Blood Mother: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Two (Flesh and Blood series)

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  Mel was almost purring. ‘Oh, that’s right, we forgot to tell you. We had a bit of a messy incident in Mile End last night.’ Mickey unclenched his fists and sat down again. He was smiling now. Stan was definitely in big trouble.

  ‘A new girl was playing up, so Mickey asked Pete to sort her out. And he sorted her out alright. He sorted her out so well, we had to scrape her off the floor, wrap her up in carpet and tuck it away somewhere. Your big bruv made quite a noise when he was doing it. One of our guests, who we didn’t even know Cleo was seeing to, was so upset he ran out into the street in his Y-fronts and scarpered in a Bentley.’

  Lord Tilgate drove a Bentley. That explained why he hadn’t returned Stan’s calls.

  Stan’s face gave nothing away. ‘You’re blagging.’

  Mel took out a handful of what looked like cards. She spread them out in front of him. Not cards but photos. Various shots of a girl covered in blood. ‘You’ll believe it when your brother’s on trial for murder up at the Bailey,’ Mel taunted him. ‘Like I said, there’s no need for any nastiness. If you sign those documents we could probably make all this go away, couldn’t we, sweetheart?’

  ‘I’m sure we could,’ Mickey chimed in.

  ‘And where is Pete? I want a word with him.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Pete; we’re looking after him for you,’ Mel said. ‘Of course if you don’t sign, we’ll have to let him back out into the wild and we won’t be able to help then. The girl’s family don’t know where she was, but you know how the street is, the old Chinese whispers. Someone might say something, dots get joined, and the law will be after him. You know what your brother’s like, soft as a 99 in the sun. As soon as they start working him over, he’ll sing like he’s on Opportunity Knocks. And we’ll have no choice but to help the coppers. It’s up to you of course. Your choice. You can keep the photos. We’ve got plenty more.’

  Stan pushed them to one side and picked up the envelope with the documents inside. ‘OK. Fair enough. I’ll sign. I’ll have to get my brief to go over it obviously, and property deeds can’t be transferred in a day. It will take a good couple of weeks’ — Mickey was helpful. ‘Of course. But don’t leave it too long. We might get suspicious. Trust is so important in business . . .’

  The happy couple left. Stan went over and over it. He didn’t know how much was true but it was obvious that those two chancers were confident that their story would survive any sniffing around he might do. And they clearly knew he was going to. Stan suspected there was a dead body somewhere but he didn’t believe Pete had killed the girl. He wasn’t the sort. But it hardly mattered – his brother was a liability. He’d had his chances, over and over.

  He had a couple of weeks to set a chain of events in motion to get him off the hook. But he was confident. Stan had one big advantage in this coming struggle.

  They were Mickey and Mel Ingram. But he was Stanley Miller.

  Ten minutes after Mickey and Mel were gone, Babs barged into Stan’s office a second time. Her boss was sitting at his desk, deep in thought, studying photos. But when he saw her, he hurriedly put them in his drawer.

  ‘Tell me about Denny.’ Stan tried his usual smile but it made his jaw seem tense and his features drawn.

  Babs got into it as soon as she sat down. ‘Like I said, my mate Denny has disappeared and I think it’s got something to do with that Mickey.’

  ‘Mickey?’ He pulled out one of his Turkish fags but didn’t light up, just rolled it around between his fingers. He offered her one, but she declined; the baby always played up after a smoke. ‘What’s he got to do with your mate?’

  ‘Denny is right pretty and always longed to be a model. I told her about the agency— ’

  ‘That wasn’t very clever.’

  Babs looked shamefaced. ‘I know, but she kept banging on about it and I didn’t have the heart to tell her to forget it. She’s my best mate. She wanted me to put in a word but I kept putting her off. But somehow she managed to sort out an interview with Mickey.’

  Stan tutted. ‘That was unfortunate. Mickey’s not scrupulous. You should have told her to come to me. I would’ve put her straight.’

  ‘Her mum came around this morning in a right old state and said that Denny went out last night tarted up to the eyeballs and wouldn’t say where she was going. No one has seen her since. I’m worried sick about her.’

  Stan was staring into the middle distance. ‘This girl – what does she look like?’

