by KERRY BARNES
‘We have a good enough reason to suspect she was responsible for Tracey Harman’s murder.’ He hoped that would stir some emotion and he could then barter Regan’s mother’s liberty.
‘If you suspected my muvver, you’d have had her down the nick, but, as far as I’m aware, she’s at home pruning her roses. Now, I suggest you get to the point or fuck off.’
Stoneham could see that there was no point in trying to use emotional blackmail with Regan. ‘I need you and your men back on the outside working for me, and before you laugh it off, take note. Last week in Bromley, we had two knifings. One was an old lady, who was attacked as she stepped off the bus, and the other was a twelve-year-old kid, who was similarly attacked on his way home from school. Seventeen pensioners were held at knifepoint – robbed and battered in their own homes. Luckily, none were killed. And a baby in a pram was snatched and held with a knife to his throat, all for eleven pounds fifty. These are just a few examples of what I’ve come to talk to you about, and, believe me, they are off the top of my head. Crimes like these are soaring.’
Stoneham clocked Mike’s lips turn down at the corners. He thought he may have hit a nerve, so he paused and waited.
‘And this meeting between us is your idea, is it?’
Lowry coughed and wiped his brow: the room was stifling.
Stoneham turned to Lowry. ‘Could you wait outside? I think Mr Regan may feel more comfortable with just myself present . . . and before you question my safety. . . ’ – he turned to Mike – ‘I think I am pretty safe. Do we agree, Mr Regan?’
Mike held up his huge hands and sighed. ‘Of course you are. I’m not a fucking caged bear, ya know!’
Lowry looked somewhat miffed by his boss’s request.
‘And, Lowry, ask one of the officers to bring us some coffee, please.’ He watched as the detective begrudgingly rose from his chair and left the room.
‘Right, yes, you surmised correctly. The initiative isn’t mine, and I won’t pretend otherwise because you’re a clever sod, and I won’t waste your time or mine.’
Mike suddenly smiled. ‘Good. I was wondering when the fuck you’d get to the point.’
‘Mr Regan, I need you on the outside. This gang contains real low-life, total scum. Muggings, shoplifting, and even the odd bit of drug dealing is pretty normal on a day-to-day basis, but what’s going on now is a whole new ballgame. I’ve got kids, and I mean kiddies, on a new drug called Flakka, old ladies are being murdered for their pensions, and gang-rapes of young girls are prevalent as well.’
For a moment, Mike seemed unfazed. ‘I want to know who initiated this meeting.’
Stoneham was quickly gauging the influence of the man. ‘The local MP, Rebecca Mullins.’
Mike laughed. ‘So, then, some toff has asked you to clean up the streets by using me as a vigilante?’
Feeling uncomfortable with those words, the Commissioner swallowed hard. Whichever way he dressed this up, the plain fact was that Regan would clearly spot bullshit a mile off. He knew he would have to speak Regan’s language for him to get anywhere. ‘Yes!’
Mike raised his brow and smirked. He hadn’t expected that reply. ‘So why would I put myself on the line for you or this Mullins bird?’
Stoneham knew he was getting somewhere at last. ‘Your freedom for starters. We will turn a blind eye to your own business in exchange for cleaning up the streets.’
As Mike chewed the inside of his mouth, he calculated the risks and whether he could even contemplate working for the Filth.
Stoneham read his mind. ‘I know it goes against the grain, I get that, but I also believe that you and I are on the same page when it comes to these sorts of crimes. Old-school gangsters have a moral code I believe. It’s thou shall not hurt women, children, and pensioners. Am I right?’
Mike laughed louder this time. ‘Jesus, you’ve been watching that film The Krays.’
‘No, actually, Mr Regan, I listened to my father. He was a detective in South-East London, and he learned the code from the likes of your father, Arthur Regan. So, like you, I’m also not what you assume.’
‘Fair play, Mr Stoneham.’
Mike’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and Stoneham could almost see the sternness in his eyes melt away.
