by Emmy Ellis
“What bloke?” Cassie said through gritted teeth.
“Victor someone or other.”
Cassie spun to look at Jimmy: That fucker?
It made sense now why Mystic had said Lion’s Head could be left for a later date. If he was selling guns, Cassie would want him watched, to catch him red-handed—him and everyone involved. If his scheme was still in its infancy, that might mean he didn’t have a regular supplier at the moment, someone who dealt in mass firearms. He could only have one or two guns coming in at any given time, and one of them had landed in Ben’s manky mitts.
“Right. He’ll be dealt with.” She turned to look at Ben. “Where’s the gun now?”
“I dumped it in the river.”
She’d have to take his word for that. On second thought… It wouldn’t hurt to get one of her crews here to search the place. “What’s on your agenda now? Are you going to be spreading it around about what you think my mam did?”
Ben slumped, scooting down the wall to the floor, legs sticking out in front of him. “I’m going to confess.”
“Confess what?” she asked, her stomach bottoming out. “I already know you shot her, you fucking gimp.”
“To the police.” He dipped his head and brought his hands up to cover his face.
“Not bloody likely.” Cassie swung her gaze on his parents. “Seems your son’s going to cause me problems.”
Paul got up and crouched in front of Ben. “That isn’t the way, lad. Keep it quiet. No one needs to know who did it, who killed our Janey. All of us in this room know the truth of it, and that’s all that matters. You got justice, and it sounds like Cassie would have got it for us anyroad. You haven’t done owt she wouldn’t have done.” He glanced at Cassie then back to his son. “Cassie will leave us alone, you’ll see. We just have to shut our mouths, that’s all.”
Ben dropped his hands in his lap and eyed his dad. “Have you listened to yourself? People need to know what that bitch did. And I can’t live with knowing I killed someone, that’s why I’m going to tell the coppers. It fixed nowt. My sister’s still dead.”
Cassie sighed. If only things could have been kept simple. “You should have thought about that side of things before you bought a weapon and gunned my mam down. So your mind’s made up, is it? You’re going to cough to the pigs?”
Ben’s stare drilled into her. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
Cassie sighed again and caught Jimmy’s eye. “It’s not a threat anymore, Jim. It’s the other.”
Murder. For all three of them.
Jimmy nodded.
Cassie couldn’t let any of them go free now. Ben was a loose cannon, and while Paul knew which side his bread was buttered, she wasn’t so sure about Lisa. The woman glared daggers at Cassie, hatred clear in her eyes.
“You’re going to take my son away from us, aren’t you?” Lisa spat.
Cassie shrugged, hating herself for appearing so nonchalant. “You’ll all be together come the end.”
“What do you mean?” Lisa asked.
Cassie smiled her monster’s smile. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t go through with this. “It isn’t just Ben we’ll be taking with us.”
Chapter Fifteen
Francis’ life had turned out pretty well considering her tumultuous younger years. She had a man who adored her, who’d married her, and they were going places—specifically places on the Barrington. Dark alleys, dusty back rooms, ditches and hedges, anywhere that killing someone wouldn’t be detected until it was too late and they were well away from there.
Lenny had shown her how easily she could manipulate him into doing what she wanted, yet he thought her ideas were all his. In short, he was a sucker, a gullible fool who thought he held all the cards, when in fact, only the joker rested on his palm.
She was the ace around here, was in control at last, in the driving seat, even if Lenny was convinced she rode shotgun, and she’d loved every minute of it until she’d stared at the pregnancy stick just now and seen the dreaded lines that changed everything.
Anger surged. How had this happened? Apart from the obvious, that was. She’d taken the pill religiously, not wanting a child, not wanting Lenny’s attention to go elsewhere. Francis deserved it all, and she didn’t want to play second fiddle.
She wouldn’t. An abortion was the only way.
What if she had a girl? That would be awful.
She spun from the bathroom sink where she’d washed her hands, the stick held between finger and thumb, the inconvenient evidence right there in the form of a bit of innocuous plastic. Was that Lenny home, or had the wind come through the open window downstairs and the curtain had knocked something?