  Babs described Denny. As she did so, Stan massaged the skin around his eyes before whispering, ‘I see . . .’ Then he looked at her. ‘OK. You need to leave this to me. I don’t want you worrying. You’ve got a baby to think about. I’ll find out what’s happened. Tell the girl’s mum not to rely on the law. They won’t help; they’ll think she’s done a runner. You can rely on me. I’ll sort this. And if any harm has come to your mate . . .’

  Babs’ eyebrows flew up. ‘“Any harm”?’

  Stan’s jaw tightened some more. ‘I’m not saying that it has.’ He seemed to be struggling to explain himself. Then he stopped trying and reached over for her hand. ‘It’s a bad world, Babs. Bad things happen.’ When she gulped in horror he went on, ‘But not to you. I’ll make sure of that.’

  She felt safe. Stan would find Denny and everything would be OK. She knew she could rely on him.

  Stan moved around to her. He took her hands in his again and pulled her to her feet. She shivered; his hands were ice cold. In a soft voice he said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort everything.’ Then he added, ‘By the way, I need you to witness some documents for me this week. You know, counter-sign a few odds and ends.’

  He’d never asked her to do anything like that before. It made her feel that he trusted her. That she was an important part of his business. ‘No problem.’

  As soon as the door closed, Stan took the photos out again.

  ‘You stupid bastard, Pete,’ he cursed as he stared at the dead body of Babs’ best friend.

  Then he took out his target list and added two new names.

  Twenty-Five

  A few days on Babs was getting ready to leave work when Stan slapped some papers in front of her.

  ‘What’s this then?’ she asked.

  Stan plonked himself down on the edge of the desk. Whatever had been troubling him all week must have got sorted because he was back to his usual cheerful, charming self. ‘I told you a couple of days back. The papers I need witnessing.’

  He shoved a pen in her hand and then turned to the first page. ‘Just sign where the pencil mark is.’

  Most of the document was covered by the other papers; she couldn’t see what she was signing.

  She looked up at him, confused. ‘What is it? And where’s your signature?’

  He seemed put out.

  ‘I’m signing it – what’s the matter, don’t you trust me?’

  She felt bad for even asking, so signed in three places and he whipped the papers away. ‘Have you found anything out about Denny?’

  He simply shook his head before hurrying off to his office. She forgot about the documents and began to worry that Stan knew something he wasn’t saying. It wasn’t like him. He was can-do. And even if he couldn’t-do, he would at least come up with a clever story to cover his rear end. Even in a crisis he always had a line. Once again, she walked into his office without knocking. He looked up in alarm.

  She was firm. ‘What’s going on with Denny?’

  ‘You only told me the other day – I’m looking into it.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Mickey?’

  Stan avoided her gaze again. ‘Yeah. He said he met her a few nights back and then she headed off to a party somewhere in town. He don’t know where but he’s asking around for me. That’s it.’ Then he shouted at her. ‘Look – I’m doing my best here. Gimme a break!’

  Babs stumbled back, stunned. Stan had never raised his voice to her. ‘What’s got into you today? If there’s something else on your mind, that’s
fine. But Denny’s my best mate and I need to find her. I’ll go and find Mickey Ingram myself and have it out with him. I know where he lives.’

  Stan jumped up and grabbed her arm. With a huff and shake of his head he released her and put his arm around her instead. ‘I want you to really listen to me. You know my view of the world. I don’t trust anyone and I’ve always been proved right. I don’t really like people, if I’m honest. But the thing is . . .’ he ran gentle fingers through her hair, ‘I trust you. There’s something between us, but I know you need space, not me crowding you. I’m going to be honest with you on one condition: you’ve got to trust me. Don’t do anything stupid. Have we got a deal?’

  He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. She felt warm and safe. God, she loved being in his arms. She nodded. ‘Yes, of course I trust you.’

  He held her even more tightly. ‘Good. I knew you did. So I’ll be honest. I don’t know what happened to Denny but I’m fearing it might not be good.’ She opened her mouth but he put his finger to her lips. ‘Now, I want you to go home. I know it’s going to be hard to put this out of your mind but that’s what I need you to do. Don’t make any enquiries. Leave it to me. I’ll tell you when I know anything.’ Stan put his fingertips on her belly. ‘And look after our little friend in there. They won’t want you getting an attack of the nerves.’

