Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama (45 page)

Nicky looked down at the floor and then it seemed he’d had an idea. ‘OK, if you let Tiffany come back, I’ll be a good grandson.’

Now he was taking the piss. Struggling to control her temper, Dee told him, ‘We’ve been through that; she can’t come back. It’s nothing personal, but believe me, she can’t come back.’

Nicky fixed her eyes. ‘Then it’s nothing personal but I can’t help.’

The boy might not have been her blood son but he shared her determination and single mindedness. ‘It’s your dad who’s got the problem with Tiffany. If you behave while your nan’s here, I’ll have a word with him.’ Dee wasn’t sure if she was lying or not, but she was so desperate, it hardly mattered. ‘I’m not promising mind.’

Nicky nodded. ‘Fair enough.’

Dee held her arms out and they gave each other a hug, like a couple of mafia bosses who’d just agreed a deal but were already trying to think of ways to double cross each other. As they embraced, the front doorbell rang. Alarmed, Dee looked at her watch but saw that it was far too early for her mum to put in an appearance. She left Nicky and walked out to the hall where she met John who was coming from the family room. The two walked up to the heavy, oak-panelled front door. John peered through the peephole and then drew his head back in surprise. He looked again before whispering, ‘I don’t fucking believe this.’

He undid the lock and threw the door open. Dee followed John out and looked at the scene in shock. Her car, valeted like a jewel, was sitting outside and a man was standing beside it, like a salesman. Holding the keys up to be inspected, he said proudly, ‘Hello, John. Remember me? I’m Nuts. I’ve brought your car back.’

Sixty-Three

‘It’s probably nothing,’ Tiffany said, her voice shaking as she tried to reassure her frantic sister.

But Jen wasn’t listening as she hustled through the crowd downstairs, everyone whispering to each other as they looked up at her mum’s flat. She moved urgently towards the single cop near the car. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Break-in, by the look of it. Probably the local scrotes trying to raise money for drugs. Nothing serious.’

One of the onlookers tutted and said, ‘It’s getting terrible round here. They should bring back hanging, if you ask me.’

‘A break-in?’ Jen heard her sister say, from behind her. ‘What number?’

Jen bombed up the stairs when she heard the number for her mum’s place.
My girls. My girls. My girls.
Her heart raced like crazy as she took the steps, two at a time. If anything had happened to her girls, she would never forgive herself.
This is all your fault. All your fault.

Jen sucked in a shocked breath as she came face to face with what had happened to her mum’s flat door. It had been nearly knocked off its hinges in a frenzied attack. She dashed inside the flat, her hand flying to her mouth. It looked like a pub after a bar room brawl. Courtney’s and Little Bea’s toys were scattered everywhere.

‘Is this your home, madam?’ a policeman in the sitting room asked her.

But Jen ignored him as she flew to the bedrooms, screaming her daughter’s names. Both rooms were turned upside down, with no sign of her children.

‘Jen,’ she heard Tiffany shout, but she ignored her too and ran into the kitchen. No children. No Babs. Her face started to crumble as she headed back to the main room, legs like lead.

‘Jen?’ She heard Tiffany say again, but it felt like her sister’s voice was coming from some far-off place, as if Jen were in her own little world – a place where her daughters should be but weren’t. She could see the policeman’s mouth moving, but couldn’t figure out what he was saying.
Please God, not my girls. They haven’t hurt anybody. What am I going to do? What am I going to do? What am . . . ?
That’s when she noticed an old toolbox her mum had told her belonged to her Dad. Her face hardened as she got down on her knees, wrenched open the rusty top and emptied it onto the carpet, making the cop jump back.

She took no notice as the cop behind her started speaking: ‘I understand a burglary’s very upsetting madam but it would help if you could answer a few questions. Have you seen any suspicious-looking characters hanging around your flat lately?’

Jen ignored him and picked up a claw hammer and a screwdriver from the various tools that were lying in front of her. She put them in her handbag. She also noticed another object, wrapped in oilskin, which was tied up with ancient elastic bands. She felt it and dropped that in her handbag along with the other tools. Then she got up and pushed her sister out of the way as she headed for the kitchen.

Tiffany turned to the officer. ‘This is our mum’s place but my sister’s very upset. Give her five minutes.’

