Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  ‘Well, come on then, Miss Clever Clogs,’ Babs threw at her, ‘what do you suggest Jen does?’

  Tiffany made direct eye contact with her sister. ‘I know it isn’t the way we do things around here, but Jen could go to the authorities – tell them what he’s doing. If you say he’s hitting the girls, they have to do something. Child cruelty, ain’t it?’

  ‘No, no no.’ Babs stood up. ‘He’ll find her and sort her out so that she won’t ever do any talking ever again. I know women who’ve done it and, believe me, not many of them are around to tell the tale.’ She moved over to the sideboard and poured some more gin in her cup, a lot more this time. Once she was sat down again she continued, ‘I know some people from the past. Faces. A couple owe me some favours . . .’

  ‘You, Mum?’ Jen sounded and looked scandalised. ‘You know some dodgy people? Nah, never. You were always bleating on at us to walk across the street if we ever saw anyone like that coming our way.’

  Babs flushed and there was something in her expression that neither of her daughters could place. She took a swig of her drink. ‘I was a young girl too once. Made my share of mistakes long before your dad came along. Believe me, I made sure I made no more mistakes after Stanley did a bunk.’

  Babs could see her girls looking at each other as if trying to square the image they had of their mum with the one she was giving them now. Bloody hell, if her Jen and Tiff ever found out about her past, she didn’t know what she would do.

  ‘The one mistake I never made,’ Babs said, feeling choked up, ‘was having you two. So I’ll pull in some favours and get him bashed about a bit.’

  ‘That won’t work,’ Tiffany shook her head. ‘He’ll just end up in the ozzie, get fixed up and, like some psycho homing pigeon, come back to Jen’s. And if he gets a sniff that she was involved, who knows what the nutter will do.’

  ‘It’s just creeping me out,’ said Jen. ‘Every time I step foot in my place, knowing he’ll either be there or about to come through the door.’

  Tiffany’s Nokia pinged with a text, so she checked it and then stood up. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. I need to meet this kid I’m keeping an eye on for his parents. Get your brains into gear; we’ll figure this out. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.’

  Forty-Eight

  Nuts walked into his local boozer, The Old Swan (or The Knackered Swan as people on the estate called it, because it looked like it was standing on its last legs). He saw Kevin straight away at his usual spot, a small, round table in a corner, chatting on his mobile. His mate grinned as soon as he saw him and said into the phone, ‘Catch you later, darling. Don’t forget to warm my slippers by the fire.’ With a chuckle he turned to Nuts. ‘Where you been, my son, you’ve been a bit scarce.’

  Nuts plonked himself down and smirked. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

  Kevin shuffled forward. ‘You hiding something from your old mate?’

  Nuts grinned back smugly. ‘Let’s just say I’ve got a little tickle – no, make that a big tickle – going. It’s going to net me a pretty sum.’

  Kevin didn’t look pleased. ‘You cutting me out? After everything I did for you while you were banged up in South London.’

  ‘’Course I ain’t. Just something that came my way, lively like, and if there’s one thing I am, it’s a man of opportunity.’

  Kevin still looked miffed, but Nuts wasn’t about to blab about his potential good fortune. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t owe his friend nish. Sure, Kev had made sure that Jen and the girls were taken care of while he was away and got him a few essentials through the back door of Brixton, but that didn’t mean he had to tell him about every plump pie he had a finger in. Plus, if the truth be known, he was getting right fed up with his old friend. They had been knocking around together since he’d moved to The Devil and Kev was still talking about hitting the big time. You didn’t talk it, you went out there and found it. That’s what Nuts told himself he had done. This time he may have hit the jackpot.

  ‘But what about that bizz I was telling you about, the one I said can open the doors for you?’

  Here we go, Nuts thought, Kevvie boy singing the same tired tune about doors that swung open when he declared, ‘Open sesame’. The problem was, Kev’s doors turned into walls that got so high to climb they were dangerous.

  ‘That’s going to have to . . .’ Nuts didn’t finish as he eyeballed a group of women chatting away as they came through the door. They were young, fresh and with enough flesh on display to make Nuts forget he had a lady and kids waiting indoors. One in particular caught his eye. Now that’s what you call a finger lickin’ piece of meat. Colonel Sanders eat your heart out!

