1911021494

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  Billy Thompson had said that Charlie had been a youngster. So what would his age have been? Eighteen to twenty-four? If he were still alive, that would put him at sixty-two to sixty-eight. He’d have been born in the mid to late forties, possibly as late as 1950.

  He’d been tall and thin. Would that have changed as he got older? She’d work on the assumption that he would still be leaner than average. He’d had sandy-coloured hair. Would it still be sandy, or would it have gone grey?

  If he’d been recruited by the Thompsons, then he would have come from the West Midlands somewhere. She’d have to do a bit of reading to check where the gang had been based in their early years. She seemed to remember that they had lived in Dudley at one time, but that could have been later in their criminal careers.

  Finally, she knew that her quarry had been undisciplined and unpredictable. Not in itself uncommon in criminals, but in this case probably worse than most. The Thompsons would have laid down the guidelines for the break-in. But this young man, Charlie, had gone against their instructions. He’d been too wild, so had been ejected from the gang. She guessed that this would also mean he’d been forced to leave their territory. The chances were that he’d have been in some kind of trouble with the police wherever he’d ended up. If he was violent and careless, surely he’d have been arrested at some time? So where would he have gone? London? She couldn’t recall anyone who fitted that profile from her brief stint as a DC in the Met, although that had been years ago. What about Bristol and the South West? Or maybe he’d moved to the East Midlands? For some reason she thought there was less chance of him going north, so she’d leave out Manchester or Leeds for the moment.

  What was needed now was some work on the database. She had something to go on, at least.

  She knew as she logged on that all of her searches would be monitored, but she wasn’t doing anything unprofessional — not yet, anyway. She built up her search, step by step. Male, white, tall, thin. Born between 1944 and 1950. Hair colour light brown or sandy, or grey. Area restricted to West Midlands or South West. Name Charles or Charlie or Charley. She clicked the search button and waited.

  Marsh popped his head round the door. ‘I’ll be off, ma’am. I think that’s all I can do this evening. We didn’t manage to get anything new out of that old chap I saw at the Poole warehouse. What he told me on Wednesday was probably all he knew. But at least we have a formal statement from him.’

  ‘Fine, Barry. I’ll be another hour or so, then I’ll be following you. I’m doing some tinkering on the database, looking for clues about who killed my father.’

  ‘Well, I wish you luck. It was a long time ago. Shouldn’t you be leaving it to the Gloucester crew?’

  ‘I’m an obsessive, Barry. Surely you’ve realised that?’

  ‘No comment, ma’am. Bye.’

  Sophie sipped her mug of tea and watched the short list of names that were appearing on the screen in front of her.

  ‘Oh, my dear God!’ she said aloud. There was no one to hear her.

  One of the names matched. It matched everything. The name ran through her brain like an electric spark, igniting fuses as it went.

  * * *

  Sophie was very quiet that evening. When Martin commented on it she gave him a weak smile. She lay awake until three in the morning, her head churning. She was up at six. She took a shower and had laid the breakfast table ready for the family when they rose an hour later. She was sitting outside on the rear veranda, sipping a mug of tea, when the first footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  ‘Mum! What are you doing? It’s freezing out here.’ Jade popped her head out of the French windows.

  ‘I’m fine, Jade. I’m well wrapped up. I just needed some cold air to clear my head.’

  She came into the kitchen wearing a bright smile.

  ‘You’re in danger of becoming a nut, Mum. You’re starting to show the signs.’

  ‘Oh? And what are they?’

  ‘Calling the cat Greymalkin. Muttering about eye of newt while you’re stirring the soup. Hissing “Out damned spot” when you were washing my PE kit last weekend. You know, little things like that.’

  ‘And I really thought I’d escaped undetected, Jade. Can’t fool you, can I?’

  ‘No, Mum. I’m just too sharp.’

  ‘And revising Macbeth, I take it?’

  ‘Yup. Test in English on Monday.’

