Rankled (The Cardigan Estate Book 8)

by Emmy Ellis

  Don’t get me wrong, and I’m not on her side or anything, but I felt sorry for her. It’s hard getting a job when you’ve done something wrong. All right, as far as people are aware, she didn’t do bugger all except give you an alibi, but I get why she’s thinking of going on the streets. I’ve been turned away plenty of times myself—did I tell you I tried other places before the factory? Anyway, I ended up there again. Can’t complain. The overtime’s good, so my pay packet’s full.

  Oh, and another thing. Some fucker’s found my money in the graveyard. I only told you where it was, and I trust you with my life, so it had to be some kids or something. I couldn’t believe it, had to sign on the dole and stay at Mum’s. I’m still there as it happens. I’m saving for a deposit now.

  Anyway, that’s it from me. Hope your new cellmate is a decent sort. Mad as it sounds, I miss you and our chats, even you knocking on the bloody wall. I swear I hear it in my sleep.

  I’ve put in for a visiting order, so I’ll see you in a month. It’ll be like old times. Sort of.

  All the best,

  Nige

  Ollie smiled. The money. He’d phoned one of his mates to go and get it. Mike had promised to spend it instead of his wages, saving the equivalent in his bank for when Ollie came out. Ollie had said Mike could take a quarter of what was there as payment, and he trusted him not to shaft him. Time would tell on that score, though, and he’d put it out of his mind until just before he left this shithole. No point in worrying over it until he had to, was there. A tiny prickle of guilt had got to him when he’d read what Nigel had said, some kids stealing it, but he’d batted it away. Stupid to have left it in a public place. Stupid to believe someone had found it by chance. Even stupider to trust Ollie with the location.

  The bloke was thick as mince if he didn’t twig what had gone on: I only told you where it was… Fucking hell, he should go to Sainsbury’s and buy a clue, ten ninety-nine. What a dipshit. But Ollie needed that money more than Nigel, who’d get help from his mother, whereas Ollie, well, he’d be lucky if his old dear let him step foot inside her house again. He’d be on his own, unless Jenny had a change of heart and got back in touch with him.

  Many a time he’d entertained that happening, but she’d been silent for so long, he doubted she’d come round now. Especially as her life had progressed in a direction he’d never thought she’d take.

  Dear Ollie,

  I went to The Flag again, and she was there with the same two birds. They were paying for her drinks as she was skint, and by eleven, they were all rat-arsed. I wasn’t, I stuck to Coke, you know, doing as you told me.

  So her mates left—she said she’d be fine, she just needed a wee and only lived round the corner. I thought that was a bit weird so hung about, in case she didn’t get the taxi. I’d planned to follow her home if that were the case, make sure she got back safe. That’s what you’d have wanted, isn’t it?

  Instead of going to the loo, she went up to that geezer in the dodgy jacket. I moved closer, stood by some old duffer, and listened. She said she was interested in a job, and he told her they’d discuss it round the back of the pub where no one could hear. He also asked her if she knew who he was. She said she didn’t, so he told her. It was only Richie Lime, the estate leader. Fuck me sideways, I nearly fell over. Because I don’t live on that estate, I had no bleedin’ clue what he looked like.

  So she went outside with him and the other bloke. I waited a minute then followed—I say I waited, because I didn’t want Lime copping on. I reckon he’d have done me over or something. I stood at the back corner, down an alley, and poked my head round into the yard. Lime was talking, saying what he expected of her, how much of a cut he’d take from her earnings, and that she was to work up the street from The Flag. I couldn’t see her face because it was dark, but she sounded scared.

  Then, and I’m not kidding here, he said he’d have to do a road test, see if she was up to snuff. I almost went and got hold of her, but again, this is Lime we’re talking about, and by all accounts he’s nasty, so I didn’t bother. Sorry. He’s probably like Cardigan, a right mental bastard, and I couldn’t risk it.

