Tara

by Lesley Pearse

  He was knocked off balance. She could see an almost tender expression, and knew she had to act now before he snapped back to his customary hardness. She opened her arms just a little, as if intending to embrace him, and moved forward.

  'Did I turn out as you imagined?' She kept her voice sweet and warm, her eyes on him while she gauged the point at which she must bend and snatch up the gun.'I changed my name because Anne MacDonald didn't sound like a designer.'

  'I never imagined you so pretty.' His voice was hoarse with emotion. 'You were real ginger when you were little.'

  The bob down to grab the gun looked like nothing more than a bend to scratch a knee, or even to sit on the sleeping bag lying on the floor. Her hand going to the box could be interpreted as merely steadying herself. But in that split-second her fingers closed round the stock and she drew it out, pointing it at him.

  'Back to the same point we left one another all those years ago!' Her voice was strong, even though her hand was shaking.'I wasn't wrong about you, Dad, not that time, not ever. I should have blinded you with that poker.' She had to bring her other hand up to steady the gun. Sweat was trickling down over her forehead and the sunshine through the window was almost blinding after the cellar's murky light.

  'Give me that gun.' His voice roared out with all the power she remembered as a kid.

  She smiled then. Had it not been loaded his eyes wouldn't be popping out of his head.

  'Well, Joe Spikes,' she drawled the name sarcastically. 'The boot's on the other foot now, isn't it? I've got the gun and I intend to shoot you if you even attempt to take it off me. So you'll just obey my orders for now.'

  'Come on, darlin'.' He tried to smile but he just looked even more evil. 'I'm yer dad, for God's sake!'

  'You'd have killed me regardless.' She raised one eyebrow. 'You killed my gran, didn't you, and that old priest. Paul panicked when he thought you were coming after him, and he died too. So tell me, Dad, what do I owe you?'

  'You don't know the half.' His eyes looked wild. 'Paul wasn't my kid, he was George Collins', she deceived me, lied to me. She got George to grass me up. I loved her.'

  'You never loved anyone but yourself,' Tara spat at him. 'Paul was your son, he was the very image of you. Mum loved you even after all those beatings, even when she was humiliated and broken. She even cried when the police told her you died in that car crash.'

  She could see this shook him by the trembling of his twisted lips, a blurring of his eyes.

  'She turned on me,' he said. 'When I came out of prison the first time.'

  'Well, you poor bloody thing,' Tara sneered. 'Never occurred to you that she almost starved while you were inside. She adored you, but you just had to ruin everything with your thieving, gambling, drinking and brutality, didn't you?'

  'You don't know how things were!' His tone was almost petulant.

  'Don't I?' Tara taunted him. 'I've heard Mum's stories about what a prince you were, how you stood up to Gran, even what happened in the garden here.'

  He looked up quickly, surprised.

  'Yes, she told me,' Tara snapped. 'Don't you feel any shame that you'd plan to kill me in the same place I was conceived in love?'

  He couldn't answer that. For a moment his head drooped and she knew she'd touched the part of him that had once been a war hero and a tender lover.

  'I didn't expect you to turn up here. You should never have found out about this.'

  'Why kill Gran?' she asked. 'What could an old lady do to hurt you?'

  'I only wanted to find out where you and Amy were.' His head shot up in defiance. 'I didn't know you all lived there then. I just crept in intending to look through her things and find an address.'

  'Gran heard you?' Tara relaxed the gun just enough to be comfortable.

  'She caught me in the kitchen.' His eyes flashed dangerously, just the way she remembered. 'She knew who I was immediately.'

  Tara lifted the gun a little, just in case.

  'But why kill her, a defenceless old woman?'

  'She weren't never defenceless, not that one.' He shook his head. 'She'd have shopped me. Both you and Amy would have been shamed.'

  'You mean you'd be doing a life sentence as a priest killer.' Tara's lip curled back in disgust. 'Don't make out it was for our benefit! But I've heard all I want to. Now you're coming with me.'

  The gun was a bonus she hadn't expected, her plan had consisted of little more than an emotional appeal. But six inches of potential destruction in her hand changed everything. She could force Joe and his men to change places with Harry, call the police and get them to round up the whole gang.

