Blood Mother: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Two (Flesh and Blood series)

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  Cleo was startled. ‘Yes, of course. It’s the Bible.’

  ‘That’s right. The Bible. Now, I admit I’m not an expert or anything but I know it says a fair amount about truth and justice. I’m pretty sure it contains the line: let your yea be yea and your nay be nay. And I’m also sure it says a lot about giving false testimony.’ He closed the book and stared at Cleo. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’

  Cleo was cornered by her own beliefs. She said nothing. Instead, she looked at Babs for support. Babs said, ‘If you’re worried about grassing Stan up, don’t be. In fact, the deeper you drop him in it, the more I’ll like it.’

  Smith smiled. ‘So you see, Sister. Your duty is clear and the way is straight. I can see you’re the kind of girl who won’t compromise where the truth’s concerned. I need to know what went on in that brothel, I need to know about Mickey and Mel Ingram, Stan Miller and Denise Brooks and if you’ve ever heard of two bent police officers called Cricket and Horner.’

  Babs explained, ‘Richard needs evidence to send them down for good. And I thought you might know something.’

  Cleo sank into a chair. She fixed her gaze hard onto Babs. ‘You’re sure there’s nothing else that you’re here for?’

  Babs was puzzled by Cleo’s attitude. ‘You’re not the only one who wants to leave the past behind.’

  Clearly satisfied with this response, she turned to Richard. ‘Yes, I knew Cricket and Horner. I had to give them freebies because of the work they did for the boss. I thought it was Mickey, then I found out it was Stan.’ She stood up. ‘I’ve got something to stop those spawns of Satan alright.’

  Dennis Brown’s reggae classic ‘Money In My Pocket’ was blaring from an upstairs room in Cleo’s house.

  ‘Bernice,’ Cleo yelled, ‘turn that devil music off.’ With an apologetic look, she turned back to her visitors. ‘That’s my younger sister. She hasn’t quite found her way to the Lord yet.’

  Cleo ushered them into the sitting room. ‘Please take a seat. I need to get something from my bedroom.’

  Babs whispered to Richard, ‘Cleo was a right piece in her day, with a gob on her.’

  Richard curled his fingers around hers. ‘I don’t want you to get disappointed if she can’t help find out about your baby.’

  Before Babs could respond, Cleo came back in the room and handed Richard an old shoebox. ‘Me, Stan and his brother Pete – may God forgive me – had a little wrinkle going where we filmed certain clients. They didn’t tell me why we were doing it, but I figured it was a blackmail racket. I know for a fact Stan destroyed the lot. Except this one, which was my own little scheme.’ She took a breath. ‘It’s Cricket and Horner, doing the dirty with me and a whole lot more.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Richard said.

  But Cleo wasn’t finished. ‘There’s one other thing you should know.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘I think Stan murdered his brother.’

  Babs seethed. ‘I told you that bastard was a murderer.’

  Richard held his hand up to stop her and turned his attention to the lady of the house. ‘Tell me exactly what you’re talking about.’

  Cleo spoke for the next ten minutes with tears in her eyes. ‘It was all my fault. If I hadn’t given him the address ... I pray for forgiveness every night.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Babs tried to comfort her. ‘It’s not only you Stan’s conned, it’s muggins here as well. Do you know anything about my baby, Desiree?’

  Cleo’s mouth dropped open. ‘What?’

  There was a noise in the passage. A younger, cheekier version of Cleo popped her head around the door. ‘We’re going to the park . . .’ She twisted to talk to someone else, who Babs couldn’t see. ‘No! Your mum has got visitors. No . . .’

  There was the sound of childish laughter and a gorgeous, brown-skinned girl of about six, with masses of corkscrew hair, bounced into the room. ‘I want to give Mum a kiss before I leave.’

  She threw herself into a dumbstruck Cleo’s arms. Then she turned to Babs. And Babs found herself looking into the same green-brown eyes as her father’s.

  ‘I want my Desiree back,’ Babs yelled.

  ‘She ain’t your anything. And her name’s Dee,’ Cleo threw back, equally furious.

  They were in a furious stand-off. When Babs had clocked that Cleo’s daughter was her lost baby, she’d felt utter relief that Stan hadn’t done away with the girl. But then stark raving anger had set in. No wonder Cleo had been giving her the evil eye from the start. Realising what was going on, Bernice, Cleo’s sister, had quickly shooed Dee into the kitchen.

