Kimberley Chambers 3-Book Butler Collection

by Kimberley Chambers

  When Tara started to cry, Freda wanted to hug the child, but chose not to. Her next-door neighbour had come out to see what all the fuss was about and so had Joe across the road. ‘Do yourself a favour, Brenda, and take those children home before somebody calls the police. Don’t want to get them taken away from you for being an unfit mother, do you now?’

  When their drunken mother lunged towards their great-grandma, Tara and Tommy both screamed out in terror.

  Having changed buses when the boy did, Mr Arthur was doing his best to keep him in sight as he followed him down the street. His old combat training was coming back to him, and he was pleased to find that he hadn’t lost the art of tracking the enemy without giving the game away. With his legs aching far more than usual, Mr Arthur was delighted when the boy took a detour into what he imagined to be a front garden. Obviously, he was too far away to make out the door number, but he could clearly see a green car and a lamppost very close to where the boy had disappeared.

  Mr Arthur scuttled towards the green car as fast as he could. He only hoped there was no alleyway between the houses, because if the boy had succeeded in giving him the slip it would be a morning wasted. And if it turned out that horse he’d been on his way to have a flutter on came in a winner, he’d have lost a bloody fortune too.

  Queenie Butler opened the front door and was shocked to see a policeman standing there with Tara and Tommy either side of him. ‘Have they done something wrong?’ Queenie asked, alarmed. Both of her grandchildren were looking sheepish and her first thought was they had been caught stealing, but before the policeman had chance to reply, Tara piped up: ‘Me and Tommy never did anything wrong. Mum did though. She got drunk, then hit Nanny Freda.’

  When he couldn’t get hold of Carl Thompson by phone, Ahmed drove to the flat in Emerson Park that he had leased for six months and allowed Carl to live in. The gaff belonged to a Turkish associate of Ahmed’s and had been dead cheap to rent compared to other properties in the area.

  Feeling slightly edgy because of the conversation they’d had earlier, Ahmed took a deep breath as he pressed the buzzer. When he received no answer, he then pressed the buzzers of the other eight flats in the block.

  ‘Yes, can I help you?’ one of the residents asked.

  ‘I have come to visit my pal, Richie. He lives in flat seven,’ Ahmed replied. He had instructed Carl never to use his real name.

  ‘Richie moved out earlier today. I saw him leaving with his belongings.’

  Instead of thanking the lady who had just given him the vital information, a worried Ahmed ran back towards his car mumbling expletives.

  DI Smithers stared at his colleague in amazement. Even though Mr Arthur had not been the greatest at helping put a photofit together, Smithers had never doubted him as a witness. ‘What’s the address?’

  DS Townsend handed him the piece of paper. ‘There you go, boss. Mr Arthur is not sure of the exact house number, but insists it is one out of those six. He swears blind it was the same boy who was sitting opposite the club the day Molly went missing – and gut instinct tells me he might just be right.’

  Kimmy and Lindsey Pollard were forbidden by their parents to go anywhere near where they currently were. Their dad said gypsies owned the land and it was a very dangerous place. However, both Kimmy and Lindsey were very fond of the tethered horses, which is why they regularly brought them carrots. The poor creatures looked so sad and always seemed hungry.

  ‘What’s that over there?’ Kimmy asked her sister.

  Lindsey ran over to the object, picked it up and waved it in the air. ‘It’s a doll!’

  ‘Give it to me. I saw it first,’ Kimmy demanded.

  Lindsey clutched the doll tightly to her chest. ‘No. I picked it up. Finders keepers.’

  Ahmed and Burak Zane were worried men as they headed towards Carl Thompson’s previous address. The phone number was no longer valid, but Ahmed knew that Carl’s ex-girlfriend owned the gaff, and he was hoping Carl had gone back there.

  ‘I do not know why you allowed Carl to live in the flat in Emerson Park, Ahmed. I said at the time, there was no need to lease it.’

  ‘Yes, there was, Burak. Vinny Butler is no man’s fool and I was worried, if he had an inkling that something was not right, he would be knocking on the flat door. That is why I told Carl to tell his neighbours his name was Richie Simpson. Butler could have popped around any time and caught us out. And what if his arrest had gone wrong? I did not want Vinny storming round there the following day and finding out that Richie had never existed or lived there in the first place. That would have put us right in the shit.’

