by Helen Black
‘You gave your brother Jay an alibi,’ said Sol.
‘I did.’
‘That’s very different from a solicitor giving their client an alibi.’
‘I never said he was my client,’ she replied.
Sol had already checked his notes about that. Chapman had never even hinted that this was the case. He had added two and two and made five.
‘You think I lied because he’s my brother,’ she said.
‘I think the Greenwoods are tight knit,’ replied Sol.
‘Yes, they are, but I’m a Chapman.’
Sol smiled. Even drunk, this woman was sharper than most. ‘What’s in a name?’
‘Everything and nothing.’ She pushed her glass towards the bartender for another. ‘But that’s not why you shouldn’t consider me a part of their family.’
He waited until the next gin and tonic was in front of her, watched her pick out the slice of lemon, suck it once, then drop it back into the liquid.
‘I’m no longer part of the Greenwoods.’ Her voice was getting hoarse. ‘I haven’t been from the time I changed my name, actually.’ She raised the glass to her lips, but replaced it on the bar without taking a sip. ‘In fact, I hadn’t seen any of my family since I was eighteen years old.’ She raised a playful eyebrow. ‘What do you think of that? Our Chinese meal together was the first time Jay and I had clapped eyes on each other since 1994.’
Sol exhaled. 1994. A lifetime ago. No one would ever believe that an upstanding person like Chapman would lie for a brother she hadn’t seen in more than twenty years. And no one would believe she’d made a mistake on timings, given how unusual the circumstances were for their meeting. The alibi was solid. He wouldn’t be able to shift it and they both knew it. ‘You’re a very good liar, Miss Chapman,’he said. ‘What I don’t understand is why you’re doing it.’
She looked deeply into her drink. ‘In life, the what is the easy bit, Detective. The why is always much more complicated. Don’t you think?’
Frankie looked at Daisy in the back seat of the taxi, slowly unravelling. He’d wanted them both to stay straight, but he hadn’t realized how far gone she was. She was clucking, talking rubbish, doing his head in. She was going to create a problem if he wasn’t careful.
Fine.
‘Listen, mate,’ Frankie leaned forward to the driver,‘can you pull over at that McDonald’s?’
Daisy looked at him, bewildered, but as he pushed a rock into her hand, her face changed to gratitude. When the cab pulled up, she dived out. The girl who had barely been able to put one foot in front of the other all day was gone in a whirl of anticipation. He knew the appeal. The whoosh of the gear when you lit the pipe was electric, like a firestorm running from lungs, to brain, to limbs, until every molecule in your body was alive and crackling.
Fuck it.
Frankie got out of the cab and followed Daisy to the toilets.
Liberty leaned over the washbasin in the hotel room. The porcelain was cool under her fingers. She considered making herself sick to avoid tomorrow’s hangover. Nah, she wasn’t that drunk. Instead she brushed her teeth, drank three glasses of water and lay on her bed fully clothed. She thought about Connolly. He knew full well that she’d lied but he also knew that the alibi would stick. The only thing that might have helped him was the speeding ticket, but now he’d never know about that. Interestingly, he hadn’t been angry. Not like Hassani, who seemed like she was constantly battling with herself not to punch Liberty in the face. No, Connolly had appeared almost amused. Like this was all a big game and he was just biding his time to make his next move.
He was an attractive bloke. Not handsome exactly. Watchful, predatory almost. Liberty had known he was weighing her up during their encounter, though not why. She rarely met any men who piqued her interest as much as he had.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. For a second she thought it might be Connolly and a flicker of excitement ran through her, but when she checked the spy-hole she saw it was Crystal. She opened the door. ‘Come in.’
Crystal strode inside, past the bed and leaned against the table, chin jutted. ‘I sorted the ticket.’
‘Thanks. How much do I owe you?’
Crystal shook her head.
‘I can’t let you pay for that, Crystal,’ Liberty said. ‘I have plenty of money.’
Crystal sniffed. ‘I’m sure you do.’
‘Then tell me how much I owe.’
Crystal stared at Liberty, taking in the melting mascara, the untucked shirt. ‘If ever it came to light that a piece of evidence had gone missing, who do you think they’d look at first?’ she asked.
‘Me I guess,’ Liberty replied.
