Blood Daughter: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Three (Flesh and Blood series)

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  ‘And?’

  ‘They’re asking viewers for help with Kieran’s bullion job.’

  There was a moment’s stunned silence before Dee picked up the remote and turned up the volume.

  A presenter did a spiel outside the private vault and there was a reconstruction of the robbery. All three of them agreed that the actor playing the leader of the gang was nothing like Kieran. The show then went to the studio where another TV bod interviewed the senior officer leading the investigation. In Dee’s house, they were all hoping that he had no leads and wasn’t closing in on the thieves. Thankfully, the cop didn’t look like he was about to make any arrests any time soon. ‘So this might have been an inside job?’ the presenter asked him.

  ‘We’re confident that none of the staff were involved in this robbery.’

  ‘Is there anything unique about this robbery that might jog the public’s memory?’

  The detective had a prop. He produced a crate and put it on the desk in front of him. ‘The bullion was packed in crates, like this. Typically, the gang would have disposed of them and it’s likely that they were destroyed. However, it’s possible that if the thieves were disturbed or were careless, they might have dumped them somewhere. If they did that would be of real interest to us.’

  ‘And I understand they have distinctive markings?’

  The cop turned to a screen on which the markings were displayed. ‘That’s right. We understand they’re army surplus and were originally bought second hand in the 1960s or ’70s. As you can see in the photo they were stencilled, ‘‘Property of—’’

  Dee and Jen didn’t hear the rest because Nicky was on his feet. ‘I’ve seen that before.’

  ‘What?’

  For once in his life he looked deadly serious. ‘I think I know who the gold might belong to.’

  Shoulders slumped, head down, Tiff walked across The Devil’s Estate like a wounded animal. Shame dogged her every step. How could she have done that to Dee? She should’ve fessed up from the off about what Kieran wanted her to do. Might’ve even been able to come up with a plan to double cross him.

  Tiff didn’t feel like going to hers; she’d only have more ‘we want our money back now’ letters piling up against her front door. Instead, she was off to her mum’s to lie down in the comfort of her old room.

  ‘Alright Tiff.’ Her head shot up to find Stacey coming towards her. Her one-time bestie was pushing her mum in a wheelchair.

  The great Mel Ingram didn’t look so great anymore. She was shrunken, head leaning slightly to the side, her rheumy eyes staring into space. Only her small finger moved in a hand curled like a claw in her lap. The finger stroked the blanket covering her legs, which was made of a furry material. She’d been such a tough old bird in her day, a woman Tiff had done her best to steer clear of. Now look at her. How the mighty had fallen. Tiff knew that feeling all too well.

  ‘Wotcha Stace,’ she said and out of respect to her mate added, ‘Mrs Ingram,’ but there was no flicker of response.

  ‘You get that problem with those two goons sorted?’ Stacey asked.

  Tiff shuffled her feet. ‘Yeah, but I did something stupid to get out of it.’

  ‘Bad piling up on top of bad.’ Stacey smiled wistfully. ‘Yeah, I know all about that. Then I turned a corner. You ready to do that?’

  Tiff cocked her head to the side. ‘Let’s just say that one of my sisters shoved me around one. Dunno if it’s good or bad yet.’

  Suddenly Mel Ingram pinned her watery eyes on Tiff. Her tongue was thick as she announced, ‘Stan . . . effing . . . cunt . . . of the year.’ Then her head slumped to the side and she stared into nowhere again.

  ‘You got that right,’ Tiff whispered. Her dad had left his brand of badness on every life he’d touched, like an untrained tom spraying all over the gaff.

  ‘Maybe we can go for a bevvy sometime,’ Stacey asked tentatively.

  Tiff grinned for the first time that day. ‘Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.’

  ‘Right, better be off.’ Stacey stared down at her mum. ‘Don’t want you to catch cold, do we.’ She looked back up at Tiff. ‘Be seeing ya.’

  Tiffany perked up slightly as she watched her friend walk away.

