by KERRY BARNES
‘Yeah, I believe so,’ said Poppy, her eyes having a vacant look, now lost in some memory.
‘How did you get hurt?’
She snapped back to reality. ‘I got run over. I’ve broken my ankle, but apart from this bloody great lump on my cheek, I’m all right, really.’
Ricky was bemused by her posh voice and hard attitude. He loved the way she spoke, though, and even with the swelling, it didn’t detract from her very pretty bluebell-blue eyes and her dinky nose. She reminded him of a pixie or a fairy.
‘And you, Ricky? Why are you in here?’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘I was attacked, so I don’t remember much. Anyway, hey, I’m alive . . . ’ His eyes darkened. It was hard not to reflect on how he came to have his injuries when any mention of them was made.
Suddenly, Poppy blinked in surprise and her skin began to tingle in anticipation. ‘Oh my God, are you Ricky Regan?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, I am, but how would you know me?’
Quickly, Poppy glanced over her shoulder to check the doorway. Quietly, she whispered, ‘Listen, this is really important. Please, you mustn’t tell anyone, but I’m Kendall’s sister.’
Ricky had heard of all kinds of coincidences, but this one beat them by a mile. He then studied the worried expression on Poppy’s face. ‘It’s okay, I’m not going to say anything. Listen, I’m so sorry about your sister. She was lovely. I really did like her. We only just started . . . ’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know. Maybe we’ll have time later to be sentimental. However, there’s something far more urgent and serious that concerns me right now. I need to ask you something. The man who attacked you. Did he really put a hessian sack over your head?’
Ricky nodded eagerly, wondering where this conversation was going. ‘Yeah, he did. Why do ya ask?’
Sidestepping his question, she went on, ‘Do you remember anything about him, anything at all?’
‘No, I don’t, but why are ya asking?’
Poppy gave him a thoughtful look and lowered the excitement in her voice. ‘Oh, I dunno, I’m just eager to find out who killed my sister, I guess.’
Ricky looked at the hospital gown and bathrobe. ‘None of ya family know you’re here, do they?’
She looked down at the paper-thin garments. ‘No.’ She forced a laugh.
‘You don’t look like Kendall.’
Poppy shook her head and then looked Ricky over; he was handsome in a boyish way. She could see why her sister had found him attractive. His eyes crinkled at the sides, and when he smiled, a dimple appeared in his cheeks.
‘Kendall was my half-sister. She had a different father. We called her “the rebel”, but I admired her, really. She had gumption and a mind of her own.’
Ricky tilted his head to the side and smiled gently. ‘She was sweet and funny.’
Poppy frowned. ‘Sweet? Funny? I don’t know about that, but she was strong-willed and took no shit.’
‘She never said she had a sister. Well, she never spoke about her family at all, to be honest.’
Poppy felt a tear welling up; she hadn’t had time to grieve. But she held it back. ‘I’m not surprised, really. She hated Mother. And she wasn’t close to either me or my twin sister. I just wished she’d escaped to a better life, a longer life.’
Ricky’s mind wandered off to his own recent experiences. He knew how lucky he was to be alive and effectively to start his life anew. Then something she’d just said alerted him. ‘Escaped? From what?’ he questioned.
Poppy shook her head and let out a long sigh, her eyes on the door. ‘Look, she and my mother didn’t get on. She was so unhappy. I think it’s because Mother made her live with us. Kendall always assumed that my sister and I had it easy, but we never did. In fact, we’ve had it hard, but not in the way most people struggle. From an early age, we were controlled . . . Look, I think I should go back to the ward.’ She averted her eyes from the door and then looked back to him, wondering if she’d said too much. After all, she didn’t even know Ricky.
He smiled again. ‘I’ll walk you back.’
The soft glow in his silver-grey eyes made her look twice this time; he really was good-looking, although she wasn’t one for handsome men. Unexpectedly, she had the urge to know more about Ricky and Kendall’s relationship, perhaps as a way of understanding more about her sister before she was killed.
‘Did you sleep with my sister? Oh, er, shit, sorry, it’s none of my business.’