The cop was frank. ‘Well, there’s not much we can do anyway, to be honest. But we’ll file a report. You’ll need to get the front door seen to. You can ring the council for that.’

Tiffany nearly groaned. ‘Yeah, thanks for the tip, mate. Very helpful.’

She went to the kitchen and closed the door behind her. Jen was ferreting around in the cutlery draw.

‘Sis, what are you doing?’

Jen picked up a fearsome-looking bread knife and turned to face her sister, who stood behind her. She shook with fury. ‘This is your fault,’ she spat. ‘It’s all your fault. It was your bloody idea in the first place and now . . . now . . .’ Her voice broke with emotion. ‘And now they’ve taken my kids. You’re a bum and a crim, Tiffany; you always have been and I must’ve been off my nut to think of listening to you. Now get out of my fucking way.’

She slipped the bread knife into her belt and put a smaller one in her handbag.

Tiffany moved closer to her. ‘No one’s been taken. It’s a—’

Jen pulled the knife back out of her belt so quickly her younger sister didn’t see it until it was waving like a sword in her face. ‘So where are they? Where are my girls? Answer me that.’

‘Let’s give Mum a ring.’

‘On what? Two tin cans with a bit of string?’ It was true, their mum didn’t own a mobile. In fact their mum thought a landline was a bit racy.

Tiffany was terrified. She’d never seen Jen like this before. ‘She’s probably taken them up Vicky Park or something, or down The Roman, you know. Please, Jen, put that knife—’

Slap. Tiffany reeled from the impact of her sister’s open palm against her cheek. Pain and shock stung her face.

‘Victoria Park or Roman Road Market with all that’s going on? You stupid, silly bitch.’

A raging Jen left the kitchen and headed to the toilet. Moments later, Tiffany heard the chain being pulled and Jen emerged with a glint in her eye, heading for the front door.

‘Oi, where are you going?’ Tiffany followed her sister, her palm rubbing her reddening cheek.

‘To get my children. I know where they are.’

Tiffany’s stomach churned as she realised what Jen was planning on doing. ‘You can’t go up there if that’s what you’re thinking. Those people are killers; you’ll come out in a box. The girls aren’t gone. Look, if you’re worried, talk to the cops.’

‘Talk to the Bill?’ Her sister didn’t stop her manic pace as she headed downstairs. ‘Why? What are they going to do? Those people you’ve just called killers have probably got the police on their payroll.’

The two women emerged from the damp, dark, piss-stained stairwell into the cool daylight. Jen pulled her car keys from her bag and got into her motor with grim determination. Unable to think of what else to do, Tiffany quickly slipped into the front seat beside her. ‘Please, think about what you’re doing.’

‘Get out.’

‘No chance.’

‘Please yourself.’

Jen turned on the ignition and the car lurched backwards before shunting forwards again, heading off towards the Mile End Road. When they reached the junction, she didn’t hesitate but put her hand on the horn and pulled out in front of the oncoming traffic. Cars braked and swerved to avoid her before sounding their own horns in response to her honking. Jen ignored them, attempting to nose in front of any vehicle in her way, flashing her lights and shouting abuse as required.

Tiffany realised that her sister meant it. She laid her head against the rest. She had an hour, maybe more, maybe less, to come up with a plan. Otherwise . . . She looked at her sister’s grim face and the tight icy grip she had on the wheel.

There was no doubt about it. Someone was going to get killed.

Sixty-Four

‘Well, aren’t you going to say something then? I mean, I ain’t expecting a reward or nothing but a thank you very much would go down a treat.’ Nuts let out a nervous laugh.

John looked at him in total disbelief. The fuckwit seemed to have no idea of the danger he was in. Dee barrelled past her husband, snatched the keys from Nuts’ hands without looking at him and walked over to her car. John had one eye on her as she inspected the bodywork and peered inside and the other on Nuts. He put his arm around the young man’s shoulder and led him some distance away to talk to him.

‘What the fuck are you playing at? Eh? Seriously?’

Nuts widened his eyes as if he were hurt. ‘Well, I heard your missus’ car was nicked and there was a lot of slanderous verbal going round that I might have had something to do with it. And, err, you must have heard those cock ’n’ bull stories too. Obviously it was nothing to do with me – I mean, as if. Anyway, although I’ve been out of the car business for a while now, I thought I’d show willing and track it down for you. I kept me ear to the ground, spoke to some of my contacts and traced it; caught the bloke who thieved it and gave him a kicking; and now here I am with the motor. Cushty eh?’

