by Edie Baylis
‘W-What happened? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking? You don’t have to say if it’s going to upset y...’
‘Mother rarely talked about it – a car accident, apparently, but I’m afraid there’s no point in asking her now. Very little she talks about is real. I guess losing a husband with a young child and one on the way must have been hard. It was probably that which triggered all of this, although it’s only been recently that it has become a real problem.’
Helen sighed once again. Yes, this was good. The girl was swallowing it. Well, why wouldn’t she? ‘I feel terrible that I haven’t spent more time with her or kept on top of things in the house - it’s far too big and unmanageable. I’m so busy with work it’s difficult to get enough time to organise everything. Robert and I need to get her into a proper care home setting.’ She glanced at Teagan apologetically. ‘No offence to you, of course. I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job of looking after her, but it’s important not to fall for her ramblings. She can be very convincing, but for God’s sake don’t take any of it seriously. And please don’t encourage her.’
Teagan nodded. ‘I understand. I really appreciate you telling me this. It makes things easier to know the background and I’ll do whatever you need to help with what’s best for her. Your mother is a lovely lady.’
Helen patted Teagan’s hand. No, she’s not. My mother is in the way. ‘Thank you and yes, she is. It’s so sad that her mind is going. Now, unless there’s anything else, I must get on. I’ve got a client that I need to show around an exclusive property.’
Teagan shook her head ‘No, there’s nothing else,’ she lied. Poor Helen. This must be so difficult for her and Robert and she didn’t want to worry her further by bringing up the sleepwalking or other things Dulcie had said.
‘WHY DON’T WE GO in there and buy a house?’ Keith said, grinning widely. ‘You’re always saying we need more places to offload cash and what’s better than property? That way we could work on Helen Shepherd or tempt her to spill the beans.’ His eyes gleamed, already imagining how he would enjoy torturing the information out of the fit bird.
Jonah stared at Keith. He was spot on with the strong arm of things, but wasn’t blessed with the equivalent brains as he was brawn. And he had that manic glint in his eyes that was always visible when the possibility of violence was on the cards.
Keith Grogan hadn’t initially been Jonah’s choice for his main team. He’d filtered into it via legacy more than anything else and had been inherited once Saul had got locked up. Keith was Saul’s right hand man, when he’d headed up the enforcement section, and to be fair, they had done a cracking job running that side of the business. There was a reason for that; Keith’s persona and attitude were so similar to Saul’s it was worrying, but perfect for what they dealt with.
Jonah eyed Keith’s massive frame, his savage looking expression and his half-ear – sliced off a few years back during a particularly nasty set-to with a bunch of Russians. There was also that long scar running the length of his left cheek - that was from a separate incident, although he couldn’t remember which there had been so many. Apart from looking very much like a contender for the latest WWE Smackdown match, Keith didn’t look the sort who would be wandering into an upmarket estate agent in Maidenhead without causing at least some suspicion. He didn’t want anything to set the cat amongst the pigeons, neither did he want violence coming into it. Not at this point. That could wait until later – and only if needs be.
Keith was extremely useful when it came to certain things; mainly involving unparalleled violence, but Jonah couldn’t risk anything alerting the Old Bill. The catch from the heist was his and his alone and he would not stand by whilst it got lifted by the cops because Keith had his violent head on. No fucking way.
Shaking his head, he pushed the bottle of whisky across the desk towards his best two wing men. ‘I want no violence or anything like that at this stage.’ He glanced at Nero, entrusting him to keep Keith in line. ‘And regarding a house, we haven’t got things in place right now to purchase a property without leaving a paper trail for the Old Bill, not to mention our friends, The Inland Revenue.’
Nero raised his eyebrows. ‘Could we not get it set up? We did it for the gear coming in.’
Jonah nodded, watching Keith pour himself a liberal helping of whisky, almost filling the crystal tumbler to the top. ‘We could, but that takes time we haven’t got. We can’t use the same accounts as for the gear - too much cross over. I’m not faffing about with all that anyway.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I just want a definite on where Dulcie Adams is. Once we know that we should be able to move relatively quickly. The main problem here is we’re moving into civilian territory, so we’ll have to amend our usual tactics.’ He gave Keith a hard stare.
