Tell No Lies

by Tell No Lies (retail) (epub)

  As they reached the door, someone called, ‘Oi oi, Frankie, company on your first night of freedom? Lucky bastard!’

  He held up a hand, not bothering to turn. ‘What can I say? She’s an old friend.’

  Caelan held the door open for him and he stumbled outside. She knew she had to stay alert, keep bringing the conversation around to drugs and see what he might reveal. Luckily, it seemed to be a subject he was fond of.

  ‘You used to be able to get anything you wanted in there,’ he said, nodding back towards the pub as they walked.

  ‘Like what?’ Caelan asked.

  ‘Anything.’ He held up his hands. ‘Guns, drugs, DVDs – and I’m not talking about Disney films. Proper fucked-up shit.’

  Caelan’s mind flashed back to the girls from the previous evening. She resolved to call Penrith for an update when she was alone. ‘Not interested,’ she said.

  ‘Not saying you are. No use if you were. It’s all above board now. No cheap booze, no lock-ins. Just a load of dickheads chatting shit.’

  ‘Thought it was your local?’

  ‘It is. You can get a decent pint, but then you can at the supermarket. Don’t think I’ll be going back there again.’ He paused at the kerb, then staggered out into the road.

  Caelan hesitated, held back as she heard an engine roar. A car shot out of a side street, heading straight for them. Frankie Hamilton turned, holding up a hand to shield his eyes as the vehicle hurtled towards him, its headlights blinding. Caelan screamed at him to move, but he stood as though frozen. She reached for him, grabbed his arm, and the movement seemed to break the spell. He tumbled towards her, the car speeding past, the two of them ending up in a heap on the pavement as its rear lights disappeared. Caelan pushed Hamilton away from her and sat up.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  He was lying still, groaning. ‘Fuck, what was that? Crazy bastard could have killed me.’

  Caelan heaved herself to her feet, her body aching, her older injuries screaming. She glanced around, but Nicky and Richard were nowhere to be seen. Where were they? Staying out of sight? ‘Did you see the driver?’

  ‘Are you joking? I saw the lights, that was all.’ Hamilton was on his feet now, bending and rolling up a trouser leg. ‘My knees are shredded.’ He raised his hands, examined his palms. ‘Hands, too. Fuck.’ He stared at her, eyes wide. ‘You saved my life, you know?’

  She shook her head, reminding herself who she was supposed to be. ‘Forget it. That was… Do you know anyone who drives a black estate?’

  ‘Is that what it was? Do you think they were trying to hit me?’

  ‘Don’t you? We should call the police.’

  ‘No way, I’m not getting those bastards involved. They’ll probably tell whoever it was to come back and have another go. I’ll call my brother, he’ll ask around.’

  ‘Frankie—’

  ‘Listen, I’m going to shoot off.’ He grinned at her. ‘Thanks again for… you know. I’d have been dead. Make sure you give me a call, yeah?’ He leant closer, kissed her cheek.

  Caelan resisted the urge to wipe her face with her sleeve as Hamilton jogged away. She noted the direction he took, turned, gave herself a second. Her heart was still hammering. She looked around, saw a bus shelter on the other side of the road and headed towards it. With her back against the cold brickwork, she pulled out her phone. Penrith answered on the second ring.

  ‘Someone’s just tried to run over Frankie Hamilton,’ she told him.

  Penrith paused. ‘I assume they missed?’

  ‘Only because I managed to pull him out of the way.’

  ‘Give me your location, we’ll get onto it. Not what we were expecting.’

  ‘Really?’ Caelan stepped onto the pavement, her eyes searching the shadows. She was taking a risk making the call, but she had no choice. They needed to find the vehicle, and quickly. It hadn’t returned, but if it did, she would be vulnerable. ‘I need to get out of here. They must have seen my face.’

  ‘Did you see theirs?’

  ‘No. I don’t even know how many of them there were.’ She described the car, not that there was much to tell. ‘The number plate was filthy. This was planned.’

  He gave a deep sigh. ‘Of course it was. And why? What does Hamilton know?’

  ‘Beats me. He seemed stunned.’

  ‘You’re sure they weren’t aiming for you?’

  Caelan blinked. ‘Why should they be?’

  ‘It hadn’t crossed your mind?’

