by Mia Dolan
Marcie controlled her anger and the need to hit out, to strangle the truth out of him. ‘Just tell me. Please. Tell me.’
The wary stare of a man afraid of his own shadow was how she would always remember Gerry Grogan.
‘Rafferty gave us money to go drinking and to get into conversation with a bloke that worked at this nightclub. He wanted us to persuade the man to take us back to the nightclub; to needle him somehow – call him a chicken if he said he couldn’t do it.’
Marcie knew what he was going to say, but she asked the question anyway. ‘Who was this man?’
He described her father. ‘Tony, he said his name was.’
‘And the gun?’
‘I slipped it into the desk drawer just like I was told to.’
‘And you were paid to do this.’
He nodded. ‘Yes. But I can’t testify,’ he repeated in a sudden rush. ‘I have a few problems back in Ireland . . .’
The door through which Gerry Grogan had entered opened. This time it was Pete Henderson, Sally’s policeman boyfriend, who entered.
‘Did you hear everything?’ Marcie asked him, aware that her voice sounded as flat as molten lead.
‘Oh yes.’
It was all over so quickly. Grogan was arrested.
‘We’ll probably do a deal over his offences in Ireland,’ he told her. ‘We won’t force him to go back as long as he co-operates.’
She thanked him.
Once they’d gone, Allegra eyed her worriedly. ‘It’s your father, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘There are times when I could quite happily kill him.’
Chapter Thirty-nine
RAFFERTY AND HIS colleagues hadn’t expected to be abducted. Keen to deal with Gerry Grogan and the knowledge he possessed, they hadn’t noticed the sleek black limousine cruising behind them nor the one behind that.
‘Rafferty. The boss wants a word.’
Paddy Rafferty couldn’t help the smug smirk. Like anybody who was anybody in London’s underworld, he knew that Leo Kendal had snuffed it and fully expected someone else to now be in charge of his outfit. He certainly didn’t expect to hear Sam Kendal referred to as the boss even though she’d been her husband’s mouthpiece for years. Being an out and out chauvinist, he couldn’t handle the fact that she was more than capable of running her husband’s crime empire or that she was as hard as any man. And now that good old Leo had died, the poor woman would be easy to deal with. At least, that was what he’d thought.
On getting into the back seat of the car, she smiled at him and he felt strangely privileged. Christ, he thought, but she’s one hell of a looker even though she’s the wrong side of forty.
For a fleeting moment he wondered what his chances were on the sexual front. The poor bird must have been without attention for years, Leo being so old.
He smiled back at her, certain that he could do her as much good as she could him. He decided to make the first move.
‘Perhaps we could . . .’
She moved quickly. He felt a sharp pain in his arm.
‘Talk,’ she said.
The look on her beautiful face was frightening, either that or it was the effect of the stuff she’d stuck into his vein.
‘What the hell . . .?’ Raising his arm, he attempted to point to his car and the blokes who worked for him. They were still in his car. His arm felt like a ton weight.
She read his actions. ‘They’re being taken care of.’
She meant every word of it. Samantha Kendal knew exactly what her own men were doing. Rafferty’s men were getting the same kind of treatment as Rafferty – except for the driver that is.
‘Drive,’ the gunman had said.
Rafferty’s driver did exactly that, following behind the car in which his boss was seeing a world slowly spinning out of control. A third car followed behind that.
Streetlights flashed past in a blur of sodium orange and mercurial brightness.
The cars eventually came to a halt on a bombsite that had once been a dockyard warehouse. The whole place was covered in tumbled bricks and rampant weeds. The smell coming from the river was a mix of sewage and effluent from the old gasworks further along. Things rustled in the weeds and scuttled in the shadows: rats mostly and feral cats out to bag their supper.
Paddy Rafferty was doing his best to focus on what was happening, but it wasn’t easy. He was being hauled from the car and was only vaguely aware of the alarmed faces of the members of his gang gazing out at him.