‘I don’t want an answer now. Please think about it before you make a decision. But the deal is this. You, your son, and your firm – and, yes, of course, I know your associates are tight, as I’ve done my homework – will be released within a week. Your businesses will not be watched, the deaths of all the Harmans will be placed in the solved case file, and all I want in return is for my streets to be cleaned up. I would prefer the scare tactic and not more bloodshed, but we will cross that bridge when necessary. I will give you everything I have on these gangs and the rest is up to you. Now, I will be back next week for an answer, and, as I said, please would you keep this confidential? I mean, between us and your firm.’
Mike nodded. ‘Of course. I can see your problem, and I’ll keep schtum, so don’t worry on that score.’
Stoneham sat back, surprised that Regan was not playing games. He really was a straight-up person.
Lowry opened the door, holding two hot coffees on a tray. He watched in amazement as the Commissioner and Regan rose to their feet.
‘Sorry, Lowry. Our meeting is over.’
***
Brooke Mullins pulled the bed cover over her head as soon as she heard her mother entering the room.
‘Come on, sweet pea, you have to eat something. Hettie has made a wonderful chocolate cake with sprinkles on it.’
Just the shrill tone of her mother’s sickly, over-the-top voice grated on Brooke. At nineteen, she was annoyed with life in general, but the last three weeks had been sheer purgatory. The normal emotional teenager–parent issues had been well and truly put to one side. They were replaced by feelings of devastating anger, humiliation, and – worse than anything – pure fear.
In one fluid movement, she threw the pink daisy-print duvet off her head and sat upright. Her hair was sticking out in all directions, and her once fresh cherry blossom-coloured cheeks were now a wishy-washy grey colour and covered in a layer of grease.
Rebecca tried to stroke her daughter’s arm but was instantly shrugged off.
‘Sweetheart, I know what you’ve been through is so difficult, but you need to eat and . . . ’ she sniffed the air, ‘take a shower. Come on. Please get out of this bed. You will feel so much better.’
Like a deranged young woman, with brown rings under her eyes and the intense hate casting doom, Brooke spat at her mother, ‘Don’t you ever tell me that I will feel better. You have no idea what I’ve been through. And don’t you dare try to tell me it will be okay, because, Mother, it won’t. Now, leave me alone!’
Rebecca backed away. Of course, she didn’t know how her daughter felt, or what on earth was going through her mind. She felt her tears well up and her heart was heavy. ‘I know, darling, I know, but I am just trying to help. I will leave you alone then.’
Brooke heard the door close, and she pulled the duvet back over her head. Her mother and father were the last people she wanted to console her now. They’d never shown any real interest in her or her sisters. She and her siblings were more like a by-product or an accessory. Talking to her mother was like conversing with her former headmistress – cold, stiff, and stilted.
She didn’t care if she needed a bath, and she certainly didn’t need to fill herself with food – that would only result in vomiting it back up. The windows had to be kept locked, no matter how hot it was, and her door closed. The light was permanently on and a kitchen knife lay under her pillow. She trusted no one and probably never would, ever again. She hated herself and the world around her. Things would never be the same, ever. The vision of those wide-eyed men clawing at her like they were devouring a hog roast would be with her for the rest of her life. She couldn’t cry anymore; the tears had dried up, and now she was angry, but also terrified. Her drea
ms were gone, and she felt her life was over.
Rebecca crept down the stairs, her eyes filling up once more, recalling the moment the police had brought Brooke home. It wasn’t so much the ripped clothes and exposed breast covered by a police blanket, or even the claw marks down her face: it was the dead look in her once bright, shiny eyes that would forever haunt her. Her daughter hadn’t stood a chance. The little bookworm, with her oversized glasses perched on her button nose and her sweetness as she gracefully wandered about, almost on tiptoes, seemed to be a distant memory. A well-liked, clear-headed teenager, who had so many dreams for the future. She worked hard at uni and still ensured she had time to have fun with her friends.
As Rebecca entered the kitchen, she found Kendall, her daughter from her previous marriage, perched on a stool devouring Nutella on toast. Dressed in black leggings and a T-shirt with a derogatory logo on the front, Kendall ignored her mother and swayed to the music streaming through her Beats by Dre headphones.
