Blood Daughter: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Three (Flesh and Blood series)

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  John, his van and Kieran’s gold were long gone.

  On the other side of the tunnel, a grinning John took the first turning into Poplar and parked. As expected, his mobile rang. It was Kieran. He ignored the call. Then it rang again and it wasn’t Kieran this time, so he took it.

  ‘We crashed the cars and stopped the traffic,’ said one of the guys he’d paid to make things happen in the Tunnel. ‘The geezer on the bike couldn’t get through and he’s long gone. He drove up the ramp, came down the other side and headed south.’

  ‘Probably going to Dartford or Rotherhithe then. Fat lot of good that’ll do him. Have you had any trouble with the law?’

  ‘Nah, the cars got towed out of the way by the Tunnel boys but they still haven’t reopened it yet. I’m afraid them ol’ bangers are totalled. Hell of a queue here; it’s going back miles.’

  John laughed. He knew all about queues at the Blackwall but this one was for a good cause. What a prat Kieran was. Fancy thinking that John Black of all people wouldn’t realise he might be followed. ‘Alright boys, a job well done and you can go and pick up your lifts home. I’ll settle up with you for the cars anon.’

  Satisfied, John set off northwards, taking back roads and still checking his rear view mirror to make sure Kieran hadn’t pulled a fast one. When he was happy, John made his way to his destination. In a smart Georgian Square in Mile End, a builders van was waiting for him. When John arrived, the builders moved so he could park up outside Babs’ houses.

  John hadn’t been back since he fired his mother-in-law’s builders and brought in his own crew but he’d kept in close touch with them by phone. When he arrived, the owner of the firm who’d done the work was waiting for him by the front door. He was an old friend of John’s who went by the name of Chunks and he was totally reliable. Chunks opened the door for him and they went inside the back reception room. Chunks bent down and pulled up the carpet in the far right corner. Underneath was a trap door which opened to steps down to a spanking new basement. Chunks showed off his team’s handiwork. ‘There you go John. Most of the work had already been done by that lot who were here before. We sorted out a nice spot in the old coal bunker.’

  The flight of stairs led down to a room that seemed wider and longer than the house itself. Chunks put on a series of lights as they walked down. The floor was concrete and the walls were built of reinforced steel, which made it look like a bank vault. John inspected his builders’ work. ‘Are you sure you haven’t damaged the foundations or anything? I don’t want the floors above coming down on my little hidey hole.’

  ‘I’m a builder mate. I know how to build.’

  John nodded. He felt the walls. They were solid. ‘OK. I’ve brought some furniture with me so if anyone comes in here they won’t suspect I might have other uses for this place in the future.’

  Chunks laughed. ‘You’ve spent a lot of money on this basement to store second hand furniture.’

  They went back upstairs and used their guys to move the heavy furniture down into the underground room under cover of the darkening evening.

  ‘Answer the fucking phone you bastard.’

  John always seemed to be doing a flit these days. What the bloody hell was he playing at? Even when Dee had explained about that slag Flo getting her hooks into Nicky, John had only mumbled, appearing preoccupied. She was starting to become best mates with his friggin’ voicemail. She took a couple of deep breaths to steady her nerves. She couldn’t afford to be blowing her stack anymore. Which reminded her, she still needed to tell her husband what the doctor had told her. Dee knew she couldn’t keep putting it off.

  She heard the roar of a high-powered motorbike in the distance. It drew closer and she realised it was accelerating up the driveway. With a scattering of gravel the bike pulled up outside and the engine was cut, leaving silence again.

  Dee hurried to the window to see who the hell was coming to her house at this time of night. She was scared it might be the cops with bad news about John. Or maybe he had finally bought that bike she’d been dreading as his way of trying to hang onto his youth, like the leather jacket and sunglasses. Her mate Tania’s other half had gone through something similar, partying at raves and dying his hair so much it was the mangy, brown-red colour of a tabby that had been slumming it on the street for too long. I’ll soon shake him outta his midlife crisis by the scruff of his neck!