Nero eyed Jonah. ‘At this precise moment, all we’ve got is the daughter. We know where she works and where she went for a drink.’
Jonah pulled his cuffs down, inspecting them to check the right length was showing under the sleeves of his suit jacket, then fixed his gaze on the two men. ‘Then we’ll concentrate on this Helen bitch. Continue keeping tabs on her. It will only be a matter of time before she gives us something of use or visits her mother. Once we know for definite where the sly old thief is, then we can work out how we’re going to infiltrate it to get my stuff back.’
‘ALRIGHT, MIKE. How’s it going?’
Mike smiled at Jilly, the buxom barmaid who’d worked at the Crown for as long as he could remember. ‘As always, every day of mine is successful,’ he lied. If only, but now that might be about to change. If what his mother had told him was true, then he’d be bloody laughing.
Jilly picked up a fresh pint glass. ‘The usual?’ She eyed Mike closely. ‘Are you really alright?’ she pressed. ‘I heard about your ma and I’m really sorry. You must be right cut up about it? I wasn’t sure whether to mention anything.’
‘Happens to us all in the end, doesn’t it?’ Mike shrugged. ‘It’s not like I wasn’t expecting it.’ He frowned inwardly. He wasn’t particularly bothered about his mother’s death shortly after he’d reached the hospital last night. That alone made him feel guilty like he’d suspected it would. She’d never been nice to him, but she hadn’t always been that way. He’d felt loved and cherished once, but that had changed after his father died. Becoming cold and bitter, his mother had treated him like it was his fault, but now the reason for this abrupt change made more sense.
Looking back at Jilly, Mike smiled. Act normal. ‘Getting on with things helps, hence why I’ve been at work today. No point moping around.’
‘You going to treat me to that nice Roller you’ve been promising me for years then or what? I know you’ve got one in stock cos I’ve seen it in the adverts,’ Jilly bantered, getting the hint to change the subject.
Mike laughed. ‘Why not. In fact, if you’d prefer a different colour to the delectable baby blue one in my showroom, then I’ve got another due in that may be more to your liking.’
‘Actually, you don’t have the blue one any longer,’ Heath said, appearing behind his father and slapping him on the back. ‘I’ve just sold it. Sorry I couldn’t get away before. I had to tie it up.’
Mike grinned widely. ‘Well done, son. On this occasion I’ll forgive your lateness,’ he winked. ‘Make that two pints please, Jilly.’ See, things were looking up already.
Jilly pulled a face. ‘Now that’s no longer available I’ll just have to set my sights on another one.’ Placing the first pint on a beer towel, she put her finger to her mouth thoughtfully. ‘Hmm, what should I go for? A Lamborghini, perhaps?’
Laughing, Mike took the pint and handed it to Heath. ‘Go and sit yourself down, son. Grab that cubicle over the back.’ The further away from everyone, the better.
Handing over a tenner, Mike grinned at Jilly. ‘Here you go, love. Keep the change and get yourself one.’
‘Thanks,’ Jilly winked, wasting no time in shooting a double gin into a glass for herself.
/>
Mike pushed through the crowded pub, nodding acknowledgments to people as they muttered their condolences, glad Heath had sat in the partitioned off cubby hole seat. A lot of people avoided it, feeling it excluded them from the pub’s atmosphere and on a normal occasion, Mike would agree, but today it was the perfect location.
Casually loosening his tie, Heath took a drink from his pint and wasted no time getting straight to the point, ‘Ok Dad, so what’s with the secrecy booth? Why are we hiding in the corner?’
‘No flies on you, is there?’ Mike shrugged off his suit jacket, glad to be free of it after wearing it for the best part of ten hours.
Heath’s frown deepened. ‘Is it Nan?’ He glanced down at his pint, already half empty and hoped this wouldn’t take long. He’d got a curry and beers planned with the lads tonight and, if his luck was in, pull a tasty bit of totty too.
