Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama (26 page)

His blue eyes looked so kind in his handsome face. ‘You don’t have to thank me, you silly moo.’ She didn’t take offence at the last. ‘No way was I going to leave you – and your mum – on your uppers.’

‘Oh heck.’ Jen reached into her bag. ‘I’ve got to pay you for the petrol.’ But she stopped when she felt Nuts’ hand on her arm. Her skin heated up as he turned her, ever so gently, as if she was one of those orchids he’d sent – OK stolen. Then he lay his lips against hers. And then they were a tangle of arms and tongues as they hugged and kissed.

‘Jen, you’re the most gorgeous girl I know,’ Nuts said gently when they drew apart. ‘I could gobble you up.’

Jen laughed out loud. Then she came over all shy again as she slowly started unbuttoning her top. ‘Can’t leave you starving then, can we?’

Jen let him take a few liberties, but not too many; she didn’t want him thinking she was a total scrubber or anything.

As he nibbled along her neck, he said, ‘I didn’t want to say nothing when your mum was here, but I hope your sister isn’t in too much bother.’

Jen let out a contented sigh before answering, ‘I think they’re going to just keep her locked up for a night to put the frighteners on her, so she behaves in the future . . . Ummm, I like that!’ He was doing naughty things to her ear.

‘Probably following older kids and taking the fall for them,’ he said softly, against her skin.

‘No. Silly girl’s been fixed up with a neighbour who’s bad news and we don’t have nothing to do with him and his family.’

He gave her breast a gentle squeeze. ‘So she didn’t mention no one else?’

‘Not from what Mum’s said . . . Nuts, your hand goes no further.’ His hand was on a one-way track past her belly.

They were interrupted by a knock on the window. Two scruffy kids, who should’ve been tucked up hours ago, stood near the car.

‘Oi, you gotta pay a fee if you want to park here,’ one said with cocky bluster. ‘Plus, if you want to get your leg over, that’s extra.’

‘You cheeky—’ Jen started, but Nuts finished off for her, ‘Do one, you little piss artists, before I knock your heads together.’

They must’ve read the menace in Nuts’ voice because their little legs scarpered into the darkness.

‘That’s what you’re going to get if you go out with me,’ Jen told him straight. ‘The Devil’s going to come as well.’

Nuts just smiled back. ‘I’ll take you any way I can get you.’

No more words were said as they kissed and cuddled on The Devil’s Estate.

Thirty-Four

As the police came into the interview room the next morning, Dee whispered, ‘Don’t forget, John, leave all the chat to me. Whatever they say, just repeat those two beautiful words – no comment.’

Detective Simpson and Detective Jones, who were Mark and James yesterday with the Miller girl, questioned John but they weren’t as cocky as they had been with Tiffany. Chris and Mickey had been caught red-handed with the cars in Tilbury, but both had refused to implicate John. Tiffany had told them John had nothing to do with any car ringing business. Meanwhile the police who were trawling through the paper trail of documents found at the Alley Club had found nothing that incriminated their guy either. Although the police were convinced that John was involved, the two cops could feel their big fish slipping away.

Detective Simpson got down to business. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a solicitor? It would be better for you in the long run if you did.’

Before John could answer, Dee took control. ‘He doesn’t need a solicitor; only guilty people need a brief.’

The officer snorted. ‘In that case, he doesn’t need an appropriate adult either – which I understand is what you’re here for. Perhaps you can tell us what your interest in this matter is?’

Dee curled her hand through John’s arm and gave her man a hot, loving look. ‘He’s my fiancé. We’re hoping to be married soon – which is why I’m so outraged at your attempt to drag my intended into this unfortunate business, which of course is nothing to do with him.’

Simpson shook his head and grinned humourlessly. ‘I see. OK, then. Why don’t we just cut the crap here, John, eh? The fact is, a car ringing business was organised out of your club. We’ve caught Mickey Ingram, Christopher Keston and Tiffany Miller and some of the other Herberts involved. They all say you bossed the operation. Now, why don’t you save us all the trouble of confronting you with the evidence, ’fess up and then we can all have a nice cup of tea and see what we can do with the charges – maybe knock off a few and recommend that the judge goes easy on you. How’s that sound?’