  But when she opened the window, she saw it was a biker in a black crash helmet, not the same build as her John. A chill ran deep inside her. He was a dead ringer for a hit man. He climbed off the bike, walked up and rang the bell. It wasn’t often Dee shook with fear but she did now. Cautiously she headed towards the front door, but stopped short and yelled, ‘What do you want?’

  The guy shouted but his voice was muffled under the crash helmet. ‘I’ve got a message about John.’

  Dee didn’t stop to think. She threw the door open. ‘What?’ But when the visitor took his helmet off, she gasped, ‘Kieran? I thought I told you never to come near me or my husband again!’

  Kieran sighed, ‘Yeah, you did. And that’s probably right, given the lie of the land, but the thing is babe—’

  ‘Who do you think you are, calling me babe! Now piss off or I’ll tell John you’ve been round here harassing me.’

  Kieran looked at her with wolfish eyes. ‘Yeah, sure you will. The thing is Dee, I’ve been trying to do a bit of business with John but I suspect he’s trying to have me over. His mobile keeps going to voicemail. Of course he thinks, because he’s higher up the food chain than me, I’ll have to take it. And in normal circumstances he’d be right. But these aren’t normal circumstances and I’ve got a couple of cards up my sleeve that he don’t know about, but you do. What I need is for you to have a quiet word and tell him he needs to play fair with me. Now then, what about that? You tell him. Because otherwise the cards might slip outta my sleeve.’

  Dee went eyeball to eyeball with him. ‘Are you threatening me?’

  He stared back at her but it was a long time before he said, ‘I’m not a good loser Dee. Good loser is just another way of saying loser as far as I’m concerned and I’ll do whatever I need to do. You can understand that. You’re not a good loser either, are you? No one who gets on in life is. Now then, are you having a word with John or not?’

  She folded her arms. ‘You disappoint me Kieran, you really do. You seriously think you can come round here on that lawnmower and tell me what’s it like? Me of all people? Now get on your bike and wheelie off. I’m going to be generous and pretend you never came round. But I won’t pretend the next time and you know what I’m like when I’m not pretending. I go to the max. Now fuck off.’

  Kieran nodded. ‘You’ve been warned.’

  ‘Yes. And so have you.’

  Kieran opened the engine up and disappeared into the night.

  When John walked through the front door, Dee didn’t know whether to hug or slap him silly. But when she saw him looking drawn with a deathly pallor, she went for the hug option.

  Her voice was gentle but chiding as if a lost cat had appeared. ‘Where the hell have you been? I was worried sick. What are you playing at?’

  She got no answer and he was stiff in her arms. When she let him go, he stood looking at her with searching eyes.

  ‘John?’

  It was a long time before he answered. ‘Yeah . . .’ He walked down the hall, scanning the coat rack and staircase as if he was examining the place with a view to buying it. ‘What you been up to?’

  She followed him into the front room where he was picking things up and looking at them. Now he was less like a house buyer and more like a detective interviewing a suspect. He stopped and stared at her.

  Dee was rattled. She knew that stare. It was a look he gave people when they’d tried to double cross him. Why he was aiming it at her she didn’t know. ‘What have I been up to? I was ringing you on the hour, every hour to see where you were. Why didn’t you take your phone with you
?’

  John ignored her, strolled to the drinks cabinet, took out a bottle of Scotch and poured himself a long one. He seemed lost in thought and not at all worried that she would fly off the handle at him having a snifter. ‘Yeah . . .’

  What’s with all the yeahing, Dee thought, puzzled. It was like he kept repeating it because something more important was on his mind. Whatever it was, he didn’t look like a happy bunny.

  She followed him into the kitchen where he began casting his eyes around again. What was he looking for? Dee began to wonder if he’d had some kind of turn and whether she should call an ambulance. ‘John babes, sit down and rest for a moment. It doesn’t matter where you’ve been as long as you’re home safely.’

  She took his arm but he shook it off with such force she stumbled back. She was stunned. What the hell was going on? John eased down at the table, scowling, his half-gone drink in one hand. Then he tapped his forehead as if he’d just remembered something. ‘By the way, has Kieran been in touch with you? Only I noticed some motorbike tyre marks in the driveway.’