  ‘I’ve only been here a couple of hours.’

  ‘Enough time to make some enemies.’

  ‘You’re paranoid.’

  ‘Isn’t that my line? Let’s be cautious. Go home. Lock the door. I’ll be in touch.’

  Caelan looked up and down the street again. Deserted. She began to walk back towards the flat, her thoughts tumbling. Had it been coincidence? The car had seemed to accelerate towards Hamilton, but he had walked out into the street without looking, drunk and staggering. It was impossible to say, but considering the collision Liv Hobbs had been involved in, questions had to be asked.

  Most of the houses she passed were in darkness. There were a few cars around, but most people seemed to be settling down for the night. She turned onto a side street, passed a row of shops, some boarded up. She hoped Nicky and Richard had followed them, seen the car speed towards Hamilton, and were still following him. She could have gone after him herself, but given the conversation she’d had with him, she didn’t want to give him any clue that she wasn’t who she had pretended to be. She had to hurry back to the flat, just as the woman she was pretending to be would do.

  She walked quickly, keeping her hands free, her eyes scanning the street in front of her, her senses hyper-alert after the attempted attack on Hamilton. The street was well lit, but there were patches of gloom, and she noted a broken street light twenty-five yards or so ahead of her. There was a gap between two buildings there, an alleyway, and as she approached, she heard the slightest movement. She tensed, swallowed, felt her heart rate rocket again. It wasn’t fear; more anticipation. If there was someone waiting there, she would be ready for them.

  As she drew level with the alley, a black cat leapt out in front of her, causing her to gasp. It gave her a disdainful stare, then trotted across the road and out of sight. She shook her head, laughing at herself, and kept walking.

  A quick movement, an arm snaking around her throat, before a hand was clamped over her mouth. Her left arm was seized at the elbow, large fingers digging in painfully.

  She froze, furious at herself. So much for being ready. The cat had obviously been a distraction. She had no idea who had grabbed her, but they were pulling her back, trying to drag her into the alley, and she couldn’t allow that to happen.

  ‘Don’t make a fucking sound,’ her attacker hissed. ‘I want to talk to you.’ His mouth was close to her left ear, his breath hot against her skin. Automatically Caelan assessed his position, and the action she needed to take. Sometimes, retaining your cover meant not fighting back. She was in a deserted alley, being dragged into the darkness by someone who felt taller and was no doubt stronger than she was. This was not one of those times.

  The hand over her mouth smelt of cigarette smoke. Caelan filed the fact away as she raised her right hand, turned it towards her body and curled her fingertips over at the first knuckle. She brought her hand down hard and fast onto her captor’s wrist, trying to break his grip. He grunted as he was forced to drop his hand and readjust his feet. As he did so, Caelan whipped the same hand down and back, driving her fist into his now exposed groin. He crumpled with a squeak, allowed her to pivot away from him. She turned, wanting to see his face, ready to launch a kick, but he was bent double, wheezing and choking. As she did so, she saw a movement in the shadows. Another man stepped out, dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket, his face concealed by a scarf, black baseball cap pulled low. He held up his hands.

  ‘What are you, some kind of ninja?’r />
  He had a slight accent, but nothing Caelan could pinpoint. She moved backwards, keeping them both in sight. ‘I took a few self-defence lessons when I was a kid.’

  ‘Yeah? From who, Jackie Chan?’

  Caelan said nothing, stayed on her toes, ready to attack again if necessary. The first man tried to raise his head.

  ‘My fucking balls. Jesus…’

  The second man laughed. ‘You got what you deserved. No manners.’ He turned back to Caelan. ‘We want you to pass a message on to Frankie Hamilton.’

  ‘Someone just tried to run him over. Know anything about that?’

  He frowned, lifting his shoulder. ‘Why should we? When are you seeing Frankie again?’

  ‘I barely know him.’

  ‘You looked like good friends in the pub.’

  He was lying. Caelan knew the two of them hadn’t been in the pub. They were both over six feet tall, muscular. She would have noticed them, and she hadn’t seen them outside either. They must have been watching out of sight.

  She lifted her chin, glaring but not wanting to provoke him. ‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t call the police.’

  He took a step closer. ‘Because there’s two of us.’ Another step. ‘And because I have a knife.’

