by Emmy Ellis
Jimmy: Okay.
Watching all around her as she crept to the front of the house, and clutching the black bag, she let herself into the squat, the air tainted with something Jimmy must have cooked. Maybe instant noodles but definitely toast. She found him in the living room with Jason, who was awake, his face doing its best to heal, the blood and exposed flesh dried now. It appeared hard and uncomfortable, likely to crack if he tried to smile. His lip was worse, swollen and puffy. She’d sewn the slice in it tightly on purpose to give him maximum discomfort, extra pain to go along with that in his leg and face.
“Vuck ovv,” he said, clearly having trouble speaking.
She laughed, couldn’t stop it from roaring out, and Jimmy turned away to face the blind-covered window, grimacing. She dropped the bag and walked over to Jason, stared down at his ruined face, fascinated by the state of it, by the fact that she’d done this to him. The missing eyebrow and eyelids gave him a sinister air, some freak in an old-fashioned circus. Going by his body language, he hadn’t even bothered to tense in anger at her arrival, just remained slumped. Maybe his leg was so agonising he didn’t dare move.
“Are you ready to admit what you were going to do to me and Mam yet?”
He would have closed his eyes if he could, she was sure of it, shutting her out. How much was it getting to him being beneath her, so far down the pecking order now? His pride would be wounded more than his body. Him wanting to take over the estate was bad enough, but the lengths he was prepared to go to bothered her more. He’d planned to get them hooked on strong anti-depressants, drugging them so much they’d be in no fit state to work, then he’d take over as a ‘kindness’, all the while putting it about that they were so upset by Lenny’s death it had rendered them incapable.
What a disgusting man. He’d faked who he really was to Lenny, making out he was a good sort, taking the advice and fatherly gestures, all the while plotting behind his counterfeit smile.
He mumbled something.
“What was that?” She crouched and reached out, poking his ravaged cheek, stony against her skin. “I didn’t catch it.”
He roared in pain, his free leg jerking north, his pinned one jolting at the thigh. His scream reached a higher decibel.
“I expect you’re well sore,” she shouted.
Jimmy coughed, his mind undoubtedly conjuring what she could be doing to Jason, but there was no more torture in their future, at least not at the minute. Jason’s wail stopped abruptly, and he passed out, his head falling to one side. Fresh blood oozed on his shin. Idly, she wondered if his leg would go septic, if he’d eventually die from an infection if she didn’t kill him first. She strode to the bag and snatched it up, going to the kitchen. Bag pushed inside the furnace, she took a knife out of the drawer, returning to slice Jason’s trouser leg so she could get a good look at the wound.
Oh. The skin, as well as being a violent purple and swollen, was hairless. Did he shave them? What a strange bloke. And yes, something was definitely going on there with the start of an infection, yellow pus sitting around the nail head.
What did she care? He’d be dead soon anyroad.
Stupid dickhead, not keeping up with his tetanus jab.
She chuckled to herself and went to the living room doorway. “He’s out of it again, Jim.”
Her new employee turned to look at her. “What did you just do? I heard ripping.”
She pointed at her captive.
Jimmy spun to give him his attention. “Oh shit, that’s going nasty.”
She supposed seeing the large round end of a big nail embedded into a shin bone would be nasty, but to her it was justice, Jason getting what was owed to him. She thought of Lou’s weapon, all the nails. Funny how they’d both opted for those.
“It’ll probably get worse as the hours go on.” She shrugged. “I’ve got stuff to do until later tonight, but I’ll nip back when it’s dark. Maybe he’ll be more inclined to speak to me by then.”
“What do you want him to admit?”
“About drugging me and Mam, taking over, that’s all he has to say to me. Simple really. I heard it on the recording but want him to say it to my face. Try and get him to drink some water if he wakes up. I don’t want him dehydrated and dying on me. Right, I’m off. Catch you later.”
Outside, she checked the road and general area, then dragged herself around the back. The driver’s seat was heaven on her aching body, and she fired up the engine.
Home.
Sleep.
Then a double murder.