  ‘I’m fearing it might not be good.’ Babs couldn’t get Stan’s words out of her head. If anything had happened to Denny . . . She shook the horrifying thoughts from her head. Nothing has happened, Babs reassured herself, nothing.

  Stan hugged her. Babs sank into the comfort he offered, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘I’ll get you a cab to take you home.’

  Stan stepped back, got her coat and led her down to the street. He hailed a cab and stuffed pound notes into the driver’s hand. But before the guy drove off, he cradled her face, kissed her on the lips and whispered, ‘Trust me . . .’

  Babs stared out of the window on the journey back to the East End. Every time she thought of Denny, she followed in Stan’s footsteps: put her fingertips on her belly and thought of her unborn child. He was right. Her baby needed peace and its mother’s strong nerves. There was only a month and a bit to go.

  But as she watched the world go by, she spotted a black couple walking down Mile End Road. The woman was pushing a pram and the guy was following a couple of paces behind. Babs took the scene in as she passed. Her mouth settled into a grim line.

  ‘Stop the fucking cab!’

  The cabbie turned in alarm. ‘Alright luv, calm down.’

  ‘I said, stop the fucking cab!’

  The driver pulled over and Babs rushed clumsily out, leaving the door hanging open. ‘Oi! I want a word with you!’

  She caught up to the guy and stepped defiantly in front of him.

  That lying, cheating Neville.

  The bastard actually had the front to try to sneak around her. Wrong move! Babs used her belly to block his path. ‘Which stone have you been hiding under?’ she blasted.

  Neville was decked out to the nines. He was the kind of guy who dressed up to put the rubbish out; he made Roger Moore look like a scruff. He was dressed in a herringbone suit and a lemon shirt with a black cowboy string tie. The whole rig was finished off with black brogue shoes. And, of course, his most prized possession, his crowning glory, his immaculately shaped Afro. He’d gone crazy about his hair after he’d taken her to see Shaft. She was warned not to run her fingers through his barnet under any circumstances. Or, as he put it, ‘Don’t mess with my Prince’.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, his voice his Sunday best, obviously out to impress the piece of totty who had wheeled the pram back to stand with him. ‘Can you step aside?’

  ‘Step aside?’ Babs was furious now, her voice rising loud and clear. ‘You weren’t saying that when we were tucked up all nice and lovey-dovey between the sheets— ’ Her voice ended on a squeak as he grabbed her and marched her down the street, throwing an ‘I won’t be a second’ over his shoulder. His lady was standing with an outraged expression, arms folded.

  Babs shook his hand off. ‘You’ve got a lot to answer for, Neville Campbell. Or is it Lewis? Or maybe Morris? There were so many names for you on those letters in that Limehouse flat I thought I’d been going out with Ronald Biggs.’

  ‘Babs?’ he asked with mock surprise. ‘I’ve been looking for you—’

  ‘Cut the shit, Nev. I know about Petra, Tania, that poor cow standing over there and God knows how many others. If you didn’t want to see me no more, then you should’ve had the balls to tell me to my face. You know what they say, if you’re big enough to put your cock in it, you should be man enough when you want to tuck it away.’ She shoved her palm in his face when he started to speak. Now she had him she was going to have her say. ‘You left me right in the lurch.’ His widening eyes went to her belly. ‘That’s right, this baby is yours. So what are you going to do about it?’ She stabbed her finger into his chest. ‘This little one needs a dad about the house. A man who’ll put bread on the table. A name.’

  Neville must have been proper stressed out. He was actually shoving his fingers in his hair, messing his Prince up big time. ‘Why didn’t you let me know?’

  ‘What with? A crystal ball? I went looking for you in every hole I knew about like a grade one fool.’ She stared at the pram. ‘Is that your kid?’

  The way he looked nervously over his shoulder answered the question. ‘I’m sorry baby—’

  ‘Baby, you got that right. What are you going to do about it?’

