Tiffany let her go. She knew Stacey would buckle. She didn’t have many friends and her mum was a complete bastard. But if that wasn’t enough, Tiffany knew the threat of turning up on her doorstep again would be enough to get her back out. She watched as Stacey hurried back to the house, slipped her key into the lock and turned it slowly. Then she went carefully inside. But she hadn’t been careful enough. There was an almighty explosion of shouting inside the house that included a man’s voice. He barked, ‘Who told you to go out? Eh? You slag, I’ll show you how it is.’
Tiffany drew closer and shivered as Stacey screamed and the noise of thumping and banging came from the hallway. Then there was silence interrupted only by a mewling and the occasional muffled howl that sounded more like a wounded animal than a human being.
Tiffany’s heart filled up with an emotion she couldn’t name; her chest and throat felt tight and her tummy muscles crunched together. Trembling and afraid of what she’d see, she drew closer. The front door was wide open and the man’s voice was deadly quiet but unapologetic. ‘You asked for it, you got it. I’m warning you, girl, if I have to come around here again, I’ll give you something to cry about. Stop sneaking out. Stay away from the Millers. You better believe I know all about that family and I’ll find out if you draw breath anywhere near them. Stay away from them. You hear?’
A large man emerged from the front door and closed it behind him. Tiffany ducked behind a car. He rearranged his suit, shirt and bracelets, pulled out of shape whilst beating her friend, then adjusted his tie and began walking down the street. Bollocks, he was coming her way. Quickly she crouched low as he went by; she could hear him muttering to himself, ‘Fucking women . . .’ Further down the street, he got into a car and drove away.
A dazed Tiffany slowly stood up and looked over to the flat. It was only the prospect that she’d cause even more trouble for Stacey that stopped her running up to the front door and offering her support. The thought of her mate – so small and delicate – hurt and probably bleeding, tore her up. Her mum might threaten to raise her hand to her, but that’s all it ever was – a threat. Babs Miller would never lay a hand on her. But what could she do about Stacey? Nothing. Plus, she had another problem now.
She walked home, head down. In the days when she still went to school, the teachers had brought in a policeman and former criminal who’d done eight years for armed robbery. This repentant crook had begged the kids not to consider crime as a career option. Gangland is not, he explained, like you see on the TV or in films. It’s not tasty geezers running around in fast cars, robbing banks and then going down the pub afterwards for a pint and a laugh. It’s a cruel, evil world where terrible things happen and lives are ruined. The cop had backed up what the ex-jailbird had to say. Crime, he promised the kids, is definitely not cool.
The other girls had soon got bored and begun fidgeting and playing with their hair. They were of an age where they discounted anything adults said to them, and they resented having this crook and cop wagging their fingers at them. If crime was so bad, why had this robber spent so much time doing it? They preferred the telly and movie version. But Tiffany had been fascinated. Yeah, this bloke was pathetic and, yeah, he sounded like someone’s mum, but he so desperately wanted them to believe him that she’d felt almost sorry for him.
As she walked home with her hands deep in her pockets, she remembered that man. Because he was right. Tiffany realised she was in over her head. Not only did she know there was nothing random about being stopped by the Bill earlier in the evening, she now knew that she had met Stacey’s dad before. The man who had just given her friend a vicious hiding was the same man who’d hired her as a courier in the Bad Moon in Shadwell.
They were both Mickey Ingram.
Seventeen
‘Alright, my hands are up. I nicked the motor and I nicked the flowers.’
And Nuts had told another lie. Instead of taking Jen to The Old Swan for half an hour as he’d promised, he’d driven her several miles down to the Thames and escorted her to a newly fashionable pub in a part of town where people with money were starting to move into expensive apartments and conversions. But Jen didn’t mind. She hated the local pub with its pathetic drunks and punch-ups. She was also enjoying being proved right. She’d known from the start that Nuts was a wrong ’un.
He looked so sheepish she felt almost sympathetic. ‘I don’t mind being lied to; I get lied to all the time by boys. But lies that insult my intelligence? That I don’t appreciate.’