  Richard was on his feet as well. ‘Ladies, you need to keep it down or Dee . . .’ he caught Babs’ raging glare, ‘Er . . . Desiree will hear. We need to calm down.’

  Cleo was the first to give way, Babs following.

  Cleo shuffled forward urgently. ‘This is what happened, as God is my witness. The night I left the knocking shop for good, your old man asks me to testify against Mickey and Mel and then says he wants another favour. I go over his car and there on the seat is a basket with a beautiful baby in it. He asked me to look after her.’

  ‘He hands my kid over like she’s a Christmas pressie and you don’t think that smells fucking fishy?’

  Cleo got defensive. ‘He told me that Dee—’

  ‘Desiree,’ Babs growled.

  ‘That Dee was his missus’ baby. Swore she was a drunk and druggie who put it about with so many men she didn’t even know who the father was.’ Babs gasped in dismay. ‘And when the kid was born black she didn’t want to have nuthin’ to do with it.’

  Babs stormed, ‘That’s a bollocks lie.’ Richard touched her arm to allow Cleo to carry on.

  ‘At first he said it was for a couple of months, tops. Then one day he comes over and said you didn’t want her back. “She don’t want no black bastard running around the place”, he said.’ Babs let out a noise like her heart was breaking. ‘I took him at his word.’ Cleo placed her palm over her heart. ‘I would give up my life for that girl. She’s part of me. Part of my family. I’m not going to get married; I’ve had it up to here with men telling me what to do. Dee is the only child I’ll ever have.’

  Babs shook her head. ‘But’s she’s mine. Mine. I carried her for nine months. Gave birth to her. Stood by her when my parents turned their backs. I want to take her home.’

  Babs’ wrenching plea hung in the deathly silence that followed. Cleo said calmly, ‘You’re right, you’re her blood mother. But she doesn’t know you. I’ve been her mum for six good years. This is her home. Are you really going to rip her away from all that?’

  Babs couldn’t think straight. All she wanted to do was snatch up her daughter and run as fast as she could. But could she really take her away from this good woman? A woman who had given her love and a home? The last point Babs didn’t want to admit, but she had to – a woman who was the same colour as Desiree. Babs shuddered as if that racist woman’s spit was hitting her skin all over again.

  As if reading her mind, Cleo’s sister spoke from the doorway. ‘The other day, some guy called Dee a very ugly name and Cleo grabbed him by the balls and put him right. It’s not easy for us some of the time, but we stick up for each other.’ She was holding a photo album. ‘We don’t have many photos of her because we don’t have the money for a camera, but one of our cousins does.’

  For the next half hour, Babs devoured pictures of her baby. As she turned each page, she knew she had to make a life-changing decision. When she closed the book she turned to Cleo’s sister. ‘Can you bring Desiree in?’

  A single sob broke from Cleo’s mouth but her sister did what Babs asked. Babs’ throat clogged with emotion when her child shyly entered the room.

  She called her over. ‘I’m your Auntie Babs . . .’

  As Babs got into Richard’s motor fifteen minutes later, she tried her hardest to put the past behind her, but she couldn’t forget the face of her child. Just couldn’t. What a rotten world. R
ichard Smith took one look at her and opened his arms. Babs fell into them, softly weeping, her heart breaking all over again.

  He vowed, ‘I’m going to bring Stanley Miller down if it’s the last thing I do on this earth.’

  Sixty-One

  ‘Shall I be honest with you mate? I reckon our friend’s kippering us,’ Horner said, his palm running over the pocket where the portable cassette recorder was hidden.

  Horner and Cricket were tucked away in a snug corner in the Bad Moon. There was no sign of Stan Miller. They’d promised him they had stuff he really needed to hear.

  Cricket tapped ash onto the sticky wooden floor. ‘Nah, I don’t think so. He said it himself – if he goes down, we go down. But if we go down, he goes down too.’

  ‘Miller’s a slippery sod. He always was. He knows we’re up to something. And we’re sitting here like coconuts at the fair. That’s what I reckon.’

  ‘Give him ten more minutes. He’ll be here. You’re a bottle job, mate.’

