The Know (32 page)

Jeanette had told the social worker to go forth and multiply and the woman had left. After adding another note to her file. She was fourteen years old and living with an eighteen-year-old man who had criminal convictions. His mother was an alcoholic and between her and her son they had more form than the Mafia.

Yet legally Jeanette was able to do what she wanted with her life and if that meant she decided to live with them then that was fine with everyone concerned. Even if Joanie had attempted to bring her home, it wouldn’t have been possible. The Children’s Charter had given her these rights and Jeanette used them in her own favour to do exactly what she wanted to do.

Baxter marvelled at a girl who could still get herself into trouble when her own sister was probably lying murdered somewhere.

He didn’t allow for the fact that she had been on the edge and Karen Copes had pushed her over it. All he saw was a tart, and to him Jeanette was as much of one as her mother. The family were all scum. Those pictures of a little child plastered in makeup had finally woken him up to what he was dealing with here. In his mind Kira Brewer had been part of the family business and he didn’t care how many times the Chief Constable rang him up, he would not change that opinion.

‘Did you take those pictures in to be developed?’ he asked now.

Jeanette shook her head.

‘Nope. Why would I do that and not give me name and address? Use your loaf, you must know who brought them in.’

Her voice indicated one of them was stupid and it certainly wasn’t her. She sighed heavily as if bored by his questions.

‘Look, like I said before, they were just a joke. I dressed her up and took a few photos of her, big fucking deal. No law against that, is there?’

She sat back in the chair and he stared at her. From her short black skirt to her cropped top she was every inch the bullyboy’s girlfriend. Her hair was covered in some kind of shiny gel that made it look like it needed a good wash. Her little skinny legs were nicked with shaving cuts and her heavy shoes looked like clogs on her feet.

She was covered in makeup: foundation and blusher caked on her skin; vivid colours on her eyes; bright pink lipstick that made her look all-knowing. Like the other girl had, like Kira Brewer looked in her photographs.

Baxter despaired as he looked at Jeanette. If she wasn’t in the family business now, she soon would be. He had seen it over and over again, girls following their mothers on to the street. It was like a vocation with them.

‘So you admit to taking these photographs of your sister?’

She nodded.

‘’Course I do. But what’s to admit? Like I said, there’s no law against taking photos, is there?’

‘These kind of photos there is.’

He pointed at the pictures, practically stabbing them with his finger.

Jeanette rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

‘You’re the one who thinks there’s something bad about them. It’s
you
that’s making them into something they ain’t. I took them to please Kira. She liked dressing up, and she liked makeup and clothes. All little girls do. Now can I go, please?’

‘Where was the film when you last saw it?’

Jeanette thought for a moment.

‘In the bedroom, Kira’s bedroom. She must have taken it in to the shop, no one else had access to it. Now can I go, please?’

She was dismissing him and he knew it. Her arrogance knew no bounds. It was as if it was in the water supply and all the youngsters hereabouts absorbed it at birth.

But he had to let her go, there was nothing to charge her with.

 
Tommy opened the door to Jon Jon and Earl.

The smile on his face was replaced by an expression of terror when Jon Jon seized him by the scruff of the neck and battered him against the hall walls as he manhandled him into the lounge. He pushed him to the floor.

‘You know why we’re here, don’t you?’

Tommy didn’t answer. He was still heaving from exertion but his eyes said he had a pretty good idea.

‘What did you do to my sister, you fucking nonce?’

Jon Jon’s voice was low, no shouting, just pure intimidation. He kicked at the man a few times, feeling the softness of that flabby flesh against his boot. Just the feel of Tommy enraged him; he was convinced the fat useless bastard was laughing at him. As he looked into that moonlike face he felt it, felt the fat freak’s contempt.

‘You must have thought you’d got away with it, you and your fucking father! I know all about Caitlin, I saw her granny and she told me about you.’

At the mention of the girl Tommy blanched.

‘It wasn’t true, Jon Jon, I swear! She was a liar, that girl. I never touched her.’

Tommy was terrified and it showed.

Jon Jon hauled him up with difficulty and spat into Tommy’s face.

‘I will kill you if you don’t tell me exactly what happened, do you hear me?’

Earl watched then said quietly, ‘Do it, Jon Jon. Stab him up. Fucking take him out now.’

Jon Jon half turned his head, listening to his friend. Then he saw that Tommy was out cold. He had passed out with fright.

‘Fear will do it every time.’

Earl’s voice was all-knowing.

Jon Jon went out into the kitchen. Seeing the kettle still steaming he turned it on again. When it had boiled once more he walked back into the lounge with it and poured it all over Tommy’s stomach and between his legs.

Tommy had on cotton trousers and a thin shirt. The water burned straight through. His eyes flew open and a scream escaped his lips.

‘Now tell me what I want to know.’

Jon Jon held the kettle out to Earl.

‘Boil that fucker up again. I’m going to cook him.’

Tommy’s eyes were glazed with pain.

‘Please, Jon Jon, I’m begging you . . .’

‘Hurt, does it, you fat nonce? What have you done with her? Was she begging you to stop hurting her? Was she?’

Tommy was shaking his head, too paralysed with fear to talk.

‘She’s dead, ain’t she?’

Jon Jon punched him in the head again.

‘Where is my sister? Tell me where she is!’

Tommy was crying, fat globules of snot and spit all over his face.