Ricky laughed, and his cheeks flushed. ‘It’s all right. I guess you would want to know as much as possible about her last few days. Well, no, Miss Poppy – nice name by the way – but anyway, the answer is a definite no. Kendall and I only talked and texted on the phone, and then we went for a quick drink, and we were going to order in a Chinese from her flat and . . . ’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, but that was it, really. I would have loved to have got to know her a bit more, though.’
Just the openness in his eyes told her he was a genuine guy and someone she felt she could trust. ‘Ricky, I know you’re poorly, but I need some help.’ Her face crumpled in pain. ‘About your friends. Do they know of a place where I could go for a while? I need to stay away from my parents and try and get my head clear.’
He placed two hands on the side armrests and pushed himself up. Poppy was already on her feet, struggling with her own crutches.
‘How can you go anywhere? Ya can’t bleedin’ well walk.’
She blushed and looked at him with fear in her eyes. ‘You don’t understand. I have to get away. It was my sodding mother who ran me down!’
Ricky felt the blood drain from his face. ‘Jesus. But why?’ he asked, as he steadied her balance.
‘I don’t know, and I don’t know if she meant to do it, but she didn’t stop. She just drove off. It was dark, I ran out into the road, and she came hurtling around the corner.’
As Ricky again steadied her, he could smell the sweet perfume from her hair. His heart went out to her as she looked so helpless. ‘But what I don’t understand is why you were running in the first place?’
Her eyes widened, and Ricky could tell from her expression she was probably reliving the experience. ‘I was running from my dad, I think . . . Oh God.’ Her eyes now filled with tears, she choked on her words. ‘I think he may be the man behind Kendall’s murder. I don’t know, for sure, though. I don’t know anything anymore. I’m just a mess!’
With his brows knitted together, and darkness filling his eyes, he gripped her tighter. ‘What! Your own farver?’
She nodded and bit her bottom lip. Tears were falling down her face steadily now, as the two of them left the room.
‘Right, okay. Let’s think about this. Have you told the police?’
She shook her head vehemently. ‘No, absolutely not! I have no proof. It may be nothing at all, but I just get this awful feeling something isn’t right. There was bloody hessian hanging from a trunk inside his log cabin in the garden.’
Ricky sighed and relaxed his grip. ‘Poppy, that doesn’t mean he was the man who attacked me. I get that you are looking for answers but finding some hessian doesn’t make him the murderer.’
‘No, of course it doesn’t. But there’s more, a lot more, but it’s hard to explain . . . ’ Suddenly, she looked up to see Arty and Liam walking along the corridor, holding cans of drink and bars of chocolate.
‘You all right, mate?’ asked Arty, with a very concerned look on his face.
Ricky glanced back at Poppy. ‘Er, I can help, but please tell me this ain’t no fantasy detective game, is it?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m deadly serious. Please, Ricky.’
‘A bit cosy, Ricky, ain’t it, mate? We leave you for five minutes and you two are like ol’ buddies . . . ’ The banter stopped abruptly when Arty realized that Ricky wasn’t in a joking mood.
‘Art, I need your help, mate.’ He turned to Poppy. ‘Do ya know what the doctor said? Did ya hear him mention anything abo
ut surgery?’
‘No. They’re keeping me in because I wouldn’t tell them my name or anything. So they suspect I’ve concussion. I think I’m fine, though. It’s just my ankle, but that’s in plaster, so, really, I can just leave.’
Liam screwed his face up. ‘What the fuck’s going on here, Ricky? Who is she?’
Ricky pulled Poppy closer to him; her whole body was trembling. ‘Liam, Arty, can you get her out of here? Take her to yours or mine but tell no one. She thinks she knows who attacked me. She’s Kendall’s half-sister.’
Arty jolted in shock. His eyes almost appeared to bulge out of his head. ‘No fucking way?’
Ricky nodded, affirmatively. ‘But listen. You have to get her away from here without anyone knowing what’s going on. Her muvver’s only gone and run her over, and when she saw what she’d done, she did the off. And she was running from her ol’ man. She thinks he may have something to do with my attack. Take her to me dad’s.’ He looked at Poppy. ‘Me dad’s a good man. Ya can tell him everything. He’ll help ya, and I promise ya this – he won’t call ya muvver.’