He begged, ‘Oh come on. The Bob Marley’s my real motor and it really was broken into; it really was down the shop being repaired. All I did was rearrange the facts slightly to suit the situation.’
She pinned him with her hard stare. ‘And steal a car.’
‘Yeah, alright, I’ve admitted that. What was I to do? I could hardly offer to put you on a bus after all my mouthing off down the Alley Club, could I? I’d have looked a right plum.’ He seemed to feel that avoiding looking like a plum justified what he’d done. ‘The owner will get the Merc back, they’ll be insured, and whoever turned my Bob over didn’t care about me, did they? Cars get broken into and nicked; it happens all the time. It’s an occupational hazard of being a car owner. They’ll have forgotten about it by next week, just like I will. This is the East End. You’re not telling me you’ve never taken anything?’
Jen didn’t answer. She had once swiped a scarf from a store when she was fourteen, but that was a long time ago. Plus, she’d felt so ashamed of doing it that she’d dumped it in the rubbish chute on the landing. But he was right, this was the East End and things got stolen. She thought of Tiffany. Then she went back on the attack. ‘And the flowers?’
He avoided her gaze. ‘Yeah, I admit that was out of order. I bought you a lovely bunch of flowers in a florist but on the way over to your mum’s I thought they looked a bit cheap. I was driving past the cemetery down my way – the extension part, where they’ve started burying people again – and I saw council workers had picked up all the used wreaths and dumped them on a compost heap by the wall. Some of them still looked in good nick so I pulled over and rummaged through them and put together a bouquet – but obviously I didn’t get all the labels off, which was careless.’
Jen pursed her lips with disapproval but there was no anger now. ‘Good nick, so you nicked them.’
Nuts pressed on. ‘I mean, come on. It’s not like I pushed a grieving family and a vicar out of the way, grabbed a wreath off a coffin and ran for it. No one was using them anymore. I was just trying to make a good impression, that’s all. You can understand that, can’t you?’ He started to sound bitter. ‘You don’t know what it’s like trying to impress women. It’s not easy . . .’ Then he added meaningfully, ‘Especially when they look like you.’
He was still avoiding her gaze. Mention of the cemetery made her think of Tiffany again. She knew in her heart that Tiffany wasn’t a bad person and she was starting to think that Nuts wasn’t either. Perhaps her mum was right. ‘And what about the job in the City and the flash flat in Docklands? Did you make that up as well?’
Nuts stared at her now like she’d lost her frigging mind. ‘No, I did not.’ He opened his leather jacket so she could see the silky, purple lining inside. ‘How do you think I can afford this? Then clock my motor in the car park. That didn’t cost buttons, did it? What do you think I do for a living?’
She lifted her eyebrows like it was the question of the century. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you’ve got a business selling stolen flowers.’
His eyebrows flattened, pulling his face into a hurt expression. ‘I’m disappointed. That’s cheap, very cheap. I expect better of someone like you.’
She was smiling now. ‘Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself.’
The half hour she was supposed to give him came and went without either of them moving. The Thames turned silver in the twilight and then went inky black after dusk, only reflecting the spotlights on the riverbank. Nuts had her chuc
kling with the same stories she suspected he’d told her mum. Tales of skulduggery and derring-do in the City and the various people who worked there which he backed up by mimicking their voices and mannerisms. Before Jen realised, it was gone eleven.
He took her back home, keeping up a constant line of patter, and drove her right up to the stairwell where he dropped her off. She made no attempt to get out of the car so he hopefully asked, ‘Am I forgiven then?’
‘I suppose.’ She shyly clutched her shoulder bag.
Nuts shuffled sideways to look at her. ‘I know this is really cheeky but I don’t suppose I could take you out some time after all?’
She smiled as she got out of the car. ‘Give me a call in a week and we’ll take it from there.’
As she reached for the door handle, Nuts touched her on the arm and she couldn’t keep back the wince of pain as his fingers pressed against the spot where Liam had grabbed her.
