Dangerous Lady

by Martina Cole

  ‘As for our Carla . . . you dumped her, darling. You dumped her on me mother. So where you got your information from I don’t know. And Carla left my mother’s because my mother is like you. She wants to own people and Carla won’t be owned. Neither will I from now on.’

  Janine slowly pulled herself up from the floor.

  ‘You’ll take my son nowhere, Roy. I mean it. I’ll go to the police . . . I swear it, Roy. I’ll do for you.’

  He stared at her, disgusted.

  ‘You would and all, wouldn’t you?’ His voice was quiet.

  ‘Yes, I would. You’ll never turn my son into a Ryan. Not in a million years. I’d see you dead first.’

  Roy picked up his briefcase and walked to his son. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be back to see you in a few days.’

  Benny was crying and threw himself at his father. ‘Oh, please don’t go, Dad! Don’t leave me here with Mum and Nanny Ryan. I hate them . . . I hate them!’

  Roy pulled the boy close and looked at his wife. ‘See what you’ve caused, you bitch. SEE WHAT YOU’VE CAUSED!’

  Janine was staring at her son as if he had grown another head. Then, forcing herself to move, she went to him and tried to pull him from his father’s arms.

  ‘No, Dad. Please! Don’t leave me here with her. I want to go with you. Please, Dad. Please don’t leave me here.’

  As Janine tried to pull her son away from his father, Roy turned and punched her as hard as he could in the face.

  ‘Get your bloody hands off him!’ Roy was shouting again.

  Janine had been knocked backwards by the force of the blow, grabbing the edge of the kitchen table to save herself from falling. Her nose was bleeding profusely and she could feel her eye beginning to swell.

  ‘Son.’ Roy shook the hysterical boy. ‘I promise you that I’m not going to go anywhere. I’m gonna stay.’

  Janine opened her mouth and Roy pointed at her. ‘One more word out of you and I’ll commit a fucking murder. Yours! I’m staying here. This is MY house! Get it? I can’t leave this boy here alone with you, he hates you as much as I do. You’re nothing but a silly, vindictive bitch. You move to the spare room as from tonight, and if I ever get wind that you’ve tried to take this boy away from me, or this house, I’ll bury you.

  ‘I should have put a stop to your gallop years ago, with your sluttish ways and your delusions of grandeur. I’m sick to death of you! So now you know.’

  Roy held his son tightly. He should have put his foot down years ago. Instead he had let her have it all her own way, just to keep the peace. Well, no more.

  ‘Come on, son. We’ll go and get a McDonald’s, shall we?’

  Roy knew that Benny lived for McDonald’s. At this moment he would have given his son anything to stop the racking sobs that were shaking his body.

  He put his arm across his son’s shoulders and walked from the room. Janine’s face hardened. If it took her the rest of her life she would get even with him for this.

  In the car, Roy let Benny’s sobs subside before he spoke to him.

  ‘I’m sorry that I hit your mum, son. I lost me temper.’

  ‘I ha . . . hate her. I hate . . . her and Nanny Ryan.’

  Roy sighed. What a state of affairs! That would teach him to break his usual habits. He had gone home for a quick coffee and five minutes’ peace. Instead he had opened up a complete hornets’ nest. His son hated not only his mother but his grandmother as well.

  Benny sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘I do, Dad. They never leave me alone. You’re never there so you don’t see them. They’re both at me all the time.’

  ‘Well, I can promise you this much, son. I’ll be there for you in the future.’

  Benny tried to smile. ‘When I grow up, I want to be just like you, Dad.’

  Roy bit his lip. Good job Janine couldn’t hear him. He grinned.

  ‘We’ll see, son. We’ll see.’

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘I’m telling you, Sarah, that’s what happened.’ Janine wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘He walked out with little Benny and they didn’t come in till late.’

  ‘And Roy actually raised his hand to you?’

  ‘Yeah. Look at my face. Then when they finally came in he said that if I didn’t toe the line he would take Benny and move into Maura’s.’ Janine was crying again.

  Sarah put her arm around her shoulders. ‘He didn’t mean it, love.’