‘And if they checked your bank account only to find several grand missing at exactly the same time as the evidence went walkabout?’
Crystal was right.
‘For someone with a lot of qualifications, you really can be very stupid,’ said Crystal.
Liberty didn’t deny it and just watched as her sister reached into her back pocket for her Juicy Fruit. Crystal took out two sticks this time and threw one at Liberty.
‘I’m going back to London tomorrow morning,’ said Liberty.
Crystal unwrapped her gum and nodded.
‘If you’re ever down there, you should come over,’ said Liberty.
‘Maybe we could get cocktails and dinner.’ Crystal’s voice dripped sarcasm. ‘Catch a musical in the West End.’
‘I hate musicals.’ Liberty turned her gum over in her hand, rubbing the silver paper with her thumb. When Crystal had been six or seven, Liberty had shown her how to worry a wobbly tooth with her tongue to hasten its departure, and she’d comforted her when the Tooth Fairy had forgotten to turn up with a ten-pence piece. She wanted to hold that little girl again and kiss away her tears.
Crystal’s mobile rang and she fished in her bag for it, rolling her eyes when she checked caller ID. ‘Frankie, where the hell have you been?’ she demanded. ‘Jay’s been looking for you all frigging day.’ She paused, her face rigid. ‘Who is this?’
Chapter 13
November 1985
I’m that excited I can’t sleep. The night nurse tucks me in again and tuts. ‘You need your rest if you’re going to get better.’
Thing is I am getting better. The swelling’s all gone down and my hearing’s almost back to normal. Mr Reid says I’m doing so well that I can go and see the kids tomorrow. Which is why I can’t sleep. The social worker is going to pick me up in her car and drive me to the foster placement, which is in a place called Bramhope. I’ve never heard of it, but I think it sounds nice. I keep imagining a big house with a garden and everything. There’ll be a shed at the back, and when I press the bell it’ll play a tune. The foster-parents will bring me into the kitchen and give me a drink of squash, then I’ll play with the kids. Outside if it’s not raining.
I’ll be on my best behaviour, minding my Ps and Qs, then hopefully I can go and live there too when the doctors say I can be discharged. I won’t call the foster-parents Mam and Dad; I’m too old for that. But the kids might, especially Frankie.
The nurse wanders back to the end of the ward and starts chatting to the copper on duty. This pair flirt like mad. She doesn’t seem too bothered about the hairs that poke out of his nostrils. While they’re busy getting lovey-dovey, I sneak out of bed and down the corridor to the toilet. I’m meant to get somebody to come with me in case I fall, or stay in bed and use one of them cardboard pans. No chance. Last time I tried that, I ended up with wee all over my hands and my nightie. I creep away, my bare feet pattering on the tiles.
The toilets are empty so I choose the middle one. While I’m in there, I hear the door go. I hope it’s not the nurse come to look for me. She might be all smiles for the copper, but she’ll give me a right ear-bashing if she finds me in here on my own. I hold my breath and lift up my feet. Hopefully she won’t try any of the doors. I wait for a few minutes, bum getting cold on the seat,
thighs starting to ache with the effort of holding my feet off the floor. I can’t hear anything. Maybe she went back to her post.
I lower my feet and gently open the door. No one’s there.
Smiling, I set back off to my bed, not bothering to wash my hands, which I know is minging, but I need to be quick. As I’m passing the last cubicle, the door flies open and an arm reaches out and grabs me. I try to scream, but there’s a big hand over my mouth.
‘Sssh.’ Dad has a finger to his lips. ‘Not a word, Lib.’
I nod behind his hand and he lets me go.
I’m shaking as he steps back and lets himself flop onto the toilet seat. He looks terrible. Big dark circles under his eyes and his hair is as greasy as a bag of chips. He doesn’t look like he’s had a bath in weeks.
‘Lib.’ His voice is rough, like he’s spent all day crying and smoking. He smells like that’s what he’s been doing too. ‘Lib, you’ve got to help me.’
I don’t know what he’s on about, so I just stand there shivering, goose bumps coming up on my arms.
‘You were there,’ he says. ‘You know what happened.’
I can’t remember how many people have asked me what happened to Mam. Policemen and women, social workers, doctors, nurses. Mr Reid asks me every other day. And I’ve always said the same: I don’t know.