  Dee kept her cool even though inside she felt like a freight train had just run over her. If that fuck artist Kieran had said one word to her beautiful John she’d put him down with her own hands. ‘Kieran? Why would he get in touch with me? He knows what I think about him. And so do you.’

  John sipped his drink and nodded. ‘So he hasn’t popped around while I’ve been out?’

  Dee was shaken but she gave no hint. How could he possibly know about that? She played a straight bat. She was good at it. ‘Nah. He might come around to see you but he wouldn’t come around to see me. He knows better than that.’

  Dee made herself pop on a bright smile and strode towards the cupboards. ‘I’ve got those frankfurters in a tin you like. I’ll rustle you up some with scrambled eggs and toast. You must be famished.’ When she turned, his unsettling gaze was still fixed on her.

  ‘Thing is, you’ve never actually explained what it is about Kieran you don’t like. Or how you knew his real name was Kieran not Tom . . .’

  She got defensive. ‘You wanna be asking yourself that question. Why introduce him to me using a bogus name?’

  ‘Coz I knew as soon as you clocked who he was you’d think I was back in the life again. So come on, Dee, what’s your problem with him? He’s just a bloke. No better or worse than anyone else. So what is it? What gets your goat?’

  Dee walked over to her husband. She folded her arms. ‘Some people don’t like sugar in their tea. Some people don’t like flying. I don’t like the fella, end of.’

  They stared at each other warily, just like the time they’d met in his club all those years ago. John gave her one last, intense look before he quit the room to answer a phone call.

  After he was gone her tummy went into orbit and she just managed to get to the sink before she threw up.

  John didn’t go up to bed with his wife. He sat in the dark in the bar and tried to figure out why Dee hadn’t told him that Kieran had paid a visit. As soon as he’d got out of his car he’d noticed the marks of a motorbike in the gravel. He only knew one bloke with a motorbike who’d been on his tail. Kieran had come over to find out what he’d done with the gold. So why wouldn’t Dee tell him? He’d married his first wife when he was seventeen because she wouldn’t sleep with him and his second because he’d been pissed out of his skull and realised it was a mistake the following week. But Dee . . . It was like he’d been waiting for her all his life. Most people seeing them for the first time thought they were a mismatched pair, not realising that underneath they were cut from the same East End cloth. And at heart that meant two simple things – have lots of money and a family to call your own. He hadn’t been able to give her kids because something in him just wasn’t joined up right; that’s why his first wife had divorced him. But it never mattered to his Dee. Having Nicky was enough for her.

  John’s mobile rang. Kieran’s name came up. This time he took his call.

  ‘Where is it John?’

  ‘Somewhere safe.’ John’s voice was as dead as he felt inside.

  Kieran hissed, ‘If you’re trying to fuck me over—’

  ‘Look, you know how it works – the fewer people who know the better.’

  ‘I ain’t just people John, there wouldn’t be no goodies if it weren’t for me.’

  ‘Things have changed with those heavies turning up at yours. If Uncle Frank has sussed it was you, he can be a very persuasive man, and if he catches up with you, you might spill where it is. Now me . . . He doesn’t know I’m involved for sure. And if he tries it on I’m the one person who knows how to keep him well back.’

  Silence. Then, ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘I’ll come over to the club tomorrow and we can sort things out, mano a mano.’

  After the call was ended a very tired John entered his bedroom and made love to his wife tenderly and sweetly.

  Thirty-Five

  Bright and breezy the next morning John’s builders in 9 Bancroft Square were having a laugh and a few glasses of gin when the knocker on the front door went twice.

  ‘Best look lively fellas,’ the foreman, Chunks, warned as he got to his feet, ‘wouldn’t want the gaffer to think we’re taking the mickey.’ Which they were of course, stretching the job out to get a few more pounds in their pockets. But Chunks knew they needed to be careful because they were dealing with John Black.

  While his crew scrambled to get their tools he opened the door. He gazed puzzled at the very old lady standing on the doorstep. She wore a green headscarf, a gypsy-style mauve, fringed shawl over her black coat and had loads of silver bracelets dangling on her wrists. Very strange indeed.