  ‘I have a feeling we are going to struggle tracking down this bastard.’

  ‘Burak, I know he is still in contact with his ex, so we will find him. Let’s change the subject for a bit, and talk about Vinny’s new obsession instead, shall we?’

  ‘Aw, is that poor little Molly?’

  ‘Nope. It’s Eddie Mitchell. As much as Vinny is still missing poor little Molly, he has not stopped bragging about Mitchell’s visit either. Thinks he is well in with that family now. Keeps saying how charismatic Eddie is. Apparently Mitchell reminds him of himself.’

  Burak chuckled. ‘He really rates himself, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yep. Turned all religious and serious on me last night after a few Scotches. Reckons Molly’s disappearance was God’s way of paying him back for flooding the streets with drugs. He said he wants out.’

  ‘Really? Do you think he is onto us?’

  ‘No, Burak, his head is just in a mess. It was the perfect opportunity for me to tell him that I was pulling out too though. I said that we’d had a good enough run and I had been pondering for a while whether to call it a day. I told him that greedy people always get caught in the end and I wanted to build a hotel in Turkey.’

  ‘Was he OK about it?’

  ‘Yes, he was cool. I told him I would reserve the finest room at the hotel and he could use it for a holiday whenever he wished.’

  Burak smirked. ‘Perhaps you should invite Molly too?’

  DI Smithers knocked on the door of number seventy-one. The house was on the street in Poplar that Mr Arthur had followed the boy to, and the bright green Capri that he had described was parked right outside it.

  When a pleasant-looking plump lady in her sixties answered, Smithers flashed his badge and asked if he and Townsend could come inside to ask her some questions. ‘Of course you can. My name’s Janet, by the way. I bet I know what you’re here about – it’s that menace next-door-but-one, isn’t it? Sick of that bloody loud music, we are. He has that racket on full-blast every time his gran goes out and it’s so unfair on poor old Jack next door. He’s in his eighties and has terminal cancer, you know.’

  When Smithers explained that he had not called about the music, but was trying to track down a dark-haired lad who was thought to live close by, Janet was even more helpful. ‘Got to be the one I’ve just told you about. Jamie, his name is. Apart from Margaret at number sixty-seven whose son has Down’s Syndrome, he’s the only teenage boy living in this row of houses. Between me and you, I don’t like his nan much either. Flash old cow, Shirley is. Rumour has it, that grandson of hers has not long been out of a detention centre, so I do hope yous two put him back in there sharpish.’

  Smithers pulled the photofit out of his pocket. ‘Does this look anything like him, Janet?’

  ‘Yeah, it does look similar. Jamie’s nose isn’t as pointed as the one in your photo and his face is more round, but I would definitely say it was him. Exactly the same hairstyle – or it was. Saw him yesterday and he’s had it cut short. So, what’s he supposed to have done wrong?’

  ‘We’re not sure yet, Janet. Hopefully we shall find out very soon though. Thank you so much for your information. Do you know Jamie or his grandmother’s surname, by any chance?’

  ‘No. Shirley’s a funny woman, keeps herself to herself and is very secretive. Wouldn’t surprise me if she had a past a
nd was hiding something an’ all.’

  Smithers and Townsend glanced at one another as they left the house. Both were thinking the exact same thing. Detention centre, new haircut. Surely they had finally struck gold?

  Ahmed had a good look around, but could see no sign of Carl Thompson’s car.

  Donna was the name of Carl’s ex-bird and apparently they had only split up because Carl couldn’t handle her twin sons from a previous relationship. Carl had once told him that, even though he couldn’t see the pair of them getting back together, he still had strong feelings for Donna, which was why she had been staying around his flat a couple of nights a week.

  When Ahmed knocked at the door, he recognized Donna immediately. She was half-caste and very beautiful. He had only met her once before, when he had visited Carl at her house to check that he lived where he said he did. ‘Hello, Donna. I don’t know if you remember me, but I visited you to speak business with Carl just before you split up.’