  Janine pushed her away. ‘Oh yes he did! I know he did.’ She put her face into her hands. ‘I have to get my Benny away from him otherwise Maura will get her claws into him and that will be that. Benny already thinks that the sun shines out of her . . .’

  ‘Listen, Janine. For all Maura’s faults, and God knows there are many, she wouldn’t harm the child.’

  ‘Not now maybe. But in the years to come, she will. She’ll have him in the family business. And I couldn’t stand that, Sarah. Not my Benny. My baby. He’s eleven now, but what about when he’s seventeen or eighteen? That’s not far away, is it? First he’ll go on the protection rackets. Then she’ll have him in the betting shops. Then the hostess clubs. Where will it all end? I don’t want my son shot like yours. Can’t you see that? I don’t want to be taken to the morgue to identify my son’s remains.’

  ‘Calm yourself down, Janine, that’s not going to happen.’

  ‘How do you know? You’ve already buried four sons!’

  Sarah was silent as she digested the logic of Janine’s argument. And she had to admit to herself that the girl was right. If little Benny went the same way as his father and uncles . . . And aunt. Oh, yes, she mustn’t forget his aunt . . . that is what would happen.

  The other boys were all living with girls. Only Leslie had married his. They would all have children, the Lord willing, and what would be the end result? They would eventually take over where their fathers left off.

  ‘Listen, Janine. I promise you now that that will never happen to Benny. Not if I have anything to do with it.’

  She made another of her famous pots of tea and finally, after calming Janine down, sent her back to her own house. Alone, Sarah thought about what Janine had said. It was odds on that Benny would eventually go into the so-called ‘business’. All the grandchildren would, unless Maura and the others were stopped.

  Her husband had had control of the boys when they were younger. He had taught them how to lie, cheat and steal. How to be ‘hard men’. Now look where it had got them. Four of her sons had been brutally murdered. Not a day went by but she thought of them all. Even Michael, as a small boy. In her mind’s eye she saw him when he was a child, when Benjamin used to take him to the bombed-out houses.

  She looked around her kitchen. It was nice. Nice and clean and modern. A far cry from the days of cockroaches and squalor, when they had coats on the bed to keep them warm and only a thin stew to fill up their ever-empty bellies. Oh, they had come a long way since then, and in her own fashion she had been proud of Michael’s determination to lift himself out of the slums. Until the killing had started. When Anthony had died, she had died a little bit herself. And Benny’s death, her lovely, good-natured Benny who was always in trouble of some kind but always laughing . . . his death had broken her more than any of them. Then Michael, then Geoffrey. She could never allow that to happen to any of her children again. Or her grandchildren.

  She got up from the table and glanced at the clock. It was just on one. She had plenty of time. Benjamin was drinking in the Kensington Park Hotel and would not be back for hours. She went to the phone in her hall and dialled the number she had taken down after Michael’s funeral. She had got the number from Directory Inquiries, and now she knew why. She had taken it down for just such an occasion as this. It was the number of Vine Street Police Station.

  ‘Good afternoon, Vine Street.’ The clipped impersonal voice crackled in her ears.

  ‘Can I speak to Detective Inspector Terry Petherick, please?’ Sarah’s voice was quavery and nervou
s.

  ‘Who’s calling?’

  ‘I . . . I would rather not say. I . . . I have some information for him.’

  ‘Hold the line, madam, and I’ll see if he can take your call.’

  The line went silent, and Sarah was beginning to wonder if she was doing the right thing when a deep male voice asked how he could help her.

  Terry Petherick was putting on his sports jacket, ready to go to lunch. His friend and colleague Cranmer called to him as he was leaving the office.

  ‘Hang on, Tel. There’s a call for you. Some woman. She won’t leave her name.’

  Cranmer held the phone out. Terry walked across the crowded office, his heart beating fast. Surely it could not be Maura? The sensible part of his brain pooh-poohed such an idea but the illogical part hoped and prayed that it was her.

  ‘Hello, Petherick here.’

  ‘This is Sarah Ryan.’ The second name was barely audible.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Maura Ryan’s mother.’

