Gangster Girl

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  They all looked over to find a woman standing in front of an overturned table.

  ‘Jenna?’

  Ricky’s voice was faint as he stared at the woman recently arrived from Spain. His eyes devoured her as she made her way across the room. She stopped a few inches away from him.

  ‘How’s my boy been?’

  ‘Jenna?’ he repeated. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t say anything else.

  ‘What are you doing back here?’ Stella screeched.

  ‘I told her to come back,’ Barbara announced. ‘She contacted me the other day because some lawyer from England had been asking questions about Henley.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ricky,’ Jenna said as if they were the only two people in the room. ‘They forgot I was there that night. I stumbled into the room as they were burying Maxwell. They couldn’t let me go because I’d seen too much. I was scared, really scared. So I did a deal with Stella – she would set me up in Maxwell’s villa in Spain, with enough cash to last me years and I would never set foot in Britain again.’

  ‘That’s why I kept an eye on you, Ricky, when you were younger,’ Barbara said. ‘Jenna wanted to make sure you were OK.’

  Jenna’s hand reached out to him. ‘You don’t know how many times I wanted to pick up the phone and just hear your voice. I—’

  But before she could utter another word two gunshots ripped through the air. Stella staggered back, blood pumping from the two holes in her chest. The Uzi fell from her hands as she collapsed onto the floor. The others looked up swiftly at Barbara. In her hand she held a Beretta that had last been fired twenty years ago.

  All hell broke loose as the police stormed in and yelled for everyone to get on the floor. The only one who ignored their instructions was Barbara. She moved towards Stella’s body. Knelt and gathered the other woman’s body into her arms.

  ‘She weren’t all bad you know,’ she whispered sadly.

  It was then that the tears finally came and Daisy started to cry.

  Chapter Fifty-six

  The TV in the hospital room replayed the earlier dramatic scenes outside City Hall. Camera flashes lit up the dark as questions were thrown by the impatient media as they pressed around the new commissioner of the Met police as she was led away from the building by a cordon of her own officers. The bold headline running across the bottom of the screen read: queen of cops vs queen of crime?

  The media’s questions came thick and fast:

  ‘Is it true that Stella King is dead?’

  ‘Did you shoot Stella King?’

  ‘Is this related to today’s earlier bank robbery in Canary Wharf?’

  But the police around Barbara were having none of it. They pushed her forward, at the same time keeping the media well back.

  ‘Need some company?’

  Ricky glanced away from the telly towards the hospital door. He gave one of his cheeky grins as he nodded his head at Daisy. He’d stayed with Barbara until the police had arrived. ID’d himself to the officer in charge, but had not hung around so that his cover wasn’t compromised. He hadn’t wanted to leave the woman who’d helped turn his life around but he hadn’t a choice. Instead his superior had made him go to the hospital to sort himself out. Ricky knew that the night was not over for him, there would be plenty of questions for him to answer. Just as there had been for Daisy and Jenna at Paddington Green police station. Both had claimed to be innocent guests caught up in the drama and Ricky’s superior officer had backed up their claim.

  Daisy hovered near the side of his bed. ‘How you doing?’

  He held out his neatly bandaged arm. ‘I’ll live.’

  They looked at each other for a while. Suddenly she launched herself at him and wrapped herself over his chest, careful not to hurt his arm. Their lips met in a full, long kiss. Then she looked up at him, her blue eyes tired and soft. ‘What do you think will happen to Barbara?’

  His good hand caressed her back as he shook his head. ‘Dunno, but the time for lies is over. Where’s Jenna?’

  ‘At the club with Misty and the others.’

  They lay secure in each other’s arms until a voice at the door called, ‘Daisy?’

  They both gazed up to find Jerome standing nervously in the door. His eyes flicked between them. ‘I’ll be outside.’ Then he was gone. Daisy let out a long sigh as she pushed herself to her feet.

  She grinned at Ricky. ‘I know this girl who wants to try your bangers and mash recipe . . .’

  He grinned back. She twisted away from him as she pushed her hand in her pocket and found the ring that she knew she had to give back to the man waiting for her outside.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  ‘It’s negative.’

