in the case all over again. ‘We had one hour left to hold the bastard. I reread his record again and again because I knew the clue was in there somewhere. And there it was, the name of his solicitor, which didn’t match the name of the solicitor representing him. The bastard had changed the firm of solicitors who represented him right at the last minute. And do you know where we found all those disgusting pictures? Stashed in an envelope lodged with his original solicitor. Of course the solicitor didn’t even realise what he’d been given.’
‘Do you think that’s what’s happened?’
‘I hope to God it is.’ She stroked Daisy’s arm, reminding her of the last time they’d sat in a car together and she’d held Daisy’s hand. Daisy stiffened, this time wondering if there was some lesbian-thing going on. It wasn’t as if this woman was married or had kids and stuff, Daisy reasoned. If it was true how was she going to get out of this one? She didn’t want to offend this woman but girl-on-girl was definitely not her style. What was she meant to do? She breathed easier when Barbara removed her hand.
‘Sometimes we think helping our friends is the best way. But sometimes it isn’t because it puts us dead centre in the firing line.’ Her hand came out and stroked Daisy’s cheek. ‘If things get dangerous you’ve got my number.’
‘I’ll be alright,’ Daisy said as Barbara’s hand dropped away. Barbara opened the door. ‘Oh, yes, nearly forgot.’ Barbara looked back at her, eyebrows raised. ‘Good luck later at the gala dinner at City Hall with getting the keys to the commissioner’s job. Oops,’ Daisy’s hand shot to her mouth. ‘I didn’t mean cell keys . . .’
Barbara laughed, a joyful high sound that surprised Daisy. ‘If you get this all sorted out, why don’t you come along and see me step into my new shoes? And Daisy.’ Barbara looked drop cold sober now. ‘Make sure you keep the safety catch on that gun.’
Daisy’s jaw dropped. How . . . ? But before she could ask the other woman got out of the car and melted into the night.
Daisy pulled out the photo of the unnamed man. She still didn’t know who he was. Her eye caught the time on the digital clock on the dashboard. She had less than half an hour to get back to Ricky.
The razor dropped from Jo-Jo’s hand and clattered onto the wooden floor. She stared horrified at the tall person in front of her.
‘Mum,’ finally burst from her lips.
Stella stood in front of her daughter. She still wore the clothes she’d done the robbery in, but also had on a baseball cap. Underneath the cap was a black scarf that shrouded half of her face giving her a macabre phantom of the opera look. Her visible eye was bloodshot, but had lost none of its steely fire.
‘Well it ain’t the tooth fairy, is it?’ Stella’s words were slow and muffled as if she found it hard to speak.
The younger woman’s terror intensified as she leant into the wall. ‘You’re dead, ain’t you? You’ve come back to haunt me.’
Stella took a limping step forward. ‘Don’t be stupid.’ Abruptly her words stopped as she peered hard at her youngest child. Her mouth twisted in disgust. ‘You’re tripping again, ain’t you?’
Suddenly Jo-Jo launched her small body into her mother’s arms. Stella clung on tight to her daughter, smoothing her hand over her hair as the younger woman cried.
‘I knew you weren’t dead,’ Jo-Jo said excitedly. ‘Not my mum. It’s going to be just you and me now like it should be.’
Without warning Stella’s legs went weak and she staggered back. Jo-Jo’s arms tightened stopping her from falling.
‘Mum?’ Jo-Jo looked up at her concerned. She felt the tremble of her mum’s body. Something was wrong.
‘You need to help me upstairs.’
Jo-Jo knew this wasn’t the time for questions. She folded her arm around her mother’s waist and gently led her towards the staircase. Stella raggedly sucked in air as they took the steps slowly, one at a time. A few minutes later, a heavily breathing Stella still hanging onto her, Jo-Jo shoved open the door to her mum’s office. She led her mum towards the sofa.
‘Not there,’ Stella said weakly. ‘Put me in Stevie’s chair.’
Jo-Jo propelled her to the other side of the room. Carefully she laid her mum in the chair behind the desk. With a small groan Stella sank down. She looked up at Jo-Jo, whose hand fluttered nervously in the air. ‘Help me get this hat and scarf off.’
Gangster Girl Page 34