Tanner Trilogy 03 - Backstreet Child

by Harry Bowling

  Gloria looked round the room in desperation. Her chair was facing the window; a tall vase sat on the windowsill. She could feel the bonds beginning to bite into her swollen hands and she tried to move her fingers. The rope from her neck to the back of the chair had been passed over her tethered hands and she started to search for it by spreading her fingers, at the same time arching her back still further in an attempt to loosen the rope. Suddenly she felt it and managed to curl her thumb round it. If she could hold it and stop it tightening any more, she might be able to jerk the chair towards the window.

  Gloria took a deep breath and moved her hips forward in a quick jerk. The chair moved an inch or so and she gasped with the effort. The rope had not tightened any further and Gloria took heart. It was going to be a painful task, she realised, but it was the only way.

  Sammy McCarthy chuckled to himself as he sat drinking Guinness from a pint bottle. It had been a good day and there had been very little work involved. That businessman would have been a little upset had he known that Gloria wasn’t going to receive any clients that evening anyway, but he was well able to afford the pound note he had passed over, Sammy decided.

  The soft music coming from the wireless was lulling the caretaker to sleep and the sound of smashing glass and something shattering in the street outside jerked him up sharply.

  ‘Not anuvver bloody warrin’ family,’ he said aloud as he hurried out of his ground-floor flat into the street. ‘Oh my good Gawd!’ he gasped as he saw the smashed vase at his feet and Gloria’s head hanging through the broken window above him.

  Sammy dashed up the flights of stairs, scared that Gloria would cut her throat on the broken glass before he could get to her, and he was gasping for breath as he charged his way into her flat.

  A little later Gloria sat recovering as Sammy rubbed her lifeless hands and feet.

  ‘Yer was lucky yer didn’t get more than a scratch from that glass. I’ll personally take that evil git apart limb from limb,’ he growled. ‘Just you wait. I’ll ’ave ’im screamin’ fer mercy.’

  Gloria suddenly looked at him, her deathly white face full of fear. ‘Sammy, there’s two young kids in deadly danger from that evil git. I must warn ’em.’

  Nellie had seen the worry on everyone’s face and Carrie had been forced to tell her everything that had happened. Now the old woman sat sipping a cup of tea, her face white and drawn. ‘Who would ’ave done such a terrible fing?’ she said. ‘It was that photo in the paper, that’s what done it. I never ’eld wiv’avin’ yer photograph in the newspapers. I fink it asks fer trouble of one sort or anuvver.’

  ‘Now, don’t upset yerself, Mum,’ Carrie implored her. ‘We’ve got ter stay calm fer Rachel’s sake.’

  At six o’clock the gate bell sounded and Joe hurried out to answer it. When he returned, Gloria and Sammy were with him, and his face was red with anger. ‘This is Gloria Simpson, an’ yer better listen ter what she’s got ter say, Carrie,’ he told her, his hands squeezed into tight fists. ‘It’s Frank Galloway who’s got Rachel.’

  ‘Frank Galloway!’ Carrie gasped, hardly believing her ears.

  ‘Yer fella told me yer daugher’s bin taken,’ Gloria blurted out. ‘That’s what I come ter warn yer about but I’m too late.’

  Carrie motioned Gloria and Sammy to sit down, and everyone listened in horror as the Rotherhithe street woman told them what had happened.

  ‘’E kept ’oldin’ ’is ’ead like ’e was in agony,’ she told them. ‘But it was ’is eyes that terrified me. I can still see ’em.’ She turned to Tony. ‘I’m sorry about yer muvver, Tony. That evil Galloway’s got a lot to answer for.’

  Tony was sitting numb with shock at what he had just heard and he merely nodded. Carrie hurried to Gloria’s side as the distraught woman lowered her head and burst into tears, while Sammy sat upright in his chair, feeling partly responsible for everything by allowing the madman to get to Gloria. Suddenly he looked up at Joe. ‘I’m wiv yer in this,’ he growled.

