The Goldsworth Series Box Set

by Davie J Toothill

  Spending a little of the stolen money, he thought to himself, was perfectly reasonable. After all, what had been the point in stealing it if he couldn’t spend any of it?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Julie Smith was a survivor. That was what she prided herself on. When her good for nothing boyfriend had ditched her when she had told him she was pregnant, she had pulled herself together and raised her son as best she could.

  She knew that she had made mistakes. There had been times she couldn’t afford to put food on the table, and times when she had starved herself for a week at a time, giving the little food she had in the fridge to her son. There had been times when she couldn’t pay the electric bills and she’d cradled her son in the dark and sung to him.

  Still, they had both come through it as strong individuals, and Julie was overjoyed that she had managed to raise such a decent, loving son, despite all the obstacles that had littered the way.

  As she stood in the small kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, she began to think of all the things she had done wrong with regards to Bolton. She had let him smoke weed, even though she knew it was bad. She’d let him roam the streets at night, knowing that dangers lurked in every shadow around here. She had let him run rings around her, let him get away with anything, because deep down she had felt guilty that she was the only parent he had ever known.

  Her thoughts turned to last night and Bolton, turning up covered in blood and grime. He had showered and she had taken his clothes and, trying not to look too closely at the mess covering them, had boiled them in the sink and put them into the washer. He had gone to his old bedroom and slept soundly, but she couldn’t. She had paced her own room all night, fretting about what Bolton had done, what was going on in her son’s life, though she knew that she didn’t really want to know.

  As daylight had crept through the blinds, she had given up on trying to relax and had retreated to the kitchen, pouring herself a vodka and throwing it down her neck, savouring the burn. It was a relief to have a physical burn to take over from the emotional, if only for a few seconds.

  She heard the sounds of Bolton stirring from his room and squared her shoulders. She would never admit it, but she was nervous of her son after last night. Not just because of the mess over his clothes, but the look in his eyes. They had frightened her. The eyes that were normally filled with love were empty and that broke her heart.

  * * *

  In his bedroom, Bolton pulled on some jogging bottoms and a vest, and lit himself a cigarette. He knew that he would have to face his mother at some point, but he needed a few moments alone.

  He had seen the look in her eyes as he had walked in and the image of her horrified face swam in his mind whenever he closed his eyes. He knew she was upset, and most definitely suspicious, but he also knew that she wouldn’t ask him anything about what had happened. He appreciated her for that, and for her unflinching loyalty towards him. He knew she had taken his clothes away whilst he was showering, knew she wanted to scrub them free of blood and evidence, and he was grateful.

  As he flicked ash into an empty mug, Bolton’s overwhelming emotion was guilt. His sleep had been restless and filled with disturbing dreams and Ritchie’s parting words echoed around his head. He had killed a man, and nothing he could ever do would change that now.

  He thought of Charley, probably freaking out about where he was and what he was doing, and felt more guilt. He knew his mother had been restless too, he had heard her pacing all night through the wall. He briefly wondered whether the women in his life would not be better off without him. He thought of packing a case and disappearing, fleeing London and never returning, but he knew he never would.

  Uncle Jasper owned him now, and there was no escape.

  He stubbed out the cigarette and went out into the lounge. His mum came through from the kitchen with a cup of coffee for him.

  “Thanks mum,” Bolton said, taking it gratefully.

  She nodded, keeping her eyes averted. She sat beside him, but hovered on the edge of the cushion, wringing her hands and biting her bottom lip.

  Bolton knew that she wanted to say something and took a drink of coffee, burning his mouth, watching her wearily.

  She cleared her throat, and spoke quietly but determinedly.

  “About last night, Bolton, I –”

  “Look, mum, nothing happened,” Bolton said, cutting across her. He knew she would not be able to handle the truth, and even if she could, he didn’t want her to know. He respected her too much to bring her in on his dark secret. “All right?”

  He watched her, and she eventually nodded her head. She gave a half-smile and rose to her feet.

  “I’ll make you breakfast,” she said, “Eggs and bacon do you?”

  Bolton nodded.

  “Sounds great, mum. Then I’d best get back home, Charley will be doing her nut.”

  He smiled at his mum, and she smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and as she went through to the kitchen, Bolton saw her wipe her eyes on her sleeve.

  * * *

  Asher walked into Sergeant Hollins’ office and sat down in the wooden chair in front of the desk. He looked inquiringly at his superior, wondering why he had been called in and hoping that he had not done something wrong.

  A few days earlier, he and Carl had informed the other officers that they were living together and in love, and apart from a few sideways glances and jokes, the news seemed to have been accepted with good grace. Diane had congratulated them, having become a firm friend since they had gotten together.

  Now, Asher feared that somebody had tipped off Hollins and that they would be separated. He knew that it was unusual policy for a couple to be given shifts together, but he and Carl were professional and never let their relationship cloud their judgement when patrolling, and he intended to tell Hollins this when the subject was brought up.

  He was about to tell him this, when Hollins spoke first.