John looked over at Dee who was subjecting her recovered vehicle to a forensic examination. He also noticed Nicky at an upstairs window staring down at the scene. He turned back to Nuts. ‘So who was this bloke?’

‘What bloke?’

This bloke really is a knob head. ‘The tea leaf who stole the wife’s motor.’

John could hear Nuts’ voice had become slightly hesitant and the younger man’s shoulder was stiffening under his grip. ‘Just a bloke, you know. From South London, I believe.’

John pursed his lips. He looked over his shoulder at Dee and then up at Nicky. He looked at the gravel under his feet, sighed deliberately and whispered, ‘So what’s this fella’s name then?’

‘Does it matter? I mean, Dee’s got her car back, which is the important thing.’

‘Dee?’ John said harshly. ‘You don’t have the right to let my wife’s name touch your lips.’

Nuts frantically nodded. ‘’Course, Mister Black. No disrespect intended.’

John clasped his one-time employee even closer. ‘I need that name.’ At the same time, John noticed his wife disappear inside the house, but he was drawn back to the dipstick when he started answering him.

‘Well, I mean, I don’t know his real name. He uses the handle ‘‘the cat’’ though. Out of Croydon I think . . . or maybe Tooting, I’m not sure.’

John Black was a proper criminal. He only believed in using violence for business reasons rather than personal ones. He believed feuds, vendettas and revenge belonged in the playground, not in the world of professional guys like him. It was true that he’d promised Dee that he would sort out the tosser who’d helped himself to her prized possession. But now that she had it back and he could look forward to a quiet life again, or at least as quiet a life as it was possible to get with a woman like his wife, he could see no reason for any further unpleasantness. And he couldn’t possibly regard a small timer like Nuts as worthy of the effort anyway.

It was time to wrap this up, all nice and neat like. ‘Listen, my old friend, I’m going to do you a massive favour. By now I should be breaking every bone in your body before handing your remains over to a reliable associate, to dispose of them in a responsible way. But I’m in a good mood.’

John saw his wife reappear, clutching something in her hand, and resume her examination of her car. ‘You see that gate in the fence over there?’ he asked Nuts quietly. ‘I want you to run very fast to it, climb over and then follow the footpath a couple of miles until you reach a small village where’s there’s a bus stop. Get a bus back to London, collect your gear and then piss off somewhere far away. For good. Because if I ever see you anywhere, or if I hear you’re still in town, my mood will turn very dark indeed—’

‘John!!! Come here right now.’

John turned to see Dee standing by her car and realised she was holding a torch in one hand. She wore that hard look on her face that told him loud and clear she was bursting to do significant damage to somebody. He guided a shaking Nuts back to where she’d opened the car doors for him, so that he could look inside.

Dee leaned in and pulled up the armrest to display the slim compartment inside. ‘I had Marilyn customised so that she would fit my sunglasses.’

John felt Nuts try to tag away from him, but he held him tight. Dee slammed the door and shone the torch along its distinctive painted white trim. ‘You notice anything, Nuts?’ she challenged the now terrified man. He shook his head. ‘What most people don’t know is that, me being a right flash cow, I had tiny diamantes encrusted into the trim. Now it should glitter with this light.’

There was no glitter. Dee pulled a nail file from her pocket and scraped at the classic black paintwork. She shone the torch again. Under the scraped paint was a navy blue. ‘It’s a re-spray.’ She looked up at Nuts. ‘This ain’t my car.’

Sixty-Five

‘Stick a duster in his gob. I don’t want him weeping and wailing while my mum and me are having a chat on the chaise longue upstairs. That’ll put us right off our coffee and cake.’

The basement of John and Dee’s house had been turned into a safe room in case any of their enemies decided to stage a house invasion, or the cops did a raid. It was empty, apart from CCTV screens, phones and some weapons for self-defence. The only furniture was a couple of chairs, and on one of these Nuts had been bound with a length of rope and a pair of Dee’s stockings. Dee was torn between fixing her face for her mother’s visit or venting her fury on the car thief. The fury was winning.