Gangster Girl

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  She nodded and sniffed. ‘I apologise for the sunglasses. I haven’t stopped crying since I heard. It was such a shock.’ She shook her head as her hand dived into her bag. She pulled out a hankie and dabbed it under the glasses.

  He leant over and whispered, ‘Please, take your time.’

  ‘I was clearing his things away when I found this.’ Again she dug into her bag. She placed a handful of papers in front of him on the table. He scrutinised the papers. Then turned to the computer on the desk and began to type away. Suddenly he started tutting as he continued to look at the screen. He pressed the space bar and at the same time shook his head. He shot the woman sitting opposite him an anxious look.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no, madam.’ He turned back to the screen.

  Her fingers played with the clasp of her bag as she twisted towards the entrance the same time a security guard came into the room. The guard kept moving. In her direction. She twisted back towards Adam. He darted another anxious look her way. Her hand tightened on her bag as the security guard kept moving towards her. He pulled out his walkie-talkie. Her unpolished nails sank into the soft leather material of her bag.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Hearing Adam’s voice she swung back to face him. The security guard was almost upon her as he spoke into his walkie-talkie. He drew level to her. And walked right past.

  ‘Miss Hopkirk, are you OK?’ Adam asked enquiringly. ‘Can I get you some water?’

  The blonde shook her head. ‘It’s just the strain of Daddy’s death has been immense.’

  He shot her a sympathetic look. ‘And making you wait so long I’m sure hasn’t helped. Sorry about that but we seem to have some gremlins in the computer system today, which means everything is taking twice as long.’ He paused so that he could fully face her. ‘Our records show that the document you’ve given me is an authentic copy of your father’s safe-deposit box form, but I’m afraid I still can’t release anything to you.’

  She pushed inside her bag again and pulled out another clutch of papers. ‘And I found these as well.’ Her hand shook as she passed them to him.

  He quickly scanned the contents. ‘It says that your father has given you power of attorney over his deposit box.’ His gaze rested on the spot where Charlie Hopkirk’s flourished signature lay. He raised his head to look at her. ‘Have you got any ID?’

  She shook her head, sniffing as if she was about to cry. ‘I didn’t realise I’d need any. Daddy’s unexpected death . . .’ She let her sad words hang in the air.

  He looked at her for a few seconds, eyes flickering. Then made his decision. ‘I understand. Let me see what I can do. Because you haven’t got any ID I will need to ask my manager if I can proceed. I’m sure you understand . . .’

  ‘Of course.’ She leant forward and covered his hand with her own and mouthed thank you.

  He blushed at her intimate gesture. Clearing his throat he got up and walked towards a woman sitting at the desk nearest the door. He leant down and spoke to her and slipped the paperwork onto her desk. The woman raised her head and made direct eye contact with Jennifer Hopkirk. The woman gave her a hard assessing look. The kind of look that said that this woman took her job way too seriously.

  Finally Adam’s manager looked away. The woman picked up the phone on her desk, moving her lisp tersely as she spoke. She ended the call. Spoke to Adam. Passed him the paperwork. He was soon striding back towards Jennifer.

  ‘My manager knew your father and apparently he often talked about you. So she’s willing to let you have access to the deposit box.’

  She stood up. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’ She held out her hand and took the papers that he gave her. Startled she looked up at him. ‘The power of attorney papers are not here.’

  ‘My manager insisted on hanging onto them until we’ve finished.’

  The woman at the desk peered at Adam and Charlie Hopkirk’s daughter as they made their way to the exit. She turned her attention back to the papers. She drummed her fingers against the desk as she reread them. Her fingers stopped moving. She turned to her computer and started tapping away at her keyboard, her eyes glued to the computer screen.

  ‘I’m gonna be a couple of hours,’ Tommy said as he drew up outside a high rise in Bow. The type of tower block that looked like it hadn’t seen a lick of paint since it had been built. He took out his wallet and threw some cash at Ricky. ‘Get yourself down to Canary Wharf and buy yourself some decent clobber. I’ve got an office dress code. Get with it . . .’ He chucked the keys at Ricky. ‘Back here in a couple of hours, OK?’