  “You’re probably wondering why I brought up here, but I thought it best you hear it from an official source, rather than the grapevine down in the locker rooms,” Hollins said, his voice deep but soft. “First, I have to reassure you that your career won’t be affected by this, and –”

  “With all due respect sir,” Asher interrupted, leaning forward, determined to get his point across first. “I don’t think my relationship with Carl should have any bearing on my ability as an officer, sir.”

  Hollins surveyed him and then leaned forward, elbows on his desk.

  “Brunns, I did not call you into my office to discuss your personal relationship with PC Hurst. That, as you’ve so eloquently pointed out, is none of my business.”

  Asher was surprised. He felt a blush creeping up his cheeks, and bowed his head.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly. The office was silent for a moment. “So, sir, why did you call me up here?”

  Hollins sighed, with the look of someone about to deliver bad news. Asher felt his heart beat faster.

  “One of the specialist organised crime teams have been doing surveillance on a London gang operating in and around the Goldsworth Estate,” Hollins replied. “Tracking the movements of some of the key players. This gang runs drugs and firearms. They’ve been active for years but until recently, the leaders haven’t been identified.”

  Asher nodded. He wasn’t sure why he was being told this, but he knew that it couldn’t be good news. He wiped his palms on his trousers.

  “Without giving you any classified information, the surveillance team has recently identified their prime suspects. No raids have been carried out yet, whilst they gather photographic evidence and find out the other movers and shakers involved in the set-up,” Hollins continued. “From the looks of it, this is an international operation. This isn’t a small gang of youths; it’s a corporation, bringing drugs and firearms into the country. From smuggling to distribution, it seems like they’re involved in it all.”

  He paused for breath.

/>   “As you know, the surveillance teams identify everyone who is connected to this organisation, and recently they identified the girlfriend of a suspected gang member. I can’t give you any more information about the case or the status of the suspect, but you’re a good officer, and I thought you deserved to know the identity of the girlfriend. It’s your sister, Charley.”

  Asher shook his head, willing it not to be true.

  “No, it can’t be,” he said. “Charley would never get involved in something like that.”

  “From what I could gather, she isn’t a suspect. Could be she knows something, but maybe she doesn’t have a clue. It’s the boyfriend, Bolton Smith, the team are interested in.”

  “Do they have any evidence against him?”

  Hollins shrugged.

  “Not that they’d tell me, but he’s been spending a lot of time with the suspected boss, so if he isn’t involved somehow I’d be surprised.”

  Asher didn’t know what to say as he let the words sink in.

  “I wanted to give you the heads up,” Hollins said, sympathetic. “Things are going to get messy, and sooner rather than later by the sound of it. If your sister isn’t involved, there’s still time for her to get out of all this before it hits the proverbial fan.”

  Asher nodded. He would have to speak to Charley. He rose to his feet.

  “And Brunns,” Hollins said, his voice stern now. “You’re not supposed to know any of this. Strictly against protocol and I’ve put my neck on the line. Don’t fuck things up for me or we’ll both be up shit creek.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t, Sir.”

  As Asher left the office, closing the door behind him, he knew he would have to go and visit his sister when he finished his shift, and he was already dreading what he would have to tell her.

  * * *

  That evening, Charley poured herself a second of glass of white wine and flicked through the music channels, letting the music wash over her.

  Leigh-Ann had left a few minutes earlier after ranting about Bolton for a few hours, and Charley was glad her friend had gone. It was getting tiresome with Leigh-Ann’s constant attacks on her boyfriend. If she had to choose between them, Charley knew that Bolton would win. No matter how much he annoyed her at times, she still loved him.

  She thought of him as she sipped her wine. Last night she had been frantic over his continued absence, and her heckles had been firmly raised when he had turned his phone off after ignoring several of her calls. Then he had stayed out all night and she had woken up in the morning, neck aching, on the sofa, having fallen asleep trying to wait up for him to come home.

  When he had showed up that morning, with a bunch of roses and a box of chocolates, her anger had abated and she had accepted his apologies and his reassurances that he had been working late and had crashed at his mother’s flat because he didn’t want to disturb her.

  They had made love and Charley had been ecstatic, feeling that Bolton had finally returned to her properly.

  Minutes later, when Bolton had dressed again and headed out the door after a call from Dante, Charley’s hopes that things were getting better had been shattered. Things were just the same as before, except she’d let him get into her knickers for some chocolates and roses and with a worthless apology.

  That was when she had called Leigh-Ann around and they had gossiped and had some wine. Charley had listened half-heartedly to Leigh-Ann’s opinions on Bolton’s behaviour, her mind firmly on her boyfriend.

  She found herself wondering whether Bolton really had been working last night, and whether he had stayed at his mother’s or elsewhere. As Leigh-Ann had pointed out, she had no proof and Bolton could have been with another girl for all she knew.

  Sipping at her wine, Charley decided to call Bolton’s bluff. She picked up her phone and rang Julie Smith. She was on good terms with her and knew that Julie would not defend her son if he cheated on her.