‘You can tell them.’ Dad’s voice cracks. ‘You can tell them how it went down.’
I could as well. After the first few days when my head felt like it was filled with candy floss, my memory came back. I know exactly what happened and how it went down. I came home from school and Mam had a split lip. Dad had lost his temper over an accumulator, she told me, but not to worry myself, she’d called someone, a friend of her brother’s, and he was coming to ‘sort it’.
A few minutes later a big bloke arrived with a crown tattooed across his neck. He held out a fiver to her. ‘Take the kids out for some chips,’ he said.
Mam took the money. ‘Don’t go in too heavy, Joe. I just want him to leave. You don’t need to knock him to kingdom come.’
Joe laughed and shook his head. ‘Get out of here, Paula.’
I was helping Crystal to put on her shoes, looking forward to them chips, when Dad came back. He looked at Joe. Joe looked at him.
‘What’s going off here?’ asked Dad.
‘You need to leave, Jim,’ said Mam.
Dad growled. ‘Leave?’
‘I can’t have you hitting me no more.’ Mam started to cry. ‘If you put me in hospital again, they’ll take the kids away.’
I remember her words exactly because she didn’t once say Dad shouldn’t hit her because it was wrong, or that it hurt, or that she was scared. Her main worry was that we’d be put into care. Which is ironic, considering.
‘And who’s this twat?’ Dad cocked his thumb at Joe.
Joe took a step towards him. ‘I’m just a twat who doesn’t like it when a man smacks about his woman.’
Dad laughed, then lunged at Joe, cracking him a good one on his jaw. Joe recovered fast and punched Dad three times in the stomach. Then they were battering each other, Joe bouncing Dad off the walls, but Dad not giving in.
Mam screamed at the kids to get out of the house. Jay picked up Frankie and ran outside, Crystal still in one shoe, shot after them. I was about to follow when Dad and Joe crashed into me, knocking the side of my head into the wall so hard I saw stars and fell to my knees.
Mam tried to get to me, but Joe and Dad were a blur of fists and knees. The door was open and they careered through it as if they were joined together, taking Mam with them, propelling her backwards, outside, lifting her off her feet like she didn’t weigh anything.
I scrambled to get up but I couldn’t. All I could do was watch as she went over the balcony.
I stare at Dad sitting on the toilet seat, head in his hands. His stinking breath coming out in rasps. I could help him. ‘Who moved her body?’ I ask.
He looks up as if it’s a weird question, but I don’t think it is. Someone must have done it because they didn’t find her at the bottom of the balcony. They found her body in a skip half a mile away. ‘We both did.’ He shakes his head. ‘Joe and me. We didn’t know what to do, we just thought . . .’ He rakes his cheek with his nails. ‘It were an accident, Lib. You know it was. You can tell the police.’
I stand there for a second, my body convulsing. I can tell everyone what happened. I can tell the truth. I turn and run. Dad tries to grab me but I’m too fast for him. I sprint from the toilet back down to the nurses’ station, where the policeman’s sitting with a brew.
‘It’s my dad!’ I scream. ‘He’s here!’
They’d put something over her head. If Daisy looked forward, she couldn’t see a thing, but if she looked down she could just about make out her shoes. ‘Don’t piss about,’ said a voice. ‘Just do as you’re told and no one gets hurt.’
She tried to keep her breathing even, taking in the smell of whatever it was covering her head, like it’d been freshly washed, but that still hadn’t got everything out and a tang of metal lingered behind the detergent. If she concentrated on taking long, slow breaths she wouldn’t panic and, right now, she definitely needed not to panic.
There was the sound of a big bunch of keys jangling, then a bolt snapping and the long creak of a door opening. ‘Move,’ said the voice.
Daisy moved.
Under her feet, the feel of concrete was replaced by sticky carpet. She was going inside now. Keeping calm in bad situations wasn’t new to Daisy. In her line of work, shit often hit the fan. Same with the gear. She often found herself in places where things were getting out of hand. She knew how to handle herself. To be honest, she’d been half expecting something to go wrong. Nah, scratch that, she’d been fully expecting something to go wrong. Hadn’t she been trying to tell Frankie so? But that boy never was the sharpest knife in the cutlery drawer, was he?