  The Devil was still on its worst behaviour – music blasting from blocks, hard-faced kids up to no good at the entrance to Bridge House, a couple having a barney outside the offy – but some of the flats were privately owned with plants and flowers growing outside and bamboo blinds instead of curtains at the windows. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad world after all, Tiff thought.

  She climbed wearily to her mum’s flat and used her key to go inside. Then went on high alert when she noticed the light coming from beneath the closed bathroom door. Probably squatters. That’s all she needed. The council had allowed Babs to hold on to her home while she was banged up on the understanding that the rent was paid, which Dee had sorted out. On tiptoes Tiff crept into the sitting room, picked up a three-year-old bottle of gin by the neck and moved to the bathroom. She booted the door in. And staggered back.

  ‘What the fuck you doing here Mum?’

  Sixty

  ‘Last I heard, this was still my home,’ Babs answered irritably as she heaved herself out of the bath. First thing most inmates did when they got out of prison was have sex or eat their favourite meal or head to the nearest boozer to get liquored up. Not her. All she’d wanted to do was have a bath. She hadn’t had one in three, long years. It had been heaven to scrub away the prison grime.

  ‘Don’t stand there gawking. Let me get a towel round meself.’

  Her youngest turned away so she could sort herself out.

  Tiff asked, ‘You ain’t gone over the wall?’

  ‘If I have, you gonna shop me to the cops?’ She heard Tiff suck in her breath. ‘Make me a brew and I’ll be with you in a mo.’

  Tiff sniggered, ‘Escape from Alcatraz,’ as she went off to do her mum’s bidding.

  Babs got herself dry and in a dressing gown and slippers then went into the sitting room. She plonked herself next to Tiff on the settee and picked up her cuppa. She took a sip and let out a long sigh. ‘Now that’s what you call a cup of Rosie Lee. Inside the stuff was like ground earth.’

  ‘Mum, can you stop with the tea commercial,’ Tiff sharply cut in, ‘and tell me what’s bloody going on.’

  Babs thought back to earlier that day. She thought she was done for when Mrs Morris had summoned her just as she’d been ready to step past the gate. How they’d known what she was about she didn’t know. Maybe Knox had fingered her before she’d been shipped out.

  ‘Miss, I’m sorry,’ she’d pleaded with Mrs Morris. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘The Governor wants you in her office.’

  Babs had followed her, cursing herself from one side to the next. Trying to scarper by walking out of the gate – had she been off her flamin’ trolley? Now Mrs Field was going to revoke her parole, and worse, probably top up her sentence for her shite escape attempt.

  The Number One had peered over her glasses with a serious stare.

  The words of regret had tumbled out of Babs’ mouth. ‘Miss, I know that—’

  ‘Barbara, please take a seat.’ That got her on her guard immediately. The Governor had never used her first name before.

  She’d seated herself nervously. Her heart dropped as something occurred to her. What if this was sod all to do with her escape attempt and about one of her girls? Desperately, she’d leaned forward, breathless with worry. ‘Has something happened to one of my girls? Oh God.’ Her hand covered her mouth.

  ‘No. It’s nothing like that.’ The governor had swallowed hard and for the first time Babs realised she was nervous as well. Why, she couldn’t say. ‘Your parole date has been brought forward.’

  ‘What?’

  Mrs Field linked her fingers together. ‘You can leave today if that works for you? I know you’ve got a family waiting for you so we don’t have the problem of finding you somewhere
to stay . . .’

  Babs had almost wept with joy. Finally, the day had arrived – she was going home.

  Tiff stared at her with open confusion. ‘Just like that,’ she clicked her fingers, ‘they let you waltz outta the door?’

  Babs nursed her cuppa in her palms. ‘Just like that. I was rolling out on my jam. I was out and about this afternoon. I’ve gotta wear a Peckham Rolex.’ She pointed to her ankle to show her bulky electronic tag.

  Tiff grinned. ‘Mum, that looks the business. Can you take it off so I can send my mates a snap of me wearing it? It’ll go really well with my skinny jeans.’ She peered hard at her mum. ‘Hold up, you said you ain’t been in long, so where have you been all today?’

  ‘Oh, nowhere,’ Babs said breezily. ‘I just walked around breathing in fresh air.’