‘Kendall, do you think you could try to get Brooke at least to eat something? I am so worried about her. The poor little thing, she won’t listen to me . . . ’
Rebecca watched as her daughter continued to stuff her face and sway her head. Suddenly, Rebecca slammed her hands down on the table, which made Kendall jump.
‘Take those headphones off!’
Slowly, Kendall did as she was told, but with a sneering, disapproving look. ‘What now, Mother?’
‘I said, would you talk to Brooke? She won’t come out of her room, and I am so worried. She won’t eat, she is so . . . Look, please try to talk to her. Would you?’
‘For fuck’s sake, she’s your kid, it’s your job. Anyway, I think she needs professional help, or she will carry on like this and just end up milking it.’
No sooner were those words out of her mouth than Rebecca snatched her daughter’s arm and pulled her awkwardly to face her. ‘How dare you say such a cruel thing! That poor girl was raped by three lads! Jesus. And you have the audacity to say she will milk it? You, Kendall Mullins, should be totally ashamed of yourself.’
Kendall shrugged her mother off. Her younger sister was no concern of hers. ‘Well, for your information, Mother, I am not ashamed of myself. And all the bloody time you and Alastair fuss over her, but deny her proper help as well, she’s never going to get her fucking shit together, is she?’
Rebecca looked at her daughter long and hard and shook her head. Her once charming child was now a rebellious twenty-year-old with a lousy attitude. ‘Your language, Kendall, is absolutely disgusting and it’s hurtful to hear, I have to say. And calling your father Alastair is so disrespectful, and after all he has done for you . . . ’
Instantly, Kendall hopped down from the kitchen stool, and squarely stood in her mother’s face, in defiance. ‘What he’s done for me? Hello! He’s a creep! I never asked to be taken away from my father and dumped into your so-called happy family, did I? I was fine where I was. Just because you felt guilty about leaving me behind and—’
Bam. Rebecca slapped Kendall’s face, and then she immediately regretted it. ‘I am sorry. Look, I didn’t mean . . . ’
Kendall didn’t even hold her cheek, although it bloody well stung; instead, she glared back with a glacial expression. If looks could kill . . . ‘Fuck off, Mother. You’re so pathetic, weak, and fucking stupid. Seriously, take a look at yourself. On the surface, the perfect wife and mother. Then strip back the facade.’
Rebecca wanted nothing more than to shut Kendall up, but she’d already gone too far with the slap.
‘Running around like everything is wonderful, when, really, you know fuck all about what your husband is up to. Then there’s Brooke going out of her mind, and Poppy . . . well, do you even know anything about the jumped-up secret squirrel? The truth be told, Mother, I am probably the most normal person in this shambles of a family. And just a warning: don’t you ever hit me again, or, next time, I’ll forget you’re my mother.’
Pushing past her mother, she reached the door and looked back. ‘Oh, and by the way, I am going to be moving in with my father next week. I am twenty, and I’m sick of you telling me I can’t go anywhere until I pay you back the university fees. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I just want to be a hairdresser. I’m done with you telling me I owe you. You’ll get all the money back from my tips.’
Rebecca gasped. ‘What? No, you mustn’t. I mean, look, please, Kendall, don’t do that, you will—’
‘Ruin my future and blot your social standing? Yes, I know, Mother, and does this fucking face look like it’s bothered? No! Fuck you and fuck your career as well. That’s all you care about. God forbid, I should be a hairdresser! Well, I’m not going into law, and I don’t give a shit about your precious career either.’
Standing in shock, Rebecca jolted as the front door slammed shut. Kendall was right, though. No matter how much she pretended that her eldest daughter was a rebellious, spiteful young woman, she also knew that every word coming out of the girl’s mouth was the sodding truth. Pushing Kendall into a professional career in law – demanding she take a post in chambers – had obviously run its course, and there was no way she could stop her leaving now. The family was falling apart, and, even worse, she was powerless to stop it.
***
Willie Ritz was holding the punchbag while Ricky was tearing into it. His T-shirt and hairline were dripping in sweat.
‘Cor, son, you can hammer this all right,’ said Willie, using all his strength to hold the punchbag still.
As they swapped positions and Willie began throwing punches, Ricky noticed how the scar that ran down the man’s face reddened. He was right when he said the quack had basically made a pig’s ear of it. Still, as much as Willie was frighteningly ugly, he was, as far as Ricky was concerned, kind on the inside.