  And from what I could make out, the pair of them did her over a wooden bench set, Lime and that friend of his. I didn’t watch it all, just got the idea from what he was saying, and the noises, stuff like that. She cried, which was well sad, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I walked off, went down the road a bit, stood by some hedge, and about five minutes later, she came past, sobbing, running.

  I called out to her, asked if she was all right, but she kept her head down and told me to fuck off. I don’t blame her. After what they’d done, she could have thought I was a weirdo. I hung about for two minutes, then went after her. Caught up with her in her street, although she didn’t seem to hear me legging it towards her. She went indoors, and that was that.

  I’ll go back. Lime said she was to start tomorrow night. Now, it’s going to be a while before this gets to you, what with the screws taking ages to read through the post, so I’m having to take matters into my own hands. I’ve got a car now, just a small runaround, nothing fancy, and I’ll pretend to be a customer. I won’t touch her, I promised you that and I’ll stick to it. I’ll make out I just want to talk, that my nonexistent missus doesn’t understand me or something like that. But at least this way she might open up, let me know how she is so I can tell you.

  I’ll look after her, I said that, didn’t I?

  You can count on me, mate.

  All the best,

  Nige

  That letter always poked Ollie in the gut. It never failed to get him angry. The thought of that Lime fella with his hands all over her, and the other one, Dave. Who the fuck did they think they were? All this because people thought Jenny had been a part of the murder. She wasn’t, he’d made her stay, and if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t feel bad, but this was Jenny, a sweet naïve girl who didn’t deserve all this shit.

  He felt guilty. And didn’t like it. He shouldn’t feel bad, not after she’d dropped him like a sack of unwanted shit. She’d told him she wanted to murder Gail, so fuck it, she had it in her to kill, even if she hadn’t actually done it, so any tender emotions he had towards her needed to be nipped in the bud. Unless she came and grovelled, he wasn’t entertaining a soft heart.

  He was lying. He’d take her back in a heartbeat. She’d got to him, had Jenny, the only woman he reckoned would lie for him. And that lie, it was a whopper. She’d given him an alibi, one that was discarded by the jury, but whatever, she’d fibbed under oath, after her hand had been on the fucking Bible, for Pete’s sake.

  She was a diamond just for that, even if she was saving her own arse, but he’d keep that to himself. It wouldn’t do for folks in here to think he had a heart.

  One of those didn’t get you anywhere.

  Dear Ollie,

  She got into my car. I couldn’t believe it. And let me tell you, she was shitting herself. I drove away and said I just needed to talk, and she didn’t seem to believe me until I parked up behind the warehouses and bent her ear. Made up some wife or other, guffing on about her spending all the housekeeping and whatever. She swallowed it, and by the time twenty minutes was up, she’d relaxed. I only paid for half an hour, else it’ll get expensive.

  She asked if I wanted to touch her at least, a hand on her tit or something, but I said no. Then she grabbed my wrist and put my hand there—I swear, it was her, not me. She said she didn’t feel right taking my money for just a chat. She told me to move my hand, to feel her other tit, her shoulder, her belly. I did it because she really wanted me to—and because if I didn’t, she might not want to see me again. Then what would we do? I can’t sit in my car and just watch her else I’ll look even more of a pervert than I already do, and besides, that Lime fella comes out and noses at the women, the street, and he’d move me on with a warning. I want to keep my kneecaps, know what I mean?

  I hope you don’t hate me.

  Next
time, I’ll try to get her to talk, see if she blabs about you. Then we’ll know if she can really be trusted.

  Sorry about how it turned out. If it’s any help, I didn’t get a hard-on or nothing.

  Best wishes,

  Nigel

  Ollie still didn’t know what to believe on that one. How could a man touch Jenny and not get a hard dick? She was beautiful, so Nigel must bat for the other team or something. Ollie told himself, the first time he’d read it, and to calm himself down, that Nigel was doing this for Ollie, it was all for the greater good, to get Jenny to open up, although if she opened up in another way and Nigel took what was on offer, Ollie would get that mad fella from down the wing to arrange for someone to teach Nigel a lesson.