  It was a Ryan but not the one he wanted.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I want to see you, in private like. I have some information. You must keep this secret, though. Some of your men are on my daughter’s payroll.’

  Terry frowned.

  ‘That’s a very serious allegation.’

  Sarah swallowed deeply and closed her eyes.

  ‘I have certain papers in my possession that I think you would be interested in.’

  ‘I see. So you want to meet me, is that it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. But you mustn’t let anyone know what you’re doing. Believe me when I tell you these papers could incriminate a lot of people. Do you know Regent’s Park?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ll meet you there Saturday. In the Zoological Gardens, outside the cafeteria, at three.’ Sarah replaced the receiver before he could answer. She was sweating profusely.

  Terry stared at the telephone.

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Mind your own business, Cranmer!’ He tried to make his voice jocular. ‘I’m off for my lunch. See you later.’

  As Terry left the police station and went to his car he was intrigued. What could Sarah Ryan, the well-known matriarch of the Ryan family, want with him? He knew that Geoffrey Ryan’s murder was not even really under investigation. How they managed to get away with all they did was a mystery in itself . . . or was it? He had often thought that one or two of his colleagues were on the take. Not just because they had plenty of money, though that was one sign, but because the Ryans always seemed to be one step ahead of the police. He knew from experience that knowing someone was guilty was one thing, proving it a different thing altogether. He was sure that the Ryans had inside information. Well, he would know when he met Sarah Ryan . . .

  If only he was meeting Maura! But she had come a long, long way since the last time they had met. She was into the Ryan businesses up to her pretty little neck. They were further apart now than ever before. The word on the street was that Maura had taken over from Mickey with all guns blazing.

  Suddenly he was not very hungry. All he really wanted was something that he had tasted many years ago. Like Adam and Eve, he preferred forbidden fruit.

  Sarah put down the telephone and went back to her kitchen. Her heart was beating a tattoo inside her body. She had started the ball rolling, and she was glad. She would end her daughter’s reign of terror. As she set about making her husband a meal, she thought again about what Janine had said and hardened her resolve. She would sacrifice her sons and her daughter if it saved at least one person from being destroyed. And if little Benny was to be saved, then she was the only one to do it.

  It wasn’t until much later that she remembered that the reading of Michael’s will was to take place the next day, Friday.

  Sarah sat in the solicitor’s office with her husband. She sat well away from her only daughter and four remaining sons, as if they carried a fatal disease.

  The solicitor, Derek Hattersley, was more nervous than the people in front of him. He kept having to blow his nose. This was a very difficult will. In his experience each member of a family regarded himself as the rightful chief beneficiary. He cleared his throat and began to speak.

  ‘I must tell you all beforehand that the bulk of Mr Ryan’s estate goes to just one person. He had, however, made some very substantial bequests to you all.’ He smiled, trying to bring a note of lightness to the occasion. The only person to smile back was Benjamin Ryan and Derek Hattersley was aware that the man was slightly drunk.

  ‘I’ll start then.’ He cleared his throat again noisily and began to read. ‘ “I, Michael David Ryan, being of sound mind, leave everything I own, other than the few bequests I have detailed, to my sister, Maura Ryan.”

  Derek Hattersley glanced around the assembled family and was surprised to find that not one person had changed expression. All were as blank-faced as they had been when they arrived. But he reminded himself that these people were also criminals. They would not be the type to show their emotions anyway. He took a deep breath. If they wanted to fight about it, they could do it amongst themselves. He would not get involved.

  ‘ “I leave her all my properties and holdings. I also leave her two thirds of the monies in my bank account. The rest is to be shared between my mother and father and my brothers. I leave twenty thousand pounds each to my niece Carla Ryan and my nephew Benjamin Anthony Ryan. This is to be put in trust for Benjamin Anthony until he is twenty-one. Carla Ryan may have access to her money immediately. I also leave fifteen thousand pounds to my great-nephew Joseph Michael Spencer, also to be held in trust until he is twenty-one, and twenty thousand pounds to Gerry Jackson my closest friend.” ’ Derek Hattersley blew his nose again and looked at the people in his office.

