by Bo Brennan
Flick sighed and shook her head. “If you think they've been treated unfairly, you're wrong.”
“Prove it. Give me their documents.”
“You're asking me to break the law.”
“You work in the Family Courts, that's nothing new,” Ryan snapped. He drew a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his head. “I'm asking for your help.”
Flick stared at him and set her jaw. “You've been working in the gutter for too long, Mr Reynolds.”
“Sounds like you and Stephen Charmers might be joining me.” Ryan stared at her and flipped his cap onto his head, pulling the peak low to cover his eyes. “You've got forty eight hours before you become front page news, Miss Firman.”
Flick’s heart rate monitor sounded as he disappeared through the trees. Her heart was beating like a rabbit caught in headlights, dead centre of a dark and lonely road.
Chapter 18
Knightsbridge, London.
Penny Cordwell sat at the bus stop and pulled a wet wipe from her rucksack. She couldn't believe how expensive everything was here. The first night she'd had the luxury of a hotel. It was like something out of a film. She'd relaxed in the giant marble bath tub, and had dinner in her room. She had no idea the room rate was over five hundred pounds for a night. She had no idea her mother’s credit card would be declined either.
While the receptionist called the credit card company, Penny panicked and legged it. She ran straight past the doorman and out onto the busy street. She didn't stop running until her legs hurt and her lungs wheezed, and she found herself in a sprawling green park.
She'd slept in that park every night since.
The tube system had proven impossible to navigate. She'd spent days riding around under the city, only to end up right back where she'd started, feeling foolish and lost. Without her mother's credit card her funds were limited, she couldn’t afford to waste money on those sorts of mistakes.
Yesterday, she sacked the tube and her crappy tourist attraction map, and invested in a street map. It was money well spent. She'd been right on top of it all this time. She walked the city streets to her brother's last known address, and was disappointed to find he'd only briefly rented a room there. One of the current residents of the shared house had been kind enough to dig through a cluttered box in the hallway to find a forwarding address - unfortunately, it was for a legal firm on the other side of the city, Flynn & Associates. She doubted they'd be open on a weekend, but the next bus would take her straight there anyway.
She'd find somewhere to sleep when she arrived. She'd phone home too, her mum and dad were probably worried by now.
Rubbing the wet wipe over her clammy face and neck, Penny’s eyes roamed the queue snaking slowly down the street opposite. Consisting of old people, young people, and a couple of family groups, it looked the same as any other queue. But these people weren’t queuing for the bus. They were queuing for church.
Penny squinted to read the sign outside the church door. In bold, colourful letters, it announced that lunch was free. Penny bit her lip, and felt the delicate skin begin to crack. She was hungry and low on funds. She rubbed the wet wipe across her mouth, she was thirsty too. She didn't need to prick her thumb to know her blood sugar levels were low.
When her eyes met the kindly face of the cassocked priest, welcoming the people inside, she felt brave enough to join them.
He spotted the new girl as soon as she entered. It was hard not to. She was wearing a short, bright yellow, summer dress. Even Father Carey’s eyes followed her bare lean legs inside.
Her clothes were clean, if a little dishevelled. Her long blonde hair, fastened into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, accentuated her high cheek bones and full lips. She couldn't be much older than sixteen, but already exhibited a certain grace in the way she held herself.
She didn't belong here amongst the winos, smack heads, and food bank families fighting to keep their heads above water. Three years serving Sunday lunch to the down and outs in the parish of Saint Saviour’s had given him a keen eye for lost sheep. And this meek little lamb had strayed a long way from her flock.
As she reached out for the plate, he gently clasped her hand. His eyes swiftly scanned her bare arms for the marks of a lost cause. “Bless you my child,” he said, smiling at her when he saw none.
The girl smiled back, showing beautifully straight teeth. “Thank you, Sir,” she said revealing the polite lilt of a naive city outsider
He put two slices of meat onto her plate and passed it to her, watching as she licked her lips and piled it high with vegetables. He didn't glance once at the endless conveyor belt of other diners. Slapping the meat on their plates, he handed them over blindly, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the girl.
She put her plate down at the very end of the refectory table, licking spilt gravy from her hand as she took her seat. She tucked in ravenously. Her mouth full of food, she poured herself a cup of water from the jug on the table, and washed it down. Then she poured another and continued eating, slower - more refined - this time.
Under that hunger and thirst was a classy young woman whose future he could change. He could put a roof over her head. Put food in her belly and money in her pocket. His own as well. A specimen like her would command a premium, the payday would be hefty. One year from now this soup kitchen could be a faded memory, a minor blip in both their lives.
Startled, he flinched at the hand on his shoulder. “That's the masses fed for today,” Father Carey said. “Why don't you take that one and get yourself a seat.”
He looked down at the plate in his hand, where two sad slices of meat swam against a tide of congealing gravy, and then up at the clock. He had never known a lunch service pass so fast. “You take this one, Father,” he said.