  As Tommy eased out of the car, a loud skidding noise tore up the air outside. Suddenly the car jumped forward. Ricky ended up flat on the backseat and Tommy half on and off the driver’s seat.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Tommy growled as he leapt out of the car the same time as Ricky. They both turned to find another car had banged into their motor from behind. A medium-sized man got out of the other car. He had the type of clothes and face that blended into a crowd. He looked nervous as Tommy stormed over to him. But he never made it because Ricky grabbed his arm.

  ‘Leave this to me, Mr King. You go and make your visit and I’ll sort it out.’

  Tommy shook his arm free. Sent the shaken-up man beside the other car a lethal look. ‘Make sure he understands whose motor he’s pranged,’ he hissed. He turned and moved away. Then stopped and twisted back to Ricky. ‘I hate all that mister shit. Just call me Tommo.’

  Ricky nodded as he walked away. Ricky stormed towards the other man. Before the man could open his mouth Ricky grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into his car.

  ‘Me and you need to have a chat.’ He twisted his mouth, but said nothing for a few seconds. Then whispered, ‘Has he gone?’

  The man he held looked over his shoulder and nodded and rubbed his forehead. ‘Ease up, Ricky, you don’t need to be that good.’

  Ricky loosened his grip. ‘Never mind your head – I’m in. Did you bring it?’

  The other man nodded.

  ‘Good. I’ve got a couple of hours so follow me to Canary Wharf and you can give it to me then. Plus I’ll give you the full SP on what I’ve heard from Mad Tommo so far.’

  ‘I don’t mean to rush you,’ the blonde walking next to Adam said as they moved down a flight of stairs ‘But I’ve got to go and look at some headstones . . .’ Her words ended on a croak followed by a sniff.

  Adam wanted to put his arms around her, but that was against bank policy. Never get emotionally involved with a client. But he felt bad leaving her in this distressed state. He stopped abruptly, startling her. ‘I’ve got the number of a really good grief counsellor . . .’

  ‘Thanks, but I’ve got that all sorted out,’ she cut in, her words falling rapidly in the space between them.

  ‘I know exactly how you’re feeling. My dog died last year and—’

  ‘Please.’ His mouth snapped into place, startled by her hard tone. ‘Just show me the deposit box.’

  Feeling slightly peeved at her manner Adam escorted her along a narrow corridor, towards a large door. He pulled out a bundle of keys. Unlocked the door. Adam noticed the sweat beading the woman’s forehead as her hand pressed her hair into place at the back of her head. He pushed the door back. Another corridor leading to another door.

  ‘You don’t believe in taking any chances here,’ she said, as she glanced down the corridor.

  ‘Only the best security at the K&I bank,’ he informed her proudly.

  They moved down the corridor, the click of her heels echoing loudly as she quickened her pace. They reached the door. He opened it revealing a six-foot plus security guard waiting on the other side. The woman next to him missed her step and stumbled.

  Adam’s manager looked closely at the computer screen. She raised her head and signalled with her hand for a colleague at a neighbouring desk to join her. The other bank employee quickly did her bidding. He leant over her shoulder as he too loo
ked at the computer screen. They looked at each other. Her colleague shook his head. She grimly twisted her mouth. She picked up the power of attorney papers and briskly made her way towards the exit. She paused in front of the security guard who waited against the wall. Spoke to him. When she exited the room he followed her.

  The security guard and Adam nodded at each other.

  ‘Finally here,’ Adam said as they moved past the security guard and approached yet another door. He opened the door to reveal a room. The same shape as the room upstairs but much smaller, with plain-coloured walls, containing only a single desk with two chairs positioned in the middle.

  Adam gestured to one of the chairs. ‘Please take a seat.’

  She followed his instruction and watched him walk towards a door set in the right-hand wall. He opened it and disappeared into another room.

  Adam’s supervisor stepped off the final stair. Walked briskly down the corridor with the security guard still behind her. She opened the first door and stepped inside. The security guard kept pace with her.

