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

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  As she took it, their fingers briefly touched, sending an electric heat through Babs she hadn’t felt in years. She shook off the sensation and took the card; she knew Stan could use it to find out who this character really was. ‘I’ll pass it on to my husband.’ His arch look said he didn’t believe her.

  ‘What makes you think I wouldn’t?’ Babs didn’t know why she was prolonging a convo with this git.

  ‘Come on. I’m a private investigator; I know you and Stan have split up.’

  Split up? He might have been private but he clearly wasn’t much of an investigator.

  She huffed. ‘Is that what your small-time friend Mickey told you? I’ve got news for you; my husband and I are still very much married, as you’re going to discover when I have a little word in his ear about you. As for your friend Mickey,’ she sneered his name, ‘he’s an ignorant little prick.’

  Smith seemed to understand that he’d dropped a ricket. ‘I’m not interested in your marriage; I only want to find Denise.’ All of a sudden he seemed to be in a hurry to get out of there.

  Babs yelled after him, ‘Sure . . .’ Then she plastered a satisfied smile on. She’d seen him off. Should really take off one of her shoes and throw it after him. Instead, she closed the door and stared hard at the card. There was just a name and a London number. Curious, she went into her front room and called it.

  A woman answered. ‘Hello, can I take a message?’

  ‘No, luv, I want to speak to Richard Smith.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, I’m a temp, I don’t know everyone’s name yet. Can I take a message?’

  Babs was sure she could hear voices in the background. She slammed the phone down by way of a message and propped the card up on the mantelpiece. Why on earth had Mickey Ingram told Smith that they’d split up, when he of all people would know it wasn’t true? She knew Stan was going to be very interested in her caller.

  But as usual, she couldn’t get him on the blower.

  At four that afternoon, in the deserted saloon bar in the Bad Moon in Shadwell, Stan, Cricket and Horner sat around a table talking business. Althea and Donna’s ‘Uptown Top Ranking’ played away in the background. The new landlord knew the drill and had made himself scarce; the blinds were drawn to keep out prying eyes. Stan skipped the small talk and got straight down to the matter at hand. He explained about the mysterious Richard Smith and his enquiries into the equally mysterious disappearance of Denny Brooks six years earlier, leaving his brother’s name out of the mix. The two cops, who were suspicious at first, became confused.

  ‘OK. So some bloke’s going round asking questions about some bird we’ve never heard of. How’s that got anything to do with us?’

  Stan lit a Havana. They went better with his new upmarket image than the Turkish fags. ‘You see, boys, that girl is connected with Mickey Ingram and his former knocking shop up in Mile End. Which, in turn, is connected with that fit up we did on Mickey Ingram and his missus up at Snaresbrook. As well as you both getting your end away there at my expense, you understand?’

  They finally twigged about the problem. ‘I need you two boys to do me a couple of favours. For a start, you can find out who this jam jar belongs to.’ Stan gave Horner a scrap of paper with the car registration number Babs had taken. ‘And secondly, have a rummage through the filing cabinets and see if your boys collected any info on the disappearance of Denise Brooks back in ’72.’

  The piece of paper in Stan’s hand was left hanging in the air. Neither of the two cops made a move to take it. Cricket explained, ‘It ain’t happening. We don’t care about some bird from six years back. We can’t help. It’s too risky.’

  Stan knew he had them by the goolies. One word from him and that anti-corruption mob would have them. He waved the paper at them. ‘May I remind you that we’re all in this tub together. And if that tub should spring a leak, we’re all going to drown together.’

  Cricket’s face darkened. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? I’m sure you know better than to threaten us.’

  Horner took the scrap of paper from Stan and put it in his wallet. ‘No problem mate – we’ll do that for you—’

  Cricket’s rage exploded. ‘Have you lost a screw?’ But his former partner sent him a pointed look.

  Horner carried on. ‘And we’ll see what we can find out about the girl.’ He ignored Cricket’s dirty look. ‘I’ve got to say, it seems a bit unlikely that this could cause us any problems.’

  ‘Unlikely?’ Stan scoffed. ‘I’ve built a career by catering for the unlikely. Al Capone getting nicked for tax evasion was unlikely. I want that information back to me pretty lively.’