Chapter Eleven
Sharon Barnett was devastated, so much so her heart actually hurt with each beat, the area around it seeming hollow yet full of emotion at the same time, a confusing contrast. Karen, dead? It was surreal, felt untrue, yet there was no doubt she was gone.
Why had she been so stupid? Why couldn’t she let the estate go and accept it was no longer hers? Christ, they’d had enough years of Lenny running the place to get used to it. Some online article said you only needed to see or do things seven times for them to become ‘normal’ to you, so why hadn’t it worked for Karen? She’d always grumped about it, annoyed she hadn’t thought of what he had, ways to keep everyone in line, plus generating such massive revenue.
Sharon had told her time and again that Lenny had a business head on him, and money he’d earnt from owning the meat factory and selling the drugs had enabled him to buy up houses one by one, create a vast fortune, purchase the high-rise, get a mortgage for Joe’s wasted land, selling it off at a profit, purchasing Sculptor’s Field. No way would Karen have been able to do all that. Her desire to swipe up Lenny’s hard work, even going so far as to get Francis to sign all properties and money over to her—such a mad, ridiculous scheme—had meant her fatal downfall.
And now look, she’d been disappeared, supposedly moving farther north. Everyone knew damn well what that meant, and Sharon had been worried about having people coming round to ask questions now it had been aired in The Life (she’d cried so much while editing it for Doreen that she hadn’t been able to see properly). But no one had turned up. Cassie must have got to them all, warning them to leave her alone. That or they weren’t bothered Karen had left town. Some might even be glad.
Sharon stared out of her living room window at Karen’s place. Well, she couldn’t see it as such. A plain-sided, dusty white removal lorry had arrived outside it an hour or so ago, Cassie’s people emptying the place, which basically told everyone just how Karen had disappeared, although the information in The Life had made it clear already. The residents knew what ‘moving away’ meant.
What about her kids? They’d be shocked but weren’t silly enough to push Cassie for answers. Adults now, they were, and each rented a high-rise flat off Francis. A funny pair, they’d never seemed like they were Karen’s, born to the wrong parents, aloof and distancing themselves as soon as they were old enough. They barely came round to see her, not liking her working for the Graftons; they were snooty and wanted to break away from her, as if their common-as-muck mother embarrassed them.
No, they wouldn’t kick up a fuss. They’d be too bothered about how it would make them look to be associated with someone who’d needed to be dealt with in that way, ashamed their mam had done something so bad she’d had to be silenced.
Sharon would miss her pal despite being sick of her lately. They’d grown in different ways over the years, Karen stuck in time, thinking she was still young and able to boss her way around the Barrington as if she were in her twenties, well able to give someone a good old punch. Sharon, on the other hand, had mentally moved on from those days as soon as Lenny had appeared on the scene, glad she didn’t have to bully people or poke her nose into their business. She’d made out she was still interested—she didn’t want to get in Karen’s bad books—but deep inside, she was tired of the drama. She’d preferred the times they’d taken a Victoria sponge round to houses and helped people through the bad days. Tea and cake, the fixer of all issues, n
ot fists and mean words.
She’d been bloody lucky that Cassie had been lenient on her. Who’d told her Sharon was against taking the estate back and didn’t want any part of it? Who even knew, apart from her and Karen, what her friend had planned to do? As far as Sharon was aware, it was between them, no one else involved. Someone had Sharon’s back, and she’d like to thank them, but it wasn’t likely she’d ever find out who it was.
Had Karen been whispering in certain people’s ears without Sharon’s knowledge, asking them if they’d switch allegiance should she retake the crown? Dangerous, that, and she couldn’t imagine Karen being so lax in that department. People were loyal to Cassie and would run to her at the slightest sniff of foul play.
It had to be Brenda then, being a tall blade of grass—but then a grass she wasn’t if she’d done it for Sharon’s benefit, to stop Cassie hurting her. Sharon wasn’t dim, she knew damn well Karen had told Brenda shit she shouldn’t have, sharing secrets that were supposed to be kept quiet because Lenny had ordered it. Sharon couldn’t blame Brenda for opening her gob to Cassie. She’d been in deep with Lenny, classed as a friend as well as an employee, and she was in deep with Cassie an’ all. Who’d go against either of them if it meant meeting that Marlene woman? That was one of the main reasons why Sharon hadn’t wanted to reclaim the estate. She wanted to live, not be murdered by some unknown bint who must enjoy killing if she’d agreed to be paid to do it.
