Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  Simpson paused for dramatic effect before saying, ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, we do. We’ve got a witness who puts you in the Bad Moon pub yesterday with Mickey Ingram, Christopher Keston and a number of other known associates and ne’er-do-wells who are of interest in this case, including a young man we suspect actually stole the cars. So tell us, John, what were you, Mickey, Chris and the gang discussing – the weather?’

  John said nothing, not even ‘No comment.’

  Dee meanwhile was like the black cat who’d got the cream. ‘Have you got a time and date and what this supposed witness supposedly saw?’

  That surprised him, but he gave her the time and date. Dee was triumphant. ‘Utter bollocks. I can tell you exactly where my fiancé was at the time. He was in bed with me, having some hot and steamy lovin’. I was on top and underneath, in and out, shaking it all about; we had it over the dressing table, in the bathroom and on the Persian rug my fiancé gave me as a gift – the lot. Ask my neighbours; they were banging on the wall complaining. Isn’t that right, John?’

  John said nothing, just turned scarlet.

  Dee looked pointedly at Detective Simpson. ‘Go on, ask around. People will probably slam the door in your face.’

  Both detectives looked disappointed knowing that Dee had probably got the right of it. In the East End, who wanted to be known as a grass? Simpson closed his file. ‘OK. That’s all for now. We’ll be in touch.’

  Despite his embarrassment, John was pathetically grateful for Dee getting him off the hook and offered to take her for lunch somewhere smart. When she hailed a cab and ordered it to take them to Hatton Garden, he looked blank and told her he didn’t know any decent restaurants in the area. As she relaxed in the back of the cab, Dee explained her plan.

  ‘You can take me to lunch later, darling. First, you’ve got to buy me an engagement ring. The law will be keeping an eagle eye on you now and your idea that we’re engaged needs ring-fencing. And don’t skimp on the ice either – and I don’t mean “in car entertainment”. We need everyone to take us seriously.’

  Instead of sitting on the bunk in the cell, Tiffany was on the floor with her back against the stone wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. The excitement of being interviewed by Five-O had long ago fizzled away and she had a gut feeling that life was never going to be the same again. For starters, Stacey’s mum would definitely make sure she didn’t come anywhere near her daughter; and, if Tiffany was truthful, she wouldn’t do it anyway, knowing it would bring her friend heartache. And that’s what hurt the most, knowing she wouldn’t be able to get close to her mate anymore. She would never touch her face again, never take a tote from a spliff where Stace had just put her lips. Tiffany wrapped her fist against her mouth and started sobbing.

  Dee was sporting a larger-than-life, emerald engagement ring when they got back to her flat. She was dizzy with triumph; she couldn’t believe that she had pulled it off. John might think this was a fake engagement for the cops’ sake, but he’d soon learn differently.

  ‘Well, I’d better be off,’ John said smartly, moving towards the front door.

  But Dee was around him in no time, her open palms placed swiftly on his chest. She’d been diddled out of a night of amore last night when he’d fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. She wasn’t allowing that to happen again. ‘What’s the hurry, John? Kick your heels back and take one of the six-packs from the fridge while I go and find that shooter you gave me. You can have it back and tuck it up somewhere safe.’

  Five minutes later, beer shot out of John’s mouth (all over that sofa Dee hadn’t finished paying for), as he clapped eyes on Dee artfully posed in the doorway. Most women wanting a portion would have a flirty baby doll on, a bit of lingerie, or maybe just a G-string. Dee had learned that if you were going to do something, you went all the way, and that’s why she stood on display for John, in her birthday suit.

  ‘Bloody hell, Dee,’ he choked, wiping the beer from his lips.

  ‘Don’t you like what you see, John?’ She moved towards him in sleek strides, jiggling anything she had that moved. When she reached him, she firmly pushed his chest back into the sofa. ‘You know what they say, John – the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.’ Then she lifted one leg, hooked it over him and lifted the other leg and did the same. John was sweating buckets. She almost laughed out loud when his hand clutched her bottom. She stretched and then lowered her boobs to his face. Within two seconds he had her flat on her back, his knob out; then he went in for the kill.

