The Charmer

by Mandasue Heller

  By the same author

  The Front

  Forget Me Not

  Tainted Lives

  The Game

  Copyright © 2005 by Mandasue Heller

  First published in Great Britain in 2005 by Hodder and Stoughton

  A division of Hodder Headline

  The right of Mandasue Heller to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  A Hodder & Stoughton Book

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  Epub ISBN 978 1 84894 302 5

  Book ISBN 978 0 340 83829 7

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  A division of Hodder Headline

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.hodder.co.uk

  To Win

  For giving me the seed of a storyline which grew into this – and for the best bit of advice ever when I got stuck. The end result is very different from your original idea, but I hope you like it anyway?!

  AAF

  X

  Acknowledgements

  As usual, I give my sincerest love and thanks to my fantastic family: my mum, Jean Heller; my sons and daughter, Michael, Andrew, and Azzura; my sister, Ava, and my nieces and nephews Amber, & Kyro, Martin, Jade, and Reece; Auntie Doreen, Pete & Ann, Lorna & Cliff, Chris & Glen; Natalie & Daniel Ward. And not forgetting the rest of the family, and the great friends who have supported me. I love you all.

  My professional gratitude goes – as always – to all at Hodder for their unstinting support and belief in me, not least Carolyn Caughey, Emma Longhurst, Lucy Hale, and . . . well, everybody. (And welcome to Isobel Akenhead, who has already been most helpful.)

  My agents, Cat Ledger, and Faye Webber.

  Special thanks to Nick Austin; Norman Brown; Betty and Ronnie Schwartz (and their ever expanding family!); Wayne Brookes; Martina Cole; Carole, Julie, & Linda.

  Fiona Gregory and Doreen Lovatt, for advice on wills and investments.

  And, lastly, everybody who has been buying (& selling) the books and giving such great feedback. You make it all worthwhile!

  Prologue

  Burglars!

  Switching the desk lamp off, he eyed the bottom of the door, waiting for the reception light to go on, which would have told him that it was someone with authority to be there. It stayed dark.

  Shaking now, he reached for the heavy Blue John paperweight and edged his way out from behind the desk. Using the faint glow of the street lamp leaking in through the slatted blind to guide him to the door, he pressed his ear to the wood.

  A minute passed, then two . . . Hearing nothing after three full minutes, he dared to peer out through the small glass panel. He could just about make everything out in the muted light coming through the smoked-glass street doors – couches, coffee machine, reception desk . . .

  There was nobody out there. He must have imagined it.

  Exhaling loudly, he flipped the overhead light on and glanced at his watch. It was almost three a.m. No wonder he was so spooked.

  Time had a way of running away with him when he got stuck into something – but boy was he glad he’d got stuck into this. It had been incredibly revealing. The shit was really going to hit the fan come the morning.

  Yawning, he shivered and rubbed at his arms. He should go home and get his head down. Knowing who he was up against, he needed a crystal-clear head to tackle this.

  Putting the Blue John back, he locked the paperwork he’d been working on away in his briefcase. Pulling his jacket on, he took one last look around, then opened his door.

  Still nervous despite knowing that there was nobody out there, he snaked an arm out to flip the reception light on, locked his office, set the alarm, and let himself out of the building.

  Market Street was deserted but for a lazy breeze rifling through the litter bins and scattering loose food-cartons around the walkway. After the bustle of daytime, it felt eerie and abandoned, and the strange orangey glow of the lamps made it look other-worldly. Locking up, he hurried around to the car port at the rear of the block.

  Acutely aware of the sound of his own footsteps, he felt the fear prickling the hairs on his neck when he heard a second, slightly out of sync set.

  It’s just an echo, he told himself, quickening his pace. And that shadow he’d just seen from the corner of his eye was only that – a shadow: a nothing piece of missing light.

  Reaching the car, he fumbled to get the key out of his pocket, cursing himself for not having it ready in his hand.

  Damn! He was all fingers and thumbs.

  The shadow took solid form. Feeling the breath on his neck, he dropped the key and turned around, wide-eyed with fear.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he gasped when he saw who it was.