  Caelan pretended to consider it. A knife would complicate matters, but she was confident she could still escape if she had to. Still, there was no need to fight if she could run, and it seemed she was being given the chance to.

  ‘What’s the message?’

  ‘There isn’t one.’

  ‘What?’

  He was already walking away. He grabbed his friend, still moaning and cursing, and pushed him in front of him. ‘Tell Frankie what happened. He’ll understand.’

  15

  Ryan stood in the shadows, his arms wrapped around his body, looking up at Mulligan’s flat. There was a light on, and he wondered if Mulligan was cooking again. He shuddered, wanting desperately to make his way up the stairs and buy some of Mulligan’s wares, but knowing he couldn’t. He had to stay away. He should have made the delivery hours ago, and whoever Mulligan’s customer was, they would have contacted him by now, demanding to know where their goods were. They’d paid up front, Mulligan had told him. That meant they were now seriously out of pocket, and Mulligan would have to find a way to placate them. However he chose to do it, there would only be one outcome for Ryan – pain. Mulligan enjoyed hurting people, especially those who had crossed or wronged him. And Ryan had let him down in the worst way possible.

  The light went out.

  Down on the pavement, Ryan gasped, tried to take a step backwards. He bumped into the wall behind him, and slid down it so he squatted close to the ground. What was he going to do? What the fuck was he supposed to do? He couldn’t run, and he couldn’t hide. Mulligan would never believe the rucksack had been stolen. He’d think Ryan had taken the contents for himself. Ryan almost smiled at the thought of it. Wouldn’t that have been something? It would have been like Christmas morning when he was a kid, but with the best present of all. He’d probably be dead by now.

  He gazed up at the window again. He would have to go up there, tell Mulligan what had happened. His mother had always drummed into him that it was best to tell the truth no matter how much trouble you knew you’d be in.

  But then she’d never met Mulligan.

  He trudged over to the building’s entrance, knowing he had no choice. Mulligan knew people. They’d find him. His only option was to go up there now and face the music. And if Mulligan killed him, well, who would care? Ryan rubbed his eyes. No one. He didn’t even care himself.

  Mulligan’s door opened as Ryan climbed the last stairs and reached the landing. He was watching, then. Had the cameras on. Maybe he was expecting his disgruntled customer to pay him a visit.

  Mulligan stood in the doorway, arms folded, his expression unreadable. Ryan’s hands were shaking, his stomach feeling as though it had liquidised. He stopped on the last step, watching Mulligan’s face.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Mulligan asked. His voice was as gentle as Ryan had ever heard it. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt choked. Mulligan uncrossed his arms, took a step forward. ‘Well?’

  ‘Around,’ Ryan managed to whisper. Mulligan cocked his head.

  ‘Around? Anywhere but here, do you mean?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Mulligan scrunched up his face. ‘Sorry? I ask you to make a delivery, you don’t do it, then disappear for hours, and you’re sorry?’

  ‘Someone stole it…’

  Now Mulligan stormed towards him, all pretence gone. He grabbed Ryan’s hair in his fist, shoved his face close. ‘Stole it? Fucking stole it?’ Keeping hold of Ryan, he marched him into the flat and threw him onto the floor. ‘Who took it?’

  Ryan curled up, desperately trying to retain control of his bladder. ‘I don’t know, I didn’t see. A man…’

  ‘A man?’ Mulligan’s face contorted into a snarl as he drew back his foot and aimed a kick at Ryan’s shins. ‘A man? Which man?’

  ‘I don’t know. He didn’t speak. He hit me, took the rucksack. I’m sorry, Mulligan. I’ll make it up to you.’ As he babbled the words, Ryan tried to scoot backwards, out of range of Mulligan’s boots.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, I’ll repay you.’

  Mulligan stopped, put his hands on his hips. Smiled. Warily, Ryan waited. Mulligan was unpredictable, his mood changing as rapidly as the seconds ticking past.

  ‘And how do you think you’re going to do that?’ Mulligan’s voice was gentle again. ‘Do you have any idea how much that stuff was worth?’

  Ryan ducked his head. ‘No.’

  ‘No. You don’t have a fucking clue. How are you, a homeless, jobless junkie going to repay me thousands of pounds?’

  ‘Thousands?’ Ryan’s guts heaved, and he coughed.