  Dee was expecting the sex to be a bit bish, bash, bosh, with John howling to high heaven and her faking it to the hilt. But that’s not what happened. Instead, John spent the next half hour showing her not how to have sex, but for maybe the first time in her life, what it meant to make love. By the time they slid off the sofa and collapsed on the floor, Dee was speechless, dazed and, yeah, confused. Most of the boys and young men she’d been with had left her feeling nice and warm, but John had blown her mind. Fancy that: John Black of all people.

  She was startled when he got ready to leave.

  ‘John, you can’t go.’ She scrambled off the floor. ‘We’ve got to make sure we give a good show for the neighbours so that Bill and Ben down the station believe our story.’ And I want to do it again.

  John shook his head. ‘I’ve got to go, darling.’

  Dee was narked. ‘Oh I get it. I get you out of trouble with the Rozzers and my thank you is wham bam thank you mam.’

  ‘’Course not. You know I’m grateful. The thing is, I’ve got, let’s just call him a friend, who might have some info for me. Plus, the way I’m hearing it, Chris is out and about.’

  Dee couldn’t stop the shock showing on her face. ‘Chris is out? Surely they had enough evidence to keep him banged up?’

  ‘I don’t know if it’s true, but I’m going to find out. See you later at the club.’

  And with that he left. Dee slumped on the sofa. If Chris was out, Dee knew the game might be up.

  Thirty-Five

  Jeff walked arm-in-arm with his boyfriend as he left the Pied Piper. He’d managed to wiggle out of all that screw-up that went down with Mr Black’s car op. He had given the cops some claptrap about hiring a solicitor to sue them for harassment for being gay and, knowing they had dick on him, they had to let him go. Right now, he was thinking it was time for him to leave the pub and find new, fresh green pastures. Maybe . . .

  ‘Are you Jeff from the Pied Piper?’ He left his thoughts behind as he was confronted by someone wearing a black crash helmet, speaking through a visor.

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘Well, I say you are.’

  And before Jeff or his boyfriend could do a thing, the stranger head-butted him, with the helmet breaking his nose. His boyfriend yelled as he dropped to the pavement, blood gushing down his face and onto his clothes.

  ‘Next time,’ his assailant declared, ‘leave little girls alone.’

  Then the head-butting maniac was gone, marching down the road the other way.

  Once she got around the corner, Dee pulled the helmet off and shook out her hair. That would teach him to terrorise sixteen-year-old kids.

  ‘Well, I hope that you’ve learned your lesson, my girl,’ Babs said sternly to Tiffany, who the police had let out early.

  She sat with her two girls in the sitting room of their flat on The Devil’s Estate. The telly had been switched off, and there was no music blaring from the stereo system; this was just some quiet time for Babs and her daughters. It seemed like this flat hadn’t been quiet for ages. It felt good. It felt like a real home.

  Tiffany said nothing, so Babs carried on (it was her right as a mother): ‘My girl, banged up? I still can’t believe it. The shame of it. I’d never have been able to show my face again on the estate if people had found out. And don’t forget you’ve still got to go up before a judge.’ Suddenly, a horrifying thought struck her. ‘They didn’t touch you in that cell did they?
You know, slap you around?’

  Tiffany tutted. ‘Come off it, Mum.’

  ‘Well, you never know these days. You hear all kind of stories about what happens behind the walls of a nick. In my day you knew where you stood; they’d just give you a kicking in public.’

  ‘Talking about kicking, Mum, you really laid into that Mel Ingram.’ Jen sniggered. ‘You caught her a good one in the face.’

  Tiffany giggled. ‘When you took her down, she went crashing like a crate of lard.’

  ‘Mum, you should’ve seen that cop’s face when you went all Genghis Khan on him.’ Jen was clutching her belly now she was laughing so hard. ‘I thought he was going to keel over.’

  Babs’ gaze switched between her two daughters. ‘I don’t see what’s so funny. She had it coming for years, that one.’

  They all looked at each other and fell about pissing with laughter. It was good to see her daughters happy again. Jen was definitely stepping out with that Nuts, and Tiffany . . .