  Adam reappeared in the room carrying a steel box, the size of a vanity case. He placed it in front of Jennifer Hopkirk. She ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip as she stared hard at it. Her gaze flipped up as he held out a small key to her, which she eagerly took.

  ‘I’ll be waiting outside,’ he quietly informed her, his voice echoing in the almost empty room.

  She slotted the key into the lock.

  Adam’s manager and the security guard reached the other guard stationed next to the entrance of the second door. She barely looked at him as she pressed onwards towards the door leading to the room that connected to the room containing the safe-deposit boxes. As soon as she was through the last door she saw Adam leaning against the wall outside of the room. He sprang forward when he saw her.

  ‘Mrs Ahmed . . . ?’ He questioned, clearly surprised to see her.

  Without acknowledging him she past by and swept into the room. She watched Jennifer Hopkirk swing around to her, her hand on the key slotted into the lock of the deposit box and her other hand around the top of her bag.

  Mrs Ahmed shifted the power of attorney papers into her other hand. ‘I’m afraid I can’t let you have access to the box.’

  Jennifer Hopkirk shot to her feet, her hand grabbing her bag. ‘Is there a problem?’

  Mrs Ahmed moved towards her as she held the power of attorney papers with both hands. ‘I’m afraid there is.’

  The blonde stared at Mrs Ahmed. Then at the guard stationed at the door. Back to Adam’s manager. At the papers in the older woman’s hands.

  ‘The papers should all be in order.’

  ‘I’m afraid that our computer system is down and means we’re not going to be able to release the box today.’ She handed the power of attorney documents back over. ‘But if you come back tomorrow, with your ID this time, we should be able to assist you.’

  ‘That’s a shame but I understand. Thank you for your time.’

  She pushed past the security guard and calmly walked behind an apologetic Adam who escorted her back upstairs, where she bade him a crisp goodbye. The blonde crossed the reception. Walked out of the bank. She clutched her bag tight to her side as she quickly walked away. She carried on moving, the sun lashing heat on her back until she found the underground car park. Her walk lengthened into a stride as she moved past the cars until she found the one she was after. A red sports car. She tore off the blond wig revealing her own black hair knotted at the back. Whipped off the sunglasses revealing her stunning eyes. Bright and blue.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘What the fuck are you doing back here?’ Tommy said as he swept into the one-bedroom flat on the sixth floor of the tower block in Bow.

  Jo-Jo, his younger sister by two years, stared back at him with her arms folded across her chest. They’d kept contact with each other since she’d been thrown out of the house, speaking on the phone every week. Tommy knew that if his mum ever found out she would likely give him the full Stella King treatment

  He should shake her repeatedly for coming back, but instead he rushed forward and swept her off her feet into an all-round hug. She squeezed him back fiercely. She was so small, like a delicate doll that needed constant looking after. They’d been through so much as kids. Stuff they’d never told their mum. Stuff that had shaped the course of their adult lives. The only person that Tommy had ever cared about was his baby sister Jo-Jo.

  ‘You’re taking a chance, aren’t you?’ But he followed his words by sweeping her off her feet into another hug. He eased her back to the ground, but kept his hands tight on her shoulder. ‘She’s gonna kill you if she finds out that you’re back.’

  Jo-Jo shrugged herself free from his grip. ‘Two years is a long time.’ She let out a nervous laugh. ‘She must’ve forgotten all about it for now.’

  ‘Forgotten? Are you off your head? Mum doesn’t forget anything; it’s the secret of her success.’

  ‘It’s a free country, I can go where I want.’ And with those defiant words she headed into the living room.

  Her brother followed her, his eyes skimming over the almost empty room. ‘How can you stay in this dump anyway?’

  ‘The tenants I’ve been letting it to have let the place go a bit . . .’

  ‘Want me to find ’em and sort ’em out?’ She knew he would do it if she gave him the nod. He’d always been there for her, not like that bitch of a mum of theirs. No, she’d been too busy building up an empire to notice what happened to her kids every time they were left with the sitter she got to look after them. Jo-Jo snapped her thoughts away from the memories because if she carried on thinking about them she’d go crazy.