His legs being like jelly he fell onto the dusty ground, cutting his knee on a broken brick, breathing dust and feeling scared.
He looked up at Sam Kendal, trying his best to understand what was going on. His mouth was dry as a sandpit, but somehow he managed to speak. ‘Why?’ he gasped. ‘What have I done?’
‘The wrong thing,’ Sam snarled.
He managed to get to his feet and, crazy as it seemed, staggered off into the darkness towards the river. Nobody bothered to follow.
Sam Kendal watched him staggering away. He wasn’t likely to get far. The river mud was thick in that direction and would suck down a man unsteady on his feet.
Stanley, one of her best men, came up behind her. ‘So what do you want me to do with them?’ He jerked his head at Rafferty’s men.
‘Get what you can out of them, then go and see the Irishmen.’
Little Annie Brooks was making herself a jam sandwich. She was small for her age but agile and sharp as a weasel; the poor kid had to be. She had a mother who didn’t look after her properly and two brothers who were busily embarking on a criminal career. Like their father, they wanted to be regarded as hard men in a world where gaining wealth by dishonest means was almost a virtue.
‘Do you want a jam sandwich, Gran?’
Although Rosa couldn’t see it, she knew the little girl was beaming at her with pleasure. The child had been left alone or with neighbours while Rosa had been in hospital, her daughter-in-law having a haphazzard approach to motherhood. To have someone there with her all day was a luxury she very much enjoyed.
‘I would love one,’ said Rosa, though she knew that butter and jam would be plastered on the bread with gay abandon and thick as a doorstep.
Rosa was in a wheelchair and she was sharing a bedroom with her granddaughter. She had no choice; the bathroom was on the same floor. The stairs to the ground floor were a barrier to her mixing properly with her son’s second family. She wished fervently that Marcie were here, though more than that she wished she had the use of both her legs.
Blindness she could cope with, but being dependent on someone wheeling her where she wanted to go was hard. Sometimes it seemed as though she still had both her legs. Sometimes it seemed as though the leg they’d amputated was still there, jerking in phantom spasms as the nerves might have done when the flesh was cut and the bone sawed through.
The little girl was her only lifeline to the world downstairs. Babs rarely came up to see her except with a cup of tea and sausage and chips from the shop on the corner. Babs rarely cooked anything. Most of the time it was Annie or one of the boys who brought up her meals or anything she needed.
‘Are you there, Gran?’
She recognised Archie’s voice and the clomp, clomp, clomp of his feet climbing up the stairs. It sounded as though his brother was not far behind him. They always came home from school at lunchtime and made themselves toast or a sandwich.
‘Have you seen Garth?’ she asked him.
‘Yeah. Fine.’
‘You gave him the money for food?’
‘Course I did.’
Rosa detected a hesitance in his voice. The cataracts may have taken her sight but in recompense she could hear when a person was lying. Archie was lying.
Her grandmother’s heart sank. Without anyone needing to tell her she knew that the boys had probably taken a portion of the money for themselves. Worse still was Garth getting enough money to pay the bills and feed himself?
‘See you
later, Gran.’
‘Boys! I wish to speak to you.’
She heard their feet clumping down the stairs. They hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye.
Being confined to a wheelchair was the most frustrating thing that had ever happened to her. Not being able to get around was worse than not being able to see. The two together were unbearable. Nevertheless she had to get out from beneath her daughter-in-law’s roof. She wanted to go home. But how?
‘Annie?’
‘Coming, Gran. I’m bringing your jam sandwich.’
Rosa smiled in the direction of Annie’s voice. ‘Annie. Where are the boys gone?’
Annie didn’t answer. Rosa guessed the worst.
‘They haven’t gone to school, have they?’ It was a statement not a question. ‘Tell me where they’ve gone.’
‘They’re at the den.’