  ‘And how did you get back?’

  Babs slammed her cup down. ‘Never you mind about none of that. I wanna know what’s been going on. From what I’ve been hearing, my girls have been at each others’ throats like a pack of vampires. There’s something going on and I wanna know what it is.’

  Tiff looked everywhere other than at her mum. ‘Like what? You got gate fever or something? The only thing on your mind should be that you’re as free as a London pigeon breathing the same clean air as the rest of us.’

  Babs shuddered. She never wanted to hear the word pigeon again.

  The front door knocker went. Mother and daughter stared at each other.

  Babs said, ‘If it’s any of my mates who think they spotted me tell them they need an optician’s appointment coz it weren’t me, alright?’

  Babs fretted as Tiff got up to answer the door. She was still gobsmacked about what had happened earlier, especially the sauce of planning to leg it just as they were going to release her.

  Tiff reappeared in the doorway, her face chalk white. ‘It’s the plod . . .’

  Before she could finish two female officers appeared behind her. Tiff stepped into the room to give them space. Babs got anxiously to her feet.

  ‘Barbara Miller?’ She nodded, the feeling in her belly getting worse. ‘You need to accompany us to West End Central Police Station.’

  Sixty-One

  Nicky stuck his key into the door. When it opened he let his mum and his Aunty Jen in. The hallway was dark. He whispered, ‘Let me get the light on so you can see.’

  He found the switch and flicked it on. It bathed the hall in light. The Commander was standing on the third stair from the bottom. He wore an old silk dressing gown and slippers.

  ‘Nicky my boy,’ he hailed them. ‘I’m so pleased that you’re back. Flo was getting very upset. She’s just stepped out to see some friends.’ He moved down the stairs into the hallway. ‘And who are these charming young ladies?’

  But none of them were looking at him. They were staring at the large ship’s bell.

  A solemn Nicky pointed at it. ‘See. That’s what that crime show said was written on the crates. HMS Grenada.’ They all looked at The Commander. Nicky carried on, ‘And he was the commander of a ship with that name.’

  An awful silence descended. Dee stepped forward. ‘Did you own the gold that was robbed?’

  The Commander seemed to grow taller as if steel had been inserted into his spine. His usual hunched appearance was gone. ‘Did Frank McGuire let his mouth run away with him?’

  Dee, Nicky and Jen froze. He fixed his steely blue eyes on Dee. ‘My condolences madam on the passing of your husband. Interesting character was John.’

  The breath shuddered in Dee’s body. ‘Did you know him well?’ She found the idea that this English gentleman of the old school had travelled in the same circles as her husband inconceivable. John’s Alley Club had always been more of a hangout for celebs, footie stars and their WAGs. Nothing about this man fit. It terrified her and there wasn’t much that made Dee Black want to run the other way.

  ‘At one time, yes. I frequented his club in Soho and lost a lot of money to him at cards. That was a long time ago.’ He paused for a moment.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Nicky’s been living here all the time, right under your nose. You never used him against me as leverage for the gold – which I’ll say now I never had.’

  His gaze darkened. ‘I couldn’t do that. He was a friend of my darling Flo and he made her laugh. If I’d done anything to Nicky she might have become sad again.’

  Dee gulped. She had a very dangerous man on her hands. The only reason he hadn’t made a move against Nicky was because he saw him as a puppy to keep his granddaughter cheery. It chilled her to the bone. No wonder Uncle Frank had told her that Carats wouldn’t touch Nicky even though he could’ve anytime he wanted to.

  ‘Would you like a drink? I’ve got some lovely white tea imported from Sri Lanka.’

  This man was giving her the willies. ‘Nah, thanks very much, we won’t be stopping for long.’

  His voice hardened. ‘Then I think you need to state your business.’ It was like he was back in command of HMS Grenada.

  ‘Your gold’s gone.’

  ‘Has it now?’

  ‘Kieran decided to hide it in his club, The Lock – the club Uncle Frank burned it down to the ground tonight in an effort to persuade Kieran to give it back. It all got melted in the inferno. Bit of a show-up for you really, don’t you think?’