  Joe was already putting on his coat. ‘ ’E might be ’oldin’ Rachel at ’is yard, though I doubt it,’ he said quickly. ‘We’ll ’ave ter try there though, we don’t know where else ter look.’

  Joe and Tony hurried out of the house with Sammy McCarthy, Gloria’s warning ringing in their ears. ‘Be careful, remember ’e’s off ’is ’ead.’

  The three hurried out onto Jamaica Road and it was not long before they reached Wilson Street. They walked down to the padlocked yard. Joe peered through a gap in the wicket gate and then turned to Tony and Sammy. ‘It looks all quiet inside, but Galloway could be in there,’ he said. ‘The wicket gate’s not fastened from the outside.’

  ‘Gis a leg-up an’ I’ll go over,’ Sammy volunteered.

  Tony was burning with hatred for the man who had wanted to kill his mother, and with a sudden cry he took a running jump and his hands found the top of the gate. With little effort he pulled himself up and rolled over, dropping out of sight of the two older men. His heart was pumping fast as he crossed the yard and reached for the handle of the office door. Suddenly the door opened quickly and he was grabbed by his coat lapels, a hand going round his throat. He barely saw his assailant before he was spun round with brute force and wrestled to the floor. The man’s heavy bulk was bearing down on him painfully. ‘Who are yer an’ what yer doin’ ’ ere?’ the man growled at him.

  Tony looked up into the huge flat face staring down at him. ‘I’m lookin’ fer that bastard Gallo way ,’ he gasped defiantly.

  ‘Well, Galloway ain’t ’ere,’ the man replied, easing his weight from the young soldier.

  ‘Who are you?’ Tony asked, gingerly rubbing his bruised throat.

  ‘Let’s say I’m someone who’s lookin’ fer Galloway too. I’ve bin waitin’ fer ’im ter come back ’ere wiv the dosh ’e owes me an’ my pals,’ the big man replied, getting up from the floor.

  Tony got to his feet and stared at the man. ‘I’ve gotta find ’im quick,’ he said urgently. ‘ ’E’s gone off ’is ’ead, an’ ’e’s kidnapped my fiancée.’

  The man turned towards the door as the sound of Joe’s voice carried into the yard. ‘Who’s wiv yer?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘It’s me gel’s stepfarvver an’ a friend,’ Tony told him.

  The man crossed the yard, with Tony following on his heels. He slid the bolt of the wicket gate and ducked out into the street.

  ‘Let’s go find Alan Wichello,’ he said simply.

  Rachel had stumbled onto her knees as she was pushed into the filthy storeroom and she screamed out to Frank Galloway as the door was slammed shut on her. She clambered to her feet and rubbed her grazed knee. In the dim light that came down from a high barred window she looked around at the room. It was empty apart from a wooden bench on one side and a row of bare shelves on the other. A naked wire hung from the ceiling and the light switch was hanging down off the wall. The floor was littered with cardboard and scraps of paper and the place reeked of decay.

  Rachel had realised very soon after getting into the taxi that Frank Galloway was mad, and that she would have to remain calm and not agitate him in any way if she were to have any chance of survival. Help would come, she knew, but they would have to find her first, she thought with sudden panic. It could take days. She tried the door but she could tell that it was securely bolted from the outside. The window was too high to reach and it was barred. Rachel involuntarily brought a hand up to her mouth as she looked down at the paper and cardboard strewn around the floor, suddenly realising that there could be rats nesting there. She crept over to the empty shelves and found a loose length of wood which she wielded like a club as she very gingerly moved the litter with her foot. When she found nothing, she leaned against the bench, trembling with the very thought of having to kill the things.

  For what seemed an age, Rachel stayed pressed against the wooden workbench, trying to stay calm. They would all be looking for her now, she told herself. She would have to help them locate her s
omehow. What could she do, though?

  Suddenly she stood up straight and went over to the empty shelves, picking up another length of wood. Working slowly and as quietly as she could, she began prising the shelving loose, and after several minutes she had succeeded in removing two long battens. She pulled up her skirt and tore a strip from her cotton slip, using it to bind the two lengths of wood end to end. Very carefully she lifted the long pole to the window and prodded at the glass. She tried again and again until her arms were exhausted, but it was thick factory glass and resisted all her efforts to break it.