Rosa clenched her jaw. Babs had got herself a job as a barmaid. After closing she did a bit of work as an usherette at the matinee at the Roxy. Then it was back behind the bar of an evening. The woman was rarely home; hence the house smelled dirty and the children were being left to fend for themselves. Rosa feared it wouldn’t be long before a social worker was nosing around. The district nurse who came round to change her dressings and give her an injection had begun asking questions about the children. Despite her infirmities it was down to her to do something.
‘Will you go to them and get them to phone Marcie? Tell her I have decided to go home.’
‘OK.’
‘Take some pennies from my purse.’
‘How many pennies, Gran?’
‘Take six plus a shilling.’
She heard Annie count out the coins. ‘Is this a shilling, Gran?’ Not being too sure, she placed the shilling piece into her grandmother’s palm.
Rosa fingered the coin. ‘Yes. That is a shilling, Annie.’
The fact that Annie had asked her to confirm the identity of the coin made her smile wistfully. The two boys who she knew for sure were fathered by her son were taking her money. Annie, whose paternity was a little doubtful, was not.
‘Now write down this telephone number and give it to the boys. Can you do that?’
The little girl who had not yet started school, said she could. Rosa was grateful, though saddened by the fact that Annie was so at home on the streets. She’d noticed that Annie was left alone to fend for herself and knew that she hung round the pub door to catch a glimpse of her mother.
So far she hadn’t confronted Babs about her shortcomings. But things were coming to a head. Something had to be done.
Chapter Forty
THE NIGHT AFTER Grogan had confessed his sin to Allegra, whom he’d mistaken to be a nun, Tony Brooks was standing on his daughter’s doorstep looking guilty as sin.
‘I’ve got to tell you something,’ he said haltingly.
‘I thought you might.’ She wasn’t pleased with him and it showed in her voice. She jerked her head, signifying that he could enter.
It satisfied Marcie immensely when he stopped dead in the doorway to the living room.
‘Mary!’
He hadn’t got over meeting her on the last occasion when he’d been bundled into her car. He still couldn’t quite believe who she was now. The girl he’d known was long gone. This woman was something harder and meaner than the innocent he’d known.
Mary eyed him with nothing short of disdain. At the same time she flicked cigarette ash into a tray from a long ebony holder.
‘I keep telling you, Tony, I used to be Mary. I’m not now. I’m Sam. Sam Kendal.’
Marcie watched as her father sunk onto the sofa. It was as though his legs had turned to jelly. They very likely had. Like most of those involved in the soft belly of the underworld, her father had heard of Sam Kendal, the gang boss who had taken over from her husband when he’d become ill. Not being privy to the higher echelons of crime, he’d never guessed that his former wife was that very person and he was having trouble getting used to it.
‘I know what you did,’ she said to him.
Tony’s jaw hung slack. ‘I didn’t know where you were, Mary . . . sorry, Sam . . . I thought you’d shot off, so I filed for . . .’
‘That’s not what I mean,’ she snapped. ‘I’m talking about the drinks party you had with a group of Irishmen. Paddy Rafferty was out to take over the Blue Genie. Didn’t it occur to you that they were working for him and ordered to set Michael up for murder?’
Tony stumbled over his words. ‘I just thought . . . I mean . . . I’d had a drink . . .’
‘That was always your problem,’ said Marcie’s mother. ‘One drink follows another and you roll over and play dead.’ She shook her head, her expression full of contempt. ‘You’re a selfish bastard, Tony Brooks. Always was. Always will be.’
Marcie wanted to intervene and say that her father wasn’t entirely selfish. He did love his kids – in an offhand kind of fashion. And she wasn’t really prepared to have her mother walk in here and take over after all these years.
She hadn’t been so taken aback as she’d expected to be when confronted with her mother on the doorstep that morning. Marcie was still reticent about her mother’s reappearance; they hadn’t fallen into each other’s arms. They hadn’t burst out crying. It was as though the years had forged a huge chasm between them.
‘Cut out the antagonism. I don’t care what old wounds you two want to fight about. All I care about is getting my husband out of prison.’