  ‘Well, it looks like you know your stuff. And don’t worry. I have a lot on my mind, but I’m not going into mental overload just yet. I just discovered something about the case yesterday evening that has potentially massive implications.’

  ‘But you can’t talk about it?’

  ‘Afraid not. Not to a mere mortal, anyway.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Well. I’d better have something to eat before I grab my broomstick and fly off into the wide blue yonder. And, Jade, in case you haven’t noticed, we don’t have a cat.’

  Chapter 21: Sorina

  Friday, Week 2

  Sorina lay face down on the bed, her belly on a pile of grubby cushions. Her head had dropped forward and she dribbled onto the soiled cover. She hurt. She ached. She whimpered quietly as her body and mind succumbed to utter exhaustion. She had no strength left. She didn’t move — she couldn’t. Her brain was in shock, unable to process all the pain, the terror and the horror of what had been done to her. Ricky and Barbu, two strong, heavily built men. She lay, drifting in and out of consciousness. A shaft of sunlight crossed her body, and a pair of sparrows chattered under the eaves above her head.

  It was late afternoon when Sorina finally managed to move her limbs. She turned over. There was a small hand basin in the corner of the room. She raised herself, slid to the edge of the bed and tried to stand but her legs would not support her, and she fell to the floor. She lay there for a few minutes, then held onto the edge of the bed, slowly pushing herself upright. This time she managed to make the few short steps to the basin without falling. Waves of nausea shuddered across her body. She held onto the edge of the basin and looked into the mirror above it. She saw a face streaked with tears, snot, semen, dirt. She started to cry, sobbing in anguish as she stared at the face in the mirror. She breathed deeply, tried the taps and found they were both working. She filled the basin with warm water and plunged her face into it. Soap. She must have soap. She found a small bar in a drawer under the basin, and lathered her face and head. She hooked one leg at a time into the water and soaped the top of each thigh. She emptied the basin, and refilled it. She used soapy water as a mouthwash, rinsing out what those men had left.

  Gradually Sorina began to recognise herself again. Her small, sharp features re-emerged. She was full of hate. She remembered Nadia’s words, following a similar ordeal. ‘I will get my revenge on those beasts.’ Well, she, Sorina, would do the same. She would find a way to escape. She would find Nadia, and together they would seek vengeance for the evil that had been done to them.

  She dried herself with the only towel in the room, and returned to the bed. She lay down and slept.

  * * *

  Several hours later Smiffy came to collect her. He led her down the stairs to the living room, where the others were eating. They were silent as she entered. They watched her small, shaky steps as she made her way across the room to a chair. They all knew what had happened to her. Catalina came over and put her arms around Sorina. Then she dished up a plate of stew from a large pot in the middle of the table. Smiffy watched them for a moment and then left, locking the door behind him.

  The other women watched anxiously as Sorina picked at her food.

  ‘You must keep your strength up, Sorina,’ Catalina said.

  ‘We are five. They are three. Why aren’t we resisting?’ Sorina said bitterly. It was the first time she had spoken like this out loud to the whole group.

  ‘Because they have weapons. And they can call on more people if they need to,’ someone said. ‘You saw what they did to Stefan. And that pig Barbu has said that they killed
others like us who tried to resist.’

  Catalina nodded. ‘But we can plan. We can talk. We can watch. Most of all, we can agree to stick together. We have all been through it now. They are pigs, beasts, and it will not get better. We must be ready for escape when a chance comes.’

  ‘Like Nadia,’ added Sorina. ‘If she got free then she will have been found and the police might be looking for us.’

  ‘Yes, and next time someone sees a chance to escape it must be all of us. We must all look for things we can use as weapons, and hide them. But we must not act against them unless we are sure and we are prepared.’

