Kimberley Chambers 3-Book Butler Collection

by Kimberley Chambers

  Acknowledgments

  Firstly, I would like to express my gratitude to the fantastic team at HarperCollins. Some of you I am in contact with on a regular basis, others I only see once or twice a year at parties. But you all have one thing in common: you truly believe in me and my books, and I can’t thank you enough for that, and all the hard graft you do to promote them.

  Love and best wishes to Sarah Ritherdon, who has now left HC to become a full-time mum. And a huge warm welcome to my new editor, Kimberley Young, who is an absolute joy to work with (or she was until she gave me a shitload of editing). Only joking, Kim! xx

  As always, love and appreciation to my agent, Tim Bates, and to typist Sue Cox for all your hard work. Rosie de Courcy for being there from the start, and Lady H.

  Before I make this sound like an Academy Award winning speech (just practising in case that day ever comes, lol!), I want to thank everybody who buys, borrows, reads, or recommends my books. Same goes for the shops and supermarkets that stock them. Asda and Morrisons have been especially supportive, which I really appreciate.

  Payback brought back many special memories while I was writing it. I worked on Whitechapel Market every Friday for many years. But it was the scenes I set at Kings in Eastbourne that brought a tear to my eye. Reminded me so much of my Mum, Dad, Nan and Granddad who are unfortunately no longer with me. All the star acts you see mentioned in this book actually appeared at Kings, plus hundreds more. It really was the place to be back in the day. Especially the launderette, eh Karen Mitchell? Lol!

  One question I often get asked is how much research I put into a book. The answer is not much at all. I tend to stick with subjects that I know quite a bit about. However, Payback was far more complex. Lots of police activity, so I needed to see certain parts of the book through the eyes of the law. Luckily for me (although I didn’t feel very lucky at the time) I once got my collar felt by Ron Scott, who ended up as Chief Inspector of the Murder Squad. Ron, you’ve been an absolute diamond answering my endless questions. I can’t thank you enough and I definitely owe you and your wife that meal. Who would have thought all those years ago when our paths crossed in such a way, I would end up a bestselling author, you would love my books and we would end up as good friends? You just couldn’t make it up, could you? Haha!

  Copyright

  Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

  Copyright © Kimberley Chambers 2015

  Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

  Cover photographs © Konstantin Suslov Photography

  Kimberley Chambers asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780007521746

  Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780007521753

  Version: 2015-09-04

  Dedication

  In memory of my dear friend Pat’s husband.

  Harry Fletcher

  1946–2014

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part One

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Part Two

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Part Three

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Part Four

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  PART ONE

  The first duty to children is to make them happy. If you have not made them so, you have wronged them. No other good they may get can make up for that.

  Charles Buxton

  PROLOGUE

  Christmas Eve 1985

  ‘We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits, all satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies and sects. I demand you leave Queenie and Vivian alone. Allow them to live in peace and happiness. In the name and by virtue of our Lord, Jesus Christ, Amen.’

  ‘Amen,’ Queenie and Vivian said, glancing at one another. Both were thinking the same thing. Father Patrick was pissed.

  ‘May you be snatched away and driven from the Church of our God and from the souls made in the likeness of God, and redeemed by the precious blood of the divine lamb. Most cunning serpent …’

  ‘I think that’s enough now, Father,’ Vivian said, stopping the man in his tracks. She’d never been one for religious jargon and her and Queenie weren’t even Catholic.

  ‘But I haven’t finished the exorcism yet,’ Father Patrick bellowed, spraying both women with his precious holy water.

  ‘Me nerves are jangled, Father. Let’s all have a brandy, eh? You can finish the exorcism after I’ve told you my story. You don’t even know what’s happened to my family yet,’ Queenie said. It had been Fat Beryl’s idea to invite Father Patrick round. She swore by the man’s power to ward off evil spirits, and after the terrible time Queenie’d had of late, she was game to give anything a go.

  Grinning when Vivian handed him a very large glass of brandy, Father Patrick encouraged Queenie to open up to him. Queenie didn’t need much prompting. She quite liked spilling her guts to a man of the cloth, even if he was a Catholic pisshead.

  Father Patrick listened with a sympathetic ear as Queenie told him about Roy, Lenny and Molly’s demise. ‘That’s very tragic, Queenie. Let’s say a prayer for the three of them.’

  Queenie squeezed the man’s arm. ‘No. You haven’t heard the half of it yet. This year has been a real bad ’un, hasn’t it, Viv? Three members of the family we’ve lost. Gone in a puff of smoke one after the other. One of ’em even got chopped into pieces, God rest his soul. Loved that boy, I did.’