Liam sighed. ‘Come on, then. You, Art, find a wheelchair, unless . . . ’ he giggled at Poppy, ‘ya want me to sling you over me shoulder?’ He tried to keep upbeat although the news was shocking.
For the first time since the hit-and-run, Poppy chuckled. Maybe it was the relief. ‘I don’t mind either way, as long as I get away from here before the police arrive.’
Ricky removed his own dressing gown, one his nan had brought in for him. ‘Take this, Poppy. You stay safe, babe, and I’ll call me dad, and tell him what’s going on, like.’
She looked at Arty and then at Liam.
‘Hey, trust me. You’re as safe as houses with those two.’
Arty hurried along the corridor until he found a wheelchair. Liam helped her onto the seat and carried her crutches. They nodded to Ricky and were gone in a heartbeat.
***
In a daze of confusion, Zara wandered from room to room, her mind desperately trying to take everything in. First Mike, then Eric, and now there was a niggling doubt about the Lanigans. Knowing she should never make a rash decision when under so much stress, she sat down at her father’s desk, in deep thought. What did she really want for herself? Was running a firm exactly her idea of the good life? Did she really need all the excitement? Surely, she’d had enough drama to last a lifetime? She contemplated the events of the past few days, marshalling her thoughts in order. She owned the restaurants and could easily sell them and retire from the money. Did she want the headache? And as for the country now being slowly pulled to bits by unruly kids hooked on this new drug, did she even want to live here anymore?
She sighed in defeat and pulled out the title deeds that she’d only recently placed in the drawer of the desk. Previously, they’d been stored in a hiding place that not even Ismail had known about – luckily. Not that it would do him much good now, she thought.
The manila folder even smelled of antiques, it was so old. She stared at her father’s handwriting and imagined him once more sitting at the desk and planning his next good deal. As she opened the file, there in Old English was the first set of deeds. Then her eyes glistened as soon as they fell on the black-and-white photo of her mother. The tall, slender woman, with thick chestnut-coloured curls that hung loose, framing her heart-shaped face, was beautiful. The soft, loving expression in her eyes really showed the person she had once been. Zara allowed the tears to cascade down her cheeks. Her dear, sweet, and wonderful mother was taken from her far too soon. She never got to share her daughter’s teenage years and be there for her. The empty feeling brought with it a sense of loneliness. No mother, father, or brother, and now, not even Mike was in her life. What was she really doing? Was it all worth it? she pondered.
As she reminisced, a loose sheet of manuscript slipped from her hand. This wasn’t from another set of deeds, it was a letter. But it wasn’t any ordinary one: she guessed it was a letter from the grave. She took a deep breath and studied it very carefully.
Dear Zara, if you are reading this then I am no longer with you and you are considering selling the business.
She stopped for a moment to take in the detail of the beautiful handwritten note. He really was quite artistic. She read on.
Life often leaves us with impossible decisions, and this may be one of them. Hopefully, you are in your older years now and wish to retire.
You may be strong, but you are also human. I hope you use the money from the sale of the business to enjoy your life. I also hope that by now you have found happiness, no doubt with Mike Regan. He was the only man I ever truly trusted, by the way.
You are my daughter and a leader but sometimes in life we need someone to lean on. Your mother was always my crutch, until she passed away. So, my child, don’t be afraid to share your worries. I wished I had done it more often.
Yours, your father, Izzy.
I love you.
She read and reread the note, kissed the paper, and allowed a tear to drop onto the folder. ‘Oh, Dad, what the hell am I doing?’
She quickly closed the folder. Instead of placing it back into the drawer, she returned it to its original hiding place in the void under the floor. With her back straight and her head held high, she wiped away the tears and readied herself to make a plan – one that would show the firms who was in charge, even if it meant she might die in the process. One way or another, she intended to demonstrate to everyone how it really worked, starting with rule number one – no one should underestimate the daughter of Izzy Ezra. And then follow up that with rule number two – no one fucks with the skinny, one-handed Jewish bird and lives to tell the fucking tale.
