Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama (36 page)

‘What would you like me to do? Pop up there on visitor’s day? Would you like me to check his cell while I’m at it and see if he’s dug a tunnel?’

Dee was seething. ‘Don’t get sarky with me cowboy or you’ll feel the back of my hand.’ She suddenly remembered Tiffany standing there. ‘Oh, you wanna see Nicky, don’t you, babes?’ She went to the bottom of the stairs and screamed, ‘Nicky – get your aris down here.’

John threw his phone, pencil and notebook down on the wooden floor and shouted at her. ‘He hasn’t come in from school yet.’

‘Well, where is he then?’

John closed his eyes, held his fingers to his temples and pretended to communicate over the ether. ‘Nicky, mate, come in, where are you?’

Dee picked up a crystal figurine from a table, raised her arm and aimed it at her husband. But when she caught Tiffany’s eye she changed her mind and threw it at a wall where it crashed, shattering into glass shards, which showered the room. ‘Find my Marilyn, you idiot!’

Somewhere in the house, a phone began ringing and John climbed out of his chair and went to answer it. Tiffany decided that, with no Nicky to look after, she might as well nanny his mum instead. She walked over, put her arm around the massively distressed Dee, and led her to the leopard print sofa where she refilled her glass and lit another fag for her. Tiffany made positive noises while Dee wailed that her marriage had been a terrible mistake and that John wasn’t the man she thought he was. There were dark hints that John was going to have to go, and Nicky and she would now be reduced to poverty, but that she was strong and she would get through this. Looking around, Tiffany couldn’t help thinking that, even without the figurine, poverty was going to be the least of Dee’s problems.

When John returned to the room, he picked up his notebook, pencil and mobile. He was clearly waiting for Dee to ask him who’d been on the phone. When she didn’t, he told her anyway. ‘I’ve got a lead on the car. The person on the blower has put a name in the frame. And would you believe it? He’s on my list of possible suspects, I just hadn’t got to it yet. Even better, I know the bastard. He used to work for me. He’s a definite probability for a job like this.’

Dee quickly forgot about divorce and poverty. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go round and knock him about until he tells you where Marilyn is.’

John very deliberately drew a large circle around a name in his notebook. ‘How little you understand of the ways of London’s seedy underbelly, my dear. First, I have to make some enquiries and find his haunts and where he hangs out these days. He probably knows I’m after him already. Softly, softly, catchee monkey.’

To Tiffany, it looked as if John thought he’d done the work tracking his man down, so out of curiosity she went over to have a look at the highlighted name on the list. She stood frozen for a few seconds when she saw who it was, but said nothing as she stepped back.

‘Now if you’ll excuse me,’ John continued, ‘I have to pursue my enquiries as our friends down the station would say.’ As he turned the handle on the room’s door, Dee called after him. ‘Who was this phone call from?’

John wrinkled his nose. ‘I dunno, she didn’t give a name. Some posh bird. But it’ll be his best friend or his wife. They’re the people who usually sell you out.’

Forty-Nine

Nuts splashed money around like a drunken sailor at Tommie’s Snooker Hall off Chrisp Street Market in Poplar. He was a regular at the place where he liked to masquerade as a Cool Hand Luke figure with his mates. It was dark, quiet and had the advantage that few people knew he was a regular there. Plus it was a fanny free zone – no women allowed.

As Nuts lined up his shot, one of his mates slugged the double short that he’d been bought and wondered aloud, ‘You had a win on the horses then, mate?’

Nuts held his finger to his lips and explained, ‘Can’t talk about it, except to say your man Nuts is back on the sunny side of the street.’ Then he lined up his shot again, sending the cue ball down the table where it completely missed the green he’d aimed at. His mates were too happy drinking his booze to cry, ‘Foul – and a miss.’ But they couldn’t stop themselves smirking. Nuts examined his cue but knew he couldn’t blame that as it was a new one that he’d showed off to his friends earlier. Instead he turned to the manager and shouted, ‘’Ere Neville, I think this table’s screwed. You need it rebalancing.’

Neville, who was told dozens of times a day that his tables needed fixing when a customer missed a shot, promised to look into it. Upset, Nuts propped his cue against a chair and told a fellow player, ‘Take my turn for me, I need a leak.’

