Taking Liberties (Liberty Chapman)

by Helen Black

  At the stairwell of the first floor, her foot slipped on the discarded chips and she fell awkwardly, banging her shoulder against the metal rail. She yelped in pain, but bit down on her lip when she caught the sound of feet clattering down the stairs behind her. She thrust herself forward again and half ran, half fell down the last staircase.

  Outside, she looked wildly around. Where now?

  Then came a familiar sound she had never been so glad to hear in her life. The beautiful roar of a 911 coming round the corner. Liberty threw herself into the road in front of it as it careered to a stop. Crystal jumped out, eyes wide. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Just drive!’ Liberty screamed, and staggered to the passenger door.

  Crystal got back inside. ‘I could have killed you.’

  ‘Drive.’

  Crystal gunned the engine and they leaped away just as a dark figure emerged from the entrance to the stairs.

  Daisy let her head roll forward. She’d been sitting in the same position for so long that her shoulders and back were killing her. Mr Nike Air Max sat in a similar position at the other side of the room. ‘Are you Brixton Dave?’ she asked.

  He didn’t answer but flicked his lighter on and off, the flame roaring into life, then disappearing again.

  ‘You’ll use up all the gas,’ she told him.

  He patted his pockets and pulled out another lighter, then a third. Daisy almost laughed. ‘You won’t get any money out of them for me,’ she said. ‘The Greenwoods don’t give a shit about me.’

  ‘They care about Frankie, though, don’t they?’ He sparked up his lighter again and this time held the flame against a string of cotton hanging from his hoodie. ‘Way I heard it, they do a lot to keep little bro out of trouble.’

  And wasn’t that the truth.

  He gave a smile. ‘I can tell by the look on your face that you don’t think too much of that, Daisy.’ He tossed the lighter into the air and caught it in his other hand. ‘Am I right?’

  Daisy shrugged.

  Nan had been religious, went to church of a Sunday and all that, and she used to like to quote the Bible. One of her favourites had been from Corinthians. ‘When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.’ Yeah, she used to wheel that one out a lot. Like the time Daisy had first got arrested at fifteen.

  He stood up now, still tossing the lighter. He introduced the second, then the third, so that he was juggling. Eventually he caught all three in turn with his left hand and bowed. He was pleased with himself. And why wouldn’t he be? He’d played a blinder, got a pair of silly twats to think they were going to make some easy money. Got them to walk right into this mess.

  ‘Why don’t you just call Crystal and tell them how much?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Don’t tell me I’m boring you, Daisy.’

  ‘I just don’t understand what you’re waiting for,’ she said.

  Out of nowhere he threw a lighter at her and it bounced off her chest. Then he threw the second, a little harder. The third hit harder still so that it stung on contact. Finally he knelt at her feet to collect them back up. ‘Never be predictable, Daisy, that’s my motto,’ he said. ‘Keep the audience guessing.’

  Liberty breathed deeply as Crystal sped away from the Crosshills estate.

  ‘Want to tell me what’s going on?’

  Liberty put her hand on her chest. ‘Someone came into the flat behind me. I ran but they chased me.’

  ‘Kids?’ Crystal asked. ‘They’ll rob anything round here.’

  ‘There’s nothing in there to rob.’

  Crystal shook her head. ‘They don’t know that.’

  Liberty considered. It was possible, of course. A bunch of roadmen taking their chances when they saw a door already kicked off its hinges? ‘I don’t think it was kids,’ she said. In fact, she was pretty sure it had been Hassani. If she’d been caught, she’d have been in serious trouble. But she could really do without a lecture from Crystal right now so she said no more.

  They travelled on in silence, the streets almost empty now. Liberty pulled the receipt out of her pocket. ‘I found this,’ she said.

  Crystal took it from her, steered the Porsche with her right hand, examining it in her left. Unimpressed, she dropped it into Liberty’s lap.

  ‘At least we know one of the things Daisy did yesterday,’ said Liberty. ‘Someone might have seen her and noticed who she was with.’ Crystal’s silence rankled. ‘Did you come up with a better lead?’ No reply. ‘Did Jay?’