  Smiffy came back into the room. He dropped a pile of old magazines onto the table and withdrew to a chair in the corner, picking at his fingernails with a knife. Sorina watched him, peering over the pages of her magazine. How could she have ended up like this? She’d had it all planned before her sixteenth birthday. A job in a hotel where she would meet a handsome young manager and fall in love. A whirlwind romance, and a wedding on a glorious summer’s day. A honeymoon somewhere sophisticated and exotic, where they would both be offered jobs. A family, two girls and two boys. It was all going to be so perfect. And now? These monsters had stolen her future. She would not let them see her cry.

  * * *

  Ricky and Barbu were watching TV and drinking from cans of beer when Charlie arrived.

  ‘I’ve got a lead on Blossom. He might have a flat near the central gardens in Bournemouth that he never told us about. I’m trying to get my contact to dig a bit more, but it might take a couple of days. I want you and Barbu to be ready for when we do trace him.’

  ‘How will we do it?’

  ‘I’ll think of a way. One thing’s for sure, I’m not letting you decide after that crazy, fucking do with Stefan. We’ll try to make it look like an accident but it’ll take some planning. I don’t want the cops getting involved before we can clean his place out. If they find this flat of his before we do, then God knows what they’ll find there. It might be better just to go for something quick and easy.’

  ‘Any more news about them searching the depot?’

  ‘Yeah. They found the body out back, but are keeping quiet about it.’

  ‘What body? Jesus! Do you mean you buried someone out there? Fuck, Charlie. What were you thinking?’

  ‘It was before your time, Ricky boy. And at least we buried it. We didn’t leave it out on some fucking rock. It was twenty years ago or more. Just a head case, someone from the past that Blossom knew. He turned up and tried to blackmail me. Can you imagine that? I just laughed at him and then I shot him in the head. No one else knew he was there, so we buried him that night. We always meant to dig it up and get rid of it at sea, but we never got round to it.’

  ‘So Blossom was involved?’

  ‘I told you he was vicious. God knows why he’s gone soft all of a sudden, but I bet it’s only skin-deep.’

  Chapter 22: Friction Between Friends

  Friday Evening

  Blossom and Jennie were sitting in a café near Bournemouth seafront. As she stirred her coffee, Jennie leaned over, exposing her cleavage. It was early evening on the fifth day of Blossom’s new job, and Jennie had phoned him to suggest meeting after work for a light meal.

  ‘So tell me more about this ex-boss of yours. What did you say his name was? Charlie Duff?’

  ‘Why do you want to know about him? He’s just some bastard. Let’s talk about you. Tell me a bit more about yourself.’

  She sighed. ‘I was adopted, Blossom. When I talked to you a few days ago about my middle-class childhood, I meant my adoptive parents. They were fantastic. Well, they still are. They were so good to me.’

  ‘How old were you when you first went to live with them?’

  ‘Only a few months. We were in the Midlands until I was about two. Then we moved down here. My dad’s a doctor, that’s why he wanted me to study medicine.’

  ‘Have you ever thought about tracing your real parents?’

  ‘Yes. I think all adopted people do. But I haven’t found them. I think they’re both dead. The adoption agency had almost no details. The addresses they gave me were in old Victorian terraced streets. They’ve been knocked down and no longer exist.’

  ‘Do you know why you were put up for adoption?’

  ‘I think my mother was a young teenager. I expect she just couldn’t cope.’

  ‘And your old man?’

  She looked down. ‘Don’t know. Maybe it was just a one-night stand. What about you?’

  ‘I come from Birmingham too. There’s not much to tell.’

  ‘How did you get the name Blossom? You can’t tell me that’s your proper name.’

  ‘It’s been my nickname since I was at school. I won a poetry competition — the only time I ever won anything. I had to read it out to the class. It was about blossom in spring and the other lads never let me forget it.’

  ‘How did you end up working for this Duff character?’

  ‘Him again?’ Blossom stretched back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his thick neck. ‘His wife, Hazel, was my cousin. I always got on well with her. She seemed to think she should look after me so I didn’t argue. And it was easy money.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Punch a few faces occasionally, collect some money, move people about when they needed a driver, sort out disputes, troublemakers. That kind of thing.’