  Rachel sat down on the filthy floor and rested her head in her hands, willing herself not to give way to her fear. Tony would find her. He would find her somehow, she told herself.

  Alan Wichello had been phoned and he joined the small group who were waiting in a little pub off Jamaica Road. After he had introduced himself, he sat down and opened his wallet. ‘Get us all a Scotch, Jim. I think we could all do with one,’ he told his associate. ‘I want to get the drift.’

  By the time Jim returned with the drinks, Alan Wichello had been briefed and he was stroking his chin thoughtfully. ‘Now let’s think this thing out,’ he said, toying with his glass. ‘We know that Rachel was taken by taxi from your yard, and we know that she wasn’t taken to the Galloway yard. Now from what this prosser told you, Galloway was desperate for somewhere to hole up in. Would he take the girl back to the prosser’s flat?’

  Sammy shook his head. ‘I’m sure ’e wouldn’t go there. ’E knows I keep me eye open fer the women an’ I’d wanna know what ’e was doin’ wiv the gel,’ he replied.

  Alan looked at Sammy with distaste. ‘Pity you didn’t do your job properly in the first place,’ he said quickly, turning to his helper. ‘Jim, go with Sammy here and check out the prosser’s flat. Hang around there in case he shows up, but keep out of sight. Remember, the man’s crazy and we don’t know how he’s thinking. He could be out to silence her.’ The two men left and Alan looked slowly from Joe to Tony. ‘We’ve also got to remember that Rachel knows who he is, so we’ve got to find her quick,’ he added, voicing the fear that was already eating into Joe and Tony.

  ‘There’s a lot o’ derelict ware’ouses an’ wharves on the riverside,’ Joe said, sighing with frustration. ‘Rachel could be in any one o’ those.’

  Alan Wichello suddenly gulped his drink and put the glass down with a bang. ‘You’ve just give me an idea. I won’t be a minute,’ he said, getting up and taking some coppers from his trouser pocket.

  Joe and Tony watched as the bookmaker went to the bar and exchanged a few words with the publican, then they saw him disappear behind the counter. A few minutes later he was back. ‘C’mon, chaps, I think we’re on a winner. I’ll explain in the car,’ he said urgently.

  Joe and Tony followed him out of the pub and within moments they were being driven towards Rotherhithe Tunnel. Alan sat back behind the wheel, staring straight ahead as he steered the Bentley along the quiet Jamaica Road.

  ‘You got me thinking when you mentioned the derelict warehouses,’ he said, glancing briefly at Joe. ‘There was mention of forming a local consortium at our lodge some time ago. Certain members were talking about raising capital to renovate a riverside warehouse and turn it into a furniture factory. Galloway was a member of the lodge at the time, though he’s since resigned. He was one of the people interested in the project. I couldn’t remember exactly where the property was, so I phoned a pal of mine who was involved. He told me it’s in Wapping and I’ve got the directions. Now you realise that this is a long shot,’ he said with emphasis. ‘But I remember Galloway being enthusiastic about the property at the time, and I remember him saying that he had looked it over, so we could be on the right track, fingers crossed.’

  Joe turned to Tony as the car drove through the Rotherhithe Tunnel. ‘I owe young Rachel,’ he said. ‘I want the first chance with Galloway.’

  Tony smiled bitterly. ‘After I’ve finished wiv Frank Galloway, you can ’ave ’im,’ he said in a gruff voice. ‘I’ve got two good reasons ter be first, Joe. I’m gonna marry Rachel, an’ remember it was Galloway who set my ’ouse alight. Galloway’s mine.’

  Alan lifted one hand from the wheel and wagged his finger. ‘You two had better not forget that Frank Galloway’s crazy, and that makes him very dangerous,’ he reminded them. ‘Besides, he might have gone back to the prosser’s flat. If so, you can rest assured Jim’ll get him.’