  Pressing himself back against the car when the hooded shadow reached for his briefcase, he shook his head and gripped the case tighter.

  ‘Give me the fucking bag!’ the shadow snarled.

  ‘There’s no p-point,’ he stuttered. ‘I know everything. This is the end of the line.’

  ‘For you, maybe,’ the shadow hissed, pulling a knife out of nowhere.

  ‘Don’t be stupid . . .’ His voice was shaking as much as his body now as the blade glinted in the dark. ‘Put it away. That won’t solve anything . . . No! . . . Noooo . . .’

  PART ONE

  1

  Davy Boyle skidded his bike to a halt beside the fence and stuck his nose through the chain links. It was gone five and the afternoon sun was dipping behind the spindly trees, making the wreck look bleaker than ever as the wind snuffled through the sparse brown undergrowth. Spotting his sister Vicky’s gang messing about on a home-made raft on the cut down by the croft, he stuck two dirty fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle.

  ‘Maria!’ he yelled when heads turned his way, his voice high and thin on the chill air. ‘You’d best come. The pigs is knocking on at yours.’

  ‘Pigs?’ Maria Price repeated with alarm. Jumping off the raft she scrambled up the slippery mud bank. ‘What do they want?’

  Squinting up at her from her tyre throne in the middle of the raft, Vicky gave her a sly grin. ‘What you been up to, you sneaky cow? Been on the rob without us again, have you?’

  ‘As if!’ Maria tutted, wiping her wet hands on her jeans, adding to the dirt already streaking them. Her mum was going to have a fit when she saw them. Please God don’t let her be in trouble with the coppers as well. She’d get a proper roasting.

  ‘Wait on,’ Vicky said when Maria turned to go. ‘I’ll come with you. Later, you lot.’ Jumping across to the bank, she linked her arm through Maria’s and they ran across the field to where Davy was waiting by the fence.

  ‘Hurry up,’ she moaned when Maria went over ahead of her. ‘I need a piss.’

  ‘Go behind that bush,’ Davy said, pointing to an anorexic pile of twigs.

  ‘Behave!’ Vicky snorted. ‘You think I want everyone seeing me arse? I’ll wait till we get to Maria’s.’

  ‘What’s up with yours?’ Maria asked, dropping down to the pavement with a thud. Her mum wasn’t overly fond of Vicky, and wouldn’t like her using their loo when h
er own was just one floor down.

  ‘There’s nowt wrong with it,’ Vicky said, climbing over and jumping down beside her. ‘But me mam’ll be at the pub by now.’

  ‘So? You’ve got a key, haven’t you?’

  Snatching the cigarette that Davy had just sparked up, Maria took a drag and blew the smoke in his face. She grinned when he grimaced, making out as though he didn’t like it. He adored her, and she got a buzz out of teasing him. But nothing was ever going to come of it. He was nine – she was eleven. It wasn’t decent.

  ‘Duh!’ Vicky sneered, looking at her like she was thick. ‘Knob-head Brian will be in on his tod.’

  Passing the fag to her, Maria frowned. ‘I thought you was gonna tell on him?’

  ‘I tried, but she never listens, so what’s the point?’

  ‘She’s your mum, she’s got to listen.’

  ‘Yeah, and he’s her live-in shag, so whose side do you reckon she’d take?’ Taking two aggressive puffs on the cigarette, Vicky handed it back to Davy, muttering, ‘The sun shines so far out of his arse I’m surprised the stupid bitch ain’t got an all-over tan!’

  Maria would have laughed if they’d been talking about anybody else, but her best friend was suffering and she didn’t find that remotely funny.

  ‘I reckon you should try again,’ she said firmly. ‘She’d have to kick him out if she knew what he was up to.’

  Vicky and Davy gave a simultaneous snort.

  ‘Would she fuck,’ Davy scoffed. ‘She’d just kick the shit out of our kid then go and get pissed again.’

  ‘Yeah, and I’d really cop for it off Brian,’ Vicky added. ‘Only he’d be twice as bad ’cos I’d grassed him.’