  Stan wasn’t fooled. He knew Cricket and Horner would do to him what he’d helped them do to others. He didn’t even blame them really. He’d never trusted people who weren’t looking out for number one. He was also pretty sure the memory of what the three of them had got up to in ’72 would soon come back to them. They would be looking for a chance to stab him in the back. But there was a difference. He’d been ready to stab them in the back from the beginning.

  Forty-Six

  Two days later, it took the woman in the jewellers in Bishopsgate ten seconds flat to spot the row of white gold diamond rings. She was dressed to impress, in a long black cashmere coat, shades, and stiletto heels. Her shiny brown hair bounced down her back.

  As soon as she reached the counter she slowly pulled off her sunglasses. She glanced at one of the shop assistants.

  ‘You,’ she said with all the airs and graces of someone with money to burn. ‘There’s a ring I wish to see.’

  The assistant walked over. As the customer swept her hair back with both hands, the assistant couldn’t help but notice the three gold necklaces she wore. All different lengths, nothing showy.

  ‘The third from the left,’ the woman instructed.

  After seeing those necklaces, the shop assistant couldn’t get her keys in quick enough. She figured she was on to a big sale. She set the tray of rings carefully on the glass counter.

  ‘May I suggest Madam try this one.’ Of course it was the most expensive.

  The woman did. She twisted and turned her finger in the light.

  ‘Madam, if I may say, it truly complements your colouring.’

  The high-pitched door buzzer went off. The assistant looked over to see the postman with a few letters in his hand.

  ‘Just one moment.’ She hustled over to the door.

  As soon as he was in, the postman said, ‘You’re going to have to sign for this one.’ She rushed him over to another counter and bent down to find a pen. She quickly signed for the letter and took the three others he handed her.

  As soon as she’d finished, she noticed that her customer was nowhere in sight. Where could she have . . .? Shit. She rushed over to the ring tray and noticed two empty spaces – one for the ring she’d encouraged the woman to wear and the next expensive one of the lot. She started trembling. She went over to the letters and opened the first one. Blank paper inside. There were blank papers inside every one. She’d been set up.

  Fifteen minutes later, in the public lav on Commercial Street in front of the white Hawksmoor Church, the woman ditched her wig and the postman dumped his disguise. She dumped the three necklaces as well; pure toot from the Roman. The three-necklace trick was a speciality of hers. Wearing three necklaces of different length screamed money, much more than one trussed up in diamonds.

  There was no need for chat. She passed him his ‘drink’ money by way of the second most expensive ring and the other one she palmed herself.

  When he’d shifted himself, Mel Ingram turned to the mirror, fluffed out her hair and grinned. Now she had all she needed to sort that slag Babs Miller out.

  Two bloody days. That’s how long Babs had been trying to get hold of Stan. He gave her a bell just before her mum arrived to take them all to see Grease at Mile End Cinema and then off to Vicky Park.

  ‘Alright, Babs, what’s happening?’ He sounded bl
eary and vague, as if he’d just got in from a bender.

  That got her back up. ‘I dunno. Why don’t you come back and find out before the girls start to confuse you with the milkman.’

  There was a long sigh before he explained, ‘Give it a rest; I have to work. I’m doing it for my daughters, ain’t I? I can’t come back at the moment; I’m down in Cornwall looking at some sites for a project. I’ll be a couple of days.’

  Properly put out, she switched the phone to her other ear. ‘Is that so? I suggest you put your project on hold and get your aris back here; you’ve got a more urgent one.’

  Stan yawned. ‘Can’t, luv – too much money at stake.’

  ‘I think you’ll change your tune when I tell you about the visitor we had.’

  ‘The grim reaper?’

  Was this guy for real? ‘Yeah, that’s right, you have a laugh – still think it’s funny when I tell you it was that Richard Smith again? I thought you were sorting him out! How did he get our address?’

  Stan wasn’t laughing. ‘I am sorting him out; I’m waiting for a call about it. What did he want?’

