Walking back across the driveway, the only thing on Harry’s mind was sorting this mess out once and for all.
Terry was the only broken link in the chain.
Everything Harry had worked for up until now – the house, the cars, the money – it was all for the kids. It was their security, all that he had to give them after he had gone. Harry couldn’t risk Terry Stranks jeopardising all of that.
Coughing once more, Harry clutched his chest.
Harry was a fighter – always had been, always would be.
He was going to fight this cancer with everything he had.
And if he wasn’t going to let this cancer bury him, there was no way in hell he’d let Terry fucking Stranks bury him either.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lifting her freezing cold feet from the cold ceramic tiled floor, Evie tucked them under the breakfast bar stool and wrapped her hands around her mug of hot chocolate, though that too had gone stone cold. Unsure of how long she’d been sitting there, Evie felt beyond tired, but all the while her dad, Raymond and Nathan were out in the barn with Terry, she knew that there was no point going to bed as she wouldn’t sleep.
Her dad had fobbed her off with some story about just having a chat with Terry, but Evie wasn’t stupid. She’d been stood at her dad’s bedroom window, secretly spying on them, peeping out from behind the venetian blinds when Raymond had dragged the man out of the boot. Shocked, Evie had gasped out loud to herself. She knew who the man was. It was Terry. Evie had seen his picture in the football style frame on Billy’s bedside cabinet. But, unlike in the photograph of him hugging his son like he didn’t have a care in the world, Terry didn’t looked anywhere near as smiley tonight. Evie could see why. He had his hands and feet tied together, and even from the distance Evie had been standing at, she could tell that the man had already taken a battering.
She’d known for a while that the rumours about her dad were true. Seeing him in action now, unperplexed as Terry lay like a wounded animal on the driveway, Evie wondered exactly what her dad was capable of.
She knew that she should be tougher than she was, but just the idea of what they might do to Terry made her feel physically sick. He was Billy and Miley’s dad. Kelly loved him. Placing her hand over her mouth to stop herself from throwing up, Evie had run into her dad’s en suite.
The sight of her father’s blood splattered tiles had made her already weakened stomach heave. She violently retched until there was simply nothing left to come up except watery green bile, the acidity burning her throat.
Then she’d heard her dad come into his room.
She’d heard him walk around the bedroom, getting dressed; he’d been completely unaware that she was crouching down behind the bathroom door.
Realising that she was leaning in something wet, she’d lifted her hand up and seen that it was covered in blood – her dad’s blood. She had felt like she was going to gag again. Clamping her other hand over her mouth, she’d stopped herself.
Silently, she had listened to her dad as he padded out of the room and down the stairs.
Standing up quickly, Evie had almost run to the sink, scrubbing the blood from her hands.
She had cried. Something was dreadfully wrong with her dad. He was ill. He must be.
Now, sitting alone in the kitchen, Evie was still trying to piece it all together.
Her father was doing what he always did and keeping whatever it was from her. He was hiding the fact that he was ill. From her at least. Then maybe none of her siblings knew? But more than likely he was just keeping it from her.
Her dad had always been like that. Especially after her mother died.
Evie was the youngest, the weakest.
Her dad had tried to keep her as sheltered as possible, only telling her what he had to. He didn’t even want her to know about his business dealings, though that itself was a joke. Evie knew all about her dad’s criminal ways.
In fact, she’d had them rammed down her throat at school by the delightful Madeline Porter and her horde of disciples.
Evie didn’t have a clue what to do now.
If she confronted her dad, he’d only lie.
Maybe she could talk to Kelly.
It was the middle of the night, but she had said any time, and Evie knew that there was no way that she would go back to sleep now.
She was worried sick about her dad.
If she went round there now, Kelly would soon put her mind at ease, Evie was certain.
It was important after all.
Pulling out her mobile phone, Evie dialled for a taxi.
She needed answers.
If her dad wouldn’t tell her what was going on, maybe her sister would?
Chapter Thirty-Six
‘Well, Lizzy, how are you?’
Sitting at the back of the breathtakingly beautiful church, Lizzy Adams had her head down and her hands clasped together. Caught up in silent prayer she’d been unaware that Father Michaels had even been standing next to her until his softly spoken voice had jolted her out of her morbid daydream.
Unable to stop herself from shaking, Lizzy looked up and gave a weak smile in acknowledgement of the priest’s presence, cursing herself for not having more strength to hide her worries as she did so.
She’d been coming into this church for almost a year now, and Father Michaels always knew when Lizzy had something on her mind. He could tell just by her face that she was troubled, and offering the young woman a sympathetic smile in return, he nodded understandingly as he took a seat next to her, joining her in prayer.
He knew that it was better to wait patiently and give Lizzy the opportunity to talk about her troubles if she so wished, rather than push her for information, though he had learnt at his peril not to press Lizzy into talking if she wasn’t ready to, otherwise she would only clam up. Father Michaels could always see the pain in Lizzy’s eyes; like so many others that found their way through the church’s door and frequented the parish, she was a lost soul.
