Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama (42 page)

With Nicky gone, the two women sat alone. Jen’s voice was nearly breaking. ‘I can’t believe that kid’s old enough to drive a car.’

‘He’s not; he’s fifteen, the little bastard. Some of the kids I used to hang around with were joyriders and could handle a motor like they’d come out of the womb with a steering wheel in their hand. And you better believe me that Nicky’s just like them.’

Jen sat motionless for a few seconds, the remaining colour drained out of her face and tears began to run down her parched cheeks. Tiffany reached out with both hands and took her sister’s in her own. She held them tight but said nothing, knowing that words wouldn’t help.

‘This is all my fault, Tiff. I only blamed Nuts for nicking that car for my children’s sake and now I’ve put them at risk, because I saw a chance and took it without thinking it through.’ Tiffany knew her sister was too good-hearted to put this on anyone else and preferred to lumber herself with the blame. ‘Now look what’s happened. I don’t care if that bastard shoots me, but what’s going to happen to my children?’ Her sister had that look on her face again as if she could barely look into Jen’s eyes. ‘Tiff, you’re not telling me something . . .’

Tiffany took a deep breath. ‘Jen, I don’t want you to be worried, but John and Dee sent some hard nuts to pick me up . . .’ Jen’s hands formed into balls on the table. ‘They know I’m related to Nuts through you. The long and short of it is, they say if that car doesn’t make a miraculous reappearance tomorrow evening they’re not only coming after Nuts,’ her voice shook, ‘they’re coming after his family as well.’

Jen’s hand flew to her throat as she found it hard to breathe.
Oh my God, I’m going to be sick, going to be sick.
She could see a concerned Tiffany moving her lips, but she couldn’t hear a word. She brought her hands to her mouth and started crying. She didn’t give a monkey’s about herself, but those people were going to come after her kids. They were going to hurt her girls because of something she had started. Why oh why had she listened to Tiffany’s plan when Tiff told her about the Black’s boy taking their car? Tiffany had convinced her that it was the ideal situation to fit up Nuts. She’d played her part so well – making the anonymous call to John Black in a fake posh accent; playing the outraged wife and mother when he’d thrown his weight around her home; giving Kevin a right bollocking in public, so everyone assumed she had nothing to do with it; telling Nuts to stay in Scotland because it was too dangerous for him to come back. She hadn’t even breathed a word to her best mate Bex, or her mum. And now it had all turned on her. All she’d wanted was to get Nuts out of their life for good – was that such a bad thing to want?
But you went about it the wrong way, girl.

Jen didn’t even remember Tiffany leading her outside until she felt the cold air against her skin.

‘Jen, listen to me,’ her sister said forcefully as she grabbed her arms. ‘We’re going to get this sorted. Don’t worry about Courtney or Little Bea, no one’s going to touch them.’

Jen swallowed and swiped a tear from her face. ‘But how are we going to do that?’

‘We’ll draw the poison the only way we can. We’re going to get that car back and we’ll figure out how to deliver it back where it belongs. John and Dee will be happy and you and the girls will be safe. Which means you’re going to have to drive me so we can pick it up.’

Once they got into Jen’s Ford Escort, she asked, ‘Where is the car?’

‘I tucked it up nice and safe in a garage lock-up well away from East London. But we’ve got a problem.’

Jen let out a tight little groan as her head sank back into the headrest. Problems! Problems! That’s all she’d got by trying to solve the one mega problem in her life – more flippin’ problems. ‘What now?’ Her weariness coated each word.

‘We can’t get the car until tomorrow morning—’

Jen urgently lifted her head and turned to her sister, anxiety imprinted across her already stressed face. ‘Why not?’

Tiffany didn’t look at her sister. ‘That doesn’t matter. What does is if we collect it in the morning that will give us plenty of time to deliver it back to John and Dee.’

‘But what if there’s a problem—?’

‘There won’t be. Believe me.’ Tiffany turned to look at Jen. ‘Dee’s car will be back with her by midday.’

Jen relaxed back into her seat. ‘Well, at least I can go home and collect the girls.’

‘Why bother doing that? We’re only going to have to hit the road early come morning and you’ll have to bring the girls back to mum.’