***
Ricky tried desperately hard to get through to his father but to no avail. He assumed he hadn’t charged his phone again.
He lay back on his pillow and sighed, hoping that Arty and Liam had made sure they’d got the girl to his father’s house. What she’d said wasn’t really a cause for concern but how she’d said it certainly was. He kept visualizing her pretty blue eyes shadowed with fear.
***
Mike sat opposite Stoneham in his office. Lowry put a bag of pastries and three mugs of coffee on the table. He edged himself onto the only vacant chair and shuffled to pull it to the table.
Stoneham looked at the spilled coffee and tutted. ‘Lowry, get a napkin, will you?’
Lowry pulled a serviette from his pocket and quickly wiped the mess.
‘Did the men survive or . . . ?’ asked Mike.
‘Only just. They had two hundred grand’s worth of drugs inside them. Each!’
Mike shook his head and clenched his jaw. ‘He’s a fucking animal, this bloke they call the Governor, ain’t he?’
‘Yes. We believe he’s the man responsible for the spread of this vile drug. Everything seems to lead back to him. But, again, we have drawn a blank. I’ve had forensics assigned purely to this case. They are working around the clock trying to find even a hair sample. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. The DNA from that cottage is throwing up known criminals – not big-time ones, but petty thieves and druggies. I’ve had half the force questioning them but nothing of importance to this case has been discovered.’
‘If there ain’t one single informer among them, then you really do have a problem. The only reason they won’t grass is that they fear this Governor geezer more than they do time in prison.’
Lowry entered the discussion. ‘Oh yeah, for sure. I’ve had doors slammed in my face by grown men who were paralysed with fear and shaking in their boots. No one will give this man up.’
The Commissioner looked rough: his hair was greasy, he was wearing a five o’clock shadow, and he had bags under his eyes. ‘Last week we found four men dead with hessian sacks over their heads. Three were killed in the same place at the same time. Very brutally, I might add. We couldn’t tell from their faces who they were because they were so horrifically smashed in. The fourth
was a known drug dealer and not any candyman either. You may know him or have heard of him. Kai Lin.’
Mike took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Yeah, I do. Who don’t, to be fair. Hang on. I thought this Governor guy was running or taking over the South-East? Kai ran his drugs in the North.’
‘Well, he was found in a skip behind a Chinese takeaway in Lewisham. Forensics confirmed he was killed there too.’
Mike shook his head. ‘Sounds to me like he was working away from his own manor. This Governor, if he thought Kai was trying to muscle in on the South-East, he probably took umbrage. Probably a turf war, I should think.’
‘A month ago, we found two other dead cocaine dealers. We didn’t think much of it at the time. You live by the sword and so on, but now there is a common theme: the hessian sack. This Governor character seems to be taking out the dealers so that the addicts can only go to him. There’s a pattern emerging.’
Mike raised his thick brow. ‘Well, if there’s a pattern, then there’s a clue. Surely, you detectives can find him?’ He curled his lip and shot Lowry a sarcastic smirk.
Lowry went bright red with disgust at this deliberate slight. ‘Hold on a minute, Mr Regan. We’re doing our best. I haven’t slept in months, working every hour to find these bastards. I’ve one of the toughest of all the Yardies in that cell next door who’s clammed up. He’s my number-one informant.’
Mike leaned forward and glared with dark brooding eyes. ‘A Yardie as an informant? I find that hard to believe, but, obviously, your line of questioning isn’t working. Let me have a word.’
Lowry sat back, unsettled. ‘Er . . . no, that’s not how it works. You can’t do that.’
Stoneham rubbed his temples, deep in thought. He was known for his ability to find answers to seemingly intractable problems. ‘Lowry, what time will you be releasing the man?’
With a concerned look on his face, Lowry placed his mug of hot coffee on the table and uncurled his fat fingers. His eyes darted from Regan back to Stoneham. ‘Gov, I’m really not sure about this.’