Father Carey smiled and shook his head. “I'll eat later.” He pulled a tub of ice cream from the freezer, and three brightly coloured bowls from the cupboard. Gesturing to the young couple feeding three exceptionally well behaved children in the far corner, he said, “I'm going to see if I can offer any further assistance.”
He waited until the priest was seated with the family, before carrying his full plate to the far end of the table. “Mind if I join you?” he said already half seated.
The girl burped. And then blushed. “I am so sorry,” she said pressing her fingers to her full lips.
“That's ok,” he laughed. “In some countries it's a sign of appreciation for good food. I'm John by the way,” he added, extending his hand.
“Penny,” she said, coyly shaking it. “I was so hungry, and that was so good.”
John inclined his head and smiled. “See Penny, it was a compliment after all.”
As arranged, she was waiting for him in the shade of the graveyard oak tree. Her yellow dress provided a vibrant splash of colour amongst the sombre headstones. He always picked them up here. The oak tree provided him an unobstructed view from the road. Not all of them came. But most of them did.
He honked his horn as he pulled alongside the cemetery gate, and Penny came running. They always came running. She threw her rucksack into the back seat and clamoured into the front alongside him. John smiled. Her dress was shorter when seated. The nubile tanned flesh of her thighs almost had him salivating. Pulling away from the kerb he blew a breath up his face.
“I can't believe how hot it is,” she said pulling at the front of her dress.
“Neither can I,” John murmured, wiping his top lip and resisting the urge to touch. Resisting the urge to contaminate the goods.
Penny flicked the business card in her hands as she swivelled in her seat to face him. “Have this organisation helped many people find their families?” she said.
John smiled. “Thousands. That's what they do.”
“My dad says rich people are too busy making money to bother helping others.”
John laughed. “Some of them make their money helping others.”
“I don't have any money to pay for their service,�
� Penny said.
He glanced at her. She was a goldmine and she didn't even know it. There'd be a lot of takers for a dip in her gene pool. He wouldn't mind a swim himself. “You don't need money.”
“New Lives Foundation,” she read aloud from the card. “Making dreams a reality.”
John shifted in his seat. It wouldn’t take much to make his dreams a reality right now. Just looking at her was giving him a boner.
“I'm studying Social Sciences at college,” Penny said. “When I finish my course, maybe I could do some voluntary work as payment for their help. What do you think?”
John glanced at her thighs, and imagined slipping his hand between them. He cleared his throat and cranked up the air con. Smiling he said, “I think they'd like that very much, Penny.”
She slunk down in her seat, and into the flow of the air conditioning vent, as they passed Hyde Park. He knew that she'd spent a couple of nights sleeping rough there. She was lucky. Not many girls who looked like her would survive that experience unscathed. Especially not when displaying nipples like little perky peanuts.
“This is it,” he said pulling up outside the posh gated mansion.
“Wow!” Penny gasped. “Your friends must be mega rich.”
He pressed the buzzer and stared into the security camera above it. The gates glided effortlessly open. Penny unfastened her seat belt and knelt on her seat to watch the iron gates close behind them. “Oh my god, look at that. It's totally amazing,” she said excitedly.
“It certainly is.” John licked his lips at the sight of her crisp cotton panties as he encircled the fountain at the head of the drive, and pulled the car up to the front door.
“Oh my god, there's a fountain too,” Penny said leaping from the car as soon as he cut the engine. He watched her from the driver's seat, swishing her hand in the cool flow of water, before stepping from the car. “I can't believe I'm going to be staying here,” Penny gushed, rushing towards him and throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you so much!”
John couldn't believe it either. It had been a while since a pair of breasts like hers had been pressed to his chest, and sweet smelling hair had tickled his cheek. He shuddered as she leant into the back seat to recover her rucksack, and wondered if they'd met under different circumstances things could be different.
He took a cursory glance at the front door. It wasn't too late. And then it opened. The old man on the step smiled approvingly as Penny hooked her rucksack onto her shoulder and smiled back. “Where are your manners, John? Take the young lady's bag,” he said coming towards them.
John did as instructed and sighed as he watched him lead naive young Penny inside. As John trudged towards the front door, one of the old man's heavies stepped forward to block his route. John swallowed hard when he pushed his jacket aside to reveal the gun hooked into his waistband. He felt his lip begin to tremble as a trickle of sweat ran down his brow.
The heavy grinned as he pulled out a thick brown envelope from under his jacket and slammed it into John's chest. John stumbled backwards off the step, landing on his backside in the shingle as the front door quietly closed.
Now, it was too late.
He scurried around on his hands and knees, collecting up the bank notes that had spilled from the envelope and ramming them into his pockets. He didn't take his eyes off the front door as he cautiously moved backwards towards his car. He slung the rucksack on his backseat and slid behind the wheel, engaging the central locking, and holding his breath.
The gates to the drive opened on his approach. He raced through them and out onto the street. Checking his rear view mirror, he let out a ragged breath as the gates swung shut behind him. Then his eyes fell on the rucksack. John sighed at what might’ve been. Instead of a gift for himself, he had another gift for the Thames.