  Hawking up loudly, Davy spat at the fence. ‘I’m gonna do for him one of these days,’ he muttered darkly as the phlegm slithered slowly down the links. ‘You watch.’

  Exchanging an amused glance, Vicky and Maria laughed.

  ‘Yeah, whatever!’ Vicky said, ruffling his dirty brown hair with rough affection. He was so small and cute, but if anyone tried to hurt her, he flipped out good-style. Which would have been great, if it didn’t always end with him getting his head kicked in. ‘Anyhow, come on,’ she said, linking her arm through Maria’s again. ‘I’m gonna wet myself in a minute.’

  Maria was quiet as they headed back to the estate. She felt really sorry for Vicky sometimes. Fancy not wanting to go home to use your own toilet in case your mum’s lecherous boyfriend ambushed you. And it wouldn’t be so bad if he was even nice, but he wasn’t – he was fat and ugly, and he reeked of BO. But for some strange reason, Vicky’s mum wouldn’t hear a word against him, preferring to kick holes out of her own kids than admit what a filthy loser she’d shacked up with.

  Maria thanked God her mum was nothing like that. Maria couldn’t remember her ever having a boyfriend, never mind a dirty one. If she ever went out it was usually to the bingo with her mates from work, but she was always back by eleven, and never drunk. And if she did meet men, she didn’t inflict them on Maria.

  Pedalling furiously as they neared the estate, Davy rode ahead to Brook House. Circling back a few seconds later, he said, ‘They’re still there, Maria, but your mum ain’t letting ’em in so they’re just hanging about outside.’

  Maria frowned. They must have been there for a while already, given how long it had taken for Davy to see them, ride to the wreck to fetch her, and come back again. They should have sussed that no one was in by now, so why hadn’t they gone?

  ‘What do you reckon they’re after?’ Vicky asked.

  ‘No idea.’ Shrugging, Maria pulled her arm free and ran around the corner. Shielding her eyes against the late-afternoon sun, she peered up to the fifth floor. Two uniformed police officers were standing at her door, one male, one female. There was another woman with them, wearing a smart black jacket and clutching a thick briefcase.

  Catching up, Vicky hooked a lock of lank hair behind her ear and frowned. ‘God, they look serious. They’re like them what come for Uncle Franny that time, aren’t they, Davy?’

  ‘When he stabbed that bloke and hid under me bed,’ Davy affirmed, nodding sagely. ‘You should have seen them when they nicked him, Maria – they was proper rough. Dragged him down the stairs by his hair, then snapped his arm in half shoving it up his back.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Maria hissed, her worried gaze darting back up to the coppers when she heard a fresh burst of knocking.

  ‘They don’t look like they’re gonna give up any time soon,’ Vicky said. ‘Best go and see what’s up, eh?’

  Feeling sick, Maria nodded. ‘Yeah, all right, but come with me – and don’t leave me on me own.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Vicky assured her – praying that whatever it was it wouldn’t take too long, because she really needed the loo.

  Following the girls, Davy hooked his bike over his shoulder as they set off up the stairs. ‘Wonder why your mam hasn’t answered?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘You don’t reckon she’s robbed a bank and gone on the run, or something, do you?’

  ‘Why are you always saying menky stuff like that?’ Maria snapped, tossing a warning glare back over her shoulder. ‘She’ll still be at work, you dickhead.’

  ‘Sorry. I was only saying.’

  ‘Yeah, well, don’t!’

  When they reached the fifth floor, Vicky groaned when she saw who the officers were.

  ‘God, it’s them who nicked me mam when she kicked off in the pub the other night,’ she muttered. ‘She’s all right, but he’s a git.’

  ‘Should I leg it?’ Maria asked fearfully.

  ‘Probably, yeah.’ Vicky shoved her backwards towards the stairs. ‘We’ll go to mine and keep an eye out till they’ve gone.’

  It was too late. PC Aiken had already spotted them.

  ‘Just a minute, kids . . .’ he called, too loud for them to pretend they hadn’t heard. ‘Any of you know the girl who lives here – Maria Price?’