‘What are you suggesting? That I go home and lay low?’ Jen pushed her head to the side to look at her younger sister.

‘No, I’m suggesting that we don’t go home at all.’

Jen scoffed. ‘What? Doss in this car for the night?’

Tiffany wrapped her hands so tight around the steering wheel, her knuckles turned a pale white. ‘If I go home mum’s only going to give me the third degree. There’s a nice B ’n’ B I know not far from where the car is. We put our heads down there for the night and Bob’s Your Uncle – in the morning we get the car and motor off to the Blacks.’

Seeing the indecision on Jen’s face Tiffany quickly added, ‘Courtney and Little Bea are safe, so there’s nothing to worry about. The only thing we need to keep our eye on is that bloody car. How are you going to feel if we go home now and some other shit crops up stopping us from getting it? You know The Devil, there’s always some crap to hold people back.’

Jen pinched her teeth into her top lip. Finally she nodded. ‘Alright. But there’s one important thing you need to know.’

Tiffany looked confused. ‘What?’

‘I ain’t putting up with your snoring, so get your own room.’

Fifty-Eight

Felix was right. He hadn’t seen the last of Bernie Gallows, or at least his garage hadn’t. Bernie walked down the street on which the garage stood and slowed as he reached the gates. Not only was it padlocked but an extra chain had been looped through to make it more secure. The chain was new and had clearly been added that evening. Bernie realised he’d overplayed his hand earlier and he mockingly spat ‘Howay man’ to himself as he carried on walking. A security camera was stationed on a corner of the garage’s wall but he was confident it was a fake. It didn’t move, had no lights on it and there was no sign in the office he’d visited earlier that there was any kind of feed to a screen.

The walls were tall and had serrated bricks on top but that was no problem to a man of Bernie’s resources. There had been no sign of any dogs earlier, either. The place looked like what it was – a small garage in a town in the home counties that fixed cars. But it was a garage with a secret and Bernie knew what that secret was. He’d been tipped off by one of his extensive range of contacts, and he was confident that – new chain or no new chain – he could get to that secret.

The wall to the yard ran along a side street where the lights were dimmer and passers-by few. Bernie walked down it, waited for a woman and her yapping Alsatian to pass by, and then, when the coast was clear, he unwound a rope that looped like a cummerbund around his waist under his jacket. He attached a claw to it and threw it over the wall, clambered up and down the other side and then dropped into the yard below. He stood motionless for a minute, listening for any sign inside or outside that anyone had seen him: the running of feet or the sound of doors closing. There were none. At the back of the yard were five lock-ups. In one of them was the secret.

He found it soon enough. Four of the five lock-ups had grimy and greasy windows that you could use a torch to peer through. But the fifth had curtains loosely hung over the window. That was where the secret was kept. It was obvious. Around his neck was a holster in which was stored a king-sized set of bolt cutters, more than powerful enough to cut through the modest padlocks. One arm of the cutters doubled as a jemmy and Bernie used it to lever open the lock which buckled and gave with a couple of tugs. He stood and waited for a few moments to see if the noise had alerted anyone outside. But there was no response on the street or inside the garage. He was alone in the world.

He pulled open the double doors on the lock-up and his eyes feasted on the car inside. He was trying to keep the noise down but was unable to resist giving a low whistle and whispering, ‘Fancy keeping a piece of machinery like that in a dump like this.’

He went inside and ran his hand along the bodywork, the way another man might caress a woman’s lush body. And when he looked inside, he realised he had a lucky break. The garage had left the car doors unlocked. And even better, when he searched the glove compartment he discovered that the keys were in there. He turned the ignition and wasn’t surprised to discover it started first time. Cars like that always did. They begged to be started and driven away at speed. He drove the car into the yard and lined it up with the gates to make his exit. All it required now was to go back over the wall and take the locks off the gate, and it was a nice simple job, quickly and easily done.

But he didn’t need to open the gates. Bernie realised to his horror that they were being unchained and someone on the other side was coming in. He raced back to the car and waited. Through the open driver’s window, it seemed that perhaps he’d been mistaken and a passer-by had rattled the chain as he went by. Then he heard voices on the other side and the double gates began to swing open. Three men were standing in front of him. Two of them were policemen holding torches. The third was the owner. The three men walked forward towards him at a slow pace.