  The Commander pursed his lips. ‘I see.’

  ‘You knew Uncle Frank back in the day as well, didn’t you.’ It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact. ‘No doubt a man in your position would insist on the best when it came to recovering his gold. And whatever his other faults, there’s no doubt that Uncle Frank is the best man for a job like that.’

  Finally the Commander fessed up. ‘You’d have thought so wouldn’t you? I should have known better than to trust a Cockney wide boy like that with such a sensitive task.’

  ‘The gold’s gone. Are you going to tell Uncle Frank to call his dogs off?’

  The Commander was lost in thought. ‘I want some evidence. I’m not a fool.’

  ‘It’s difficult to provide evidence of something that doesn’t exist. Of course you’re welcome to go over to The Lock and search through the ruins. No doubt you’ll find melted gold in it. Or you can speak to Kieran. He’ll tell you.’

  ‘Where did the gold come from?’ It was Nicky who asked, sounding mesmerised.

  Dee didn’t wait to hear the answer. The less they knew the better. She grabbed Nicky’s hand. ‘I hope that’s the end of it,’ she told The Commander.

  She dragged her son and her sister out of a house she hoped never to set foot inside again.

  Dee’s mobile went off. She took the call and handed it to Jen with a confused look. ‘It’s for you.’ Then she remembered that Jen had lost her mobile in the fire.

  Dee got very concerned at how white Jen went as she listened.

  When the call was over Dee asked, ‘Who was that?’

  ‘The Bill. They want me to come over. It’s something to do with Courtney.’

  As they rushed down the road they heard the bell of HMS Grenada tolling behind them.

  The Commander stilled his hand against the bell to stop it ringing. His face didn’t show it but he was raging inside. That gold had been his legacy for his darling Flo. He wasn’t a poor man so there was still plenty to leave her but it was his special treat. The loss of it galled him. He grabbed the bell in anger, ripped it off the wall and with his whole might threw it on the beautifully tiled floor. The sound was deafening.

  ‘Commander?’ He looked up to find his cherished Flo on the stairs, Jezebel in her arms. ‘I think you might need one of your pills.’

  She was right. When he got like this it was not a pretty sight.

  Flo and Jezebel joined him. ‘It doesn’t matter about the gold. I did try my hardest to find out if Nicky knew where it was.’

  ‘I know you did my angel.’ He cupped his hand around her cheek. When John’s son had first arrived and it looked lik
e he was going to leave, he’d called Flo downstairs. He’d told her all about the gold and that it was her job to see what the lad knew. She’d put on the charm and asked him to stay.

  ‘Do you believe them?’ she asked. ‘Or do you think they’re filling their boots up with it?’

  ‘I don’t know. If the gold’s still out there we just have to wait. Someone will make a false move. It might be tomorrow, next year, the year after that. Whenever it happens we both need to be ready. And you, my precious, are going to worm your way into the hearts of the Miller family.’

  His granddaughter started seething. ‘Those Millers have got a lot to answer for. First my houses and now your gold—’

  He kissed her on the cheek, halting her spitting words. ‘Haven’t I taught you that there’s no point fussing and kicking up a storm when all you’ve got to do is keep your eyes on the prize and strike when the time is right?’

  Flo let The Commander’s words wash over her. Usually they would’ve soothed her, but not tonight. The Millers had made mugs out of her and the one man she still loved in this world. She relaxed against her granddad, making him believe all the anger had left her.

  Flo kissed him on the cheek. ‘I forgot, one of my mates has got something for me.’ And before he could question her more she quickly grabbed her jacket and left the house.

  Sixty-Two

  The last, and only, time Babs had been in West End Central was back in ’93 trying to save her fifteen-year-old daughter Tiffany from a life of crime. Now here they were again, this time the roles reversed.

  ‘Come on fellas,’ Babs begged the two officers who had escorted her and Tiff there, ‘tell me why I’m here.’

  One gave her the eye, but no answer, just like all the other times she’d asked on the way. She wasn’t daft, she knew it had something to do with why she’d been released early, but what that something was . . . It was cracking her up inside not knowing.