The Wronged

by Kimberley Chambers

  Desperate for promotion, Birch wanted answers. Vinny Butler’s calm denials and alibis hadn’t fooled her. She actually believed Deborah Preston’s theory could be true. Proving it and locking up Butler and his hitman would do her career prospects the world of good. That was why she’d assigned Larcham to the task of questioning Shane, rather than doing it herself. DC Larcham had a knack for getting information out of abused and shell-shocked children, patiently gaining their trust and having them tell her what had happened using toys or by drawing pictures.

  Unable to hear the conversation and aware of a nurse keeping a stern eye on her, Birch moved away from the door. Five minutes later, her hopes of promotion were well and truly dashed. ‘But he must remember something?’ Birch prompted her colleague.

  DC Larcham shook her head. ‘The only thing Shane remembers is singing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” before the impact. He has no idea of how the accident actually happened, I’m certain of it.’

  Johnny Preston’s heart was beating rapidly as he paid the cab driver. He’d convinced himself on the journey back to Burnham that either Johnny Junior was in trouble or Deborah had experienced some kind of mental breakdown.

  Johnny’s worst fears were confirmed the moment he walked through the door and his sobbing wife flung herself at him. ‘You were right all along. I’m so sorry for not listening to you. Please forgive me.’

  Shaking Deborah by the shoulders, Johnny asked, ‘What the fuck you on about?’

  ‘Joanna’s dead, Dad. Her and Darren were killed in a car crash,’ Johnny Junior explained bluntly.

  Shaking like a leaf, Johnny grabbed his wife by the neck. ‘Where’s Ava?’ he hissed.

  ‘With that murdering bastard. He killed our princess, Johnny. I know he did. We need to get Ava back. She belongs to us now.’

  Instead of comforting the stupid woman he’d twice married, Johnny slammed her head against the wall, then ran out the house.

  Vinny and Michael Butler arrived at the disused building just after seven. They’d driven to Purfleet in a hooky van, and instead of their usual Savile Row suits both were wearing hooded tracksuits and gloves. ‘Get all our tools out the back, Michael. We’ll break in through a window round the side.’

  ‘You were right when you said this was the perfect location. I wonder how the Turkish cunt found it?’ Michael replied.

  ‘Knowing that slippery bastard, he hunted high and low for somewhere to top me before choosing this gaff. Can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realizes the boot’s on the other foot. He told me yesterday he’s borrowed a van off a pal to pick the bubbly up. You can guarantee Burak will be waiting in the back ready to jump out. Just shoot that cunt immediately, Michael, in case he’s armed. I’m not too worried about torturing him. I do hope he dies a slow, painful death though. With a bit of luck, we can drag him inside and he’ll be in agony as he watches me cut his cousin into pieces. I dunno whether to cut his tongue out first or chop off his cock. Whaddya reckon hurts the most?’

  Michael winced. His brother was a sadistic bastard and never did anything by halves. ‘Probably the cock, Vin.’

  Having been a cool, calm and collected con-man most of his life, Carl Tanner felt no nerves whatsoever as he pulled up in the Farmhouse car park next to the blue Transit van. He already trusted Vinny implicitly, thanks to his Uncle Frank’s views on the man. It was amazing in a way how fate had set up this situation. Frank was the only member of his family Carl had trusted enough to invite over to Spain and it had been after a few beers one night that Vinny’s name had cropped up in conversation.

  Carl had told Tarkan what vehicle he would be in and as soon as the slick green Mercedes-Benz swept into the car park just after eight, Carl flashed his headlights.

  Peering through the side mirror, Jay Boy yelled the words ‘Go, lads.’

  Seconds later, a suited and booted shocked Tarkan Smith was bundled into the back of the blue Transit van.

  Back in Whitechapel, Queenie Butler had started to bond with the new member of her family. So much so, that the ban on entering the lounge had already been lifted. Fred had frightened the life out of a couple of the not-rights’ cats earlier and Queenie had clapped her hands with glee watching the nuisances scarper from the garden.

  ‘Nanny, please can Fred sit on the sofa with us? He’s crying,’ Ava pleaded.