‘What’s up with your arm?’ Nuts quickly asked and before she could say anything he leaned over and rolled up the sleeve of her jacket.
‘Who’s been touching you?’ He sounded furious.
She yanked her arm back, sucking in a sharp breath at the renewed pain. ‘No one—’
‘Don’t lie to me, Jen. I know when I’m seeing the marks of fingers against skin.’
The whole awful situation of what had happened with Liam overwhelmed her and she collapsed back onto the seat and started crying. Nuts instantly pulled her into his arms and started gently rocking her and caressing her hair. ‘Don’t worry, babe, everything’s going to be alright now, Nuts is here.’
And, strangely, she did feel that everything was going to work out, now she was safe in his embrace.
‘I’m not going to pressurise you, Jen; it’s up to you, but I’d really appreciate it if you told me what happened.’
She liked the way he asked her, not demanded she tell him. Now that was a gentleman. And she so wanted to tell someone. Sometimes she felt that her mum and sister were so wrapped up in their own battle, they didn’t see her anymore.
Jen slowly pulled out of his arms. ‘OK. It was my tutor . . .’
To say that Nuts looked angry by the end of her explanation was the under-statement of the year. His hands were fists, like he was ready to punch out the windscreen.
‘I’m not a believer in going to the cops,’ he finally said tightly, ‘but you should report the bastard for trying to rape you.’
‘It wasn’t really rape—’
‘That’s what it would’ve been Jen if you let him go at you. You didn’t ask him to touch you so he had no right putting his hands on you.’
The rage coming off him was electric, so she laid a palm gently on his knee. ‘I don’t want the Bill involved and, if I’m honest, the only thing that matters is that I won’t be able to go to college anymore and get my diploma.’ Her hand tightened on his leg. ‘Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of getting off this bloody estate, of being the girl from the East End who made it in the fashion industry? That bastard promised to find me a good placement for a month; without it there’s no way I’ll finish the course, not that I’m able to go back with that creep still there.’
Nuts surprised her by leaning across and kissing her on the cheek – such a contrast to Liam who’d been pawing and panting all over her.
‘I’m going to give you a bell sometime soon.’
Jen stared at him, wishing with all her heart that Nuts didn’t have a dodgy bone in his body; if it wasn’t for that, he was the type of man she so wanted to settle down with.
Eighteen
Dee was in work early. There was no sign of John who was out for the day on ‘business’. What that business actually was had now become her prime concern. Standing outside the Alley Club, in a baseball cap, with a toolbox in hand, was Jimmy Kite. She’d rung him the previous evening and offered him a couple of hundred quid to come and do some private work for her. When he’d asked what the private work involved, she told him it was the same sort of work that had got him sacked from BT.
The club was nearly empty when she led Jimmy through the bar, but she told him that if anyone asked he was to say he was doing handyman work on the instructions of Dee Clark. The staff were already so scared of her, she was confident that would cover it, especially in John’s absence. Jimmy was a seedy-looking fella with a complexion that clearly showcased his love of drink. The two of them went upstairs and stood outside John’s heavily locked office. Jimmy looked blank as Dee examined the door. ‘So what are we here for then? I don’t treat wood for dry rot, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
She gave him one of the looks for which she was already becoming notorious in the Alley Club. ‘Yeah? Do you treat noses when someone’s broken one for you?’ She turned back to the door and gestured at it. ‘In this office, there’s a phone on the desk. I want you to tap it for me and make absolutely sure the tap can’t be discovered. Then I want you to install a listening device in there. Actually, make it two.’
Jimmy was familiar with the drill. ‘I can do that for you, no problem. Open up then and I’ll get to work.’
Dee looked incredulous, her fists stamping onto her hips. ‘Well, I can’t open it up, can I? It’s locked, Dumbo. That’s your job, isn’t it? You’re the low rent James Bond here.’