  ‘So you clean?’

  ‘Told you I was off the gear months ago. That’s one part of my life I won’t be going back to.’

  ‘You can’t stay around here because she’ll find you.’

  ‘I know.’

  Something about her reply worried him. ‘You ain’t thinking of going to see her? Are you sure you’re off the stuff?’

  She looked down at the thin carpet for a while. Then lifted her caramel eyes and gave him a bright smile. ‘Let me make you a brew.’ She twisted around, but he clamped his hand over her arm stopping her. ‘Don’t do it. Don’t go and see her.’

  Her features flattened into a bleak expression. Then she plastered the smile back on her face. ‘Only thing I’m doing at the mo is making a nice cup of tea.’ She pulled her arm free and glided out of the room and into the small kitchen. She breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t follow her. She popped the kettle on. Rummaged in the cutlery drawer. Pulled out a small knife. She waited for the kettle to boil. Then she poured scalding water over the knife’s sharp blade. She sat on the solitary plastic chair by the window. She rolled up the right leg of her jeans. Stared at the criss-cross of horizontal scars that covered her lower leg. She bent over looking for a patch of clean skin. Without another thought she flicked the knife against her leg. A single line of blood bubbled to the surface. She leant back and closed her eyes feeling a great rush of relief. Now she could think. As the blood dripped down her leg she thought of the one reason she’d come back. To claim her mother’s love. And God help anyone who got in her way.

  Daisy leant on her car in the underground car park as she let out a huge sigh and momentarily shut her blue eyes. She scratched her head. The bloody wig had been as itchy as hell. That, she decided, had been one of the scariest experiences of her life. No, the second most frightening, as her mind winged back to the horror of Angel’s slashed body in her office. Her finger rubbed furiously at the concealer and powder she’d used to disguise her beauty spot as she recalled how she’d plotted and planned over the weekend exactly how she was going to get try to get Charlie’s deposit box. The plan had all hinged on her resemblance to Charlie’s daughter. But Jennifer had blond hair while hers was black. She’d racked her brains last night thinking of a way forward. She could dye her hair? No, i
f she turned blond it wouldn’t be a disguise anymore. Next option had to be a wig. But where the bloody hell would she get a wig that quickly from? Her mind had raced a mile a minute as she’d tried to sort that one out. Then bingo: she realised who had more wigs than a high court judge – Misty. So she’d gone to the club early and used her key to get inside. Sprinted up to Misty’s office and checked through the cupboard where she knew Misty kept an emergency supply of clothes and accessories. She’d almost yelled out a triumphant ‘Yessss!’ when she’d seen the shelf with its display of wigs. Hairpieces in all colours and styles. She’d pulled down a buttermilk one with its punchy bob cut. As she’d slipped into her bag that’s when Misty had barged in on her. That had been touch and go because she didn’t like lying to Misty, even for a good cause.

  But she’d got away with it and had got on to the next step of her plan. Forging power of attorney documents. Getting the documents was easy, they were on the law firm’s general computer system. Getting Charlie’s signature had been trickier. That is until she’d remembered that each lawyer had a copy of their electronic signature in their personal computer. Finding Charlie’s hadn’t been a problem, but the appearance of the security guard when she was stuffing the documents in her bag had shaken her up. And then running into Randal Curtis outside Charlie’s office . . . Disguise and documents in place she’d been ready to rock ’n’ roll towards the bank.

  That was until the biggest bombshell of the day – Angel’s body. That had shaken her up so badly that she didn’t think she was going to be able to go through with it. Throughout the whole weekend all she could see in her dreams was Angel’s dead body. She’d woken up every time shaken and confused. But on Sunday evening she’d gathered her nerves. She had to find out what was in that safe-deposit box for Charlie’s sake. For her own. So she’d put in an early morning appearance at work, slipped out, then gone home, popped on her disguise and went to the bank where she’d played the grieving daughter to Oscar-winning level. She’d had the deposit box in her hand. Had held its key. Had . . .