  His complexion whitening, Father Patrick urged Queenie not to gabble, and to start from the very beginning,

  ‘Well, I’ve already told you about Roy, Lenny and Molly. Molly was the last of those to die. Murdered in 1980 she was, bless her. Now I’ll tell you the story of ev
erything that’s happened since …’

  CHAPTER ONE

  Autumn 1980

  Whitechapel was a close-knit community, especially amongst the old school who had been born and bred there, and the brutal murder of the three-year-old child had left a bitter taste in everybody’s mouths.

  Thankfully, the police had caught the killer. But with the murder still fresh in people’s minds, parents were much more vigilant than they had been, and many a child was not allowed to roam the streets as freely as they had before Molly Butler’s death.

  Little Molly had been no ordinary child. She was the daughter of the infamous Vinny Butler. With Ronnie and Reggie Kray banged up, Vinny and his brothers now stood at the top of the East End’s criminal ladder, along with the Mitchells from Canning Town. On the day of the funeral service, the grounds around the church were mobbed with people who had come from far and wide to pay their respects. Most of the local English shopkeepers had shut down their businesses for the day, and even though villains from across the river usually steered well clear of the Butlers’ turf, Vinny recognized many faces from South London as the black limousine drove slowly through the crowds.

  Molly’s final journey was a mournful yet stunning sight. Two white horses pulled a glass coach through the streets of Whitechapel, past the club that the Butler brothers owned, then on to the church. As the family filed in, bystanders bowed their heads and murmured their condolences to Vinny’s mother, Queenie, and her sister Viv, showing them the kind of reverence that had once been reserved for Violet and Rose Kray.

  The service was extremely moving. There was barely a dry eye in the church when the pianist began to play the golden oldie, ‘You Are My Sunshine’. Shortly before her untimely death, little Molly had performed the song in a talent competition at a holiday camp in Eastbourne. With her angelic looks, blonde curls and bubbly personality she had received a standing ovation from the crowd and taken first prize.

  The most poignant moment of the day though, was when fourteen-year-old Vinny Butler bravely stood at the front of the church and read out a poem he had written for his little sister.

  ‘I miss you more than words can say,

  and blame myself every single day.

  As your big brother I should have protected you more,

  But I fell asleep and you walked out the door.

  ‘I hope that God will take good care of you,

  and love you as much as your family do.

  Life will never be the same without you, Molly,

  and I hope you are playing in heaven with your favourite dolly.

  ‘That wicked boy who took you away,

  will pay for his evil sins one day.

  Until that time I want you to know,

  that me, Dad, Nanny, Auntie Viv and Uncle Michael all loved you so.

  ‘Rest in peace my beautiful little sister, from your big brother, Vinny.’

  When the emotional teenager returned to the pew to sit alongside his family members, not a single member of the congregation sensed anything was amiss. Why would they?

  The only person inside that church who knew the police had arrested the wrong boy, leaving Molly’s killer still at large, was young Vinny Butler.

  How did he know?

  Because he was the one who had put his hands around his little sister’s neck and cold-bloodedly throttled the life out of her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Queenie Butler poured herself a large sherry and sat on the pouffe in front of the fire. Her sons kept offering to buy her one of those gas fires that were now all the rage, but Queenie was totally opposed to the idea. There was nothing as homely as the sight and smell of a proper coal fire.

  ‘Bleedin’ nuisance,’ Queenie mumbled when her doorbell was pressed repeatedly. It couldn’t be Vivian. She only lived next-door-but-one, had her own key, and had just popped out to get some fish and chips.

  ‘You OK, Queen? I must say, that was a lovely send-off for your Molly, God rest her soul. Those beautiful white horses and the glass coach must have cost a fortune,’ Nosy Hilda pried.

  ‘Hilda, I’m not in the best of moods, love, and I certainly don’t wanna talk about the funeral. The amount of tragic deaths my family have suffered, it would’ve been cheaper for us to open up our own poxy parlour. Now is there anything else I can help you with?’

  ‘Well, the reason I knocked is, I just popped in the Grave Maurice. You know I like me odd glass of Guinness.’

  ‘Can you cut to the chase, please,’ Queenie snapped. She had never been one to suffer small talk with the neighbours. It bored the arse off her.

  ‘Your Brenda’s inebriated in the Maurice with some bloke, and Tara and Tommy are sat outside with a guy.’

  ‘Guy! What guy?’

  ‘A stuffed Guy, as in Fawkes. They’re being a bit rude, Queen, so I thought you should know. They aren’t asking for a penny for the Guy, they want a pound. Then when people won’t give them the money, they’re threatening to set your Vinny on to them. Well, Tara is anyway. I heard her say it to Mr Patel and old Mr Arthur.’

  To say Queenie was livid was putting it mildly. She had always classed such behaviour as begging and had given her boys such a clump when she’d caught them sitting outside the train station doing the same when they were nippers.