One cop came round to the driver’s side. ‘It’s traditional to wait until a place opens before collecting your vehicle, sir. Now would you mind turning off the engine and getting out so we can have a little chat?’

In front of the car, the garage owner, Felix, had a smug smile on his face.

Bernie didn’t hesitate. He threw the headlights full on, so that the two men in front were blinded, and then pressed the accelerator down to the floor. The engine roared like a lion and he slipped into gear. The car lurched forwards. He saw one of the cops dive for cover while the owner howled in pain as he was clipped by the bumper as he tried to do the same. The car careered onto the street and, without looking where he was going, Bernie threaded the wheel through his hands as he manoeuvred it in a tight turn. As he went by the police car that had been parked up, he noticed another car had been parked, which had its door slightly ajar. He guessed that the owner had been holed up in it with a flask of tea, waiting for him to turn up. As he careered down the street, he whispered, ‘You prat, it’s not your car is it?’

The cops didn’t follow, but he kept up the speed until he was a few miles away, then he stopped and checked the bumpers and bodywork to see if he’d hit anything during his escape. With no daylight, it was difficult to tell. But he was confident, even if there was any damage, a quick polish or a specialist hammer would soon take care of it. Anyway, he had to do a few other things to the car to get it ready. It was a job well done.

Bernie got back into his new car and shouted ‘Howay man!’ as he drove off into the night.

Fifty-Nine

I just need to hear my girls’ voices.
Jen desperately pulled out her mobile as she stood on the private balcony of the room of the bed ’n’ breakfast. She could hear the noises that Tiffany made as she shuffled around inside. The place only had one unoccupied room left, so the sisters were having to share. But Jen didn’t think about any of that as the chilly dark settled around her; all she wanted was to hear her kids’ sweet voices. If anything happened to her girls because of something she had done she’d never, ever forgive herself.

‘Mum,’ she said desperately as soon as the line connected. ‘Are the girls with you?’

‘Of course they’re with me,’ Babs answered, outrage showing in her voice. ‘What did you think, I dumped them in a basket on the steps of the Town Hall or something?’

Jen’s head leaned slightly back. Just knowing that her daughters were safe made her feel so much easier. ‘Can I talk to them?’

‘A bit late for that, my girl, I’ve already put them to bed, which is where I was when the blower went.’

‘Please, mum, I just need . . .’ She was going to say that she needed to hear their beautiful voices, but she didn’t. The last thing she needed was Babs realising that something was up. ‘I just want to say goodnight to them.’

‘What’s going on, Jen? You don’t sound like yourself.’

Jen pulled in a steady breath before she answered to make sure that her emotions were under control. ‘Just want to say beddy-bye to them.’

Babs huffed. ‘Now I’m going to have to get them up.’

‘You wouldn’t have to if you had a mobile phone.’

‘Mobile phone . . .’ Jen heard her grumble, and then the soft sound of her slippers on the floor as she moved away from the phone.

‘Mum?’ Jen smiled and closed her eyes, hearing Courtney’s sleepy voice less than a minute later; it sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world.

‘What you been up to with Nanny Babs?’

Courtney groaned. ‘Mum, I’m tired. Can I tell you tomorrow when you come get us?’

‘I know,’ Jen whispered softly. She was tired too. Her eyes reopened. ‘Put Little Bea on.’

‘Nanny Babs and me tried to wake her but she wouldn’t. Shall I try again?’

‘No. Leave her to her beauty sleep.’ Tears pricked Jen’s eyes. ‘Just wanted to say how much I love you, honey.’

‘Love you too.’ Courtney let out a noise that sounded like a big yawn. ‘Can I go back to bed now?’

‘You get yourself back under the duvet.’

‘Shall I put Nanny Babs back on?’

‘No.’ The last thing she needed was Babs trying to dig more information out of her. ‘Give her a soft kiss goodnight from me.’

As soon as Jen finished the call she held the phone against her heart. It never ceased to amaze her that the ugly, major league mess up that was her life could have produced two, pure, innocent human beings like Courtney and Little Bea. If she were a churchgoer she’d thank God every day for them.