  The car came out of the tunnel and swung down into the narrow riverside lane. ‘Here we are,’ Alan said, pulling up at the kerb. ‘Now let’s watch each other’s backs and keep our wits about us. If he’s here, we’ll have him.’

  The three men walked cautiously into the litter-strewn yard and Joe spotted the opening in the brickwork. ‘This looks like a way in,’ he said.

  Frank had started to feel more at ease after crossing the river, for he knew that Wichello did not have any influence in east London, but he had to go back. He had been stupid to tell Gloria about killing her friend Lola. She, too, would now have to be silenced for good.

  He took a taxi back to Rotherhithe and was pleased to see that there was no sign of Sammy as he arrived at the buildings. When he let himself into Gloria’s flat, panic seized him – she had somehow managed to get free. Everything was starting to go wrong again, he groaned to himself, squeezing his temples to ease the pain that came back to torture him.

  As he hurried out of the buildings, he saw a taxi turning into the street and he rushed across into an alley opposite which led towards the tunnel. It was them, he thought. They were coming for him. He must get back to Wapping right away. He ran along to the tunnel steps and dashed down the footpath. There was no more money for taxis.

  He hurried along the smoky tunnel, trying to focus his mind on what he had to do. They would pay the money for the girl and then he would get right away, from the ailing business, from Bella, from everyone, and he would start afresh someplace where nobody knew him. Once this was over, he would be able to rest and the pain would leave him, he felt sure. It was blinding him, making it difficult to think clearly, but he knew instinctively that he had to cover his tracks. They would get the girl back but, like Gloria, she would have to be silenced first. Frank stopped in his tracks, suddenly remembering that he had not killed the prostitute. But he hadn’t been able to. He remembered now. She had gone when he got back. If only this headache would stop pounding, he groaned as he hurried on once more.

  At the end of the tunnel he turned down the path towards the warehouse and as he ran towards it he saw the Bentley parked at the kerb. His heart missed a beat as he recognised the car. Wichello was in the warehouse waiting for him, he realised. Well, he would deal with him as well as the rest. They were all the same. Everyone was against him but he had to survive somehow. He felt the knife in his belt as he crept silently across the yard and into the building, reckoning that as he was familiar with the layout, he had the edge.

  As he tiptoed into the dim interior he saw the three figures in front of him and moved quickly into an alcove. He watched them turning round and coming back towards him. He knew they were looking for the stairs and would have to pass him. He slunk deeper into the shadows and waited. He could see that Wichello was leading the way, followed by Joe Maitland and Tony O’Reilly who was bringing up the rear. Frank drew his knife and as the young soldier came abreast of him, he suddenly lunged out. Tony uttered a startled cry and staggered to his knees holding his side. His two companions turned to see Frank running away into the shadows. Joe bent down to Tony, but he waved him away. ‘I’m all right. Get ’im!’ he groaned.

  Joe hesitated as he saw the blood oozing from between Tony’s fingers, but the young man was insistent. ‘Don’t let ’im get away!’ he shouted.

  Alan was already in pursuit and Joe hurried after him. They ran up the long flight of stairs and as they reached the next landing, they heard the sound of bolts being slid and then a scream. They could see Frank clearly
now. He was standing in the middle of the warehouse floor, holding Rachel with one arm round her waist and the carving knife pressed against her chin.

  ‘Come any closer and I’ll cut her throat,’ he shouted.

  ‘Yer finished, Galloway,’ Joe shouted back. ‘Let ’er go.’

  The bookmaker laid his hand on Joe’s arm. ‘Careful. Let me talk to him,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Go home and wait for my call, like I told you,’ Frank called out.

  ‘All right, let the girl go and you and I can have a talk,’ Alan said calmly. ‘You must see the sense in it.’

  ‘Sense nothing. I’m done with the lot of you. You’re all against me,’ Frank shouted.

  ‘He’s really cracked up,’ Alan hissed to Joe.

  Through her fear Rachel saw Tony staggering out of the shadows, holding his side, soaked in blood. He walked slowly towards them, bent almost double, and Rachel screamed, ‘Tony! Tony!’