  ‘What he wanted last time, to know about Denny. And another thing, he seems to think we’ve split up. He got a bit of a shock when he discovered we hadn’t. Who is this bloke?’ There was a long silence at the other end of the line. Babs broke it by saying, ‘And there’s another thing. I saw Smith snooping around the estate. Guess where? He was coming out of the Ingrams’ – looking very pally with Mickey.’

  Stan flew into a rage. ‘Mickey Ingram? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’

  Babs was tart. ‘Oh, I tried – but you’re never available, are you?’

  The phone nearly vibrated with Stan’s anger. ‘Alright, I’m coming back. I’ll sort Mr Smith and Mr Ingram. I’ll see you about two-ish.’

  ‘This afternoon? I thought you were in Cornwall?’

  But he’d already hung up.

  Cornwall my arse!

  Forty-Seven

  Babs was right. Stan wasn’t in Cornwall but he was near a phone. He called Horner as soon as he’d finished with his wife. ‘What’s going on? I thought you was looking something up for me. I told you I needed it sharpish.’

  ‘I have. I left a message with the girl at your office. Didn’t you get it?’

  Stan realised he’d been careless. He hadn’t checked in. ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘The car registration you wanted? It’s good news and bad news. The bad news is the motor’s registered to a dentist in Huddersfield, so we’re talking a fake set of plates. But I’ve asked around and apparently this Richard Smith character goes after people who’ve defaulted on loans. In Maggie Brooks’s case, she’s got out of paying it back by using the old trick of dying. So Smith’s on a commission to get the money back from the relatives. That means her kids. The other kids have got sweet FA, so he’s set his sights on Denise. ’Course, everyone’s telling him the girl’s dead but he don’t believe it – well, you wouldn’t, would you? That’s why he’s sticking his beak in.’

  Stan wasn’t convinced. ‘So what’s this geezer’s real name? I’ll go and pay him a visit, just to be on the safe side.’

  Horner was steady. ‘No need. I’m going to put the frighteners on him. You relax. We’ll take care of it.’

  ‘I’d rather speak to him myself.’

  Horner was getting the needle. ‘What’s the matter with you, Stan? You’re getting paranoid. I’ve taken some big risks on your behalf and now you’re getting the hump about it? I’ve told you – I’ll fix it. I’ll get the paperwork for the loan out of him and we can meet up for a drink and you can have it. That’ll prove I’m not taking you for a ride.’

  There was a long pause. ‘Alright mate. You fix it and we’ll have a meet.’ Stan put the phone down and thought about what he’d heard.

  It was plausible.

  It was too plausible.

  Cricket was sitting next to Horner, listening to his call with Stan. After the receiver went back Cricket smiled. ‘He don’t believe you.’

  ‘Of course he don’t believe me, the suspicious little sod. Don’t worry; he’ll soon have a lot more to worry about than the mysterious Mr Smith.’ He picked up a file. ‘We’re going to put Miller out of business for good.’

  He laid the file back on the desk so his one-time partner could see the name on the front.

  Peter Miller.

  ‘What’s got you stewing, luv?’ Rosie Wilson asked her daughter.

  They were in Victoria Park near the lake after having a lovely trip to see Grease. They’d had a grand time, grandmother, daughter and granddaughter singing along to ‘The One That I Want’.

  Jen loved coming to Vicky Park. It had loads of space to run around. Babs sometimes took her to the lido, but had decided against it today. Miffed, her bottom lip sticking out, Jen had sulked all the way until she’d got here and decided to have the time of her life. If only it were always that easy to forget your troubles. There were just a few people around, including a woman lying on a blanket, which was a bit odd because the sun wasn’t out. Oh well, each to their own.

  Babs considered her mum’s question as they sat and watched the swans swimming. She didn’t want to tell her the full SP about this Richard Smith character but she could certainly put in a few bad words about her other half. ‘If you’re talking about me and Stan, we’ve got our problems like any other couple. Mostly we’re alright, but sometimes—’

  Rosie rocked baby Tiffany. ‘Sometimes it can be a real uphill struggle keeping your marriage alive.’

  ‘Peek-a-boo,’ Jen shouted as she pushed her head out from behind a tree. She rattled her blue elephant, Mister Silly, at them.