  But Joe was looking up at her in astonishment, not taking her seriously.

  'I said you're coming with me,' she said more firmly. 'If you don't, I'll shoot you. It's all the same to me.'

  He stood up reluctantly. 'Don't do this, Anne!' It sounded like a threat. "The others, they'll jump you. Let me talk to them and find a way round it.'

  'I'm not Anne, I'm Tara.' She tossed her hair back from her face. 'And you mean nothing to me. If anyone tries to jump me I'll kill them, or you. Now move it, to the door, and call Carl.'

  Did they have more guns? The question jumped into her head and stayed there. What if the threat to blow Joe's head off didn't work? Could she really squeeze the trigger?

  He opened the door. 'Carl!' he yelled. He opened his mouth to add something else, but Tara dug the gun in the small of his back.

  'Don't! I explain things.'

  Carl came running up the stairs. He paused as he turned on to the landing, instantly suspecting something.

  'I've got a gun at his back.' Tara spoke in a strong, clear voice. 'If you do as I say I'll let him go later. If not I'll shoot him, then you. Understand?'

  'Eh, yes!' He was clearly startled by this turn of events.

  'Have you still got the keys of the cellar?' she asked.

  He nodded, his eyes flitting between her and Joe.

  'Right then, we'll go down.' She prodded Joe for-ward. 'Where are the other men?'

  'In the kitchen.' Carl turned back to the stairs.

  'Well, we'll walk slowly down there. When we get to the kitchen you call them to come out and they join us. Any trouble, any smart moves, Joe gets it and I'll go on shooting till the bullets run out.'

  Her mouth was dry, her heart pounding with fear as Carl began to move down the stairs. She prodded Joe and the pair of them followed Carl.

  'Call them out, Joe,' Tara ordered as they reached the kitchen. She could hear Frank talking to Micky and she wondered whether Harry was right in believing that Micky would help them if the chips were down.

  'Frank, Micky!' Joe's voice boomed out. 'Here.' It was ridiculous for her to even think they'd be loyal to Joe, she saw that immediately in Frank's foxy, mean face. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen and looked contemptuously at her.

  'Down the stairs to the cellar,' Tara ordered. 'Go on, or I shoot.'

  'I don't give a fuck who you shoot, lady,' he sneered. 'It won't be me, that's for certain.'

  'Don't push me,' she said. 'I want Harry out of that cellar and I'll do whatever it takes. Tell them to do it, Joe!' She prodded his back, but she was feeling dwarfed now by the four men all packed into the narrow passage.

  'You heard the lady,' Joe said, but she couldn't see his face and she sensed he was giving them some silent directive. In panic Tara stepped back on to the stairs so she could see above their heads. Joe was now just a couple of feet from her, Carl perhaps a yard in front. Frank stood scowling in the kitchen doorway, Micky was just behind him. It was another five feet or so from the kitchen to the cellar stairs and she knew they could easily overpower her there. She had to scare them now.

  'Get moving.' She forced herself to keep her voice steady and she lifted the gun, moving it from side to side to imply she hadn't decided who she would shoot. 'Frank, you first. Down to the cellar.'

  He leaned back on the doorpost and crossed his arms defiantly; she
saw he had 'love' and 'hate' tattooed on his knuckles and a spider's web round each elbow.

  'I said move.' She shouted this time, lifting the gun and aiming it at Frank's legs. 'Or you won't move under your own steam again.'

  He just shrugged his shoulders and stared insolently at her. Anger rose like bile in her stomach. She waved the gun between them, brought it to rest pointing it at Frank's knees and squeezed the trigger. The bang and the impact made her stagger back. A trail of smoke hid Frank for a moment but she could hear a howl of pain.

  'Does that show you I'm serious?' she screamed, going up another step and looking down at all four of them. Frank was clutching at his crotch, bent over double and blood spurted out on to the floor. 'I'm not a good shot. I aimed at his knees, but I suppose that has the same crippling effect.'

  'You fucking bitch.' Frank looked up at her, eyes streaming, lips quivering.

  Tara waved the gun again, looking to each of the men in turn. Joe turned towards her and she saw a glint of admiration.

  'OK, time to make a deal,' he said. 'We give you the keys of the cellar. We scarper now. Can't say fairer than that!'