  Horner seized his colleague by the lapels. ‘I’m a what?’

  The door to the saloon swung open. They turned to see who’d come in. It was a young man in his thirties, smartly but casually dressed. He ambled up, taking a chair as he went, and parked it, to their surprise, at their table. ‘Having a row? In a nice pub like this? Shame on you.’

  Horner let go of Cricket’s jacket. ‘Are you a friend of Stan’s? Because if you are, we’re coppers. So you better take a walk before you get hurt.’

  The stranger seemed puzzled. ‘Coppers? That’s odd. I’m one myself and pretty sure we haven’t been introduced. The name’s Richard Smith.’

  Cricket and Horner jumped up. ‘Sit down,’ the stranger ordered. ‘This pub is surrounded by so many vans of uniformed you’d think Millwall were playing West Ham.’

  They sank uneasily back down. Horner started to spin a line. ‘What are you playing at? We’re just about to arrest a suspect for killing his brother. Now he’ll have seen you lot and run for it. You’re looking at a disciplinary.’

  Smith looked serious. ‘I’m assuming you’re talking about Peter Miller?’ They were gobsmacked. ‘I’ve been looking into it myself and thought Stan might have murdered his brother.’ Richard dropped the sarky tone. ‘There was no chance Stanley Miller was going to come here. He might be a murderer but he ain’t stupid.’

  Horner fought back. ‘I don’t know who you’ve been talking to but if it’s Miller, the geezer’s a crook. We’ve been after him for ages and he don’t like it.’

  Richard laid a photo on the table. It was a still from one of Pete Miller’s films, showing Horner with Cleo astride him at the Mile End brothel.

  Horner studied it. ‘So what? Sex ain’t illegal.’

  ‘No, of course not. Unfortunately, there’s tapes as well. Audio of you sharing all kinds of pillow talk. You’re very frank about backhanders, fit-ups and even some of those evictions you took part in. Stan never trusted anyone; the knocking shop was wired for sound. It was a regular Debbie Does Mile End.’

  The two bent cops were stunned. ‘And I’ve dispatched some cars to pick up Stan Miller at the house he owns in Islington.’

  Cricket launched himself at Horner, battering him with a glass in one hand and his clenched fist with the other. ‘You prick, you fucking prick!’

  They were pulled apart by Smith and two colleagues, who’d been posing as customers at the bar. As they were cuffed, Richard put his arms around them and said in triumph. ‘As they say in The Sweeney – put your trousers on, boys; you’re nicked!’

  Stan was in a position he’d never expected to be in – running for his life. With only the full moon for company, he crept along the landing towards his home. What a fucking all-time moosh he’d been. He should’ve figured out Richard Smith was undercover, trying to find dirt on Cricket and Horner. And instead of getting out of the way – he had zero love for the pillocks – he’d bloody got himself stuck in the middle. Now his past had caught up with him. A wagonload of Bill had turned up at his and Clare’s to take him, but he’d managed to do a bunk through a window. He needed to get up and out of here as soon as.

  He reached his door. Took out his key, and stuck it in the lock.

  ‘Babs! Babs!’ he shouted.

  No reply. Good, he didn’t need the stupid bint giving him a load of earache. First stop was the kitchen and then the bedroom for a quick change of clothes. The kitchen was dark; he left it that way so no one outside could see him. He headed for the gas meter and felt around the back for his stash of cash. He pulled it out.

  The light flashed on, startling him. He spun around.

  ‘Finally come home, Stanley?’ Babs said.

  Her face was hard as she stared at her husband. But she had to burst out laughing at what he was decked out in. A woman’s short silk dressing gown, a pair of Y-fronts, a vest and sodden fluffy woman’s slippers. His hair was all over the shop and he was half shaven. The untouchable Stanley Miller didn’t look so mighty any more.

  ‘Left somewhere in a hurry?’

  For the first time ever, she saw Stan blush. ‘Yeah, that’s right, have a good laugh. Get me a drink.’

  ‘There ain’t any. I drank it all.’ She was done taking orders from him.

  He sighed. ‘Fan-fucking-tastic.’

  Babs waved at the cash in his hand. ‘What the hell is this?’

  ‘It’s my emergency stash. Everyone’s got one.’