Ricky was just strong enough to hold the bag, but as soon as his father walked into the gym, he let go.
Willie held his hands up. ‘No way I’m gonna be holding the bag for that fucker.’ He pointed to Mike, who, in turn, laughed.
‘Listen, Willie, can you meet me in me cell with Staffie and Lou? We need to talk.’
‘Er . . . and me, Dad?’
Mike gave Ricky a full cheek-lifting smile. ‘Goes without saying, my boy.’
‘What’s up, Mikey? Everything okay?’
Mike surveyed who was in the room and then looked back at Willie. ‘Yeah, of course.’
Willie knew then that it was serious. Between the lads, they understood every wink, nod, and expression – it was like an unspoken code. Growing up together from babies, they were as close as brothers.
***
An hour later, they were gathered inside Mike and Ricky’s cell. Ted Stafford and Lou Baker sat on Ricky’s bed, while Willie and Ricky sat on Mike’s. Mike shut the door and remained standing as if he was about to give a lecture. They all waited for the announcement.
‘So, I had a visit from the Police Commissioner, no fucking less.’
Willie licked his fag paper and raised his brow. ‘Oh yeah? What the ’ell’s that all about, then?’
‘Well, lads, he wants our help—’
Lou jumped in. ‘Since when do we ’elp the Filth?’ It was unusual for Lou to interrupt; he was usually the quieter one, who generally chose his words carefully. He was the man who could pull off acting like royalty, if need be.
‘My thoughts exactly, Lou, but here’s the thing. They have been overrun with crimes that not even the likes of us would condone, and it’s rife out there. The police haven’t got the manpower they used to have. It’s to do with politics and cuts or something like that, so there ain’t enough of the Ol’ Bill to bring these gangs to their knees.’
Staffie, who was Mike’s closest friend, scratched his bald head. ‘I dunno, I don’t get it, Mike. What’s it got to do with us, anyway?’
‘Listen up. We’ll be released early, all of us, in return for throwing our weight around and looking like we’re helping them, when, real
ly, we ain’t. I don’t know the exact details. The Commissioner will be back to visit me in a few days to discuss it a bit further. But, whatever, I ain’t said yeah to it. You know me. No fucking way would I help the Filth. But what if we agree to their deal, and then, once we’re out, we treat it like a game to our advantage? What d’ya say if we rough up a few scallies that we would anyway, and, in the meantime, we use their blind eye to make a fucking mint?’
Willie puffed on the end of his roll-up, and then he let out a smoke ring. ‘We ain’t grasses, and we ain’t the Ol’ Bill.’
Mike nodded in agreement. He’d expected this reaction. It was who they were. Grassing to the Filth was a no-no in their line of work. ‘Yep, mate, you’re right, but these little firms have not only been mugging pensioners but they’re into killing kids as well. A twelve-year-old boy was murdered on his way home from school. And, oh yeah, they’ve been gang raping young girls.’
Staffie sat up straight. ‘Shit! Fucking bastards.’
‘Yep. So, they may be villains, but, really, they ain’t like us, or like the real Faces in London. If these two-bit gangs think they can muscle in on my manor, then they’ll get a shock, and whatever happens, we won’t get nicked. See what I’m saying? We won’t be helping the law, we’ll be helping ourselves to take back our turf and run the little shites out of town. Let’s face it, we would do that anyway. I’ve been away a long time, and I wanna get back out there and take back what’s mine, as ya know.’
‘If we were to agree, how far will they let us go? And what’s really in it for us? I mean, what about our own business? Are they gonna turn a blind eye, or, after they get what they want, will we find ourselves back in the slammer?’ asked Lou.
Mike shrugged his shoulders. ‘The finer details, I don’t know, but, before I get another visit, I need to know what you guys want. Let’s face it, we could make a lot of money out of this. Think about it. We ain’t being informants, are we? And besides, we won’t be working for the Filth, ’cos if we’re clever enough about it, they’ll be working for us. They’ll give us tip-offs, and if I push ’em, they could give us information that’d work in our favour.’