Annoyed because she’d told him she was going home for a nap prior to tonight’s planned murder, needing the time to piddle on the stick and confirm her worst fears without him breathing down her neck, she walked out onto the landing and stood at the top of the stairs, listening.
“Lenny?”
“What?” he said from right behind her.
Shit, had he been in the spare room where they kept all the cash and those ledgers he liked to write in? Why hadn’t she heard him come upstairs? Had he purposely avoided the creaky step so it wouldn’t wake her?
She swivelled to face him, and he stared down at her hand.
Christ Almighty, she’d forgotten about the bloody test.
“What’s that?” He took it from her, studied the lines, then looked at her. His eyebrows met in the middle. “Is this what I think it is?”
Good, he seemed as pissed off as her, or maybe that’s what she hoped his expression told her. But then his face broke out in a smile, and all her hopes of them being a couple on their own fled. But she could still get an abortion, couldn’t she? Tell him she’d miscarried? Lie through the back teeth like she’d been doing for so long already that it was second nature to her now, who she’d become?
No. He already had the doctors in his pocket, something he’d sorted right from the word go when he’d taken over the estate. Could she go private? Would he get informed if she did that? Could she risk finding out?
“This is the icing on the cake,” he said, kissing her and gathering her close. “You’ve given me the best present I’ve ever had.”
And she knew then, no matter what she wanted, she couldn’t get rid of it. She was a selfish bitch, she knew that better than anyone, but if this made Lenny happy, it would bind him to her even more. He’d never leave her, not now. Hadn’t he always said if he had a baby with someone, he’d stick it out no matter what?
Maybe having it wasn’t such a bad idea. Mam would look after the bloody thing, Francis wouldn’t have to do much, and she’d continue on the estate like she had been, her and Lenny together.
“That’s it now,” he said into her hair. “The fucking about with me stops here. I won’t have you or the baby put at risk.”
Francis opened her mouth to say something but stopped herself. Fine, she’d step away for the pregnancy, but after that, she was getting right back on the gangster horse. Like she’d just thought, Mam could watch the brat. At least that way her mother would get the child she should have had.
Instead of the mardy little cow Francis had been.
* * * *
The child—she must think of her as Cassie—was getting on her bloody pip. She didn’t cry much, granted, but there was so much to do, especially as Lenny didn’t want Mam ‘poking her nose in every five minutes’. Francis had coped with the baby on her own during the day since the birth, give or take the odd babysitting session from Mam, and Lenny had said Francis must stay at home, do the mother thing from now on. Most times they went out for a drink he put Cassie in the buggy and took her to the pub with them, meaning Francis rarely got a break.
Who’d choose to do this? Who’d want to have a baby holding them hostage?
What about Francis’ dreams of going back to work? Well, running around on the estate anyroad. What about what she wanted? Seemed Lenny didn’t care. He’d spoken, s
o she had to do as she was told.
Again, just like with Lionel.
While Cassie snuffled in the Moses basket, a fist at her mouth as though she searched for a bottle, Francis walked to the living room window and stared out. God, what she wouldn’t give to be wherever Lenny was. He could be out there searching for that bloke who’d nicked someone’s car, or on the lookout for the woman who was working one of the corners without his permission. She was a slimy slag, that one, plying her trade and not giving Lenny a cut of her earnings. If Francis had her way, she’d go after her, shit the life out of her with the gun she had stashed at the back of her wardrobe, one Lenny didn’t know about. Put on one of her many wigs and waylay the tart in the darkness.
“If I didn’t have you, I could do it,” she said to the now sleeping baby. “If I could get away with strangling you, I’d do that an’ all.”
It was so odd to play the part of a doting mother when she felt nowt, her emotions so blank when it came to the little girl. The kid was just a hindrance, a block standing in Francis’ road to freedom. People thought she adored Cassie, but, as Francis had while a child herself, she’d plastered on a façade and hidden behind it, all the while seething, plotting, wishing things were different.