  Queenie stroked her granddaughter’s hair. Ava hadn’t stopped smiling today, neither had she mentioned her mother. ‘Whaddya reckon, Viv? I think Fred deserves a cuddle after chasing away Her Majesty and Prince Charles, don’t you?’ The nutters had named their six cats in honour of their idols. The other four were Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Patsy Cline and Dolly Parton.

  Vivian locked eyes with Fred. She didn’t like him at all. He kept staring at her and he’d bitten her twice already. She was sure he had an evil streak, just like Vinny. ‘Up to you, Queen. But he won’t be coming in my lounge or sitting on my sofa.’

  ‘Pick Fred up then, Ava,’ Queenie said.

  Vivian squealed as the puppy lunged straight towards her and playfully sank his needle teeth in the end of her nose.

  When Ava roared with laughter, so did Queenie. Fred was no ordinary mutt, that was for sure. He had character about him. A definite Butler.

  Tarkan Smith was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. What man wouldn’t be, if they knew they were about to die? He cursed himself for not trusting his instincts. The moment Carl had contacted him, he’d thought about telling Ahmed. The only reason he hadn’t was because he’d wanted to get his hard-earned dosh back before arranging to end the shyster’s life.

  All that had backfired now though. Here he was, tied up in a van with Vinny Butler’s henchmen plus Carl and he had no idea where he was being driven to. His last roll of the dice was to plead with Carl’s better side. ‘How could you do this to me? I gave you that money to set yourself up in Spain, and I saved your life,’ Tarkan said.

  Knowing that Pete, Paul and Jay Boy would report every word to Vinny, Carl casually kicked Tarkan in the head. ‘Then you tried to rip me off. Shut it, you cunt.’

  Ahmed and Burak Zane chuckled as they listened to Little Vinny’s confession again. Both were buzzing at the thought of Vinny’s face when he heard it. ‘What a way to die, Burak. Learning your son killed your beloved daughter before being beheaded yourself. Biding my time has not been easy, but it will be worth the wait to see him suffer such a fate. Leaving me for dead, then trying to blame me for Lenny’s death is the biggest mistake Vinny Butler ever made.’

  ‘I disagree,’ said Burak. Then when his cousin’s head whipped round in surprise, he grinned and added, ‘Being a greedy, stupid Englishman who arranged to buy cheap champagne will be Vinny’s biggest mistake. It’s a shame we can’t keep his head as a souvenir. I would like to have it stuffed and put on the wall next to my deer’s head trophy.’

  Sitting with his back to the wall, Vinny Butler was whiling away the time by reminiscing about the good old days.

  ‘We look a right pair of muppets dressed like this, bruv. Remember the last time we got all dolled up in our tracksuits and went on a little ride in a van? I’ll never forget that cunt Trevor Thomas squealing like a pig when I pulled his gnashers out with pliers one by one. And the sight of you, sawing his bleedin’ hand off. We did good that night. He was still alive when we set him on fire,’ Vinny chuckled.

  Michael grimaced. Vinny’s sense of humour truly left a lot to be desired at times. Unlike Ahmed, who actually deserved to be tortured, Trevor’s only crime had been eloping with Vinny’s first love, back in the early sixties. ‘I still can’t get over Nancy writing those terrible letters, bruv. I can understand her bitterness towards me, but you’d think she’d have said a proper goodbye to the boys.’

  ‘You never told me you’d opened the boys’ letter. What did it say?’

  ‘It was short and none too sweet. Just told Daniel and Lee to make something of their lives and not end up like me. She didn’t even say she
loved them. I’m not letting ’em see it.’

  ‘Good riddance to the fucking fruitcake. Just wipe her from your mind and start a new life with Bella. How’s it going with you and her? Any plans to move in together?’

  The sound of a vehicle approaching stopped Michael from replying. It was time for action, not small talk.

  Tears rolled down Johnny Preston’s cheeks as he read the local rag. His daughter and Darren had made the front page for all the wrong reasons. The Old Bill were appealing for witnesses and trying to trace the owner of a red truck. ‘Useless bastards,’ Johnny mumbled, before unscrewing the lid on the brandy bottle. Back in the sixties, Vinny had stabbed his best pal Dave Phillips in broad daylight and got away with murder. The filth had no chance whatsoever of convicting him for Jo’s death. Vinny was far too cunning to have got his own hands dirty this time around. The driver of the red truck would most definitely have been a hitman, hired to carry out an act of such evil while Vinny was elsewhere making sure he had a rock-solid alibi.