  Donna looked perplexed. ‘Carl who?’

  ‘Carl Thompson, your ex. You were here, Donna, when I visited Carl. So were your twin boys.’

  ‘Oh him. Yeah, I remember now. I didn’t actually know Carl that well to be honest. I had only met him about a week before you came round here. He seemed keen on me and we went out for a meal. Then he asked me to do him a favour. He said that you were coming round to talk business and he wanted me to pretend that we were a proper couple. He offered me five hundred quid, and bought my boys a load of toys. I was a bit skint at the time, so couldn’t really say no.’

  ‘Who is it, Don?’ asked a tall black guy who sauntered into the hallway.

  ‘Just some pals of a bloke I barely knew. This is my boyfriend, Steve,’ Donna informed the rather shocked-looking men on her doorstep.

  ‘Come on, let’s go,’ Burak ordered, tugging his cousin’s arm.

  Ahmed was speechless as he walked back towards the car. Carl had been recommended to him by a very trustworthy contact as one of the best con artists he had ever worked with. It had never occurred to Ahmed the guy would be good enough to con him.

  ‘Told you not to trust an Englishman again, didn’t I?’ Burak reminded his cousin.

  Unable to stop himself, Ahmed grabbed his cousin roughly. ‘Vinny would not have trusted another Turk, how many times do I have to tell you that? So, stop fucking blaming me, OK?’

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘We find the cunt, cut his lying tongue out of his mouth, then watch him die a slow painful death.’

  When Smithers and Townsend introduced themselves, then asked if they could speak to her grandson, Shirley’s heart lurched. When her daughter had disowned Jamie and refused to let him come home after his release from the detention centre, she had taken him in out of the goodness of her heart. But she had always warned him that if he brought trouble to her door, he would be straight out on his ear.

  ‘What’s Jamie meant to have done?’ Shirley asked.

  ‘Nothing, as far as we know. We just need to ask him some questions, that’s all,’ Smithers replied.

  ‘Follow me. He’s in his bedroom. I’ve only just got back from Chrisp Street, which is why that little sod has his music blaring. Is that why you’re here? The neighbours have all complained about him playing loud music when I go out, but he never does it of a night when I’m home. Teenagers will be teenagers, won’t they?’

  Having been led to believe that his nan would not be back until after teatime as she was meant to go shopping then visit a friend, Jamie was singing along happily to The Jam’s ‘Eton Rifles’ as he carefully cut out all the latest articles about Molly from today’s newspapers.

  Shirley burst into her grandson’s bedroom. ‘Turn that racket off. These policemen want to talk to you. What you been up to, eh?’

  Jamie went as white as a ghost as one of the policemen walked towards him, then stared at the newspaper cutting in his trembling right hand.

  ‘Well well, this looks interesting. What’s your surname, lad?’

  ‘Preston – but this isn’t what it looks like. I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear,’ Jamie babbled.

  The name Preston was the final piece in the jigsaw for Smithers. ‘Jamie Preston, I am arresting you on suspicion of the abduction of Molly Butler. You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but anything you do say—’

  It was at that point Shirley Preston fainted.

  Dickie Murray worked long hours, so as soon as he arrived home the first thing he did was take his beloved Alsatian Rex for a long walk.

  Wallis Road and the pockets of land that lay beyond it could be quite an eerie place at the best of times, especially if darkness was falling. The River Lea ran nearby, and if you headed north it was not that far from Hackney Marshes. There was a lot of overgrown wasteland, some of which had been taken over by gypsies and scrap-metal merchants.

  ‘Come on, Rex. This way,’ Dickie ordered as his dog began to bark ferociously.

  Dickie had never known his dog to totally blank him when he gave a command, so he walked back to where Rex was. Still barking, he was now frantically digging as well. ‘What you found, boy?’ Dickie asked fondly. His dog was forever burying bones in the garden, then digging them back up again.

  As Dickie stared at what Rex had found, his mouth went dry and his heart started to pound.

  It looked like the arm of a small child.