  Queenie grabbed her coat and front-door keys. Brenda was her only daughter; twenty-six years old now, but still the bane of Queenie’s life. The girl was an embarrassment, especially when she had alcohol inside her. She must have inherited an alcoholic gene from her father. That useless old bastard had spent more hours pissed in his lifetime than sober.

  ‘What you gonna do? You won’t tell Brenda it was me who told you, will ya? ’Cos I don’t want no trouble, Queen. I only knocked because I was worried about those kiddies.’

  ‘I’ll bastard well swing for her, Hilda, that’s what I’ll do,’ Queenie spat as she marched off down the road.

  ‘Oh, and before I forget, Queen, Lil got taken away in an ambulance earlier. Had a stroke, by all accounts. Big Stan told me she looked dead as they wheeled her out.’

  ‘Any more fucking joyful news?’ Queenie mumbled under her breath. Lil was in her nineties now, lived in the house between hers and Viv’s, and both had been dreading the old girl croaking it because they didn’t want new neighbours. Talk about it never rains but it pours.

  Vinny Butler took off his tie and suit jacket and stared at his reflection in the mirror. With his six-foot-two frame, piercing green eyes and jet-black hair, Vinny had always been a striking-looking man. But since Molly had been so cruelly taken from him, he’d lost weight, and felt far older than his thirty-five years.

  Vinny sat on his bed, put his head in his hands and wept. Apart from during the actual service, he had kept his emotions pent up all day. Molly’s send-off – unusually for anything involving his family – had gone without a hitch. The wake had been held at Nick’s, the restaurant that Vinny part-owned in Stratford. Even with all the tables and chairs removed, there hadn’t been enough room to accommodate the mourners. The club would have been a far more appropriate venue had circumstances been different and Molly had not been snatched from there.

  No parent expected to outlive their kids, especially when they were as young as Molly had been. Her death would haunt Vinny forever. With her curly blonde hair, big green eyes and infectious personality, Molly had been the light of Vinny’s life. He’d loved that child more than he had ever loved anybody. On the day he’d found out she was dead, part of him had died with her.

  ‘You OK, Dad? I’ve just been crying as well. I will always blame and hate myself for what happened. I know I never played with her much, but I did love her and I really do miss her,’ Little Vinny lied.

  Vinny patted the bed and when his son sat next to him, he put an arm around his shoulders. With his dark hair, bright green eyes and tall build, Little Vinny was most certainly a chip off the old block. ‘No point keep beating yourself up, boy. Not gonna bring Molly back, is it?
I was proud of you today when you stood up and read that poem. Not an easy thing to do in a packed church.’

  ‘So, you don’t blame me no more then?’

  On the day Molly went missing there had been a flood in the club cellar. Vinny had left his son in charge of Molly while he went downstairs to sort it out, but the boy had fallen asleep. The main door of the club had accidentally been left open and it still wasn’t known if Molly had wandered outside or her killer had entered the club to abduct her.

  ‘No. I don’t blame you. There’s only one person to blame and that’s Jamie cunting Preston. He’ll pay for what he did one day. As soon as he’s released, I’ll be there waiting for him. An eye for an eye, son. Always remember that.’

  ‘I’ll help you kill him, Dad. I’ll be old enough then.’ Little Vinny shook his head. ‘I still can’t believe it. I mean, Jamie is your half-brother. I suppose that makes him my uncle, doesn’t it?’

  Vinny’s relationship with his father Albie had always been strained, and there would certainly never be any bridges built now. Jamie Preston was the result of an affair his father had indulged in many moons ago, and none of his family had even known the evil little shit existed until he had been arrested for Molly’s murder. To say Vinny had been shocked was an understatement. He’d thought an old enemy of his was the culprit, and had beaten Bobby Jackson so badly that he was still in hospital, unable to communicate with anybody. ‘Let’s go downstairs and get a drink, eh, boy?’

  ‘Can I have a cider, Dad?’

  ‘Yeah. Course you can.’

  Little Vinny could not help but smirk as he followed his father down the stairs. Life was so much better now his dad’s bird Joanna and Molly were no longer around. It was like it used to be when he was younger. Just him and his old man.

  Molly’s mother, Joanna Preston, was back at her parents’ place in Tiptree. She’d left the moment the funeral was over, unable to face the prospect of the wake, not with the Butlers lording it as if they were royalty, surrounded by all their gangster pals. Her only friend in that family was Michael’s wife, Nancy, who’d accompanied her home. Michael was nowhere as bad as his brother, but even so Nancy had had a lot to put up with and the two women had supported one another when the Butlers closed ranks. Both of them had been livid when Little Vinny had been allowed to stand up in church and read that poem, and even more angry when he had failed to mention them.