  Ricky blew out a mega sigh of relief as he looked at Daisy who stood in the doorway. He sat with a newspaper at a table on the balcony that overlooked the river in her flat. Six weeks had come and gone since one of the most infamous nights in London’s recent history. Ricky had kept his promise and airbrushed Daisy’s, Charlie and her dad’s name out of things. As far as the cops were concerned Stella King and Barbara Benton were involved in a crime that centred around evidence in a safe-deposit box that no one knew who it belonged to and involved in the murder of a council leader some said was involved in child abuse. Ricky and Daisy hadn’t talked about the future much, except of the ‘baby’. Now there was no baby.

  ‘Pleased?’ Ricky asked.

  Daisy sighed as she plonked herself in the chair opposite him. ‘Dragging a kid into an “are-they-aren’t-they” situation just doesn’t seem right. I think we need some more time to get to know each other.’

  ‘Oh, I know all I need to know about you.’ His dark eyes ran seductively over her. He flicked his gaze back to the newspaper in front of him. ‘Look at this.’ He spun it across the table towards her. She read the headline: 78% say Basher Babs should be let go.

  She scanned the remainder of the article, which was an impassioned piece in favour of Barbara Benton, briefly the commissioner of the Met police, facing no charges. She might have been involved in a murder, but he’d been a paedophile for crying out loud. Paedophiles don’t deserve to live, do they? Hadn’t she done society a favour?

  Daisy lifted her head, as the river breeze picked up. ‘Think she’ll get off?’

  ‘Well, she’s out on bail. And people seem to feel really strongly about this.’

  ‘And what do you say?’

  ‘You commit the crime you should do the time, that’s what I would’ve said a month ago, but that would mean you and Jenna would now be deep inside Holloway for your part in all this mess.’

  His reunion with his sister had been a private affair that he didn’t really talk about. She’d gone back to Spain a week ago, but said that if Barbara ever needed her she would be back. She wasn’t going to let the woman who had always been decent to and looked after her brother face the firing squad alone.

  ‘Who would’ve thought,’ Daisy started in a bittersweet voice, ‘that there would be so many ghosts from our pasts waiting for us?’

  Before he could say anything else a loud voice shouted, ‘Yoo hoo!’

  Ricky groaned. He knew who it was and wished she didn’t have her own key. Jackie appeared followed by the cavalry – Misty, Anna, Ollie and Roxy. The women eyed him up. They were still uneasy around him, not too happy about having a cop dating one of their nearest and dearest. But they had brought up Daisy to be a decent person, which he was thankful for.

  ‘You asked her to marry you yet?’ Jackie said, hands on hips.

  ‘A girl isn’t going to wait for ever,’ Ollie threw in.

  ‘I know someone who can design a wicked dress,’ Anna backed up.

  ‘Father Tom says he’s happy to officiate at the ceremony,’ Roxy added.

  ‘The club will put on the biggest spread London has ever seen,’ Misty said with relish.

  Both Ricky and Daisy groaned.

  ‘You lot should become private detectives the way you know this c
ity,’ Ricky said as he stood up. The women all looked at each other and laughed.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse us, ladies, but me and Daisy have got one last ghost to lay to rest.’

  ‘We have?’ Daisy muttered, standing up.

  ‘Lock up when you’re finished, ladies.’ He took Daisy’s arm. ‘You need to get your jacket because I’m taking you for a little spin.’

  ‘Private detectives. What a laugh,’ Jackie said, shaking her head as she and her friends settled themselves in for a long stay in Daisy’s Calamity Jane decorated sitting room.

  ‘Why not?’ It was Ollie who threw out the outrageous question.

  ‘Are you nuts?’ Misty asked, kicking off her heels.

  ‘Maybe Ollie’s got a point,’ Roxy said quietly. ‘We did go away on holiday to think about our future. The club almost runs itself now.’

  They stared at each other in silence. Then Anna broke the quiet. ‘People do always seem to come to us to help sort out their problems. You know, the type of stuff they don’t want to go to the cops with.’

  Silence again.

  ‘We don’t have to make it official or anything,’ Ollie finally said. ‘Just a discreet office at the top of the club. Even Schoolboy can help . . .’

  Jackie jumped in furiously at the sound of her husband’s name. ‘Leave him outta this.’