  Dickie bent down to take a closer look. He could now clearly see four fingers and a thumb attached to the arm. Wondering if it was a doll or some kind of dummy a joker had buried for a laugh, he touched the hand – then let out a scream as he recoiled in horror.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Kimmy and Lindsey Pollard were still squabbling over the doll they had found. ‘It’s mine because I saw it first,’ Kimmy said, trying to snatch it out of her sister’s hand.

  Lindsey tightened her grip on her find. ‘No, it’s mine, because I picked it up. You didn’t even know what it was.’

  Aware of a commotion going on in the lounge, Sarah Pollard stormed in to find out what her daughters were arguing about. ‘Where did you get that?’ she asked, as soon as she laid eyes on the doll.

  ‘I found it, Mum, but Kimmy reckons she did. I picked it up, so it’s mine.’

  ‘But I saw it first. I told you to pick it up,’ Lindsey insisted.

  Sarah Pollard bent down and took the doll out of Lindsey’s hands. She had watched all the news reports about Molly Butler and she knew this was the same type of doll that the police had asked the public to look out for, as she had been planning on purchasing two for her daughters for Christmas. ‘Where did you find this, girls?’

  Kimmy and Lindsey glanced at one another. Both were scared to tell the truth in case their mum told their dad. ‘Just in a street,’ Kimmy mumbled.

  ‘What street? This is very important. You know that poor little girl that has gone missing? Well, I think this might be her doll. I won’t be angry if you have been visiting those horses again. But you must tell me exactly where you found this, as I need to tell the police and we mustn’t lie to them.’

  Lindsey started to cry. ‘You won’t tell Dad if we tell you, will you?’

  ‘No. But you must tell me the truth. That little girl who is missing needs to be found.’

  ‘We found the doll over the fields where the horses are, Mum. We wasn’t doing anything wrong. We just bought some carrots because the horses look starving,’ Kimmy explained.

  Sarah held her daughters in her arms. ‘I’m going to phone the police now and you might need to show them the exact spot you found this doll, OK?’

  Thankful that their mum was not angry with them, Kimmy and Lindsey both nodded.

  Having recovered from her initial shock, Shirley Preston was sitting by her grandson’s side at the police station. He was flanked on the other side by a solicitor. Jamie was proclaiming his innocence, swearing that he’d had nothing to do with Molly’s disappearance, and for once Shirley actually
believed him. Jamie might be a lot of things, and he had got himself put away for stabbing a boy in an argument. But Shirley did not believe he was capable of snatching a young child, even if that kid did belong to Vinny Butler.

  About to start the interview, Smithers was called out of the room by a colleague. ‘Guv, a woman’s just rung up saying she’s got Molly’s doll. Says her daughters found it over the pockets of land that back onto Wallis Road. It sounds viable – it’s just a stone’s throw from Victoria Park. That’s the area the dog section were planning to search tomorrow.’

  ‘Send somebody straight round there. If the doll is identical to Molly’s, we need her daughters to show us the exact spot they found it.’

  When Dickie Murray finally arrived home, both he and Rex were panting. Neither were used to running these days. Rex was ten, which was seventy in canine years and Dickie was fifty-eight himself.

  ‘I’ll get you your dinner in a minute, boy,’ Dickie said. His hands were still trembling when he picked up the phone. It wasn’t every day you went for a walk and found what he was sure was a dead child buried in a very shallow grave.

  When the operator answered, Dickie took a deep breath. ‘Police, please. It’s urgent.’

  Back at the police station, Smithers and Townsend were grilling Jamie Preston. ‘Look, I admit I was outside the club the day Molly went missing. I even saw her go into the club. But I never took her, I swear.’

  ‘So, why was you there then? And why are you cutting out articles about Molly’s disappearance? Come on, Jamie, this isn’t looking good for you, is it? Just be honest and tell us where Molly is.’

  ‘I don’t know where Molly is. I was at the club to pay my respects to my brother, Mark. He died there, in a fire, and the day I was sat there would have been his eighteenth birthday.’

  ‘He’s telling the truth. It would have been Mark’s eighteenth birthday,’ Shirley chipped in.

  ‘But why cut out articles about Molly? You must have had a reason to do that, Jamie? Very strange thing to do, isn’t it?’