  ‘Can I help you love?’ He spoke slowly and loudly as if she were deaf.

  Her brown face crinkled up at him. ‘This Babs’ place?’

  He frowned. ‘Who?’ Poor dear was probably suffering from dementia and had wandered out of her home, now lost and confused. Mind you, those eyes of hers looked razor sharp.

  ‘Babs Miller,’ she clarified.

  The penny dropped. ‘Oh, Mrs Miller. That’s Mister Black’s missus’ mum.’ His voice grew louder and slower. ‘Sorry to say but none of ’em are here.’

  ‘I know that son,’ she chirped cheerily. ‘Babs just wanted me to pop over and do something.’

  Chunks turned a bit hostile. ‘How do I know that you’re not telling me a funny one?’ John Black had warned him not to let another living soul into the houses.

  Her smile became crooked. ‘Do I look like one of the Great Train Robbers?’ She took out a mobile phone from her large handbag. ‘Babsie says if you want a word with her, I’m to ring her up.’

  He stared at the phone. He didn’t really have time for this. Anyway, what harm could the little old duffer do? He opened the door wide. Her bracelets jangled as she stepped inside.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re looking for,’ he added, bemused, ‘the place is more or less cleared out.’

  She smiled sweetly at him and patted her bag. ‘No need to worry. I’ve got everything I need here.’

  Without another word she proceeded slowly up the stairs. He looked after her, his confusion deepening. Maybe he should phone Mister Black. As he pulled his mobile out the woman turned around, her eyes twinkling.

  ‘I wouldn’t wanna tell Babs that you’d been drinking on the job. I always find it wise to pop a mint in my mouth after a hard slug. And I’ll need to do the whole house.’ With a smart compression of her lips she resumed her journey up the stairs.

  Pearl Hennessey wheezed as she waited to hear the man speaking on the phone. When all she heard was silence she smiled and stopped the pretend wheezing act. She only did it so people thought she was harmless and felt sorry for her. If they knew the type of life she’d lived when she was young they would think again. Babs had warned her if she received any trouble to think on her feet. Pearl hadn’t been in the criminal life for this many years without learning a trick or three.


  The first room she reached was a bedroom with a large, cast iron fireplace. She took out a bundle of long sage leaves wrapped tight together from her bag. She lit the end with a lighter and waved it around until the fire had gone out and only plumes of smoke wafted in the air. Pearl had agreed to do this for Babs and in return she wouldn’t allow that gorilla Knox to cut her from ear to ear. She’d been more than happy to oblige, having helped many people exorcise the evil in their lives. Shame she’d never been able to do the same to her own.

  She began the smudging cleansing ritual, waving the smoking sage stick through the air as she chanted aloud, ‘Cast out the evil that Stanley Miller left . . .’

  She was going to make the same powerful chant over every inch of this house and the one next door.

  Tiff stood outside the door of the posh flat in Chelsea Harbour, still having trouble believing that her mum knew the notorious Kieran Scott. How did a woman on the right side of the law know one of the bad boys in town? She’d tried to squeeze it out of her mum, but Babs had stayed schtum. Tiff knew Kieran Scott by name, but had never met him; although she knew loads about how he’d risen in the East End badlands. That was the one of the beauties of her time as a mechanic; as the motors came in they brought in the latest street gossip and Kieran Scott had been a hot topic of conversation. E tabs had been his start-up game until he got enough cash to invest in clubs across the capital. Getting control of the bouncers on the doors was the same as getting a nice cut of the drugs trade. Maybe, just maybe, she could squeeze him for a touch more than the money she owed those cunts.

  Tiff shivered, getting the funny feeling she was being watched. She lifted her head and saw a camera in the corner of the ceiling turned her way. Its red light gazed at her with the ferocity of an eye. Unnerved, Tiff turned back to the door. As she raised her hand to knock the lock clicked open. Only when she got inside did she realise that the door was made of reinforced steel. This was a man who wasn’t taking any chances.