  How many men had pawed her by now? How many cocks did she have to—

  This was his fault. What he’d done had sent her on this path, yet the little voice in his head that wouldn’t accept responsibility chirped up and whispered that Jenny had a mind of her own. She didn’t have to go to Landerlay with him time and again. She didn’t have to sit there listening to him talking about murder. She could have split with him, but she hadn’t, she’d agreed to go with him on the night he’d said he had bloodlust in his veins as well as the remnants of E and a fresh dose of LSD.

  Hadn’t she believed him? Had she thought he was joking?

  Dear Ollie,

  She calls herself Princess these days, and her name for me is Rover. Said it was because my hands rove. Quite sweet really, and proof that nothing else happens. Like, I touch her—over her clothes, I might add—but that’s it. I’ve never had skin contact, if you catch my drift.

  And she finally told me a bit about herself. She didn’t mention you, just said she’d been a part of something that meant people didn’t trust her, hence her working the corner. She can’t get a job elsewhere, blah blah blah. Asked if I recognised her. I said no, obviously, and she seemed to believe me.

  She has about twenty customers a night, said she’s getting used to it. Switches her mind off. Thinks about the money. I suppose you would, wouldn’t you. She still lives at home with her mum and dad, although she’s thinking of getting a little flat somewhere now she’s making more money than she can spend, even with Lime taking his cut.

  It seems like she needs someone to talk to, a person who doesn’t know her. Her friends, that blonde and the black-haired one, they’ve binned her off. Said if she was selling herself, they didn’t want to know. Well, some friends they are, eh? Who needs them. So she’s lonely, only has the other women on the corner to talk to. Reckons that’s enough. She doesn’t want anyone from her past in her life. I suppose she means you. But that was obvious anyway when she didn’t send letters or come and visit you.

  Sorry, that sounded like I was rubbing it in, but I wasn’t.

  I’m going to pick her up twice a week, to keep an eye out. The problem is, what if I meet a girl of my own? Do I still pick Jenny up? It could get complicated, mate, no two ways about it. Still, it’s a dilemma for another day.

  I’ve saved enough for my flat. Got a poky little effort and I move in next week. One bedroom, a tiny kitchen and bathroom, and the living room’s just about big enough to swing a cat. It’ll do, and beggars can’t be choosers, so my mum says, especially in London.

  Have you heard from your old dear yet? Want me to go round and tell her you’re a good sort? That you’ve been in the chapel and found God? I know you haven’t, but it might change her mind about you.

  Anyway, I have to go to work now. Grimes has me on two hours an evening as well as days. I’ll cark it from being overworked, I’ll bet.

  All the best,

  Nige

  Rover. For fuck’s sake.

  Ollie punched the wall, the lightning-shaped crack in the paint from his tapping getting bigger.

  “What’s up with you?” Craig asked from the top bunk.

  “Nothing.” Ollie sighed. “Nothing I can fix anyway. Some things are out of my hands. I fucking hate relying on other people.”

  Maybe he should stop reading the letters. They always got him down. But he knew what they all said, and the words churned around in his head anyway. He had several more years of this torture, and more letters to come from Nigel as time advanced. Could he make it to the end of his sentence without going mental?

  Maybe he should go to the chapel. Speak to a man of God. It might calm him.

  “Want to talk about it?” Craig asked.

  Ollie did. He told him everything, minus Jenny’s involvement, and it was good to get it off his chest, although he’d warned Craig if he ever gossiped about it, told anyone, anyone at all, Ollie would have him. As far as other people were concerned, Ollie was innocent, framed with that evidence the police had found. Then he took a punt and segued into what he really wanted to chat about, praying he got the answers he wanted. “So what about you? Do you like killing, same as me? I tell you, I loved it. Would do it again if I knew I wouldn’t get caught.”

  Craig’s breathing got heavy, and the bunk wobbled and creaked where he must have rolled over. “No, I don’t like it. I didn’t mean to kill my wife. It was an accident.”

  The thing was, Craig didn’t sound convincing. It was like he repeated what he thought he should say, maintaining his innocence that he hadn’t planned it. Whispers on the wing said otherwise. Some lags had been told about the court case from their partners on visiting day. Craig’s story was a load of old cock and bull.