When he emerged from the gents, Nuts realised that Neville was a few paces away, having a quiet conference with two heavies that he’d never seen before.

He heard the manger tell one of them, ‘Nuts . . . ? I know the name but I can’t put a face to it.’ Neville threw the briefest of secret glances at him but that was enough to serve as a warning. Instead of returning to the table, he sauntered as casually as he could over to the bar where he took a swig from a drink that someone had left behind. Then, without looking round, he went down the stairs to the exit, hoping against hope that one of his mates didn’t shout ‘Oi, Nuts! Where are you going?’

He weaved through the market and then took a seat in the window of a café opposite the snooker hall, where he could keep watch on the door. Five minutes later, the two heavies who’d been looking for him emerged. They stood on the pavement whispering to each other for a while, looking at the tinted windows above. One of them made a call on his mobile and then they walked to a black Merc parked further down the road. For fifteen minutes they waited, keeping an eye on the entrance, before finally driving away.

Nuts carefully studied the street in both directions, then headed back across the road and up the stairs. As soon as Neville saw him, he hurried over, took Nuts by the arm and led him to his office.

‘You’re in big trouble, mate.’

Nuts tried but failed to play it cool. ‘Why? Who were they?’

‘They mentioned John Black’s name and said they wanted a
word
with you.’

‘Me? What the fuck does he want a word about? I ain’t done nothing.’

Neville seemed nearly as worried as Nuts. ‘They weren’t saying – but I don’t think the word they want to have with you is
peace,
if you know what I mean.’

‘How did they know I was here? The reason I come to this joint is because no one knows I come here.’

Neville suddenly seemed in a hurry to have Nuts off his premises. ‘I dunno. But you know how guys like John operate. If they want to find something out, they spread some money around and find it out. Seriously, mate, you’d better go; if I were you, I’d get in touch with John and get it sorted.’

Nuts threw his chest out. ‘That’s alright, I know John, I used to work for him. I’ll give him a bell and find out what’s what. Probably have a laugh with him about it.’

His bluster didn’t convince Neville or himself. Nuts headed back to the tables, grabbed his jacket from a chair and headed towards the fire exit without saying anything to his friends. One of them called after him, ‘Where you been, mate? Come on, bruv – don’t sulk – we’ve all missed an easy green.’

But their bruv wasn’t listening. He pushed the handle on the emergency exit door and fled down the fire escape outside. As he hurried away, to where he didn’t know, he kept muttering, ‘John Black? What the fuck? What the fucking fuck?’

Jen was woken up from a dream in which she was walking down the aisle with that dishy doctor from
Casualty
: the one with the sexy-hot hazel eyes who was a heart surgeon. Oh, how she needed a heart specialist in her life. She was woozy and squinted, groaning, as the intrusion of the bedroom light pierced her eyes. She shuffled up to find Nuts moving frantically around the room.

‘What’s the time?’ Her voice was groggy. She checked the clock near the bed. ‘It’s bloody after two in the morning. What you doing?’

But he didn’t answer her, just tore the suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe. He looked like shit. His face was stone white, his T-shirt stuck to his chest with sweat like he’d been running and his hair was sticking up in tufts at the front. He opened the case and flung open the doors of the wardrobe and started grabbing his clothes with such speed some of the wire hangers crashed to the floor.

‘Nuts, what the effing hell’s going on?’ Jen flung her feet over the side of the bed and pushed down her imitation Jasper Conran, turquoise satin night-shirt. A dog was furiously barking outside and there was the faint sound of music coming from one of the other blocks. Typical Devil’s Estate, it never sleeps.

As he dashed over to the chest of drawers, Nuts said, ‘Has anyone been asking for me?’

Jen frowned as she stood up. ‘Why would they?’

He sent her a quelling look. ‘Just answer the question. Has anyone been looking for me?’

Jen’s mouth settled into a grim line. ‘You need to tell me what’s going on?’

She got a grunt in reply, which royally ticked her off. He left the room and she followed him to the bathroom. He shoved his shaving gear into the suitcase.

‘Where are you going?’