She’d done as she was told. She’d gone to the flat. She’d chatted to the boys in there, laughed about some show on Sky, even though she didn’t actually have Sky, didn’t even have a telly.
Then the Russians arrived. Two of them. Ugly fuckers, with their shaved heads and skulls peppered with pink scars. And, man, did they have ink. Every finger, every thumb, every inch of skin on their necks was covered with tattoos. One of the Lithuanian girls back at the Cherry had once shown Daisy a picture of her boyfriend. He was Russian and doing time for GBH.
‘These here.’ Leja had pointed to the tattoos on her boyfriend’s knees, each a four-pointed star. ‘They mean he will kneel to no man.’
The Russians ignored Daisy and the other boys were all over them, like flies on shit, which was about the only part of the plan that had gone how it was meant to, giving her a chance to let Frankie in. He’d pressed a gun into her hand. ‘Point at them and take the drugs.’
Daisy had racked her brain. Where were the drugs? She hadn’t seen any. She hadn’t even seen a bag. ‘I don’t think . . . ’
But Frankie was too wired to listen and pushed past her, waving his piece like a bloody cowboy. When the Russians didn’t react, he screamed at them, ‘Drugs.’ Spit was flying. ‘Give us the drugs. Now.’
No one moved. It was like a game of musical statues. Then one of the lads laughed. Then another. Then the Russians both smiled and one said, in on accent more south London than east Moscow, ‘Fuck off, mate.’ That was when they’d covered her face and brought her here.
‘Sit down,’ the voice commanded, and hands pressed on each of her shoulders, forcing her knees to bend until she fell awkwardly to the floor. The sound of gaffer-tape being pulled off a roll jagged towards Daisy. Then her hands were pulled in front of her and bound together. Another scream of tape, and her ankles were strapped.
‘Right,’ said the voice, and its owner’s footsteps moved away until a door opened and closed and Daisy knew she was alone.
The blood drained from Crystal’s face as she listened intently to her mobile.
‘Is everything okay?’ Liberty whispered.
Crystal held up a hand to silence her. Clearly things were far from okay. ‘I’m going to ask again who this is,’ Crystal said, her face now a grey mask, even her lips colourless, the skin shocking against the red of her hair. When she spoke again her voice was ice. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ She listened again, then hung up.
‘Jesus, Crystal, what’s wrong?’ Liberty asked.
When Crystal didn’t answer, Liberty stepped forward and touched her sister’s arm. Crystal looked at Liberty’s hand as if she had never seen it before, then into her face. ‘Someone’s got Frankie,’ she said.
Liberty let her hand drop. ‘What do you mean? Got him as in what? Kidnapped him or something?’
She’d meant it as a joke but Crystal shrugged.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Liberty. ‘Who on earth would do that?’
‘They didn’t say.’
‘Hold on.’ Liberty threw her arms out to the side, then let them drop with a slap against her thighs. ‘Someone called you to say they’ve kidnapped our brother?’ Crystal blinked yes. ‘It’s a piss-take surely? One of his mates?’
‘They called from his phone,’ said Crystal. She checked hers again, then picked up her bag, made for the door. ‘I need to speak to Jay.’
Liberty grabbed her upper arm to stop her. ‘Come on, Crystal, you can’t think this is real?’
The look on Crystal’s face told Liberty that Crystal thought this was very real indeed. ‘I haven’t got time to convince you, Lib.’ Crystal opened the door. ‘I need to get a cab over to Jay’s.’
Liberty snatched up her car keys and held them up. ‘I’ll take you.’
‘You’ve been drinking.’
Liberty reddened. ‘You drive.’
Crystal opened her hand and Liberty let the keys fall into her palm. Crystal clocked the Porsche badge. ‘Nice.’
Daisy waited. She breathed in and out and waited. The room itself felt empty. Obviously she couldn’t be certain, but her legs and feet didn’t touch anything, no matter which way she moved them. And something about the place felt empty, as if the air was running freely, the sounds coming from outside, circulating. Her own flat often had the same feel. Not when she’d first moved in and had all the usual stuff, but after she’d sold it and was down to the bare minimum. She’d lie there stoned, staring at the ceiling, listening to the streets outside. Sirens, car alarms, people shouting in the courtyard below. Just normal life.