‘I don’t know, I swear . . . Ask me father . . . He was the one . . . Not me . . .’ He was rambling now the pain had overtaken him. ‘He liked the little girls . . . not me. Not like that! Not me . . .’

He was groaning in pain and distress but still trying to convince Jon Jon.

‘Where is my sister? What did you do with her?’

Tommy was nearly delirious now.

‘I don’t know anything. I swear on my mother’s grave.’

He was crying, great heaving sobs that made his words almost unintelligible. Jon Jon stared down at him dispassionately.

‘She was so sweet, so sweet. My Kira . . .’

The unearthly crying was reaching a crescendo now.

‘I loved her . . . loved her. I never wanted her to get hurt.’

The words penetrated Jon Jon’s brain and then the kicking started in earnest. All reason was gone now; he kicked until he was spent.

‘You loved her, did you?’

He was panting from the exertion.

‘I’ll kill you, you cunt, and your father!’

But it was too late to talk to Tommy now.

Tommy couldn’t hear anything.

Before he left, Jon Jon poured the newly boiled kettle of water over his face. Then, after spitting on him, he left.

They drove straight round to the father’s girlfriend’s house, Jon Jon riding shotgun in the car as they cursed the child’s killers. He was crying his eyes out because now they knew she was gone; it just remained to find what was left of her. He was almost hysterical with grief; it was as if now the floodgates had opened he would never stop crying again.

He pictured her, her terror, the pain of what had happened to her. It was like a film playing in his head.

And he had welcomed her betrayer into his home.

Jon Jon felt it was all his fault.

It didn’t occur to him to call the police. This was personal, he would deal with it himself.

Tommy’s neighbour, Mrs Carling, waited for them to leave before she phoned the police. Even then she did it anonymously. No way was she getting involved when Jon Jon Brewer was on the warpath. She’d decided that on Saturday and she was sticking to it.

 
Della and Joseph had been to Patricia’s house. On the way back they had stopped for lunch in Upminster. Della was happier than she had been. Joseph had convinced her that his argument with Little Tommy was strictly family business. His son was jealous of the fact he had moved out, apparently, though in fairness to him he had not seemed that kind of person. In fact, as she kept pointing out, he seemed to like his father living somewhere else.

Now that Kira Brewer was missing Della was worried about how it would affect them. The police had already been to her house and interviewed Joseph. Even though she knew it was only natural, anyone who knew the child would be questioned, it still bothered her. She couldn’t leave it alone and knew this was annoying Joseph. But what had happened was so outrageous it was natural to keep talking about it, surely?

‘Do you think Kira knew whoever it was who took her?’

Joseph sipped his pint and didn’t answer her. Even at her daughter’s he had refused to discuss it, and Patricia was as interested as everyone else. They had first-hand knowledge of a national news event and he was just sitting there like a stuffed toy. Joseph’s son, as Patricia had pointed out, knew the girl better than anyone else. He was her babysitter, for crying out loud. But still Joseph would not be drawn.

Instead he had taken Della’s grand-daughters to the park and left them to discuss it between them. Now he was sitting there sipping his pint for all the world like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

He was strange that way.

‘Are you going to answer me, Joe?’

He shook his head.

‘I don’t want to keep going over it. It’s a terrible thing to keep thinking about.’

It sounded like fair comment but she was still not satisfied. Like her husband before him, Joseph was about to find out exactly what his new girlfriend could be like when the fancy took her.

‘Anyone would think you had something to hide.’

He stared at her, his pint halfway to his mouth.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

Della shrugged nonchalantly then said sarcastically, ‘Whatever you want it to mean. Only anyone else, any
normal
person, would be interested in what was going on. But not you.’

He was sneering now.

‘So because I’m not a gossip, that makes me suspicious, does it?’

He was trying to keep some semblance of friendliness in his voice but it was getting harder by the second. He wanted to slap her across her fat-cheeked, smug-looking face.

Della shrugged once more.

‘Take it how you like.’

She was spoiling for a fight now, a real row. She wanted to let him know just who he was dealing with.

He gulped at his beer.

‘Do me a favour, would you, Della?’

His voice was friendly and calm.

She nodded.

‘Shut the fuck up.’

Her face was a picture and Joseph felt it was worth the hag just to see that look of shock on it.

‘How dare you!’

Her voice was low. After all, they were in a pub and she didn’t want them showing themselves up.

‘Right, let’s go, Della. I ain’t arguing here.’

He said it as if to imply he would be more than willing to argue in the privacy of the car. This was a new one for Della. Until now she had always been in complete control.

In the car she picked up where she had left off before he had even reversed out of the parking space.

‘I can’t put my finger on it but there’s something not right with the lot of it . . .’

He didn’t answer her because he was negotiating the car out into a country lane. Once he was on the road he said, ‘Is that right, Della? It must be great being you, knowing everything. Being the only woman on earth to have psychic fucking tendencies.’

This was a Joseph she had never heard before and she wasn’t sure how to handle him until he said, ‘What did your husband die of again? Terminal fucking boredom I’d guess, listening to your trap going morning, noon and night.’

The barb hit home.

‘How dare you, Joseph Thompson . . .’

He held up his hand for quiet and miraculously got it.

‘I dare, I fucking dare, because you just couldn’t leave it, could you? Do you know what I am going through? I knew that child, knew her well. She came in my home with me and my son. I liked her.’

His voice was drenched with emotion now and Della was wondering just what she had started. His tone had the ring of truth to it.