Jimmy huffed, looking well pissed off. ‘Look love, I’m an engineer not a house breaker.’ But he pressed the door with his fingertips. ‘Even if I was, I don’t reckon I could get in there. That’s a proper door, that is. Have you got a diagram of the phone configuration in this place? I might be able to work around it.’
Dee pretended to pat her pockets. ‘Of course, I always carry one of those around with me. Oh, would you believe it? Today’s the day that I went and left it at home.’
He was taken aback by her sarky tone. ‘Alright, love, there’s no need to put sauce on my chips. I’ll see what I can do.’
While Dee drank coffee in the bar area, Jimmy wandered round the building, tracing the phone lines.
‘Alright, Mizz Dee.’ At the greeting she turned to find one of John’s people behind her. Knobby was not part of the club staff, but one of John’s team: a kind of special run-around boy. They hadn’t got off to such a good start, but after bumping into each other in John’s office they’d soon got a mutual appreciation society going on, built on one simple rule – you keep your beak out of my business and I’ll keep mine well out of yours. She wasn’t really sure what Knobby did for John, except he was always in and out of the club like a boomerang, which suggested to her that John had something big going on. With Jimmy’s techie know-how she could hopefully find out what that was.
‘A bit early for you,’ Dee said, rearranging her long legs so he got an eyeful. It hadn’t taken her long to realise that Knobby appreciated a hot pair of pins. She didn’t fancy him – no way – but she needed to keep him sweet; he might be useful in her quest to find out the nature of John’s business dealings.
‘Ah,’ he made it sound like a groan as he copped her exposed skin, ‘it’s never too early.’
Dee giggled. ‘Doing something nice I hope.’
‘Just a quickie upstairs and then I’m off to the Pied Piper.’
Pied Piper. Dee stored that piece of info away. ‘There’s a workman doing a spot of DIY for us, so just ignore him.’
Knobby grinned, making him appear even more boyish, and was on his way just as Jimmy reappeared. He gestured to her with his head. She followed him back upstairs and he led her into the general stores room, where he explained his plan. He showed her a telephone line that came down from John’s office before being fed through the wall to a telegraph pole across the street. He offered to put a fake junction box on the wall with a recorder inside that would work in the normal way, with the usual buttons. Dee could either listen to the tapes at the box, with a pair of earphones, or take the apparatus away with her and hear it in private. He would give her a key for the junction box. As for earwigging the of
fice itself, he suggested she take one of his own patented devices and hide it somewhere upstairs. He gave her a radio device that was a dead ringer for a walkie-talkie that she could use to listen in or tape conversations. But he did have a word of warning. If the office was swept for bugs, it would soon get picked up.
Dee told him to get on with the junction box and put the listening device in her handbag.
She hadn’t been there for a week but she was already emptying bins and examining the mail in an effort to find out what her fiancé was up to. She knew how important this was because, if she didn’t find out what his rackets were, her wedding would be off before John realised he needed to propose. As she sat in the bar with another cup of coffee, drilling and banging echoed from upstairs. More staff were arriving but none of them took any notice. Dee was already enforcing one of her prime rules with staff – that they weren’t to notice things. Then, suddenly, the sound of the work stopped mid-drill. Dee knew instinctively that something was wrong. She put down her coffee and hurried upstairs.
As she approached the storeroom, she could hear raised voices inside. She threw the door open and walked in, as easy as you please. Jimmy was standing with his cap in his hand like a servant in front of the lords and ladies. Tearing a strip off him was John’s right-hand man Chris. ‘You seem a bit confused, my friend, I don’t have to ask Miss Clark anything. Now you tell me . . .’
He stopped mid-sentence to turn and look at her, his eyes riddled with a mixture of suspicion and score settling. Within hours of her promotion the two had developed a mutual hatred based on an understanding that they were going to be rivals for John’s esteem and both had already begun plotting how to get rid of the other. And now Chris had found her employee in the process of fixing a phone tap onto the wall. Jimmy was closing his toolbox and getting ready to scuttle. But he stopped short when Dee snapped, ‘What do you think you’re doing? Get on with the job.’
Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama Page 11