  Swigging the brandy as though it were water, Johnny started the engine of Deborah’s car. He had her spare key on his own bunch and had driven off like a maniac after leaving the house. The car-lot would most certainly be deserted at this hour. It was time to make use of the gun he’d bought.

  Vinny Butler grinned at the state of the jibbering wreck known as Tarkan Smith. The coward had already wet and crapped himself. ‘Not very manly, are you, Tarkan? Only, I know if I was about to die, I’d like to go out in style.’

  Tarkan was on his knees, sobbing. All he could think about was never seeing his wife and children again. ‘Please, Vinny, don’t kill me. I swear to you I’ll do anything you ask. I will even kill Ahmed if you want me to. None of this is my doing. I didn’t even know you.’

  ‘Which is exactly why you shouldn’t have got involved in business that had fuck-all to do with you, Tarkan. Hiring Carl’s services for Ahmed to set me up is the biggest error of judgement you’ll ever make,’ Vinny said, kicking the man hard in the face.

  ‘Our van’s hidden, bruv. Pete, Paul and Jay Boy are all in position. Jesus! It’s chucking up in ’ere. Has he shit himself?’ Michael asked.

  ‘Yes. The sign of a bold man, Michael. Please remind me, if we’re ever in a similar situation, to keep my arse cheeks clamped together,’ Vinny joked. He loved scaring people, especially ones who had wronged him, and Tarkan was a bigger coward than he could ever have imagined.

  ‘Just finish him off, Vin, and we’ll stick him in the back of the blue van before the other pair arrive,’ Michael ordered. That had been the original plan.

  Vinny handed Carl the machete. He wanted to test the man’s nerve. ‘Cut off his left foot, then slice him straight through the neck. You should be able to chop the head right off with that. Call it a test of strength.’

  ‘Carl! Please don’t do this. I helped you. Saved your life, you know I did,’ Tarkan wept.

  Carl Tanner had never actually killed anybody before, but as he carried out Vinny’s orders, he could honestly say he felt no remorse whatsoever. Tarkan had taken liberties over the repayments due from their joint business venture and would no doubt have delivered him into Ahmed’s hands to endure a fate like the one he was about to suffer, therefore he deserved to die.

  Johnny Preston stared at the photos on his work desk in the car-lot office. One was a snap of him and Deborah celebrating their second wedding. The other, a wonderful shot of Joanna and Ava, both grinning and looking adorable.

  Throwing the snap of him and Deborah on the floor, Johnny stamped on it until it was no longer recognizable. He’d loved her with all his heart, especially when she’d stuck by him in nick. But she was dead to him now. It was all her fault his beautiful daughter had been murdered.

  No fight left in him, Johnny downed the rest of the litre bottle of brandy, then laid on the floor and placed his daughter and granddaughter’s photo against his heart. Without them in his life, there was no point in going on. Ava was Vinny’s property now, and that bastard would never allow him to see her again, that was a certainty.

  Alcohol and grief clouding his judgement and urge for revenge, Johnny Preston placed the gun against the right-hand side of his head. ‘You won, Vinny. But you won’t in the next life,’ he mumbled.

  Smiling at the thought of seeing Joanna again, Johnny Preston pulled the trigger and blew his own brains out.

  As expected, Ahmed Zane arrived at the disused building an hour before their appointment. Vinny was more than ready and waiting for him. All his troops were in place and, like a colonel addressing the ranks, Vinny had given them a final pep talk.

  ‘Burak,’ hissed Ahmed, ‘the scum is here already. Just stay in the back until I give the word.’

  Realizing Vinny was waiting for him to make the first move, Ahmed plastered a smile on his face as he stepped out of the van. ‘You’re early.’

  Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Vinny replied, ‘I decided to leave my motor at home and take the van to Eastbourne. Bloody thing’s filthy and stinks of diesel – that’s why I’m wearing this clobber. No way was I gonna ruin one of me designer suits.’

  ‘How is Michael?’ asked Ahmed.