Chapter 19
Monday 18th July.
Oxfordshire.
Felicity Firman woke with a start and patted down the empty space in the bed beside her.
She reached for the bedside light and rubbed at her eyes, staring at the scattered pillows in the lamp's glow. It was so vivid. His caress so real, his gaze so intense, the feel of his skin against hers so pleasurable. Thank God it was just a dream.
She slumped back in the pillows and draped an arm across her eyes as the harsh reality hit her. She was travelling back today. God only knew what to. A prison cell if Ryan Reynolds had anything to do with things. He could be preparing to print right now, preparing to destroy her life. No. He'd given her forty eight hours grace to do his bidding. Hand him confidential family court documents. Break the law. The law Flick had devoted her life to and promised to uphold.
She groaned. He could bring her world crashing down with one well penned article. They'd done absolutely everything possible to cover their tracks. Stephen had a wife. Children. They'd come after him hard and leave him with nothing. They'd come for them all. No one would be safe. Not even her own family. Her dad would be forced to take early retirement. Lose his pension.
Flick sat up, tears spilled down her cheeks as the looming consequences of her actions hit home. Her dad was a good man who'd worked hard his whole life. He'd earned his position. Earned his reputation. Earned his respect. He hadn't put her through university so she could take all that away from him.
Ryan Reynolds hadn't left her with much choice. But, even if she did what he’d asked, there were no guarantees. Ryan Reynolds was a gutter press hack, and a blackmailer. He couldn't be trusted. So why the hell was she dreaming about him?
Haltingbury, London.
Sasha Grant stood at the front of the classroom, next to her new form teacher. He was old and fat, with glasses and a big grey beard. All the kids were shouting and sitting on top of their desks, ignoring him as he shouted out their names.
She missed Miss Davies. She hated this school already.
And she seriously hated the uniform. It was green.
Her foster mother had given her a second hand one to wear. It was two sizes too big, faded, and had a hole under one arm. The cuffs were frayed and Sasha had to turn them up.
The teacher gave up in the end. He must have marked them off by sight. He ducked a paper airplane as he pointed her to an empty desk in the front of the class.
“Eww, look at her hair,” one of the girls shrieked from behind her as she took her seat. Sasha flinched as a ruler poked her in the back of the head. “Eww, don't touch it, you'll get lice!”
Sasha hunched down at her desk, and smoothed her lank, greasy hair down to cover the bruise on her cheek. Tonight was bath night. Tracey said bath night was always on a Monday. Sasha couldn't wait. She felt well skanky. Her mum used to make her have a bath every night before bed, even if she didn't need one. Sometimes she'd sulk about it too. She'd never sulk about anything her mum made her do again. When she got home she'd never leave her mum's side again either.
Hampshire CID, Winchester..
“I doubt the hospital will hand over the family medical records without a warrant. But it's worth a try,” Firman said toying with the evidence bag containing Billy Lewis's baby band. “These things are easily forged.”
India gritted her teeth, wondering how many more times she was going to hear a man say that. “It's not a fifty pound note. There's no reason to forge it.”
“There is if you're mental,” Firman said tossing it back to her. “You'll need more than that for a warrant.”
“I want to officially interview the other kid too, Sasha Grant,” India pressed, bolstering her case. “She’s eleven years old and in state care.”
Firman sat back in his seat stroking his beard. “Is this about her, or you?”
“It’s about a missing baby.” India clenched her jaw and stared at him, taking a calming breath before she lost it. “Sasha's a smart kid, Guv. A real switched on cookie.”
“And mentally disturbed by her mother’s delusions, according to the psychiatrist.”
“That's bullshit. He hasn't even met her.
I have!”
Firman raised his brows and studied her intently.
“What about the midwife? He hasn’t met her either, is she delusional too?” India shifted forward to the edge of her seat. “Guv, the kid was born at Royal South Hants. And now there's no trace of him.”
Firman nodded. “Set up a video interview for Sasha Grant.”
India sprang from her seat. “I'll get on to Social Services now.”
“I haven’t finished!” he bellowed. India sighed and stopped in the doorway. “Just so we're clear - you are not conducting the interview,” he said. “I want a child protection officer and child psychologist present. Understood?”
India rolled her eyes and huffed. “Understood.”
London.
“Where's this new girl I've heard so much about?” the doctor said peering through the glass panels of the locked bedroom doors, one by one.
“Room twenty two,” the man with the gun in his waistband said.
The doctor frowned. “The restraint room?”
“She freaked out when she realised she was staying. Then the scratching and sweating kicked in.”
The doctor sighed. He’d been looking forward to sampling her. Even turned his back on his wife in bed last night to ensure the experience would be worthwhile. “He assured me she was clean. Something special he said.”
“She is a good looking girl. It might be worth you managing her withdrawal.”
The doctor eyeballed him. “This isn't a rehab clinic for smack heads and disease riddled whores. This is a high end business. She was purchased as a long term proposition, which attracted a premium.”