  ‘Tiff honey,’ Babs said, ‘promise me you’ll never go down that cemetery again.’

  Her youngest smiled, just like she had when she was a little nipper. ‘After this, Mum, you won’t catch me there again.’

  John was still trembling when he got to the Alley Club later that evening. He couldn’t shake off what had gone on in the last two hours. He just couldn’t believe what he’d heard and what he’d done.

  ‘We’re unofficially engaged,’ he heard Dee saying to one of the girls who worked behind the bar. ‘We don’t want it spread about, so keep it under your hat.’

  ‘Dee,’ he called. She twisted around and her eyes widened when she saw him. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’

  ‘Did you find—?’

  ‘I said, let’s take it upstairs.’ His tone was hard, which told Dee straight that he wasn’t in the mood for any muck around.

  John hit the bottle as soon as the door to his office was shut behind them. He knocked the whiskey back in one swallow. ‘I know exactly how the police tumbled the car operation.’ The expression on his face chilled her to the bone. ‘I’ve been making some enquiries.’ He paused again. ‘I had a drink with a pal of mine in the police. He explained the whole shebang. I was grassed up – by someone I thought I could trust. Disappointing.’ He fixed Dee with what looked like a flinty and uncompromising stare.

  One of Dee’s house rules was, never to be on the back foot. ‘And you’re going to take the word of a cop are you? Disappointing.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t usually. But there’s supporting evidence. I got a phone call from Chris this morning . . .’ Here it comes. Dee waited for the blow to fall as John carried on. ‘He talked his way out of it down in Tilbury and he’s been released on bail. Mickey Ingram’s been booked but Chris hasn’t as yet. But Mickey won’t grass – he’s stupid, but he’s no snitch. Anyway, Chris wants to meet tonight to explain his theory about what happened.’

  Dee didn’t flinch. ‘I’d better come too. I’ll be interested to hear what his theory is.’

  ‘I don’t think so . . .’ His gaze had turned from hard to homicidal.

  ‘Why not?’

  John looked around as if he was searching for prying ears. ‘Because we won’t be seeing Chris again – not tonight, not ever. You know what I mean? I mean, look at the facts – there was the phone bug, he was the only person fully in the picture on the operation and then he gets released on bail, despite being caught red-handed. I mean, come on. He was probably planning to come wired for sound because the law have got nothing on me. I’m too clever. You won’t need to worry about Chris again.’

  He didn’t mean . . . ? But from the way he was flexing his hands, she knew he did. She hadn’t meant it to come to this. Dee felt bad about Chris, but there was nothing she could do now. Bloody hell, what was going to happen to his orphaned son, Nicky? But she couldn’t think about that now, she still needed to make sure John was steered in the right direction for the future.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve not been clever enough, John. A man like you shouldn’t be in the ‘‘ICE’’ bizz. You might as well run a pickpocketing scam. You should be importing real stuff. You get me? That’s where the money is.’

  He shook his head. ‘You need big money to invest in that, and contacts. I don’t have them.’

  The phone from reception rang. Dee ignored it. ‘This club is full of people with money to invest and people who can arrange introductions. Just leave everything to me.’ She picked up the phone and took the call. Quickly she covered the phone and with urgency warned him, ‘I think it’s the law again.’ She chucked him a spare set of keys to her flat. ‘Go over the roof and I’ll take care of whoever’s downstairs.’

  Thirty-Six

  It wasn’t the law. Dee already knew that it was someone far more dangerous downstairs. She spotted Trish as soon as she got to the clubroom, but made sure she remained hidden in the shadows so the other woman couldn’t see her. Her hands tightened around the instant camera she held. She caught the eye of a member of security and beckoned him over.

  ‘John wants Trish to meet him out back.’ She leaned over and whispered the rest of the instruction in his ear. He didn’t ask any questions; he knew better than to challenge Mizz Dee.

  As soon as he was gone, Dee put the camera into her pocket and made her way quickly to the back and went outside. The back of the club was really an alleyway where the deliveries were made and the rubbish put out. Dee walked a few paces forwards, concealing herself once again in the shadows. Her face became grim when she heard the door open and soon Trish came outside, hugging her fur-lined jacket around her against the cold.