  ‘That’s right, thousands. Tens of thousands. What did you think I get paid in, fucking chocolate coins? You owe me, and you’re going to work for me for as long as it takes to repay your debt. Do you understand?’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I gave you a chance, and you fucked up. You’re lucky I’m not chucking you in the Thames. You’ll get food, and something to smoke now and then. But other than that, I own you, and I’m talking months, if not years. You do as you’re told, no argument. Are we clear?’

  Ryan lifted his head, stared at the other man, hating him. He would get out of this somehow, he promised himself. Play along for now, then make some plans. ‘Yes. I understand.’

  ‘Good boy. Now get up. Here, I’ll help you.’ Mulligan stuck out a hand, grabbed Ryan’s forearm. ‘Come on, we need to shake on it, seal the deal.’

  Staggering, Ryan steadied himself against the wall, eventually held out his hand. It wouldn’t be for long, not if he got out of London. ‘All right.’

  Mulligan shook it enthusiastically. Then he bared his teeth in a grin, dropped Ryan’s hand and pivoted, his fist crashing into Ryan’s jaw with enough force that all he saw was white light exploding as he tumbled across the floor.

  Mulligan stood over him, breathing hard, cradling his bruised hand. ‘Remember, wee man. I own you now.’

  16

  Jackson Hobbs always began his day in the same way – with fifty press-ups. In the confines of his single-occupancy cell, it wasn’t easy to maintain his routine, but he knew he had to stay sharp, keep his discipline. Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, when the walls were closing in and the night seemed endless, he exercised in the darkness, until his mind finally stilled and his body tired.

  He got to his feet, stretched his back and shoulders. He had already eaten his cereal, which he’d collected the previous night, and had a cup of tea. Nothing to do now but wait for the door to be unlocked. Maybe he’d get a shower today, but there was no guarantee.

  He heard feet in the corridor outside, inmates shouting to each other. The door opened, and he stepped outside. Clay,
who had the cell next door, nodded to him, crossing his arms over his massive chest. Jackson acknowledged the greeting, but kept his distance. It was too soon to know who he could trust, who would have his back if he needed them. He didn’t know anyone in here. When his house had been raided, four of his employees had been there with him, and they were all arrested together. They’d been sent to different prisons, though Jackson knew they would be in touch, one way or another. They were all looking at five years or more, but he’d been handed the longest sentence. Sixteen years. He’d strutted out of the dock, grinning at the judge, but inside he’d been screaming. What was he supposed to do with himself? Take some classes, learn to paint? No chance, not in here. Banged up twelve hours a day, if not longer. Televisions in every cell so they didn’t have to pay more guards to keep order.

  As they walked, the man beside him, young and scrawny, jostled Jackson’s arm. Jackson looked down at him, eyes narrowed. The kid kept his eyes to the front, though his cheeks had reddened. Jackson stuck out his elbow and caught him in the ribs, not hard, but enough for it to be a warning. The kid didn’t react, kept walking.

  ‘Problem?’ Jackson muttered. Ahead of them, a prison officer stood back, watching the men file past. They were heading for the exercise yard, Jackson’s least favourite part of the long and monotonous prison day. The food was shit, the work was boring, but at least people had something to occupy them. During exercise and, later, association, prisoners eyeballed each other, made threats, made deals.

  ‘No. Sorry.’

  ‘Watch where you’re fucking going, all right?’

  ‘Yeah, mate. Sorry.’

  They marched past the screw, who ignored them, and out into the yard. As Jackson walked, he was shoved in the back, hard, and stumbled, almost fell. As he regained his balance, he whipped around to see who had pushed him, but there was no one nearby. The scrawny kid had disappeared. No one was even looking at him. Jackson felt a coil of fear in his stomach, and stamped it down. Who the fuck did they think they were, trying to push him around? Intimidate him? Not long ago, he had owned Edmonton. People had respected him, and now? Now they thought he was finished. At the beginning of a sixteen stretch, who could blame them? He bunched his fists, held his head high. He needed to earn some respect, and fast. Otherwise, he was in danger of disappearing, being forgotten about. He still had friends outside, but how long would they stay loyal? Then there was Liv… He clenched his jaw, the betrayal of her joining the other side still fresh, all these years later. She was a Hobbs. She should have known better.