‘That should happen now,’ said her mother.
Marcie knew she was right. Grogan, despite his protests, had spilled the beans; so had Paddy Rafferty. Sam Kendal had made sure of that. The girl had been killed by one of Paddy’s gang on Paddy’s orders.
Fearing he was about to be fitted with cement boots and left for the mud to drag him down and the tide to drown him, Paddy had sung like the proverbial canary. The girl had threatened to go and tell Michael Jones that the business about being pregnant was a lie and that Paddy had put her up to it. Paddy couldn’t allow that to happen so he’d decided to kill two birds with one stone – almost literally.
‘And after I warned you,’ said Sam Kendal.
The police had everything they needed. Now all that Marcie wanted was for everyone to leave so she could make the house nice for when Michael came home and also make sure that everything was running well at the Blue Genie.
The phone rang just when she was about to suggest that they leave. It was one of her stepbrothers.
‘Gran said could you come down right away. It’s urgent.’
Marcie frowned. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’
‘No. I don’t like school. Neither does Arnold.’
‘I’ll tell Dad you’re not at school. He’ll go mad.’
Archie laughed. ‘No he won’t. He reckons we’re just like he was when he was our age. We’ve got a nice little business going.’
Marcie frowned, alarm bells ringing in her head. ‘Business? What sort of business?’ As if I can’t guess, she thought to herself.
‘A bit of this and a bit of that. We’ve taken over Bully Price’s territory. He’s in borstal. Did you know that?’
‘And you’re going to end up . . .’
The pips sounded. Archie was gone.
She’d reined in her anger towards her father with regard to the gun incident telling herself he’d been duped. But this, to be aware that his sons were playing truant from school and up to no good fired it up again.
‘Dad! That was Archie on the phone.’
‘How is he?’ her father said brightly, supposedly unaware that anything was wrong even though he’d heard her end of the conversation.
‘He’s not in school! And from what I hear he’s heading for borstal.’
Her father shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know . . .’
‘No,’ Marcie shouted angrily. ‘You bloody well wouldn’t. Well, if you two old flames will excuse me, I’m off to see my grandmother. She needs my help and I’m giving it
to her. In fact she’s the only person in my life who deserves my attention!’
Luckily the children were at a very nice private nursery she’d found nearby. After Allegra joined holy orders it was the only thing she could think of doing – either that or sell the Blue Genie as Michael had ordered her to do.
Half in and half out of her coat, she stopped at the door and flung a question at her mother. ‘How did you find all this out?’
Her mother got to her feet. ‘I have friends in the right places.’
Marcie stood challengingly, one hand poised on her hip, her expression taut and impatient to hear the details.
‘Sally got under the skin of one of Rafferty’s associates. She was always good at that. You didn’t know she used to be on the game?’ she asked on seeing her daughter’s amazed expression. ‘So did I,’ she added.
Marcie blinked.
Her mother nodded in the direction of her father.
‘He knew.’
Marcie’s mouth was dry. She felt uncomfortable knowing her mother’s past, but on the other hand she couldn’t condemn her. Women did what women had to do. Career choices were minimal now let alone nearly fifteen years ago.
Her mother didn’t give her time to brood. ‘Come on. You’ll get to Rosa a lot quicker if you come with me.’ She turned to Tony. ‘By the sound of things you should be going down there too – unless you’ve got a previous appointment.’
Marcie caught the sarcasm in her mother’s voice when she addressed her father. Marcie guessed that she too had once blocked out the truth that her father liked women just as much as Babs, his second wife, liked men. In effect he and Babs were made for each other, she decided.
Sam opened the door. ‘Come on. We’d better be going.’
Chapter Forty-one
IT WAS ABSOLUTELY true that Barbara Brooks, Tony’s second wife, was free and easy with her favours.
But this is true love, she thought, as she lay beside the man from the brewery, who after calling on the pub landlord, would pick Babs up from outside the cinema where she was supposed to be working that day.