  He copped another gaze at his lady friend, who was toing and froing the pram in such a hectic motion it looked like it would tip over any second. ‘The thing is, I’ve found myself a really great lady. She loves the ground I walk on but I don’t think finding out I’m the proud daddy of some other bird’s baby is going to go down so well.’

  Oh, Babs knew what he meant alright – that she wasn’t a great lady. That hurt, really hurt. What a proper moron she had been. She had given this guy everything, everything, and all he could chat on about was some other woman like she didn’t have feelings. She should’ve figured out that Nev was a total me-me-me merchant straight away.

  She felt like crying, but she ruthlessly shut the waterworks down, fed up of mooning over this man. ‘You want to know what your Jack the Lad routine cost me? Everything. I’ve been called a whore by some old fart of a doctor, had to face down my mum and dad’s disappointment, and Denny . . .’ Her voice hitched in her throat.

  His face became concerned. ‘What, Denise who I met at the Reno?’

  ‘Do you know a geezer called Mickey Ingram?’

  He looked shocked that she was even uttering Mickey’s name. ‘I did a bit of . . . let’s just call it maintenance . . . on the doors of a brothel he owns around here—’

  Babs’ eyes bulged. ‘A knocking shop?’

  He nodded. ‘I roughed up any punters who got out of hand and chucked their arses out.’ His gaze darted away from the disbelief on her face. ‘I’m not proud of it. I washed my hands of that place a long time ago.’ He leaned closer. ‘If Denny’s mixed up with Mickey and his nutty missus—’

  His current lady-love rolled the pram up like a tank on a battlefield. She shouted, ‘Come on, we’ve got things to sort out – who is this slag anyway?’

  Babs peered into the pram. ‘Hmm. Looks like Neville’s right. It’s not his kid. Your baby really is an ugly little bastard.’

  ‘You little bitch; I’ll show you what ugly looks like.’

  She swung her open palm at Babs’ cheek but it didn’t connect. All the anger and uncertainty Babs had been living through burst out like a champagne cork. She threw herself at her wannabe attacker but Neville grabbed her around the waist. Even with his strength, it took Neville some serious work to pull Babs away.

  He yelled, ‘Knock it off; you’ve got a baby to think about.’

  Babs felt a kick as if her child was silently a
greeing with its father. She shrugged him off.

  ‘I hope you have a happy life,’ she spat with maximum sarkiness. Then she turned to the angry woman by his side. ‘You’re welcome to him, luv. A word to the wise, he has a way of leaving his baby-batter all over town.’

  As she turned to stalk off, Nev caught her arm and pulled her close. ‘Your luck might be in.’

  ‘What are you chatting on about?’

  He directed his gaze down the street. ‘See that woman over there?’

  Babs followed his gaze to see a tall, gorgeous, black woman walking the other way.

  ‘Her name’s Cleo. If anyone knows if your mate visited the knocking shop, she will.’

  Twenty-Six

  Stan’s luck was in when he got to the Lancer’s Gentleman’s Club in Kensington. At the entrance, opening and closing the door for the toffs, was a doorman in a blue uniform. But Stan knew him. He’d guarded dodgy clubs and all-night drinking dens all over London. Now he looked like Cinderella’s butler. You had to be flexible in the bouncing game.

  ‘Wotcha, Dan.’

  ‘Blimey – Stan! What are you doing here? Still running that modelling agency? I heard you were thick as thieves with Mickey Ingram these days.’ Wasn’t he just!

  ‘Yeah, I am, sort of. But at the moment I need to get inside.’ He dropped his voice. ‘I want to have a word with a bloke who lunches and dines here.’

  Dan looked wary. ‘I dunno. They’re a bit choosy about who they let past reception. And you aren’t really dressed for it.’ He looked at Stan’s very natty but very dark red suit. ‘If it was up to me of course . . .’

  ‘Of course. But this is urgent, like. Can you get me in round the back? I’ll make it up to you and you know I keep my word.’

  ‘I shouldn’t really . . . but seeing as it’s you.’

  Dan took him to the back of the building and after a word with a guy there, Stan was in. He hugged the white walls and followed the whiff of roasted and stewed meat. How the other half live, Stan thought when he slipped into the dining room, his gaze taking in the panelled walls, the china and silver and the paintings of blokes in clobber from bygone eras with their noses in the air.