He finally answered her. ‘I’m just going away for a few days. You know, I’ve got a bit of work on for that new job I told you about.’

Jen had to hold herself back from saying the job was as make believe as her winning the lottery. She folded her arms. ‘What have you done now?’

‘Leave off, Jen.’ He brushed roughly by her and headed into the sitting room.

She marched after him. ‘I told you that if you dragged trouble to my door again you’re out. So you better start talking.’ Close up she could smell a perfume she didn’t like on him. ‘You been with some scrubber?’

Jen was distracted by a whimper coming from the girls’ room. Quickly she entered their room to find Courtney with her arms wrapped around Little Bea who looked like she was trying really hard not to cry. God, she hated this life. It brought too many memories of what life had been like with her dad, when she was little.

‘Mum, what’s happening?’ Courtney asked, staring at her mother with her dad’s eyes.

‘Nothing.’ She rustled up a smile for them. ‘Just get back into bed and shut your eyes, yeah.’

She closed the door and nearly slammed into Nuts. ‘I want the truth and I want it now.’

‘All you say to anyone who’s asking is that we’ve split up and you don’t know where I’ve gone.’ Then he headed for the door.

‘And why would I say that?’

He threw the door open and looked back at her. ‘I don’t need a mouthful, alright. Just remember to say what I told you.’

A car screeched somewhere outside, another dog joined the early morning barking chorus; Nuts slammed the door, leaving Jen standing alone in her night-shirt.

‘Mum, you alright?’

Jen turned to find Courtney standing in the doorway of her bedroom. The poor love was trembling. Jen went over to her, got on her knees and hugged her. ‘Nothing to worry about, my little angel.’

‘Is Dad going away again? Will he be gone for six months again, like before?’

Jen pulled back so that she could see her daughter’s beautiful, small face. ‘Your dad’s got some special work on, which means he’s going to be gone awhile. But I bet you, when he comes back he’ll have a prezzie with him for you.’

That brightened up Courtney’s face. There was a loud knock at the door.

‘Bedtime, my girl.’ Jen gave her daughter a quick peck on the cheek and closed the door behind her.

‘Probably forgotten his friggin’ keys,’ Jen muttered to herself as she approached the door.

‘Nuts . . .’ she said as she flung the door wide, but the words dried in her mouth when she saw two big bruisers and a smaller man with a bald head standing between them.

The smaller man smiled. ‘Is your husband in?’

Something about him just made Jen feel funny inside. Her hand held tight to the doorframe. She shook her head.

‘My name’s John Black and I want a word with him. Urgently.’

Fifty

The car was covered in so much straw, Tiffany had to use the wipers to clear the stalks off the windscreen. When she’d done so, she gently manoeuvred the vehicle down a dirt track and out onto a country lane. Ten years earlier, this job she was doing would have been all in a day’s work for a teenage joy rider who got her kicks from taking extreme risks. Ten years on though, she was a very worried young woman. There were so many things that could go wrong with the act she was about to commit. She drove quickly, out onto the lane at the bottom of the road, and moved off before she had the time to throw the car into reverse and give up on the whole idea.

She looked at her watch. Almost three in the morning. The roads would be deserted which was good, but for any traffic that was around, she’d stand out like a sore thumb, which was bad. If that traffic included a solitary police car with nothing to do but pull cars over, she was sunk. On the passenger seat was an A–Z of Essex on which she’d traced a route with a marker pen. On top of the book was a torch. The path she’d chosen included just about every quiet side road in the county and doubled the length of her journey. But she was sure it was worth it.

About ten minutes after she’d set off, she had a bad omen. As she glided down the road at a steady twenty, she saw a fox crossing in her headlights. The animal stopped halfway and stared at her. She drew to a halt and it craned its neck examining her car. A few moments later, wagging its head, as if in disbelief and amazement at her nerve, it disappeared into a hedgerow. It seemed, even the local wildlife knew what Tiffany was up to and they didn’t approve.

At every junction in these Essex Badlands, she slowed the car, examined her map and kept her fingers crossed she was going the right way. At every signpost, she stopped for reassurance that she was moving in the right direction. But slowly and surely she became confident that she would reach her destination.