She shuddered and jumped at the sound of a man in a balaclava slamming the removal lorry’s back doors shut. It could be classed as normal, the blokes in those woolly masks, considering it was snowing and so cold, but this was a message from Cassie, showing the residents of the street just who was taking Karen’s stuff away: Look what happens when you break the rules.
Sighing, Sharon left the window and switched the telly on, her Spam, gherkin, and brown sauce sandwich not settling too well in her stomach. Maybe the bread was the culprit. Wheat was a bit of a bugger to her as she’d aged, but then again, the vinegar from the gherkins probably wasn’t helping, all that acid.
She hadn’t bothered going into work, not after she’d received such bad news from Cassie, and anyroad, she’d be putting in her notice tomorrow. At last, she could retire, and besides, work wouldn’t be the same without Karen there. They’d been in the supermarket from when it was a Kwik Save, but it was now an ASDA. So many memories. Best she end that chapter of her life and begin a new one.
She sat on the sofa and picked up her cheeky daytime vodka and tonic in lieu of a coffee (one of many she’d swigged), needing the alcohol to give her the strength to get through the coming minutes, hours, and days, getting used to a life without Karen in it.
Loneliness beckoned.
The local lunchtime news came on, Look North, with a blast of music that jarred Sharon’s bones, and she sat bolt upright at a picture of Mr Plod, Bob Holworth, in the top-right corner, her heart rate thundering. A new, blonde newsreader faced the camera, her features rigid, displaying no emotion, perhaps readying herself to deliver the latest.
“A police officer has disappeared in suspicious circumstances. A source close to the investigation said his patrol car’s last location was on the B6079, heading towards Worksop. After that, they lost contact with him.”
The woman stared at the viewers, stern, and a bit scary if Sharon were honest. She much preferred the weather lady. At least she cracked a smile.
“PC Bob Holworth’s last visit was at Grafton’s Meat Factory, one of his usual night shift patrol checks. Officers have been there to question the manager, Joe Wilson, who said: ‘Nowt has happened here for a night-time police visit to be necessary. All alarms were still set this morning when I arrived, so no break-in.’” Stern Blonde blinked as Bob’s image was exchanged for a pile of ash and wood, some bamboo canes in the background, sticking up as if waiting for a tent to cover them. “Also, earlier today, an allotment shed was burnt to the ground. A body was inside, that of ex-DCI Robin Gorley. With two police officers in the news, there’s speculation the cases are linked.”
She waffled some more, but Sharon wasn’t listening. What was going on? She knew Bob well, had warned him of any scuffles that were about to go down on the estate so he could make himself scarce, keeping him from having to cover owt up. If he wasn’t around when shit went down, he couldn’t report owt to his superiors, could he. Not that he would, Lenny had got to him. And as for Gorley, she had no clue why he’d be dead, in a shed of all places.
While normal people would take this news about Bob as a copper disappearing in the usual sense, not Cassie’s kind, people on the Barrington would know otherwise. Sharon was surprised it had made the news if Cassie had owt to do with it; she usually had things hushed up. Was she something to do with torching Gorley?
Which copper had blabbed to the press? Who had the bottle? And why would Bob need to vanish, Gorley set fire to? Had they gone against Cassie and she’d found out? Had Bob spotted something at the meat factory and threatened to tell all?
Sharon gulped her drink down and, despite her earlier remonstrations about no longer wanting to get involved in the weird, cult-like Barrington lot, old habits died hard, and she got up, stuffed her arms into her coat, and marched to Brenda’s in her slippers. She knocked, her toes getting cold from the snow seeping between them, and wished she’d put her boots on. It had taken ages for her feet to thaw when she’d gone into Brenda’s this morning.
Brenda opened up, her hair done in a nice chignon wotsit, a tight black leather catsuit covering a slender body Sharon had always been envious of. Without even saying a word, Brenda moved aside. Weird. If she didn’t know what Sharon wanted, she usually always asked outright on the doorstep. Had she heard about Bob and Gorley, too?