  The others shifted their eyes away from her, not sure what to say. They knew there were problems in her marriage, but what they were she wouldn’t say.

  ‘And what are we going to call ourselves?’ Misty scoffed, curling her long legs underneath herself, picking up a copy of The Lady Killers. She howled with laughter, but no one else joined in.

  Suddenly Jackie leant back in her chair. ‘The Lady Killers,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I like it . . .’

  Ricky’s spin took Daisy somewhere she didn’t want to go. The cemetery. She groaned aloud. She’d had enough of dead bodies.

  ‘What are we doing here?’

  He didn’t answer. Just shot her a soft, but slightly serious smile. A few minutes later, the car breezed to a stop, past a few other people still paying their respects to a loved one. She knew exactly where he was taking her. She got out of the car. Met Ricky at the bumper. Hand-in-hand they strolled towards Frankie Sullivan’s grave. The rose she’d laid six weeks ago had long since died. A wave of sadness swept her as she realised that there would be no more flowers from Stella.

  ‘I don’t really want to be here.’

  Ricky pulled his hand away. His voice was solemn. ‘It’s time for you to say a final goodbye.’

  Puzzled she looked at him. He said nothing as his hand dipped inside his denim jacket. Pulled out her bottle of pills. Rattled it. ‘One left,’ he said.

  He placed the single pill in her hand. ‘That’s the last tab you’re ever going to take.’

  Her hand curled around the tiny, round object. This was so hard, but Ricky was right. It was time to get on with her life and say good-bye to Frankie Sullivan. But she didn’t take the pill. She just closed her eyes. Slowly she began drifting. And drifting . . .

  Then she opened them and stared with wonder at where she was. Back in the Hammersmith Palais, where her dad would take her dancing. The lighting was dark with soothing splashes of red in between like the light just before dawn. Four figures on the stage, shrouded in the shadows, crowded around the same tall microphone stand, one with a guitar and another with a tambourine. They stood like statues waiting. A huge grin erupted on her face when she saw who stood a few feet from her. Her dad. Frankie Sullivan, wearing a tailored tux, polished black shoes and white shirt. That’s when she realised that she was wearing a huge, knee-length fluffy pink ball gown. He stretched out his arms to her. Grin growing, she moved towards him. Ended up in his arms, which closed around her waist. A guitar strummed from the stage soon joined by the single voice of a woman singing their song – ‘Dedicated To the One I Love’. She leant her head against his shoulder. They began to move as the chorus of voices grew from one to four. They swept across the dance floor, their bodies moving in unison. Laughing they started to sing along. Over and over. Then the music fell silent. Frankie stepped back. Moved away. Further and further until he disappeared into the darkness of the dim light . . .

  She was sobbing her heart out in Ricky’s arms. He stroked her hair as her tears soaked his shirt, whispering, ‘It’s alright,’ over and over again. They held on to each other in the soothing summer air. And she might be crying but she was alright. She felt Ricky’s body tense. Looked up at him and realised that he was gazing over her shoulder. Abruptly he removed his arms from her and moved to stand in front of her grandmother’s grave. His face wore an expression of such shock she became concerned about him.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  He gazed at her dazed. Looked back at the photo of her Gran. Back at her. He slapped on a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Nothing.’ He reached for her arm. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  But she wriggled away from him. ‘What’s going on, Ricky?’ As he opened his mouth, she cut furiously across him, ‘And don’t say nothing. Tell me what it is.’

  He let out a deflated breath and rubbed his hand across his chin. ‘This most probably don’t mean anything . . .’ She raised her eyebrow at him. ‘But have you looked at your grandmother’s photo properly?’

  She stepped closer to him, not sure what he was asking her. Of course she’d seen the photo before. She peered at it and shook her head. ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘When we came here the other night I couldn’t see the picture properly but I just caught the smile and it reminded me of someone.’

  She looked again. Shrugged her shoulders at him.

  ‘Look again just in case my eyes are playing tricks on me.’

  She looked back again. And again. Her heart lurched. Suddenly she saw what he saw. The grin. The blond hair. The beauty spot. No way. It couldn’t be. Couldn’t . . . Finally it burst strained and choked from her lips. ‘She looks like Stella King.’ She shot him a pleading desperate look. ‘I don’t understand.’