  ‘Devastated. So were Dan and Lee. Meself, I couldn’t wait to get away from Beachy Head. As you well know, I was never that fond of Nancy. So I fucked off early and did a bit of shopping. Got some proper nice gifts for your little ’uns and Ava. Take the presents out my van now before we start loading the bubbly up.’

  Slightly bemused to see Vinny in a tracksuit, yet still having no idea whatsoever that he was on to him, Ahmed happily trotted over to Vinny’s van. What a nice surprise it would be for Vinny when they opened the door of his van to load the gifts and Burak leapt out and pointed a gun at his head.

  Ahmed had never been more shocked in his life when the back doors swung open to reveal the sight of Tarkan Smith’s severed bloodied head lying on the floor. ‘Burak,’ he yelled, gagging.

  Michael Butler was in the perfect position to blast both of Burak’s kneecaps to pieces. A submachine gun was a far better shooter than your average.

  Deborah Preston had always considered herself a strong woman, but recent events had made her doubt her ability to cope any longer. ‘I’m ringing the Old Bill, son. Your father’s gone to kill Vinny, I know he has. I need to stop it before it happens. He can’t go back to prison. I need him by my side.’

  Johnny Junior snatched the phone our of his grieving mother’s hands. He had never been that close to any of his family, which is why he’d chosen a career that took him as far away from them as possible, travelling the world. ‘Mother, you’re not thinking straight. If you ring the police and start spouting shit, you will make things a hundred times worse. Just go to bed for an hour or two and we’ll decide what to do when you’ve sobered up.’

  When his mother started crying, then screaming how much she loved his father, Johnny Junior put his head in his hands. Right then he’d have given anything to be back on a cruise ship instead of spending time with his dysfunctional parents.

  Vinny Butler had to give credit where it was due. Apart from his initial shock at the sight of his beheaded friend, Ahmed had since acted with nerves of steel. Burak, however, had writhed and squealed in agony before passing out. ‘Try and wake that shitbag up, Michael. I would hate him to miss out on all the fun,’ Vinny ordered.

  ‘Why don’t you just get on with it, big man? You’ve already left me for dead once, so you might as well finish the job off. I don’t know who is more of a coward. You, for trying to blame me for killing your cousin, or your evil son for throttling his own little sister. You must listen to his confession, Vinny. It will be music to your ears. Like father, like fucking son,’ Ahmed goaded. He knew his time was up and was determined to die as he’d lived his life, with pride.

  ‘I can’t wake him up. I think he might’ve bled to death,’ Michael said, having no joy in arousing Burak.

  Vinny picked up the gun and without flinching
blasted Burak in the head. ‘If he wasn’t dead before, he sure is now. Drag him into the van, lads. Then start tidying up. Me and Michael’ll be with you soon.’

  When Jay Boy, Pete, Paul and Carl dragged his cousin’s body from the building, Ahmed kept a stiff upper lip. Burak had been right all along. He should have dealt with Vinny years ago. Too late for regrets now though.

  Once his troops had left the building, Vinny knelt down next to his enemy. ‘Little Vinny never killed Molly. You know that as well as I do. He told me all about you forcing him into a confession. He also said you’d told him I killed Karen, you Judas cunt.’

  ‘If you believe that, then I’m fucking Allah. Yes, I did tell your warped son about Karen, but only to get the truth out of him. I’d known he’d been harbouring some massive secret. Like it or not, Vinny, your son murdered your daughter. Listen to the confession, then you’ll believe me.’ Seeing the look on Vinny’s face, Ahmed chuckled. ‘I actually think he is more evil than you. You wronged him by wiping out his mother and he’s wronged you twice as much by killing your perfect little Molly. Fact!’

  ‘Where’s the tape?’ Vinny spat.

  Cool as a cucumber, Ahmed replied, ‘In the van. It was actually the same equipment I used to tape my conversations with Christopher Walker. He was going to be the one who made the drugs bust that would put you away. But then your son killed Molly and put paid to our plans. Go on – listen to the tape, listen to it in front of me. That’s my dying wish.’

  Michael Butler was horrified. Not only did Ahmed’s story about Karen ring true, but he had somehow roped Nancy’s brother into all this – or so he claimed. He had to be lying though, surely? No way did his nephew throttle his niece. That was absurd.