  'No deals! Get down those steps now,' Tara commanded. 'Micky, take the keys from Carl, go first and help Harry out. Any funny business and I'll blast one of you.'

  The gun was warm in her hand, it had become an extension of her body. She understood why some men revered guns, they gave instant power. Now she had conquered her fear of it, she knew she could pull that trigger again, even if that meant killing someone.

  Chapter 36

  'What a nice surprise! How are you, love?' Queenie purred down the phone. 'No, Tara's not here. What's up, you sound a bit agitated?'

  'Oh, Queenie,' Amy blurted out. 'I'm probably totally off my trolley imagining things, but I'm worried about Tara.' She hastily explained the telephone conversations with her daughter and Josh. 'Josh almost seemed to be checking up on her, whatever he said, and he told me Harry was missing!'

  'Well, he ain't officially,' Queenie said.'I mean he's phoned here. But there is something funny going on, 'Arry don't sound like hisself.'

  The two women talked their way round everything they knew for certain.

  ' 'E's never asked once 'ow George's back is,' Queenie said. 'And like 'e always used to ask what I was baking, and pound to a penny if 'e was away 'e'd say, "Save me a bit, Queenie". But we didn't get none of that, just what 'e was doin' and stuff. I might not be so clever, Amy, but I don't think our 'Arry would change just 'cos he was in Germany.'

  'So you don't think it's him phoning?'

  'I dunno, Amy. Needles is getting worried, too. He tried to complain to 'Any about something what Duke was doing at the club and 'Arry told him to mind his own business. A couple of days later Duke comes down on 'im like a ton of bricks, threatening 'im wiv the sack.'

  'Well, Queenie, I honestly think Tara's got some idea where he is and she's gone off to find him. But the more I think about the place she mentioned, the more scared I get.'

  Queenie reassured her she would pass all this on to George and get him to phone back the minute he came in.

  'What is it you fear about Lympne?' Greg asked Amy as she sat staring into space after her call to Queenie.

  It was a warm evening, the windows in Greg's sitting room were wide open, but Amy was shivering, her face drawn and pale.

  'Bill,' she said simply, tossing back her blonde hair. 'Don't you think it's too much of a coincidence that Tara should ask me about her father's secret place?'

  'Bill's dead,' Greg said gently.

  'But what if he isn't?' She raised her face to look at him, eyes dark with anxiety. 'His brother identified the body, not me. He hated George and Harry, he burned down their warehouse. Maybe he's been planning this for years. Suppose it was him who killed Mother?'

  'You're being silly now,' Greg sat down beside her and drew her close, ruffling her hair. Deep down he shared her anxiety. 'Would you feel better if we went and talked to the police about it?'

  'Let's just wait for George to phone back.' She smiled weakly. 'Who knows! Tara might walk in through the door any minute.'

  It was after seven when the phone finally rang. Amy leaped across the room to answer it.

  'Oh, George.' She sighed with relief. 'Tell me I'm imagining things?'

  'I can't, darlin',' he said in his strong voice. 'Unless I'm going loopy, too. I've just had a word with Needles and Tony and they aren't any happier than us. Apparently Duke's sacked some of 'Arry's old staff and replaced them with new people. They don't know whether they can trust Dennis and Alec, either. It's very 'ard for them to be totally blunt with me, because for all they know my boy might be right in up to his ears with Duke, planning some big scam. But all three of us have this feeling it ain't 'Arry that's been phoning. Oh, 'e gets the voice right, but 'e ain't got the soul of 'Arry. None of the little jokes, know what I mean?'

  'What should we do then? Do you think it's relevant that she asked me about a place called Lympne?' She told him all she remembered about the place and how Bill felt about it.

  'I can't see 'im coming back to the East End even if he didn't die in that accident,' George said firmly. 'If he put so much as one foot in the manor, someone would talk. But one thing Needles told me was interesting. Someone broke into the club last night. Well, not broke in. Stayed in after it closed. Nothing was taken, it seems, but 'e 'eard Duke talking about a drawer being forced up in one of the games rooms and a window left open up in the attics. Needles reckons it was Tara.'

  'And she found something about Lympne?'