  ‘I fancy my chances there.’ And with that he swaggered over to the bar where the women gathered, not hearing Kevin whisper, ‘You wish.’

  ‘You alright, girls,’ he presented himself. He kept his eye on the one he was interested in and dismissed what he considered to be the two trolls beside her. She couldn’t be more than twenty, with buffed-out platinum-silver hair and legs that made him almost come just gazing at them.

  ‘Nuts is the name ladies – not because I am nuts but because I’ve got lots of them.’ He raised his eyebrows and winked. ‘You know what I mean?’ His signature chat-up line never failed to please. ‘So, can I buy you a bevvy, love?’ He flashed his teeth at Miss Long Legs.

  She stared at him for a few seconds. ‘I know you, don’t I?’

  Nuts puffed his chest out and then leaned cockily on the bar. ‘I’m a name around here, you get me, a bit of a legend. People want anything done, especially with motors, I’m your man.’ He leaned in. ‘In fact, I’ve got a beauty of a ride that’s got the right shade to go with your hair.’

  ‘No, that isn’t it,’ she said. ‘You’ve got two girls in Marshall Lane Primary School.’

  Nuts straightened up. ‘Nah, you must be getting me mixed up with some other fella.’ He got cheeky again. ‘Although I’ll be your daddy anytime you say darlin’.’

  She twisted her lips. ‘You’re Sasha’s dad, or Little Bea as the other kids call her. Know how I know? Because I’m the teaching assistant in her class, Mr Taylor. Mr Lesley Taylor, that’s who you are.’

  Bollocks. Nuts made a swift exit towards Kevin, but that didn’t stop him hearing what she said loudly to her friends: ‘Word is, he was nicking Little Bea’s dinner money.’

  He almost did an about turn as his blood started to boil. He wanted to rip the tell-tale tongue out of her fucking head. Who did that blonde woof-woof think she was, coming into his boozer and batting her eyelids and dishing the dirt to any and everyone? He should grab her hair and drag her out the back and fuck the shit out of her until she moaned her arse off about him being boss. But he kept his thoughts and hands to himself; bashing up some woman in public was not a good look.

  Kevin was creasing up with laughter when he got back to the table. ‘Lesley? I thought you said your name was Leonard?’

  Nuts wasn’t about to explain how that name had haunted him through his early life, with the other kids taunting him with the nickname Lez.

  ‘The dumb bimbo’s got it wrong.’

  He ordered a pint and thought of the day he’d be splashing cash all over the place when his deal came through. He wanted to see bitch teaching assistant’s face then.

  Tiffany ended her phone call with Jen and placed her mobile in her pocket as she approached the Blacks’ house. She could hear Dee loud and clear before she reached the door. But couldn’t hear John so it was like listening to one end of a phone conversation.

  ‘My motor’s been gone twenty-four hours already and you ain’t got it yet? And the little bastard who stole it is still at large with both ears, both arms and both legs still attached? Call yourself a man? You useless twat. Some fucking gangland face you are – more like a garden gnome . . .’

  Tiffany rang the bell. When Dee answered it, her contorted face managed a smile. ‘Oh, hello, babes. You’ll have to excuse me
, I’m just having a domestic here with the old man.’ She raised her voice and yelled over her shoulder. ‘Of course I shouldn’t need to raise my voice but when you’ve got a useless prick for a husband, you don’t have much choice.’

  She turned the volume down, to say to her part-time nanny, ‘He’s fucking useless. Don’t you find men are a bit like dogs, babes? They need a kick now and again if you want them to go for a walk.’

  John was sitting in an armchair with a mobile in one hand and a pencil in the other. He was scribbling in a notebook. Tiffany could see he had a list of names in it, some with ticks, some with crosses and some with question marks. He seemed to be about halfway down his list.

  ‘You’re sure about that are you?’ he said into the mobile. ‘He ain’t been released early or anything? Alright, mate, thanks for your help.’ John ended the call and turned to Dee. ‘Do you think you could turn the abuse down when I’m on the phone to people? It’s bad for business. I’ve got a reputation, remember?’