  The hotel was right in front of them and Crystal parked at the entrance. She got out without a word and tossed the keys to Liberty.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said Liberty. ‘I’ll go over there at opening time tomorrow on my own.’

  ‘It’s worked well for you so far.’

  Liberty sighed. ‘I was eleven years old when Mam died, Crystal. Eleven.’

  Crystal fished in her bag, pulled out her phone and called a cab.

  Chapter 15

  December 1985

  ‘Why can’t you stay here?’ Jay asks. ‘We don’t like it here without you.’

  ‘Shush,’ I tell him, checking that Mrs Cole isn’t earwigging. I shake the dice and get a three. Then I move my counter along and pass the dice and little plastic cup to Crystal. She shakes it over and over again. ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘You need a four to land on that ladder.’

  She lets the dice spill out. It’s a two.

  ‘Never mind,’ I say.

  Crystal hands the cup and dice to Frankie. He can’t count or anything but the rattling sound makes him giggle and he lets the dice fly up in the air and land on the other side of the rug.

  ‘Frankie.’ Mrs Cole comes into the room, her face scrunched up. ‘We play nicely in this house.’

  ‘He’s only a baby,’ says Jay.

  ‘We all have to learn,’ says Mrs Cole.

  I lean over and look for the dice. ‘I bet it’s a six.’

  ‘Maybe you should pack the game away now,’ says Mrs Cole. ‘The social worker will soon be here to pick you up, Elizabeth. I’ll go and get your things.’

  She leaves the room and Jay’s face falls. Crystal throws her little arms around my neck.

  ‘Come on, you lot,’ I say. ‘It’s nice here.’

  And it is. Everything’s clean and tidy and smells of polish. Mrs Cole even folds the end of the toilet roll into a little point.

  ‘Why can’t we come home with you?’ Jay asks.

  ‘I’m not at home any more,’ I say.

  ‘Where are you living, then?’ Jay asks.

  ‘White Flower Lodge.’ When he looks baffled, I add, ‘A children’s home.’

  Mrs Cole comes back in, holding out my coat. I take it from her, put it on and do the zip up all the way to the top.

  ‘I think that must be her now.’ Mrs Cole scurries to the window like a beetle and lifts the net curtain. ‘Yes, it’s the social worker.’

  I kneel down and give each of the kids a kiss and a hug. ‘Be good for Mrs Cole and your new teachers.’

  ‘Best not to make too much fuss,’ says Mrs Cole.

  ‘I’m not.’ I shouldn’t have said that, but she’s starting to annoy me now. I give them all another kiss, feeling Mrs Cole’s eyes burning into me from behind.

  On the way back, I stare out of the car window watching the world pass by. Postboxes, lampposts, bins. People walking their dogs, people carrying shopping, people pushing prams. The social worker turns on the radio and sings along with Shakin’ Stevens.

  Hassani and Sol were the only customers in Scottish Tony’s. She adjusted a bright blue hijab as she slid into the seat opposite. ‘Close your mouth.’

  ‘Aren’t you hot in that?’ Sol asked.

  ‘Allah’s love keeps me cool,’ she said.

  He wasn’t sure whether she was joking until she gave a wink. ‘So what did you want to talk about?’ he asked.
r />   She accepted a cup of tea from Scottish Tony and stirred in a heaped teaspoon of sugar. Then another. ‘I’ve looked everywhere for Daisy. Been to all the usual spots. I even went back to her flat late last night.’ For a moment she looked like she might have something more to say, but instead she sank back in her chair.

  Sol nodded. He’d put out a few feelers himself and everything had come back blank.

  ‘The Greenwoods are involved, I’m sure of it,’ she said. ‘Kyla Anderson, Daisy Clarke, all of it. Up to their necks, especially the solicitor.’

  Sol stirred his own tea, wincing at the sight of Hassani adding yet another sugar to her own – he’d given up sugar in tea and coffee when he’d moved in with Natasha. His teeth ached in solidarity.

  ‘I think we should watch them,’ she said.