  ‘So this job you’ve just started as a security guard isn’t anything new for you?’

  ‘Christ, no. It’s right up my street. Easy as pie.’

  ‘How come you fell out with him? Especially if his wife was looking out for you?’

  ‘She died a couple of years back. Cancer. And without her there, he started turning nasty. He could be a cruel bastard. Reverting to type I expect.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t keep pushing, Jennie. It’s starting to bug me.’

  They left the café in silence and walked back to the block of flats.

  ‘You were away early this morning,’ Blossom said. ‘You took the car, too. That’s a bit unusual for you.’

  ‘Had a client to visit. They’re a long way out of town.’

  ‘Somewhere nice?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘I mean, was it local or a bit of a trek?’

  ‘I’m like you, Blossom. I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?’

  They walked on in silence until they were near their building. Suddenly Jennie stopped and flung her arms around Blossom.

  ‘I’m sorry, Blossom,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to end the day on a bad note. You’ve become one of the best friends I have. I was up in the Midlands this morning seeing my client. I’d arranged it because an uncle of mine is in hospital with lung cancer and I wanted to visit him. He doesn’t have long to live. He’s the only blood relative I’ve managed to find.’

  ‘So you have found someone. You didn’t say that before.’

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Can he tell you much about your parents?’

  ‘I only met him for the first time a few weeks ago. He can hardly speak, he just gasps, and he was only my father’s step-brother. Much older than him too. They lost contact when my real dad was still a teenager, so he can’t help much. All he could do was confirm that my dad’s probably been dead for a long time.’

  ‘I thought you said you never knew about your dad. You said it was a one-night stand.’

  ‘That’s what I always thought. Maybe it wasn’t quite like that.’

  ‘So how did you find this bloke, your uncle?’

  ‘I didn’t. He found me. I guess he wants to tie up loose ends before he dies. He told me today that he felt a bit guilty because he knew I existed but had never tried to find me before. But he did confirm that my mother’s dead. He knew that for sure. Anyway, that’s why I’m a bit tense. I don’t know what your excuse is.’

  Blossom laughed. �
��I ain’t got an excuse. It’s just me. I clam up when people ask too many questions. I always wonder what they’re after. I’m sorry too. Look it’s getting wet out here. Why don’t you come up to my place and we can have a drink? It’s a lot smaller than your flat, but I try to keep it clean and tidy.’

  They walked up to the flat. Blossom poured Jennie a glass of wine and opened a beer for himself. Then he excused himself to visit the toilet.

  ‘Another sign that I’m beginning to get past it,’ he said. ‘Me bladder’s not what it was.’

  She waited until she heard the bathroom door close. She picked up his mobile phone from the table and scrolled through the numbers. By the time he returned, the phone was back in its place and Jennie was standing at the window, sipping her wine.

  ‘It’s nice,’ she said, looking around her. ‘Small, but it has everything you need. And you’re right. You do keep it neat.’ She took another sip. ‘Didn’t you ever get married, Blossom?’

  ‘Not for me. I’m not your tall and handsome type, am I? I always felt out of the running when it came to women. What could I offer them?’

  ‘We’re not all as shallow as that, Blossom. You’ve got qualities that a lot of women would appreciate. I’d imagine you like looking after people, and that you care about them. That’s quite important.’

  ‘Well, I always felt that I’d come off second best in any beauty contest, so I never bothered. I’ve had a few girlfriends, but nothing serious. It’s left me free and I ain’t regretted it. And I’m fifty now, so there’s not much hope, is there?’

  He took another swig of his beer.

  ‘I don’t think that’s true. There are an awful lot of older single people looking for a partner. Most people are scared of having a lonely old age. The personal columns are full of people in their fifties and sixties. And at that age looks matter less than you might think. Most women will be looking for someone with a kind heart and a willingness to share. And I bet you fit that bill really well.’