Before John had finished saying ‘No comment,’ Dee told them. ‘It sounds like bollocks to me, bruv. You ain’t got no evidence and you know it. And the reason you ain’t got none is because there isn’t any. Now, why don’t you go and catch a burglar and let my fiancé get back to running his very respectable club with its highly distinguished and influential clientele?’

The detective patted his file. ‘I’ve got plenty of evidence, love.’

Dee was confident that he didn’t. ‘Let’s see it then.’

He ignored her. ‘So tell us, John, how well do you know Mickey Ingram? He got the fake docs done for you, didn’t he?’

‘No comment.’

Dee was providing a running commentary. ‘Of course he doesn’t know anyone called Mickey Ingram. If I thought he knew anyone with a name like that I’d ban him from seeing him – he sounds right common. My fiancé mixes with London’s elite – you know, show people, footballers, business people like that. Not someone with a name like Mickey Ingram . . .’

‘OK, John, tell us about Tiffany Miller.’

‘No comment.’

As Dee held forth on how a woman with a name like Tiffany Miller must be a slag, Detective Jones interrupted her. ‘Listen John, are you planning to no comment your way through this whole interview while your friend here covers for you? You do realise only a guilty man would do that, don’t you?’

‘No comment.’

Dee rose to her feet, placed both her hands on the table and asked firmly, ‘Evidence boys? Have you got any actual evidence?’

Simpson pulled a paper out of his file. He read it and then handed it to his colleague who read it and passed it back. Simpson nodded with approval and then passed it back to his partner. Dee wasn’t fooled; she suspected there was fuck all on the paper or it was some other nonsense like the police station’s leccy bill.

Simpson paused for dramatic effect before saying, ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, we do. We’ve got a witness who puts you in the Bad Moon pub yesterday with Mickey Ingram, Christopher Keston and a number of other known associates and ne’er-do-wells who are of interest in this case, including a young man we suspect actually stole the cars. So tell us, John, what were you, Mickey, Chris and the gang discussing – the weather?’

John said nothing, not even ‘No comment.’

Dee meanwhile was like the black cat who’d got the cream. ‘Have you got a time and date and what this supposed witness supposedly saw?’

That surprised him, but he gave her the time and date. Dee was triumphant. ‘Utter bollocks. I can tell you exactly where my fiancé was at the time. He was in bed with me, having some hot and steamy lovin’. I was on top and underneath, in and out, shaking it all about; we had it over the dressing table, in the bathroom and on the Persian rug my fiancé gave me as a gift – the lot. Ask my neighbours; they were banging on the wall complaining. Isn’t that right, John?’

John said nothing, just turned scarlet.

Dee looked pointedly at Detective Simpson. ‘Go on, ask around. People will probably slam the door in your face.’

Both detectives looked disappointed knowing that Dee had probably got the right of it. In the East End, who wanted to be known as a grass? Simpson closed his file. ‘OK. That’s all for now. We’ll be in touch.’

Despite his embarrassment, John was pathetically grateful for Dee getting him off the hook and offered to take her for lunch somewhere smart. When she hailed a cab and ordered it to take them to Hatton Garden, he looked blank and told her he didn’t know any decent restaurants in the area. As she relaxed in the back of the cab, Dee explained her plan.

‘You can take me to lunch later, darling. First, you’ve got to buy me an engagement ring. The law will be keeping an eagle eye on you now and your idea that we’re engaged needs ring-fencing. And don’t skimp on the ice either – and I don’t mean “in car entertainment”. We need everyone to take us seriously.’

Instead of sitting on the bunk in the cell, Tiffany was on the floor with her back against the stone wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. The excitement of being interviewed by Five-O had long ago fizzled away and she had a gut feeling that life was never going to be the same again. For starters, Stacey’s mum would definitely make sure she didn’t come anywhere near her daughter; and, if Tiffany was truthful, she wouldn’t do it anyway, knowing it would bring her friend heartache. And that’s what hurt the most, knowing she wouldn’t be able to get close to her mate anymore. She would never touch her face again, never take a tote from a spliff where Stace had just put her lips. Tiffany wrapped her fist against her mouth and started sobbing.