  Julie picked up on the third ring, her voice apprehensive. Her voice softened when Charley greeted her. They chatted for a few minutes and then Charley asked the question she had been building up to.

  “Listen, Julie, I was just wondering, did Bolton crash at yours last night?”

  She hoped the anxiety in her voice didn’t betray the true nature of the question, and held her breath as she waited for the answer.

  “Yeah, he did. Worked late and needed a place to stay. I don’t think he wanted to wake you up, seeing as how late it was.”

  Charley sighed with relief.

  After saying goodbye to Julie and hanging up, Charley finished her glass of wine and realised she couldn’t stop smiling. She had been stupid, she now realised, to think Bolton had spent the night with another girl. It was her he loved, that had always been clear.

  She considered ringing him to see where he was, but decided not to. She knew that she could trust him now, and so she sat down on the sofa and closed her eyes. Perhaps things weren’t as bad as she had thought. She had been paranoid and unfair to him, and she decided it must be the hormones from the pregnancy.

  When the baby arrived, Charley knew that things would quickly improve.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Charley smiled to herself as she rose to her feet. Bolton had probably forgotten his keys. She would kiss him all over and take him to bed so they could have an early night. That was what she wanted more than anything right now. To lie in Bolton’s arms and feel safe.

  She opened the front door and was surprised.

  “Asher, what are you doing here?” she asked, pulling herself out of her thoughts of Bolton. “Is everything all right? You and mum ain’t had another fight or anything?”

  Asher grimaced. Charley thought he looked worried.

  “Nothing like that,” he replied. He shifted on his feet. “I’ve got something to tell you. It’s important.”

  Charley considered him for a moment. He definitely didn’t sound happy.

  “You’d better come in then. I’ll put the kettle on.”

  * * *

  Bolton let himself into the flat and was surprised to find the lights were still on inside. He had expected Charley to be in bed asleep, but he supposed she might have nodded off on the couch. Trying to stay up for him. He was touched, but also felt a stab of irritation that it was perhaps because she wanted to check up on him.

  He had spent most of the day with Dante. Uncle Jasper had called them to a meeting and summed up last night’s work. Dante had seemed a little worse for wear and Bolton guessed that he had partied hard after their task had been completed.

  As he went into the kitchen, Bolton jumped in surprise as he saw Charley sat on a stool, a glass of wine in her hand, staring at him. Her legs were crossed, her skirt riding up her shapely thighs, and Bolton felt himself stir. He was luckier than most, he thought, pleased that despite her pregnancy, Charley was still able to turn him on.

  He dropped his keys onto the counter and smiled at her.

  “You waited up for me, babe?” he asked, pouring himself a glass of wine and taking a sip. “You’re too good to me sometimes.”

  “So you’ve been working late again?”

  Charley’s voice was tight and Bolton nodded, rounding the counter and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  “I’ve still got some energy left,” he murmured, kissing her neck, “And you’re looking hot.”

  Charley moved her neck away from his lips, and Bolton frowned.

  “What’s wrong? Ain’t you in the mood?” he asked.

  He held her tighter and nibbled her ear lobe, but Charley extricated herself from his arms and slid off the stool, picking up her glass of wine and putting the marble countertop between them. Bolton threw his hands up.

  “Charley, what’s going on?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Charley retorted.

  Bolton shook his head in confusion.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Come on,
why don’t you tell me what you did at work today?”

  Charley’s voice was soft, but Bolton knew that it was a loaded question and he felt his frustration at her mount. He had wanted to spend time with her, but it seemed she did not feel the same.

  “Not this again,” Bolton sighed, a bite of impatience in his voice, taking another drink. “You know I don’t talk about work to you.”

  “You don’t talk to me full stop.”

  Bolton groaned.

  “Just spit it out,” he snapped, “What have I done now?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I can’t be arsed with this, Char. If you’re not in the mood,” Bolton said, eyeing Charley, standing hand on hip, wine glass at her scowling lips. “And I’m going to take it you’re not, then I’m off to bed.”

  He drained his glass and made to leave the kitchen, passing Charley without looking at her.

  “What exactly do you do?” Charley asked his retreating back. “When you’re at work, I mean?”

  Bolton shrugged, keeping his back to her as he reached the doorway.

  “That’s my private business; you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “But I do worry, that’s the problem,” Charley persisted, following him into the lounge.

  “I’m bringing in big money,” Bolton said, turning around and throwing his hands up, “What more do you want?”

  “I want you to tell me the fucking truth for a change,” Charley said, her voice raised, gesticulating, wine spilling out of her glass and onto the carpeted floor.

  “Don’t start; I’m really not in the mood.”

  Bolton was struggling to keep his mounting anger under control, but Charley was on her fourth glass of wine and was determined to push the issue.

  “Why can’t you just tell me what you do?”

  Bolton ran a hand over his head, containing his anger.

  “You don’t need to know what I do.”

  He turned and headed for the bedroom. He needed a shower to cool down, and he needed to get away from Charley, who was starting to piss him off big time.