Heath placed his hand on his father’s arm. ‘I know I didn’t see much of her, but I’ve just been so busy an...’
‘She didn’t exactly make visits pleasant.’ Mike frowned. He’d taken Heath to visit when he was younger, but he didn’t know why he’d bothered. His mother had never had anything nice to say and subsequently none of them had had much to do with her. ‘But it seems my father may have been to blame for that...’
Heath stared. He’d never heard his father ever say anything less than positive about Michael Senior. ‘What do you mean?’
Mike took a deep breath. ‘Before she died last night, my mother told me something. I have no reason to suspect it’s not true and so I’m going to need your help.’
Heath’s concentration sharpened. ‘Tell me more.’
Mike glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot and lowered his voice. ‘My mother dropped a bombshell,’ he began. Bombshell wasn’t the word. What had been disclosed was something he hadn’t expected in a million years. ‘It appears my father was involved in more things than I was aware of.’
Heath smiled. ‘I knew your side of the family had a kind of history – you told me a bit about my Grandfather’s shady deals.’
Mike took a swig from his pint. Although he had patchy memories of his father, he had clear recollections of the rest of his younger years. ‘I knew my father was shot by a group of men he’d done a job with. I don’t remember much about him. He wasn’t there very often and then he just wasn’t there at all.’
He turned his pint around and around on the beer mat. ‘My father was involved with a big firm and did some heavy duty jobs for them. One job – the last one he did went pear-shaped and that’s why he got taken out. After he died, with no money and no one to make sure we were looked after, like was the done thing in those days, things quickly went to pot. Unable to afford the upkeep for the house, my mother was forced to sell and we moved away. After what happened I think she wanted to get away from the area. From there, she took a string of dead end jobs to keep our heads above water. The remainder of my childhood was not good, but what I didn’t know was before we moved, my mum received a visit.’
Heath frowned, still trying to digest this information. ‘What kind of visit?’
Mike shrugged. ‘Not sure, but these men weren’t happy. They were convinced my mother was hiding something. Something of theirs.’
Heath opened his mouth to speak, but Mike silenced him by holding his hand up. ‘One guy demanded the bag and started getting quite rough.’
Mike’s mind replayed the conversation with his mother as she’d laid in her hospital bed. There had been many more questions he’d wanted to ask, but he’d never got the chance...
He couldn’t say he’d been happy to hear that his father had pulled an underhand stunt. He’d always held the romanticised idea of his father being the strong, silent and respectable, albeit shady provider, yet it seemed that wasn’t quite the case.
‘She told me this man kept demanding a bag.’ Mike’s voice was barely audible. ‘He said my father had taken something worth thousands for his part in this big job he’d done.’
Heath blew threw his teeth. ‘Heavy shit!’
Mike smiled grimly. ‘Something like that, yes, but anyway, he’d lifted this stash as payment and the firm wasn’t best pleased. Before he got shot, my father allegedly let it slip that the girl had the bag.’
‘So Nan did have hold of this stuff?’ Heath exclaimed, his estimation of his sour-faced grandmother suddenly going up a thousand fold.
‘No, she genuinely knew nothing about it and the men turning over the house eventually realised she didn’t have a clue. She was lucky she didn’t get finished off there and then, but even so, after that she was never quite the same. I think that was the final straw which made her move away. Trouble was, she had to take me with her and she hated me.’
‘Hated you?’ Heath exclaimed. ‘Why?’
Mike shrugged. ‘I guess I reminded her of my father. I’ve been told I look a lot like him, as do you. But it gets worse... Last night I also learnt he’d been having a long-standing affair with a woman who worked at the club he frequented.’
‘What club?’
‘A place called Feathers in Soho.’
‘Soho? This bird was a stripper?’
‘Perhaps. Some kind of dancer, but my mum said she’d known about the affair. In those days that sort of thing was brushed under the carpet, but during a bitchy argument with the wife of another of the firm’s members, it came out that Michael was planning on divorce. Having an affair was one thing, but divorce, another. My mother had put up with his philandering ways; she’d been threatened, had her house turned over, been left destitute and all along he’d been planning on leaving her.’