  Stepping protectively in front of Maria, Davy swung the bike down onto the landing with a thud. ‘Who wants to know?’ he demanded cockily.

  ‘Pack it in, you little mong!’ Vicky hissed, giving him a sharp dig in the ribs with her elbow.

  ‘I’m Maria,’ Maria admitted, clutching at Vicky’s arm as she approached the adults. Now she knew that they were definitely looking for her, she was petrified. ‘I haven’t done nothing wrong, though.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Maria.’ The woman with the briefcase smiled a little too brightly. ‘My name’s Tanith; I’m from social services. Do you have a key so we can go inside for a little chat?’

  Maria didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her mouth was too dry, and the clammy hand of dread was gripping her by the throat.

  ‘Your key’s in your pocket,’ Vicky prompted, nudging her. Then, turning to the policewoman, she said, ‘Her mam must still be at work. D’y’ want me to run and fetch her?’

  ‘No, I’ll go,’ Davy offered. ‘I’ll be quicker on me bike.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know who to ask for,’ Vicky said.

  ‘Yeah, I would,’ he argued. ‘Maria’s mam.’

  ‘You wouldn’t get past the gate.’

  ‘Wanna bet?’

  ‘Thanks, kids, but there’s no need for either of you to go,’ WPC Lennox said, ending the debate. ‘Just get off and leave it to us, eh?’

  ‘I can’t go nowhere,’ Vicky blurted out, remembering her promise. ‘I’m stopping at hers tonight – aren’t I, Maria?’

  Maria nodded mutely.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ Aiken grunted, his voice brooking no argument as he stepped between the girls and began to herd Vicky away. ‘You’ll have to find yourself somewhere else to go. You too, son,’ he added, placing a firm hand on Davy’s back.

  ‘Get off me,’ Davy spat, struggling to keep a hold on his precious bike while trying to squirm out of reach. ‘I’ll have you for harassment.’

  ‘Zip it up, gobshite,’ Aiken drawled, propelling him along the landing.

 
; ‘But you don’t understand,’ Vicky protested, craning her neck to look past him to see if Maria was all right. ‘We can’t go home. Our mam’s in hospital. We’ve got no key.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll manage,’ Aiken replied unsympathetically, not believing a word of it.

  ‘Pig!’ Davy muttered, shooting him a poisonous look. ‘You can’t make us go.’

  Losing patience, Aiken seized him by the grimy neck of his T-shirt. ‘Carry on like that,’ he snarled, lowering his face, ‘and you’ll be getting yourself locked up for the night, never mind locked out.’

  ‘Leave him alone!’ Vicky yelled, grabbing Davy’s arm and trying to yank him free. ‘I’ll report you to Child Line, you big bastard!’

  ‘And you’ll be going with him if you’re not careful,’ Aiken warned her. ‘Now, hop it, the pair of you!’ Letting go of Davy, he wiped his hands on his trousers as if he’d touched something nasty. ‘Go on! Piss off before I change me mind.’

  Knowing they’d get nowhere but into trouble, Vicky said, ‘All right, we’re going.’ Taking one last look back at Maria, she gave Davy a shove. ‘Come on, you. We’ll come back later when this lot’s pissed off.’ Tossing a defiant glare at Aiken, she stalked away with her nose in the air.

  Folding his arms, Aiken stood with his feet apart, watching until they disappeared down the stairs. They amused him, these little estate rats. Being dragged up in squalor made them tough, and you had to admire their fierce sense of loyalty, but you had to show them who was boss from the get-go or they’d walk all over you.

  Back down the landing, Maria’s hands were trembling wildly as she slotted her key into the lock. Almost falling over the step, she led the women inside.

  Lennox’s radio began to crackle. Moving out of earshot, she spoke quietly into it and listened to the muffled reply. Turning back after a moment, she said, ‘Why don’t you show Ms Ryan into the lounge, Maria? Through there, is it?’ She gestured towards an inner door.

  Gazing back at her wide-eyed, Maria nodded.