Maybe, as Cassie grew up, Francis would get to like her. Love was a bit of a stretch, but who knew, that might come, too. The burden of keeping her safe because she was a girl and vulnerable prey was too heavy.
How many years would she have to play this wretched game before Lenny allowed her back on the patch again? Eighteen seemed too long. In the meantime, she’d resigned herself to doing what she’d done before, planting seeds in her husband’s head and watching the poisonous weeds flourish. It had worked with him throttling people then bringing them back to life, repeating it over and over until he got bored and ended them for good.
She’d done that, she’d put that idea in his head.
Yes, she still had full control there.
Shame she didn’t when it came to the brat.
Maybe she could kill her in such a way that no one would find out it was murder.
How, though?
She phoned Mam, fuck what Lenny would have to say about it, and arranged for her to watch Cassie for a couple of hours. With Lenny out gallivanting, she could pretend to be her old self again, the one minus a child who was a heavy ball and chain around her neck, a constant reminder of what had happened to her, what could happen to Cassie.
Mam arrived within ten minutes, eager to look after the grandchild she loved.
Francis left the pair of them to it, going upstairs to change out of her top that had a gross, milky sick stain on it, then she flew out of the house and walked towards The Donny. God, she could taste the vodka already, feel the bubbles of the tonic water on her tongue, hear everyone gossiping and laughing, the ice in her glass tinkling.
She hurried her steps. Sailed past the Chinese, The Shoppe Pudding and laundrette, then pushed into the pub, inhaling the familiar scent of beer, perfumes, aftershaves, and cigarette smoke, the sound of glasses clanking and general chatter smothering her in a warm hug. Shit, she’d missed this.
She stood at the bar, wincing at the racket of a baby crying. She turned, gritting her teeth behind closed lips. Paul and Lisa sat with their squawking pink bundle in one of the booths. For Pete’s sake. Couldn’t Francis get away from little fuckers for one minute?
She faced the bar and ordered a double. The crying increased. At least she had something to be grateful for. Cassie barely made a peep most days. Lenny was besotted with her and had already mentioned having another one. Francis had put paid to that idea pretty bloody sharpish. Why would she want two of the bastards? She’d had a tough time losing weight afterwards, and it’d be even worse with a second.
The child was still bawling by the time Francis had bought her second vodka. Paul stood and placed Janey in the pushchair, then rocked it back and forth, his pinched expression showing he wasn’t much fond of the noise either. That seemed to do the trick, the motion, and the wailing ceased. Francis could breathe again, her body relaxing, but a nasty, delicious thought crept into her head as Paul said he’d pop the baby out the back in the fresh air, and they could keep an eye on her by taking it in turns to check on her.
If Francis were to go out there…
She necked the second drink to steady her nerves and combat the rush of adrenaline that streaked through her. The alcohol burned on the way down, and once Paul was back and seated again, she bought a third and sipped. Janey could be a dry run, couldn’t she, ready for the real thing? Francis could learn from it, watch the goings-on after the police had got involved, which they would. She’d know whether there’d be a post-mortem, even if it looked as though Janey had died in her sleep.
She continued drinking, listening to Lisa moaning about how tired she was, how they’d have to take Janey to the doctor as all that crying couldn’t be put down to colic. There had to be something wrong. Lisa didn’t know how much more of it she could take, existing on two hours of sleep a night.
Francis would be doing her a favour then.
She walked towards the rear door, pumped up and ready to go. It had been ages since she’d felt like this, the excitement of a kill sending her weak-kneed. The toilets were down that way, so anyone watching would think she was off to have a wee or ‘powder her nose’ as Mam would say.
Francis bypassed the loos in the hallway and used her sleeve to cover her hand, pressing on the rear door and slipping outside. It appeared a nice enough day if you looked out of a window, the sun shining, the sky the colour of a pale sea, but in reality, it was a tad cold, and Paul had covered the pushchair with a transparent rain cover to keep off the chill.