  Dee was stalking the room, a drink in one hand, a ciggie in the other. She turned to Tiffany and scoffed, ‘Hear that, babes? He’s got a rep? Fuck me . . .’ She looked back in anger at John. ‘And did Ronnie Lemons steal my car?’

  Her husband sighed wearily before he corrected her. ‘His name is Lemmy Lemons.’

  ‘I don’t care if his name is Petticoat Lane Fruit and Veg Lemons, did he steal my effing car?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. That was his brother on the phone. Lemons is doing a stretch for possession with intent, so it can’t have been him . . . Don’t know how he got into that, high end car blags was always his thing.’

  Dee wasn’t interested in the suspect’s career change. ‘And how do you know Ronnie Lemons is in HMP? Have you checked? His brother could be stringing you along.’

  ‘What would you like me to do? Pop up there on visitor’s day? Would you like me to check his cell while I’m at it and see if he’s dug a tunnel?’

  Dee was seething. ‘Don’t get sarky with me cowboy or you’ll feel the back of my hand.’ She suddenly remembered Tiffany standing there. ‘Oh, you wanna see Nicky, don’t you, babes?’ She went to the bottom of the stairs and screamed, ‘Nicky – get your aris down here.’

  John threw his phone, pencil and notebook down on the wooden floor and shouted at her. ‘He hasn’t come in from school yet.’

  ‘Well, where is he then?’

  John closed his eyes, held his fingers to his temples and pretended to communicate over the ether. ‘Nicky, mate, come in, where are you?’

  Dee picked up a crystal figurine from a table, raised her arm and aimed it at her husband. But when she caught Tiffany’s eye she changed her mind and threw it at a wall where it crashed, shattering into glass shards, which showered the room. ‘Find my Marilyn, you idiot!’

  Somewhere in the house, a phone began ringing and John climbed out of his chair and went to answer it. Tiffany decided that, with no Nicky to look after, she might as well nanny his mum instead. She walked over, put her arm around the massively distressed Dee, and led her to the leopard print sofa where she refilled her glass and lit another fag for her. Tiffany made positive noises while Dee wailed that her marriage had been a terrible mistake and that John wasn’t the man she thought he was. There were dark hints that John was going to have to go, and Nicky and she would now be reduced to poverty, but that she was strong and she would get through this. Looking around, Tiffany couldn’t help thinking that, even without the figurine, poverty was going to be the least of Dee’s problems.

  When John returned to the room, he picked up his notebook, pencil and mobile. He was clearly waiting for Dee to ask him who’d been on the phone. When she didn’t, he told her anyway. ‘I’ve got a lead on the car. The person on the blower has put a name in the frame. And would you believe it? He’s on my list of possible suspects, I just hadn’t got to it yet. Even better, I know the bastard. He used to work for me. He’s a definite probability for a job like this.’

  Dee quickly forgot about divorce and poverty. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go round and knock him about until he tells you where Marilyn is.’

  John very deliberately drew a large circle around a name in his notebook. ‘How little you understand of the ways of London’s seedy underbelly, my dear. First, I have to make some enquiries and find his haunts and where he hangs out these days. He probably knows I’m after him already. Softly, softly, catchee monkey.’

  To Tiffany, it looked as if John thought he’d done the work tracking his man down, so out of curiosity she went over to have a look at the highlighted name on the list. She stood frozen for a few seconds when she saw who it was, but said nothing as she stepped back.

  ‘Now if you’ll excuse me,’ John continued, ‘I have to pursue my enquiries as our friends down the station would say.’ As he turned the handle on the room’s door, Dee called after him. ‘Who was this phone call from?’

  John wrinkled his nose. ‘I dunno, she didn’t give a name. Some posh bird. But it’ll be his best friend or his wife. They’re the people who usually sell you out.’