  ‘I see you,’ Rosie replied, making Jen laugh. Babs grinned. She was as pleased as Punch that her mum was back in her life and getting on so well with the girls.

  She turned her attention back to her mum. ‘I didn’t realise that you and Dad had your ups and downs.’

  ‘Every couple does. It wouldn’t be a marriage otherwise. There was this fancy piece he used to see . . .’ Babs couldn’t help the gasp of surprise. Her dad, George Wilson, cheating on her mum? Never. ‘What you’re thinking is exactly what I thought,’ Rosie continued. ‘One of the girls at the sweatshop made it her business to tell me he saw a woman every couple of months at his work—’

  ‘Peek-a-boo,’ Jen and Mister Silly said again.

  ‘I see you,’ Rosie said and then got on with her story. ‘So I went down one night and caught them at it. Caught him teaching her to sew. Turns out this woman wanted to set up her own boutique and needed someone to teach her the ropes.’ She smiled as she remembered. ‘I did give him a cuff around the ear for not putting me in the picture.’

  ‘I don’t think Stan’s two-timing me, I just wish he was home more. I always imagined that married life would be me, him and the kids having dinner at the table every night. Says he’s away in Cornwall—’

  ‘Cornwall.’ A dreamy look covered her mum’s face. ‘I loved that Poldark. He made me wet my knickers.’

  ‘Mum! I’ve got children within earshot.’ They both burst out giggling.

  Rosie continued her free marriage guidance. ‘Fair play to your husband, at least he’s a worker. Those first few years are hard, because you’re trying to set yourselves up for the future and that often means putting in long hours. Your dad worked all the hours God sent so we could afford the rent.’

  Babs sighed as she watched two of the swans rubbing their beaks against each other. ‘But he goes to all these posh dos and meets some really important people and I wish he’d take me with him. You don’t think he’s ashamed of me?’

  Rosie cuddled Tiffany closer. ‘Don’t be daft. I only met Stan that one time years back but even then it was as plain as day he was really taken with you. You want to hang on to a man working that hard.’

  Babs felt the drops of rain. ‘Better get going before the heavens open.’ She scanned the park and couldn’t see her daughter.r />
  ‘Jen,’ she yelled. ‘We’re off.’

  No answer. Babs stood up. ‘Jen, we’ll play peek-a-boo with your nan when we get indoors.’

  Still no answer. Babs took a few steps forward and really started to look. There was no sign of Jen anywhere. Her heart began jumping.

  ‘Jennifer! Jennifer!’ she shouted.

  Rosie put Tiffany in her pram. With her hands on her hips, she yelled, ‘Jennifer Miller, get here now.’ No Jen appeared. At the stricken expression on her daughter’s face she calmly said, ‘No need to panic, she’s around here somewhere.’

  But Babs was panicking. ‘But where? Where is she?’

  She left her mother and started running around the park. Five minutes later she was back, in floods of tears. ‘I can’t find her anywhere.’

  ‘Stay calm. Let’s find one of the park keepers . . .’ Her voice dribbled away when they saw a woman and a child walking towards them. Babs’ panic turned to rage as they came closer. It was Jen alright, holding onto the hand of that bitch Mel Ingram.

  Babs didn’t wait for them to reach her but stormed over, fists clenched, ready to commit murder. ‘What are you doing with my daughter?’ she growled. She picked Jen up and held her close.

  Mel smiled smugly. ‘I was lying on my blanket minding my own business . . .’ – Babs glared hot and hard – ‘when this gorgeous little girl came up to me and said she needed to go for a number one—’

  Babs sent her child a furious look. ‘How many times have I told you not to speak to strangers, eh?’

  Jen’s face creased up and she started bawling.

  ‘But we’re not strangers,’ Mel announced sweetly, ‘we’ve got such a long history, me and you.’

  Babs got right in her face. Oh, she wanted to slap her. ‘You stay the fuck away from my kids.’

  Mel shook her head. ‘Tsk! Tsk! Is that any way for a mum to speak in front of her daughter? You wouldn’t want people to say she’s being dragged up.’

  Mel was packing confidence in spades. What was she up to? ‘You followed me, didn’t ya?’