  ‘John?’ she called out.

  She jumped when the metal door clanged shut behind her (thanks to the security guy following Dee’s instructions). ‘John?’

  Dee waltzed into the moonlight. ‘No, Trish, not lover boy John I’m afraid, but your worst nightmare.’

  Trish went pale and was visibly startled. ‘I never said anything about you to John. I swear on my mother’s life.’

  ‘I told you loud and clear to use the exit sign on your way out of John’s life and to never look back.’ Dee rolled her sleeves up. ‘You can’t say you weren’t told.’

  The other woman backed away as Dee moved slowly forward. Trish twisted around and started banging against the closed door. ‘Help, someone help me.’

  ‘Not even God can help you now, Trish.’

  Dee grabbed the other woman’s arm and started dragging Trish further into the alley. John’s girlfriend yelled and struggled all the way, losing one of her mile-high stiletto heels along the way. Dee shoved her against the wall near a large, grey metallic bin. Dee easily held the squirming woman with one hand as she tossed the lid of the bin onto the floor. Inside was a bulging black bin liner filled with rubbish, but there was plenty of space left inside.

  ‘Noooo,’ Trish begged as she cottoned on to what Dee planned to do. But Dee ignored her as she gripped the woman by the lapels of her flash coat and tipped her head first into the bin. Trish let out a muffled cry as her face and upper body toppled sideways and squashed down against the black bag leaving her legs stuck out in the air. Dee ruthlessly jammed them in after her, grabbed the lid and slammed it down on the bin. Then she sat down on top of it and started swinging her legs like she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Trish beat against the inside of the bin, sobbing. In between her cries she pleaded, ‘I can’t breathe, can’t breathe—’

  ‘Trish girl I want you to imagine,’ Dee began calmly, ‘a life without spray-on tan. A life without dosh for a new boob job. A life without tottering down The Roman to get your knock-off bottle of Charlie. That’s what you’re going to leave behind if you keep sniffing around John, because I’m going to make it my business to see you end-up, arse first in the gutter.’

  ‘Pleeeeze, just let me out.’

  ‘The only way you’re drawing pure air again is if you promise to leave John alone. He don’t even like y
our skank self, he’s only using you as his spunk pump machine.’

  ‘I’ll leave him alone, I’ll leave him alone, I promise.’

  ‘Cross your heart?’ Dee was having fun now.

  ‘Cross my heart.’

  Dee knew she should let the interfering bitch out before the stupid cow went and suffocated on her. She hopped off the bin and pulled the lid away.

  ‘Smile,’ Dee said. Snap. Flash. With the camera she took a picture of the defeated woman looking crumpled inside the bin, dirty with mascara running rivers of black down her face.

  ‘You tangle with me again and I’m going to make copies of this, enlarge them and post them all over town.’

  A frantic and terrified Trish stood on shaky legs and rapidly sucked air into her body. Dee stepped back and Trish got out of the bin and then she ran for her life. Dee noticed her stiletto still on the ground. She picked it up and, with a huge grin, dumped it inside the bin.

  Tiffany broke her promise to her mum and jumped the wall at the back of the cemetery so that she didn’t have to see her mates on the way in. She didn’t want it to get back to her newly appointed social worker that she was prowling around her old haunt, and she didn’t need anyone to know about whom she was meeting. Quickly she made her way to the tomb with the angel where her contact was already waiting for her.

  ‘You done good, girl,’ the black woman told her. Tiffany suspected her name wasn’t Laverne, but she’d already decided that the less she knew about her one-time partner in crime, the better. As soon as Laverne had called her yesterday from the Bad Moon and said, ‘Get your skates on, it’s time to rock ’n’ roll . . .’ Tiffany had swung into action on their plan.

  ‘I’m proud of the way you handled yourself, telling the cops all about Mickey Ingram and Chris.’

  Tiffany sat down beside her on the cold stone. ‘I only said that I heard this Chris bloke’s name but didn’t know him.’