  But Ricky did. And what he said next blew her mind. ‘I don’t think that Stella King was your mum. I think she was your aunt. Frankie Sullivan’s sister.’

  Frankie Sullivan’s sister. The words drummed inside Daisy’s head as she got out of the car with Ricky. It couldn’t be true, she reasoned, because her dad didn’t have a sister. If he had she would know about her. Wouldn’t she? Although Daisy knew that she could have argued all day and all night about that one there was no argument about Stella being a dead ringer for her grandmother Millie.

  She shook off the thoughts as she looked up. The last time she’d seen this house it had been dark and she’d been belting out of it via a window. Her tongued flicked nervously across her lip as she stared at Ricky. He took her hand in his, then they approached the front door. He rang the bell. Seconds later the door was opened by the still powerful figure of Barbara Benton.

  Relaxing harp music played in the background from one of the other rooms as they sat inside Barbara’s kitchen at the table set neatly in a corner.

  ‘Is it true?’ Daisy said abruptly. Barbara raised her eyebrows. Daisy swallowed. ‘That Stella isn’t . . . I mean wasn’t . . .my mother?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Barbara spoke quietly but her gaze dipped away from Daisy.

  ‘Don’t bullshit us,’ Ricky said angrily. Daisy reached out and took his hand on the table. Squeezed it. ‘If anyone knows the truth you do. Plus Daisy deserves the truth after all she’s been through.’

  Instead of answering Barbara stood up slowly. Moved towards a drawer. Took out some ciggies. Lit one. Puffed for a few seconds. Then glanced back at them, the smoke dancing between them. ‘Some things are best left alone,’ she finally said.

  ‘I need to know,’ Daisy’s voice was soft, but insistent.

  ‘OK.’ Barbara leant back onto the cupboard. ‘I knew that Frankie was Stella’s sister. She told me
one day when we were kids, in confidence. He was older than her and was put into care just as Stella was born. That’s why people didn’t associate him with Stella. But they stayed in touch. When Stella hit the street he tried to rein her in, but Stella being Stella . . .’ She let out a single punch of laughter. ‘She wouldn’t listen. When she got the brothel in Finsbury Park he would come visiting. And . . .’ She swallowed. ‘That’s where I met him again.’

  Daisy’s hand tightened on Ricky’s.

  ‘It just happened one night.’ Barbara’s eyes got a faraway look as she remembered. ‘We were drinking on our own in one of the back rooms. Laughing, swapping stories. And . . . well, one thing lead to another . . .’

  Daisy shot to her feet. ‘You aren’t saying . . . ?’ she cried out. Then it all slowly began to fall into place. How Barbara had told them that twenty years ago she would come to the brothel to kiss Daisy good night. The caresses and lingering looks Barbara had given her in the past that she’d taken for some girl-on-girl thing. Oh, it had been girl-on-girl alright – mother and daughter. Then she remembered what she’d heard Stella say on the phone: ‘You want me to tell your daughter the truth and see the hurt written across her face?’ All the time they’d assumed it must be Randal Curtis or Charlie’s widow and all the time Stella had been talking to the one person who claimed never to have had any children: Barbara Benton.

  Barbara ploughed on. ‘I found out I was pregnant a few months later and by that time Frankie was already in prison.’ Daisy covered her mouth with her hand. ‘I couldn’t have an abortion, not with my Catholic upbringing. So I went away on some mythical police conference in Europe and had the baby. We agreed that Stella would bring her up as her own until Frankie got out . . .’

  ‘But why didn’t you keep me?’

  Barbara stepped forward. Her face was riddled with anguish. ‘I couldn’t. My career was everything to me.’ She took another step forward. Daisy shuffled back. ‘But I loved you. Always came to tuck you into bed on a Friday night when I could. I didn’t only come to the brothel to get information from Stella, I also came to see my baby girl. Of course, Clarke and Johnson never knew. That’s why when I found Maxwell Henley in your room I went crazy. Couldn’t believe what he was trying to do to my little girl . . .’ Tears fell from her eyes as her mouth crumpled.