  ‘Right. So every time I’ve needed a few quid extra to clothe and feed the girls . . . How could you do that to your kids?’

  ‘Don’t make a fuss, you silly cow. I’m in a spot of bovver. Old Bill raided a place I’ve been using in Islington. I was in the bathroom having a shower and I had to go out through the window.’ He looked down at his clobber. ‘Hence the unusual get-up. I’ve had to run all the way. I expect it’s nothing but I didn’t fancy answering any questions. The wife weren’t too chirpy about it either.’

  The out-and-out cunt. ‘The wife?’

  He turned away, but she saw how pale his face had gone. ‘Just a figure of speech—’

  ‘You’re a filthy liar, Stan,’ she chucked at him, letting her fury boil to the surface. ‘I know all about your posh piece of snatch. Two wives on the go.’ She tutted. ‘You have been a bad boy.’

  ‘I don’t know who’s been filling your head with that bollocks—’

  ‘I have, that’s who. I saw you with my own eyes. And you’ve got another kid.’ She wanted to throw something at him, but restrained herself. ‘Why did you marry me, Stan?’

  His lip curled slightly, then he plastered on his trademark charmer’s smile. ‘Because you’re the only girl for me. We’re good together—’

  ‘Wrong again. Tie the knot with muggins here and she can’t say nish about your evil dealings; because she can’t be forced to testify. And, of course, playing me like a fiddle to stitch up Mickey and Mel.’ She sneered, ‘All your little secrets are out now. Second wives? Other children? Child abduction? Oh yeah – and you killed your brother.’

  He moved forward. Babs’ hand flew out from behind her back, holding the shooter Kieran had got her.

  He began laughing, a chilling sound. ‘Woah! Hard girl! Waving guns around like your effing handbag now?’

  ‘I should fucking shoot you dead right where you stand for making me think my girl was dead all these years. You gave her away to another woman. Cunt is too good a word for you.’ Her voice broke slightly. ‘Why did you take my baby away?’

  ‘Whoever said that is a full-time liar.’

  Babs shook her head, furious. ‘I saw her. I’ll tell you why you did it – you wanted total power over me, and that wasn’t going to happen as long as I had Desiree. That’s why you got me this flat, weren’t it?’

  ‘No, I did that because I was trying to give a girl in a bad situation a break.’ His face turned nasty. ‘As for that brown bastard baby of yours, did you really think a man in my position would be seen down the shops with some
darkie? I don’t think my business partners would’ve got that.’

  She hitched the pistol higher. ‘Get out.’

  He opened his arms wide. ‘Go on then. Let’s see how many nuts you’ve really got. It’s easy to pull a trigger and you can always tell the law it was self-defence. Go on – I dare ya.’

  She turned the pistol to the side. The flat shook as she shot out a window. And a second time when she shot out another one. The cash dropped from Stan’s hand and fluttered to the floor. She turned the gun back. ‘Maybe you’re right. On the other hand, while the plod won’t turn out here for a burglary, I’m pretty sure they will when the neighbours tell them there’s been shots fired. If I was you, I’d be about my business sharpish before they get here.’

  The way the estate was going, she couldn’t be sure the neighbours would call the police. But as a resident of Islington these days, he wasn’t to know that.

  He let his hands drop. He was still smiling. ‘Fair enough.’ Babs trained the gun on him as he walked past. He gave her a little salute and said, ‘That was quite a clever move; I didn’t think you had in you. I’ll get changed and then I’ll go.’

  ‘No, you won’t. Out. Now.’

  He hesitated. ‘That’s nice, that is.’ But time was short. There were sirens in the distance. It probably wasn’t for them but it was a useful reminder that the coppers would be there shortly. ‘Alright, I’ll go – what about a hundred nicker from my emergency supply? Just to tide me over? You can keep the rest.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  He went out into the hallway. When he got to the door, he paused and begged. ‘It’s chucking it down. At least let me have my cap.’

  She took it from the coat rack and slung it at him. He put it on at a jaunty angle. ‘Alright Babs, so long. I’ll see you later.’

  He disappeared into the night.

  It turned out he was right. He did see her later.

  Twenty-five years later.

  PART THREE: 2003

  ‘He’s back to spread evil.’

  Sixty-Two