  'Could be! You say Bill found this place while he was in the Army, 'e could've told one of his mates. Or it could be they's using the airport. But I think I'll go down the nick now and get them to check it out. Let's just hope I don't make things worse.'

  'George, if Harry's being held at Lympne and that Duke's a phoney, it stands to reason something big is going on. If Tara has gone there alone to try and rescue Harry –' She stopped, fear twisting her stomach as she imagined her daughter walking straight into a gang's hideout.

  'I'll go down the nick now,' George said gently. 'Now don't get yer knickers in a twist. We could 'ave it all wrong.'

  George knew they hadn't got it wrong. He'd lived among villains for too long to misread foul play. He'd been certain it wasn't Harry on the line during the third telephone call when Harry failed to wish him a happy birthday. But knowing something and proving it were two different matters, especially when your son was involved with heavy-duty rascals. To speak out too loudly was to court disaster. Harry could be in concrete boots at the bottom of the Thames by now and if Tara got too close it would be curtains for her too.

  'Whatcha goin' to do then, love?' Queenie asked as he sat staring into space.

  'I'll have to go down the nick.' He looked up at Queenie and saw the distress in her eyes. 'If' Arry's got himself in over 'is 'ead and Tara gets hurt by it, I'll never forgive 'im. Where did I go wrong with 'im, Queenie? I thought by just lovin' 'im, keepin' 'im close to me, it would be enough, but it ain't.'

  Queenie didn't reply for a moment, but put her arms round George and enveloped him in her large bosom.

  'Don't ever think you failed 'im,' she said softly/You're a good man, George, and so is that son of yours. Now you get down that nick with your head held high. Believe in your boy, stand by 'im. That's what Tara's doing.'

  'Best day's work I ever did was marry you.' He lifted his head. 'You was given the right name sure enough, you're a real queen!'

  'I just want you to get on to the local police down there, get them to check out that 'ouse,' George repeated. 'There's something going on, something nasty, and a young girl's gone down there and walked right into it.' It was well after midnight and George had been given the runaround ever since he arrived at the police station three hours earlier. They behaved as if it were a joke, especially when he brought up the subject of Bill MacDonald being alive.

  'You what?' Inspector Ronald Harri
son gave a loud guffaw, his sallow face suddenly brighter. 'Leave it out, George! We got enough trouble on our patch without Bill MacDonald rising from his coffin.'

  George had known Ron since they were boys. Ron was a good copper, but his opinion of George's story was coloured by Harry's record, the clientele who drank and gambled at his club and a conviction that the whole place was kept alive by dirty money.

  'You know as well as I do that MacDonald burned down my ware'ouse,' George insisted. 'You know 'e killed Father Glynn. Well, what starting price would you put on 'im staging his own death to avoid capture, then planning the ruin of my boy and me? He could 'ave strangled Mabel Randall down in Somerset, Amy says this 'ouse in Kent was his favourite place and we all know that stretch of coast is a smugglers' haunt.'

  'Bill MacDonald weren't bright enough for all that. He was drunk all the time!'

  'You've forgotten his Army service, ain't you?' George raised an eyebrow quizzically. 'War hero, survived in the jungle for God knows 'ow long. I'd say something like this was right up 'is street.'

  Ron Harrison saw the conviction in George's eyes. In recent weeks he'd heard several stories about Harry. He was in Germany, he'd been buried in a tunnel doing a robbery and was dead before he could be dug out, he was supposed to have run off to South America after a death threat. Putting all the rumours and facts together one thing was clear; Harry Collins had disappeared and the Top Cat Club was almost certainly the base for some criminal activity.

  'OK, leave it with me,' he sighed. 'I'll contact the local police and get them to have a sniff round. When did you say Tara phoned her mother?'

  'About ten this morning. Josh Bergman phoned Amy around one-thirty, 'e said she'd already left 'er flat. So if she went to Hythe she could have been there by three or four in the afternoon.'

  'Leave me your number and Amy's,' Ron said. 'Now for God's sake, clear off, George. I'll ring as soon as I've got something to tell you.'

  As George was leaving the police station, Josh was struggling to get his key in the door. He was drunk, falling down, unable to form words. Yet he still hadn't managed to silence the raging fear inside him.