  Forty-Nine

  Nuts splashed money around like a drunken sailor at Tommie’s Snooker Hall off Chrisp Street Market in Poplar. He was a regular at the place where he liked to masquerade as a Cool Hand Luke figure with his mates. It was dark, quiet and had the advantage that few people knew he was a regular there. Plus it was a fanny free zone – no women allowed.

  As Nuts lined up his shot, one of his mates slugged the double short that he’d been bought and wondered aloud, ‘You had a win on the horses then, mate?’

  Nuts held his finger to his lips and explained, ‘Can’t talk about it, except to say your man Nuts is back on the sunny side of the street.’ Then he lined up his shot again, sending the cue ball down the table where it completely missed the green he’d aimed at. His mates were too happy drinking his booze to cry, ‘Foul – and a miss.’ But they couldn’t stop themselves smirking. Nuts examined his cue but knew he couldn’t blame that as it was a new one that he’d showed off to his friends earlier. Instead he turned to the manager and shouted, ‘’Ere Neville, I think this table’s screwed. You need it rebalancing.’

  Neville, who was told dozens of times a day that his tables needed fixing when a customer missed a shot, promised to look into it. Upset, Nuts propped his cue against a chair and told a fellow player, ‘Take my turn for me, I need a leak.’

  When he emerged from the gents, Nuts realised that Neville was a few paces away, having a quiet conference with two heavies that he’d never seen before.

  He heard the manger tell one of them, ‘Nuts . . . ? I know the name but I can’t put a face to it.’ Neville threw the briefest of secret glances at him but that was enough to serve as a warning. Instead of returning to the table, he sauntered as casually as he could over to the bar where he took a swig from a drink that someone had left behind. Then, without looking round, he went down the stairs to the exit, hoping against hope that one of his mates didn’t shout ‘Oi, Nuts! Where are you going?’

  He weaved through the market and then took a seat in the window of a café opposite the snooker hall, where he could keep watch on the door. Five minutes later, the two heavies who’d been looking for him emerged. They stood on the pavement whispering to each other for a while, looking at the tinted windows above. One of them made a call on his mobile and then they walked to a black Merc parked further down the road. For fifteen minutes they waited, keeping an eye on the entrance, before finally driving away.

  Nuts carefully studied the street in both directions, then headed back across the road and up the stairs. As soon as Neville saw him, he hurried over, took Nuts by the arm and led him to his office.

  ‘You’re in big trouble, mate.’

  Nuts tried but failed to play it cool. ‘Why? Who were they?’

  ‘They mentioned John Black’s name and said they wanted a word with you.’

  ‘Me? What the fuck does he want a word about? I ain’t d
one nothing.’

  Neville seemed nearly as worried as Nuts. ‘They weren’t saying – but I don’t think the word they want to have with you is peace, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘How did they know I was here? The reason I come to this joint is because no one knows I come here.’

  Neville suddenly seemed in a hurry to have Nuts off his premises. ‘I dunno. But you know how guys like John operate. If they want to find something out, they spread some money around and find it out. Seriously, mate, you’d better go; if I were you, I’d get in touch with John and get it sorted.’

  Nuts threw his chest out. ‘That’s alright, I know John, I used to work for him. I’ll give him a bell and find out what’s what. Probably have a laugh with him about it.’

  His bluster didn’t convince Neville or himself. Nuts headed back to the tables, grabbed his jacket from a chair and headed towards the fire exit without saying anything to his friends. One of them called after him, ‘Where you been, mate? Come on, bruv – don’t sulk – we’ve all missed an easy green.’

  But their bruv wasn’t listening. He pushed the handle on the emergency exit door and fled down the fire escape outside. As he hurried away, to where he didn’t know, he kept muttering, ‘John Black? What the fuck? What the fucking fuck?’

  Jen was woken up from a dream in which she was walking down the aisle with that dishy doctor from Casualty: the one with the sexy-hot hazel eyes who was a heart surgeon. Oh, how she needed a heart specialist in her life. She was woozy and squinted, groaning, as the intrusion of the bedroom light pierced her eyes. She shuffled up to find Nuts moving frantically around the room.

  ‘What’s the time?’ Her voice was groggy. She checked the clock near the bed. ‘It’s bloody after two in the morning. What you doing?’