Sharon entered and beelined straight for the kitchen. She sat in the chair she’d been in earlier and shuddered, Cassie’s ghost sitting opposite, staring at her. Sharon blinked the woman’s mirage away.
Brenda waltzed in and leant against the worktop, arms beneath her tits. “What’s the matter?” She’d said it kindly. Maybe she thought Sharon needed a shoulder, a cup of tea and a slice of cake now Karen was gone.
No Victoria sponge or PG Tips would fix this.
“Bob’s disappeared, and that Gorley copper’s been found burnt to death in his bloody shed.”
Brenda frowned, her mind cogs working. “Bob? Which one? I know a few of those.”
“Mr Plod.”
Eyes wide, Brenda swallowed and glanced at the wall clock. “Oh shit. How did you find out?”
“It was on the news. Bob was driving towards Worksop then vanished.”
“I thought you meant proper disappeared.” Brenda huffed out a laugh. “Maybe he’s decided to fuck off—his missus is a right rum one, he’s probably had enough. What do you care?”
“I was just curious, and maybe Cassie needs to be told.”
“Trying to remain in her good books, are you?”
Sharon’s face flamed. “Well, yes, but she did tell me I had to keep my ears open, didn’t she. If she disappeared Bob and Gorley, why the fuck is it on the telly? A police source gave information. Someone’s leaking shit out.”
She told Brenda the rest, hoping she asked her to stay for the afternoon so she didn’t have to go home and face the rest of the day without Karen, but with Brenda all dolled up, that wasn’t likely.
* * * *
Spooked by what Sharon had told her, and worried life on the Barrington was about to get hairy if people were dropping Cassie in the shit—if she’d had owt to do with Bob and Gorley—Brenda left the kitchen and went into the living room, shutting the door. She swiped her work burner up off the coffee table and phoned Cassie—fuck sending one of the coded messages. This could be classed as a life-or-death situation, couldn’t it? Or extremely dangerous anyroad.
It rang several times, then, “What’s the matter?” Cassie asked.
“Bob Holworth. DCI Gorley, that wanker bloke. It was on the news Bob�
�s disappeared and Gorley’s been torched.”
“What?” Cassie didn’t screech, just uttered that word in a dull tone. She was angry, that much was certain.
“Do you think someone’s doing it to make a claim on the patch? Like, they’re causing trouble to let you know they’re around, showing you what they can do? It can’t be Jason, given what you told me, unless he’s in on it with someone else and they’re doing stuff on his behalf.”
“Fucking hell, the last thing I need is another person challenging me. How did you find out about the pigs?”
“Sharon’s come round and told me; she’s still here and wanted me to pass it on to you.” Brenda was dying to ask if Cassie was involved but didn’t dare. “What shall I tell her?”
“That it’s nowt to do with me.”
Oh. So who’s going round after coppers then? “It mentioned Bob had been at your factory, and Joe told them there wasn’t a break-in or owt. Just so you know, like. Sorry to say this, but why didn’t Joe tell you? The police might go to your mam’s, sniffing, asking questions.”
“Fuck’s sake. Thanks for this. I’ll warn Mam.”
The line went dead, and Brenda had a strong feeling Cassie knew exactly where Bob was, despite saying she’d had no hand in it. The question was, why had Bob and Gorley been dealt with? Bob had been the patch policeman for bloody years, always looking the other way if things went pear-shaped, always fudging his reports so owt nefarious wasn’t documented. Never had he seemed to want to piss Lenny or Cassie off. And Gorley, though a lecherous wanker (he’d tried it on with Brenda once in The Donny, and she’d stamped on his foot with her high heel, reminding him he had a wife called Melinda), had steered clear of owt Barrington-related if he could help it, except with Jess, of course, and he couldn’t very well bow out of that. She’d long suspected he was in Lenny’s pay.
Two policemen, gone. Earlier, Cassie had said she hadn’t had any sleep. Had she just lied to Brenda, making out she was innocent in all this? Had she dealt with Karen and Jason, then moved on to the two sides of bacon?