  Sol sighed. ‘We won’t get anyone to agree to that.’

  ‘I don’t mean phone taps and surveillance. I just mean watch what they do today,’ she said. ‘See where they go. I bet they’d lead us right to Daisy.’

  ‘It’s Saturday,’ said Sol. ‘Won’t your husband have something to say about that?’

  Hassani took a sip of tea. ‘I’d be surprised if he did – I haven’t seen him for over a year.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. He was a dickhead.’

  Sol remembered that his own mother had been none too bothered when his dad walked out for good, taking the smell of beer and other women with him. She’d brought Sol up to be a man, take responsibility, know right from wrong. Thank God she wasn’t alive to see how things were working out on that score.

  ‘You take Jay and I’ll do the lawyer,’ said Hassani.

  ‘No way,’ Sol replied. ‘You’re not to go within half a mile of Chapman.’

  Something flitted across Hassani’s face. ‘Fine.’ She adjusted the pin on her headscarf, securing it. ‘You do the lawyer.’

  * * *

  Sol parked not five hundred yards from the Radisson Hotel.

  Hassani was about to find out that surveillance was nothing like cop shows on the telly. You waited. You drank cans of Diet Coke. You waited some more. More often than not you left having not set eyes on the target. It was more than likely that Liberty Chapman would stay in her room all day and Sol would slowly braise inside his car until his temper or his bladder exploded.

  He was surprised when, in less than ten minutes, she left the hotel and headed to her car.

  There was no chance that Liberty was going to risk being accosted by Rance over breakfast. Instead, she’d marched through Reception without even looking into the dining room. If he’d caught her eye, she’d have felt duty-bound to speak to him. Eyes on the door, she drank the Diet Coke she’d grabbed from the minibar in two long, grateful draughts and ignored the smell of bacon wafting towards her. She’d eat in the Butcher’s Arms but, first, she needed clothes. Her suit was crumpled and smelt.

  She drove straight to a shopping centre. The pickings were slim. Not one shop was somewhere she’d usually walk into, but she didn’t care. She grabbed jeans, a T-shirt, trainers, and slapped her credit card on the counter. She did a quick change in the toilets and headed off to the Butcher’s Arms.

  The pub was old school, all swirling carpets and dark brown tables that wobbled like drunks. Liberty went straight up to the bar and flashed a smile at the barman. ‘Are you serving food yet?’ she asked.

  He didn’t smile back but slid a menu towards her. It declared that today was Spicy Saturday and the special, Chicken Biryani, came with a free drink (choice of half a lager, a small white wine or a glass of Tango or Lilt). ‘Anything else on offer?’ she asked.

  The barman thrust his stomach towards her. He was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the words ‘Keep Naan and Curry On’,

  ‘Fine,’ said Liberty. ‘Chicken Biryani will be marvellous.’

  ‘Lager, wine, Tango or Lilt?’ he said.

  ‘Lilt.’ She took a seat at the nearest table and tried to rectify the mismatched legs with a beer mat. The only other customer was an old boy, studiously working his way through the Racing Times, licking the end of a green felt tip, then marking one of his dead certs. His eyes were watery and the end of his tongue stained.

  Ten minutes later a woman came out of the kitchen with a tray and set various dishes in front of Liberty. Biryani, chapati, mango chutney and lime pickle. It didn’t look half bad. ‘There you go, love,’ she said, with a grin. She, too, was sporting the comedy curry T-shirt, stretched over a double D chest.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ said Liberty.

  ‘Course you can,’ said the woman. ‘Though I’m not promising an answer.’

  ‘I’m looking for someone,’ said Liberty. ‘And I think she might have come in here yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’

  ‘Daisy Clarke? Do you know her?’

  The woman nodded. She was still smiling. ‘Yeah, I know Daisy. She went to school with my eldest, before all the . . . well, before the crap she’s got herself into.’ She touched her earring, a silver heart with a pink stone in the middle and twisted it. ‘But she weren’t in here yesterday.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Liberty asked.

  ‘Definite.’