  “So what happened then?” Ollie asked.

  “I was drunk and gave her too many of her depression pills with some vodka instead of water.”

  That old chestnut. “How many?”

  “Fifteen or so.”

  “Fifteen! How many was she supposed to take?”

  “Two.”

  Ollie nodded to himself. He’d been right to suspect this bugger. “Then you knew what you were doing. Who gives someone fifteen pills?”

  “I didn’t mean it. After.”

  “But at the time…?”

  “I…”

  “I get it. At the time you were angry or whatever. Maybe even pissed off because of her illness. The burden it put on you.”

  “Yes.”

  “So why didn’t you just say she took a bloody overdose? No one would have known any different.”

  Craig sighed. “I didn’t think of that until I got arrested, once I panicked and told the nine-nine-nine woman what I’d done.”

  “Maybe next time you think of doing something shifty, plan it out properly, eh? Especially as I want you to do something for me when I get out.”

  “What’s that then?”

  “Just pay someone a visit. I think you can manage that without fucking it up, can’t you?”

  “Yeah, I can do that.”

  Ollie closed his eyes and dreamt of the day Craig visited Jenny and told her she had to meet Ollie. It was so far into the future it didn’t seem possible at the moment, but it’d happen, he’d make sure of it, and with Nigel keeping tabs on her, Ollie would always know where she was.

  Unless she decided to move out of the area, but he didn’t want to contemplate that. He had to believe what Jenny had said when he’d asked her to shack up with him in Landerlay for good. She was a homebody, loved London too much to leave it.

  No, she wouldn’t be going anywhere.

  Ollie smiled and imagined her kissing him, and all the while, he knocked on the wall, expecting Nigel to tell him to pack it in. Instead, all he got was Craig doing the same, matching the beat.

  They were an odd pair.

  Chapter Six

  “Well, fuck me, I didn’t expect to see that!”

  In shock, George Wilkes stared across the kitchen island at his twin, Greg, naffed off at what he’d just seen. His dander was right up, his skin itching with the need to belt someone, and there was him thinking things would start looking up now he’d slayed his demons, coming to terms with his past, moving on to the future.

  He didn’t like
seeing an innocent woman in distress, and he had, so therefore wanted to fix it. He’d only been nosing at the CCTV app for something to do while they ate, hadn’t expected to see anything of interest, just a load of boring, fast-forwarded frames, but there it was, plain as the size of his fist: someone was in trouble. He reckoned he could read expressions, and the one on the screen said: I’m on the way to shit creek.

  “Which option are we going for?” he said. “Nip to Debbie or go straight to Princess?”

  “Princess is calling herself Amaryllis while working at the parlour.” Greg sounded jaded.

  George’s brother hadn’t been himself lately, which wasn’t a surprise, given what they’d been through recently, but still, this looked like they had a new job to get their teeth into, so that ought to cheer him up, not get him down. They might have an excuse for getting their hands dirty here, and George was up for that anytime.

  Greg swept some breadcrumbs from their dinner towards him, letting them drop off the edge into his other hand. His eyebrows met in the middle, as if he was annoyed at the CCTV footage—but not in the usual way where he wanted answers, more like it was an inconvenience they didn’t need. All right, George would give him that one, they didn’t need it, not tonight anyway, but didn’t Greg want to know what was really going on?

  What was up with him?

  George stared down at his plastic food tub. They’d had a King Pot Noodle each, bread and butter to dip, Greg too busy to do his usual job of cooking because they had some rounds to make, and with this bollocks there was an extra thing that needed doing. George wasn’t too chuffed at having more to do this evening, but if a woman who worked for Debbie was getting gyp, they had to sort it out. Besides, Princess/Amaryllis had been a mentor to their cousin, Sarah/Tulip, when she’d rocked up on Lime’s estate looking for corner work. Although she wasn’t actually their cousin anymore, but that was a story in the past, and Tulip would never know they weren’t related. It’d crush her.