‘But was it true?’
‘I don’t know, but it looked like he’d pinched this stuff and left it – whatever it was, with this other woman of his. Who, I might add was pregnant...’
‘So, you have a brother or sister somewhere?’
‘It looks like it. My mother also finally apologised for taking things out on me. I’d been waiting to hear her say that for years.’ Mike’s voice trailed off and looked at his son, his eyes gleaming. ‘She wants me to have what should have been mine. And yours. Whatever it is, it could be worth a good amount of money. Like, I mean, a lot.’
Anticipation pounded in Heath’s veins. ‘This stash... How do we know if this woman still has it? That firm could have caught up with her ages ago.’
‘My mother said she did some detective work just before we moved. She went to the club where this other woman worked only to find she’d disappeared a few months before my father got shot.’ Mike fell silent for a moment before continuing. ‘My mother’s last words were, ‘Get back what’s rightfully yours’, and that is what we’re going to do.’
Heath ran his hands through his dark hair. ‘Christ! But where do we start?’
‘That’s where I was hoping you’d come in. I’ve been told records and stuff are online now, so with your knowledge of computers perhaps we can locate this woman or her child. The child must be around the same age as me...’
Heath frowned, his mind whirring ten to the dozen. ‘I’d need some info. I could start looking at records from Soho clubs. No point looking on Ancestry.’
‘An... what?’
‘Ancestry – family tree search software. Don’t worry about it.’
‘What about that new Facebook thing I keep hearing about?’
‘I doubt whether anyone would list themselves as, ‘illegitimate child of gangster whose mother stashed stolen goods’ - I’d need names. The woman’s for a start. Any ideas? Is she even alive?’
Mike frowned. ‘My mother said the ‘scarlet woman’, as she put it, was known as Faye. No idea if that’s her real name, a stage name, or even if she’s alive.’
‘I need another drink.’ Heath stood up. Sod the curry and beers. This was way more important. If this stuff was worth thousands forty years ago, imagine how much it would be worth now? Holy fuck! And his dad was right. It was legitimately theirs, not
this tart’s or her kid’s. Having that for himself would come in handy. Very handy indeed.
JONAH WAS PLEASED with the way things were going with the instructions he’d given Nero and Keith. The best way of dealing with Dulcie Adams was in a way that would not raise suspicions.
Relieving some much needed frustration courtesy of the charms of that pretty little dancer had also helped.
Pulling up through the gates to his large detached house, Jonah turned off the engine of his top spec Range Rover and jogged up the steps to his front door. It was late – almost midnight and he was knackered, but he was determined to pull Lena up about her interference at the club. He may have to tread lightly with this Dulcie Adams lark, but he didn’t need to take things at a snail’s pace in his personal life. Lena was one thing he could put the kybosh on. He should never have let things go this far with her in the first place. Moving into his house and his life? Not anymore.
Nah, he was knocking it all on the head. Right fucking now.
Entering the sitting room, he glared at Lena lounging on the huge corner sofa – the one she’d ordered last month to replace the chesterfield. Another thing she’d taken upon herself to do. Why the fuck hadn’t he noticed any of these things before?
Jonah slung his suit jacket over one of the matching armchairs. The sort that were as big as a Waltzer and revolved in whichever direction you wanted to face. He hated the bloody things. It was like being at the fucking fair and he wasn’t at the fair, this was his house.
‘Where have you been?’ Lena’s eyes scrutinised Jonah whilst she sipped at her wine.
Jonah stared back at Lena. Judging by the amount of lipstick plastered around the rim of the extortionately expense wine glass, she’d had plenty before the one she was busy downing.
‘Where the fuck do you think I’ve been?’ he snapped. ‘At the club of course.’
Lena got to her feet and moved unsteadily towards him, draping herself around his neck like a cheap suit. She ran one of her talons along his square jaw. ‘Being as you’re back, shall we have an early night?’