Still with her sleeve covering her hand, Francis unclipped the hooks and drew the cover up. It creaked in that plasticky way they always did, and it boiled her up inside because whenever she heard that sound, it was because she’d had to lift Cassie’s and tend to her while out and about. She couldn’t have people seeing her not treating the baby right. To the outsider, she had to appear caring.
Janey’s rosebud mouth twitched as though she sucked an invisible teat. Just that action alone infuriated Francis, bringing it home how such a small being could…
Ruin…bloody…everything.
She took off one of the blankets and folded it into a nice thick wedge.
Placed it over Janey’s face.
Applied pressure.
She admired the sky while she waited, the puffy white clouds to the right that lied to all and sundry that the weather would remain nice, when far to the left, grey-bellied storm clouds brewed, telling the truth of the matter. Francis should be running under them with Lenny right this second, chasing down plebs who’d thought it was a good idea not to obey the rules. Instead, she was here, doing a bit of target practise, and it pissed her off.
Francis raised the blanket and unfolded it, draping it over the baby as if it had never been removed.
And smiled.
Job done.
Chapter Sixteen
Jimmy hated this part, waiting for death, time ticking by, the minute murder would be committed so far undecided, but one of those shifts of the hands on the clock denoted the moment, not far in his future, and he had to psyche himself up for it. This side of that moment, he was a good and decent man, bar what he’d already done with Cassie, but the other side? Who knew what he’d be? Would a monster rear up inside him like it had with Cassie? Was that monster her way of dealing with things? If she blamed an alter ego, maybe she coped better. One step removed.
While he knew she had to save her dead mother’s arse and stop Francis’ name being tainted, thereby tainting Cassie by association, he wished there was another answer. Glen had told him often enough that sometimes the worst had to happen, even if you didn’t agree with it, but when presented with the harsh reality, no amount of training could prepare Jimmy for what lay ahead. Yes, he’d seen pictures, had imagined the barbaric acts t
hat had led to the state of the bodies, and he’d witnessed Cassie in action, been there when Marlene had done her thing, but the not knowing how this particular scenario would play out had him coiled up.
Maybe he should go with the flow and take it as it came.
At their home, Paul, Lisa, and Ben had been threatened with Cassie’s barbed whip if they didn’t comply and ‘get in the fucking car’. Despite that, Lisa had played up, and Jimmy didn’t blame the woman for fighting for their lives, nor how she’d gone for Cassie, her claws out, spittle flying. Unfortunately, once Cassie had drop-kicked the woman onto the sofa, Jimmy had been sent to the car to collect the briefcase. Seemed the threat alone hadn’t quite hit its mark, and Cassie had to use the whip to show the trio she meant business.
They’d gone quietly after that, brave soldiers freely walking to their deaths, Lisa’s face bleeding, one of her earlobes getting slit so it dangled off the shell, an obscene, fleshy piece of jewellery. Cassie had mumbled that her crew would have to come and clean up the mess, not to mention word would have to be put out that Cassie and Jimmy hadn’t been at the house. If the police came calling, people would say they hadn’t seen a thing.
Anyone who didn’t would find themselves inside Marlene’s greedy belly.
Now, the family were in the living room of the squat, tied up with rope and forced to sit on the floor in a row, three little pigs ready for slaughter. The mangy carpet was no longer there, nice new lino in its place, so at least washing it would be easier. A mop and bucket would work wonders on that. Jimmy was learning to look at the situation that way—what needed doing afterwards, pretending the blood was tomato sauce, not focusing on the upcoming murders. If he compartmentalised, he’d fare better, so Glen had said.
Got to remember that.
Since he’d been here last, the living room walls had been stripped of the awful peeling yellow wallpaper, the mould scrubbed, the surfaces painted white with the shiny satin stuff used in bathrooms, and wooden frames had been nailed top, bottom, and sides, Velcro stapled to each baton. Crew One had then created loads of plastic sheets, cut to fit. They also had Velcro on the edges, and the walls were covered now. Again, easier for cleaning up. They could take them down, fold them, and burn them in the furnace, a bigger one Cassie had got some fella to install last week, no questions asked, a couple of grand in his back pocket, Bob his uncle.