  ‘It’s just I thought she ate in here yesterday.’

  The woman laughed. ‘Two things. First, Daisy don’t really eat no more, if you know what I mean. Second, when she does come here it’s not for the curry.’

  Liberty frowned. The woman seemed very sure that Daisy hadn’t been in. ‘What about Frankie Greenwood?’ she asked.

  The woman’s smile melted. ‘He another friend of yours, is he?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Not mine either, and certainly no friend to Daisy, of that I’m very sure.’

  ‘But he was in here yesterday?’ Liberty asked.

  The woman nodded. ‘Yeah, him and some cocky little shit from London. All the patter.’ She mimed a mouth opening and closing with her hand. ‘Some people need to learn when to shut the fuck up, don’t you think?’

  Liberty knew precisely what she meant, and she should probably take the advice herself, but she needed the information. ‘I don’t suppose you know the cocky shit’s name?’

  ‘Dave,’ said the woman. ‘Brixton Dave, he called himself. Acted like he owned the place.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Liberty.

  The woman moved towards the kitchen, then stopped and turned back. ‘Listen, love, I’m going to give you some advice and you can take it or bin it, your choice.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Eat your curry – I made it myself from scratch – then bugger off and forget all about Daisy the Dog and Frankie Greenwood. That pair are going to bring you nothing but grief.’ She didn’t wait for Liberty’s reply but went on her way having said her piece.

  Amira parked just up the road from the Black Cherry and watched Jay Greenwood unlock the front entrance and let himself in. She hadn’t told Sol that she’d seen the lawyer at Daisy’s flat, or was damned sure she had. It had been dark and she’d been taken by surprise, but as she chased the figure down the stairs, she was convinced it was Liberty Chapman. Connolly would have said there was no way she could be so certain, that she was turning this into A Thing. He’d have refused her plan to watch the Greenwoods and ordered her to go home.

  Then she watched and she watched and she watched as absolutely no one else arrived.

  Sighing, she picked up her phone and dialled.

  ‘Sol Connolly.’

  ‘Anything?’ she asked.

  ‘Chapman left the hotel at ten thirty and went over to the Butcher’s Arms. She’s still in there now.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yup. I’m watching her through the window and she’s having a meal all on her tod,’ said Connolly. ’ What’s happening at your end?’

  ‘Absolutely bugger-all. Jay arrived at the Cherry at just before eleven and he’s been in there on his own ever since. No sign of Daisy or anyone else, come to th
at.’ Amira wondered how long they should give it, but this had been her idea so she didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.

  ‘Hold up,’ said Connolly. ‘Chapman’s coming out. I’ll call you back when I see where she heads next.’

  He hung up and Amira groaned. She should be the one following the lawyer.

  Twenty minutes later a silver Porsche pulled into the Black Cherry’s car park and Chapman got out. Clearly being a lawyer paid better than being a copper. Then Connolly’s car pulled in behind Amira’s. She looked in her rear-view mirror and he gave her the thumbs-up.

  When Chapman was safely inside the club, Amira slipped out of her car and into Connolly’s. ‘This is like having an affair,’ she said.

  ‘You’d know all about that, would you?’

  ‘I watch telly,’ she said.

  Connolly gave a short snap of laughter.

  ‘Of course, Daisy could already be in there,’ said Amira.

  Connolly looked at his watch. ‘If she got into work this early, it’d be the first time ever.’

  ‘Maybe she’s been in there all night,’ said Amira. ‘Maybe they’ve kept her in there. Thought of that?’

  Connolly laughed again. ‘Now I know you’ve been watching too much shite on the box. I’m pretty certain that Daisy Clarke is holed up in a crack house somewhere, trying to talk her dealer into taking a blow-job in lieu of hard cash.’

  Daisy was shaking so hard her head banged against the wall behind her. The bones in her skull felt like they were being smashed by a lump hammer, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  ‘You clucking?’ asked Brixton Dave.

  Daisy had spent a lifetime making excuses. A touch of flu. Food poisoning. Migraine. ‘Like a fucking chicken,’ she replied.