Dee was sporting a larger-than-life, emerald engagement ring when they got back to her flat. She was dizzy with triumph; she couldn’t believe that she had pulled it off. John might think this was a fake engagement for the cops’ sake, but he’d soon learn differently.

‘Well, I’d better be off,’ John said smartly, moving towards the front door.

But Dee was around him in no time, her open palms placed swiftly on his chest. She’d been diddled out of a night of amore last night when he’d fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. She wasn’t allowing that to happen again. ‘What’s the hurry, John? Kick your heels back and take one of the six-packs from the fridge while I go and find that shooter you gave me. You can have it back and tuck it up somewhere safe.’

Five minutes later, beer shot out of John’s mouth (all over that sofa Dee hadn’t finished paying for), as he clapped eyes on Dee artfully posed in the doorway. Most women wanting a portion would have a flirty baby doll on, a bit of lingerie, or maybe just a G-string. Dee had learned that if you were going to do something, you went all the way, and that’s why she stood on display for John, in her birthday suit.

‘Bloody hell, Dee,’ he choked, wiping the beer from his lips.

‘Don’t you like what you see, John?’ She moved towards him in sleek strides, jiggling anything she had that moved. When she reached him, she firmly pushed his chest back into the sofa. ‘You know what they say, John – the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.’ Then she lifted one leg, hooked it over him and lifted the other leg and did the same. John was sweating buckets. She almost laughed out loud when his hand clutched her bottom. She stretched and then lowered her boobs to his face. Within two seconds he had her flat on her back, his knob out; then he went in for the kill.

Dee was expecting the sex to be a bit bish, bash, bosh, with John howling to high heaven and her faking it to the hilt. But that’s not what happened. Instead, John spent the next half hour showing her not how to have sex, but for maybe the first time in her life, what it meant to make love. By the time they slid off the sofa and collapsed on the floor, Dee was speechless, dazed and, yeah, confused. Most of the boys and young men she’d been with had left her feeling nice and warm, but John had blown her mind. Fancy that: John Black of all people.

She was startled when he got ready to leave.

‘John, you can’t go.’ She scrambled off the floor. ‘We’ve got to make sure we give a good show for the neighbours so that Bill and Ben down the station believe our story.’
And I want to do it again.

John shook his head. ‘I’ve got to go, darling.’

Dee was narked. ‘Oh I get it. I get you out of trouble with the Rozzers and my thank you is wham bam thank you mam.’

‘’Course not. You know I’m grateful. The thing is, I’ve got, let’s just call him a friend, who might have some info for me. Plus, the way I’m hearing it, Chris is out and about.’

Dee couldn’t stop the shock showing on her face. ‘Chris is out? Surely they had enough evidence to keep him banged up?’

‘I don’t know if it’s true, but I’m going to find out. See you later at the club.’

And with that he left. Dee slumped on the sofa. If Chris was out, Dee knew the game might be up.

Thirty-Five

Jeff walked arm-in-arm with his boyfriend as he left the Pied Piper. He’d managed to wiggle out of all that screw-up that went down with Mr Black’s car op. He had given the cops some claptrap about hiring a solicitor to sue them for harassment for being gay and, knowing they had dick on him, they had to let him go. Right now, he was thinking it was time for him to leave the pub and find new, fresh green pastures. Maybe . . .

‘Are you Jeff from the Pied Piper?’ He left his thoughts behind as he was confronted by someone wearing a black crash helmet, speaking through a visor.

‘Never heard of him.’

‘Well, I say you are.’

And before Jeff or his boyfriend could do a thing, the stranger head-butted him, with the helmet breaking his nose. His boyfriend yelled as he dropped to the pavement, blood gushing down his face and onto his clothes.

‘Next time,’ his assailant declared, ‘leave little girls alone.’

Then the head-butting maniac was gone, marching down the road the other way.

Once she got around the corner, Dee pulled the helmet off and shook out her hair. That would teach him to terrorise sixteen-year-old kids.

‘Well, I hope that you’ve learned your lesson, my girl,’ Babs said sternly to Tiffany, who the police had let out early.

She sat with her two girls in the sitting room of their flat on The Devil’s Estate. The telly had been switched off, and there was no music blaring from the stereo system; this was just some quiet time for Babs and her daughters. It seemed like this flat hadn’t been quiet for ages. It felt good. It felt like a real home.