His door was always open to those less fortunate, and situated near Soho Square, the church over the years had turned into a sanctuary for London’s needy. A place for the homeless, alcoholics, and sex workers to frequent in their time of need, whether it was for a hot mug of tea, or just a friendly ear to listen to their woes. Father Michaels treated every single person exactly the same. Regardless of what path they had chosen to walk in life, no matter what their circumstances. They were all children of God in his eyes and they all deserved his help and guidance just as equally as the next.
Craning her neck, Lizzy stared up at the spectacular ornate ceiling, decorated with the extravagant golden design. She tried to pluck up the courage to find her voice. She needed to tell someone what was weighing on her mind. Father Michaels was the only person in the world that she trusted with her life.
St. Patrick’s Church was the only place in Soho where Lizzy ever really let her guard down. In here, she didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than herself. She didn’t have to pretend to be strong, or void of all feeling.
In here she was safe. The place brought her peace.
Providing safety from the streets. Soho was just a magical illusion dragging people in with the false promises of its seductive bright lights. The same lights that she had been drawn to herself when she had first arrived here as a runaway, at just fourteen years old. Young and naive she had foolishly believed that Soho was a place where she could be in control of her own destiny. She’d seen how the other girls had survived. How they had made working in the strip clubs and brothels look so easy, so glamorous. Dolled up to the nines in their sexy outfits, tempting men who passed by to step inside, Lizzy had thought that it would be easy money. That the women were in control.
She’d soon learned that once she gave herself up to one of those places, there was no control. It was very much a
man’s world.
The provocative lights of Soho that had once blinded her with awe were artificial, used simply to cleverly mask over the darkness that went on in Soho’s flesh-pots. For every girl that sold her body, her soul, there was always a man lurking somewhere behind the scenes and cashing in on her. It was the ugly truth of how it really worked. Lizzy knew that now.
‘I’m scared, Father . . .’ Lizzy’s voice trembled as she spoke and she hung her head, unable to look the priest in the eye. Just one kind word tonight might make her crumble. She needed to speak, to make sense of what she had seen. She owed at least that much to her friend.
‘I’m a terrible person, Father. I’ve done a terrible thing.’
‘I’m sure that whatever it is, Lizzy, it won’t feel anywhere near as bad once you say it out loud. Keeping your troubles in is what causes the pain, my girl.’ In his time here at the church, he’d seen and heard it all. He doubted anything could shock him anymore.
‘I saw something terrible happen to someone, Father. Someone was killed. Murdered.’ Lizzy felt the tears come now. Pouring out of her just like her words. ‘And I didn’t tell anyone.’ Lizzy looked the priest in the eye now, she had to. She needed to gauge his reaction, to see his disgust at her. She was a bad person. A disgusting person. All the bravado she put on whilst working the streets was just an act. When it came down to it, when she should have protected her friend she had been weak and pathetic. She’d only thought of herself.
Father Michaels held her stare, but his face said nothing. Nodding, he prompted her to continue.
‘I was supposed to be working, but I was in a bit of a state. I was lying in the underpass down by the river, at the embankment. I was out of it. I’d just done . . . Well, you know.’ Father Michaels knew that Lizzy was a drug addict and although he had never once judged her for that, Lizzy felt dirty saying the word ‘heroin’ in church. ‘I wasn’t sure if he’d seen me at first as it was dark and I was lying on the floor. But I saw this man with my friend. He looked like a normal punter at first. He was a bit rough with her; some of them are. But then out of nowhere he just went crazy. He was biting her and punching her.’ Lizzy felt sick as the painful memory played out in her head once more. She remembered her friend Paige’s tiny frame as he had attacked her. How tiny she had been compared to the huge man who towered over her. Paige hadn’t stood a chance.
Lizzy couldn’t get the scene out of her head. Haunting her, it replayed over and over in her mind. How she’d been lying in the underpass, comatose by the hit that she’d earlier shot into her veins. She had thought that the screaming she could hear was a strange echo in the back of her mind at first. It had sounded as if it was coming from a million miles away, not just thirty feet. Finally focusing in on where the sound had come from, she had seen that the person making the desperate screeching sound was her friend Paige. She was in trouble. Real trouble.
Lizzy hadn’t been able to do anything about it. The shit she’d injected was so potent that she could barely talk. She was barely able to move.
But she could see.
Lizzy’s eyes had zoned in on the huge man as he assaulted Paige.
In a wild fury he savagely attacked the girl, beating her to a pulp. The brutal attack had lasted just minutes. Then he’d taken his huge hands and wrapped them tightly around Paige’s neck, squeezing the last bit of life out of her. Lizzy had been sickened. Distraught, she held back her own scream, only a tiny noise escaping as she tried desperately to remain unnoticed. She was petrified.
‘He killed her.’ Lizzy gulped down a sob that was caught in the back of her throat, the words physically choking her as she spoke.
Then, shaking her head, she couldn’t say the words that sickened her. Not out loud, not to Father Michaels. Lizzy had thought she was tripping out at first. Like the drugs that were surging around her body were dodgy. They were fucking her head up and making her see stuff. Sick stuff that wasn’t real. As Lizzy had watched the man pound away at her friend’s dead body, she was soon left beyond a doubt that the depraved act she had just watched was very real indeed. What that man had done to Paige’s dead body was an image that would never leave her.