  ‘Mr Ryan was adamant that the will be as short as possible and in his own words. He wrote the will himself and I drafted it for him. He also left two letters to be given out on this day. I have no knowledge whatsoever of their contents.’ He relaxed, feeling he had extricated himself from any tricky situation that might arise. ‘The letters are addressed to his mother and his sister.’ He nodded at each woman as he spoke.

  Still nobody said a word. Then Sarah asked in a shaky voice, ‘Where’s my letter?’

  ‘I have it here, Mrs Ryan.’ He passed the long white envelope to her, and Sarah stared at her dead son’s small close-knit writing.

  ‘I want my share of his money to go to the police widows’ fund.’

  Roy was stunned.

  ‘You can’t do that!’

  ‘Oh yes I can, Roy Ryan. I want none of his blood money.’ She picked up her handbag and, jerking her head at her husband to follow, left the office.

  Derek Hattersley blew his nose again. It was now red and shiny. He passed Maura’s letter to her and she thanked him politely.

  ‘If you would be so kind as to sign some documents . . .’

  ‘Certainly.’ Maura smiled at him.

  Twenty minutes later they all left the office.

  ‘Well, that’s that then, Maws. Mickey’s last will and testament.’

  ‘Yeah, Garry. It’s the final parting, ain’t it?’

  Leslie put his arm around her. ‘Cheer up, girl. Mickey wouldn’t want you moping.’

  Maura tried to laugh. Leslie trying to be tactful was not a very pretty sight.

  ‘Let’s all go and have a good drink!’ This from Lee.

  ‘Sounds good to me. What about you, Maws?’

  ‘All right then, Roy. Let’s go back to the club. There we can drink for free!’

  Sarah and Benjamin were in the back of a black cab. Benjamin was annoyed.

  ‘You’ve got too bloody much of it, Sarah. They’re your own flesh and blood, yet thanks to you I hardly ever see them nowadays.’

  She crossed her arms over her chest.

  ‘You should think yourself lucky! They’re nothing but bloody criminals. Mind you, that shouldn’t worry you
, should it?’ Her voice was sarcastic. ‘You’re no better. I’ve been on this earth for seventy years, and I’ve spent over fifty of them years with you. Eighteen I was when you got me pregnant, Benjamin Ryan. Eighteen! And I stuck by you, no matter what you did. I stuck by you. And for what? What? To bring a crowd of bloody hooligans into the world, that’s all.’

  She looked out of the taxi window at the passing people, all living lives that did not touch hers.

  Benjamin scowled, his leathery old face more wrinkled than usual.

  ‘You make me laugh with all your “holy joeing”. When you was eighteen, Sarah Ryan, you was what would be termed today “a right little raver”!’

  ‘I was not!’ Sarah’s voice was incredulous.

  The London cabbie was listening avidly to the old people in the back of his taxi and had difficulty in keeping his face straight.

  ‘Were so!’ Benjamin’s voice had the truculent note that grated on Sarah’s nerves.

  ‘Oi, mate!’

  ‘Yeah.’ The cabbie’s voice was full of laughter.

  ‘Do you know the Bramley Arms?’

  ‘You hum it, son, and I’ll play it.’

  Benjamin scowled deeply at the cabbie. ‘None of your sauce. Just drop me off there. You can dump her where you like.’ He pointed at Sarah with his thumb, leaving her silent and tight-lipped all the way back to Notting Hill.

  Once back inside her house Sarah made herself a pot of tea. Taking it into the lounge, as she now called her front room, she poured herself out a cup. Then sitting in her chair by the fire, she opened Michael’s letter. Trust Benjamin not to be interested in his eldest son’s last communication. All he was interested in was the money the boy left. She began to read.

  Dear Mum,

  I am writing this letter to you because I feel that there are many things that have to be said. I know that my life was not what you wanted for me, but it was the path that I chose and I do not regret one day. The only regret I have is that I loved you, Mum, and it hurt me when we fell out with one another. I understood how you felt about Benny, as I loved him as well. If you are reading this then I am with him and Anthony, and gone from your world. I want you to know that I will miss you more than anyone.