‘Then he dumped her in the river as if she was just a bit of rubbish.’
Lizzy cried now, unable to stop herself. Every time she closed her eyes the visions of Paige’s lifeless body being dragged to the wall and thrown mercilessly into the water haunted her. Paige had been cast aside like she had been nothing. No-one. Like she had never even existed.
Taking the girl’s hand, Father Michaels took a deep breath as he regained his composure. He was shaken up by Lizzy’s words, there was no mistaking that. But ultimately he needed to be there for Lizzy now. That was all he could do, all he could offer.
‘It’s worse than that, Father.’ Lizzy sobbed. ‘As he walked off, he looked right at me. Over to where I was lying. Hiding down in the shadows, I thought I’d been out of sight. But he saw me, he looked me straight in the eye.’
A few of the working girls had disappeared over the past few weeks and Father Michaels had warned anyone that came in here to be vigilant. To stick together. If there was a nutcase on the loose, a murderer, and Lizzy had witnessed one of his brutal attacks, then she might now be in grave danger. He needed to try to persuade her to go to the police.
‘You were scared, Lizzy. But you can make it right now. You’ve told me, that’s the first step. You need to tell the police.’
Nodding, Lizzy knew that she had to. She had no choice. She hated the Filth. But she owed it to Paige. As long as her friend’s body was floating in that cold dirty river, she’d never rest in peace. Lizzy wouldn’t either.
‘He’s been following me, Father.’
She’d seen his blacked out Audi again tonight. It was the second night in a row that she had seen it parked outside Soho Square.
At first she had managed to convince herself that it had just been a coincidence. Now, with an uneasy feeling in her stomach, Lizzy wasn’t so sure.
‘I couldn’t see through the tinted glass, but it felt like someone was in there watching me.’ Her heart had been pounding inside her chest as she walked past. She had thought that maybe he would open his door and drag her inside the car. She’d been petrified.
‘You need to go to the police, Lizzy. You could be in danger.’
Lizzy nodded. ‘I will, Father. I’ll go first thing in the morning. I promise.’
Lizzy meant it.
Lizzy had seen the man’s face, seen the man’s car. Now he was following her.
She was certain of it.
Father Michaels didn’t have to state the obvious; she already knew that she was in danger, real danger.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘Why the fuck did you run?’ Pushing Terry down so that he was sitting on one of the large boxes in the middle of Harry’s barn, Raymond stood over the man like he was his personal guard, as he waited for Harry to get dressed and join them. Venting off, Raymond wasn’t expecting an answer, which was just as well because Terry’s mouth was still firmly secured with the thick gaffer tape that Christopher had administered.
Terry didn’t seem to get that, though, because the muppet was still trying to make muffled pleas. Raymond knew why Terry had run. Because the bloke was a coward. He wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in prison. They knew that, and he knew it too.
Even so, Raymond had to give it to the bloke, he was really trying to stand up for himself now. He seemed desperate to make himself heard. Either that or the stupid prick just didn’t know when to quit.
Ignoring Terry as he wiggled about like he had worms crawling round inside his arse, Raymond whistled at the piles of neatly stacked boxes. ‘Bleeding Christ, what’s your old man been buying now?’
Nathan shrugged. Stood against the back wall, he couldn’t take his eyes off Terry. He knew that he was a waster. He’d
heard about the way he treated his sister, but Nathan also knew how much Kelly loved the man. As much as he didn’t want to be any part of this tonight, he was almost too scared to leave. He didn’t know what his dad was intending to do, but he figured that he’d better stick around for a bit longer just in case things got out of hand. As for the boxes, Nathan didn’t have a clue. ‘Fuck knows, Raymond. Could be anything. You know Dad, he could sell ice to the Eskimos.’
Raymond nodded. Whatever this shipment was, it was bound to be a great little money spinner. Harry always had his finger on the pulse when it came to importing the latest craze from the States, and he always managed to get hold of stock just in time for the UK’s high demand. Be it designer watches and handbags, Ugg boots or e-cigarettes, Harry made a fortune on the mark-up when he sold the goods on to his eagerly waiting buyers. The best thing was, it was all legit. ‘Woods Enterprises’ was Harry’s ‘front’.
Harry ran it meticulously, only importing genuine, top-notch merchandise. Despite having a few men working down at customs and excise for his Holland shipments, Harry always paid the import duty in full on these goods, and made sure that his accountant worked his magic on the rest. Everything here was completely kosher.
They’d been ploughing the drugs money through the company undetected for years.
The dynamics around the whole enterprise really impressed Raymond. Even when the police had come sniffing around here looking for Terry the other week, Raymond had watched as they poked around; the idiots had actually thought that they’d hit gold by uncovering some sort of an illegal goods den.
After all the years of trying, they thought they had finally caught Harry Woods out. As if he would be so stupid as to have a barn full of evidence that could get him nicked at the back of his house this whole time. The Plod really were something fucking else.
Stamping his legs on the floor, Raymond turned back to Terry.
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