‘The police turned up at our hotel room to speak to your father.’
Joanna was immediately alarmed. ‘They haven’t arrested Dad, have they?’
Deborah stroked her daughter’s cheek. She had cried throughout the journey to Whitechapel, but now she was here, she had to be strong for Jo’s sake. ‘’Course they never arrested him. Your dad is at home with your brother. I told him I’d ring as soon as I got here. In bits, he is, love, and he so wanted to be here to support you and wait for news on Molly. He couldn’t come though because of his parole conditions. He isn’t meant to go anywhere near the Butlers and no way do I want him being carted off back to prison.’
‘Mum, what am I gonna do if Molly isn’t found? I love her so much, I just can’t live without her, I know I can’t,’ Joanna wept.
Feeling her own eyes well up again, Deborah bit her lip to stop the tears and rested Joanna’s head on her shoulder. ‘The police are very good at finding children these days. We just need to keep strong and positive for Molly’s sake.’
‘But do you think they will find her alive?’
Deborah was not a religious woman, but she took her daughter’s hand and said, ‘Let’s both say a prayer together for Molly’s safe return, shall we? Your dad sort of found God in prison, and he swears that prayers do work.’
Joanna nodded. She was that desperate to hold her angelic child in her arms once again, she would literally try anything.
Christopher Walker was sitting at his desk, deep in thought. After yet another crap night’s sleep, he knew he had to do something, but he had yet to decide what.
Calling Ahmed’s bluff was one option. Perhaps he should refuse to arrest Vinny unless Ahmed relented on his insistence that he was not to involve his superiors? Ahmed had little to gain by carrying out his threat to expose Christopher’s childhood lies. Somehow he needed to persuade the Turk that all it would take was a word in the right ear and he could guarantee Ahmed would walk free while Vinny was banged up for a long stretch.
His train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of a couple of his colleagues. ‘Morning, Chris. You heard what happened to Vinny Butler?’ said one.
‘I expect Chris knows more than we do, being as his sister is married to Vinny’s brother,’ said the other.
Having just taken a mouthful of coffee, Christopher spat it all over his desk. He had told his superiors at the beginning of his career that his sister was married to Michael Butler, but the subject hadn’t come up since. He never spoke about Nancy or her children at work, because a family association with the notorious Butlers was the last thing he wanted to broadcast.
‘You OK, Chris? You don’t look well.’
‘I’m fine. Coffee just went down the wrong hole and I nearly choked. I haven’t heard anything about Vinny Butler. What’s happened to him?’
‘Looks like somebody’s abducted his daughter. There’s a massive search going on in the East End. She’s only three – but I suppose, being related, you already know that.’
‘For your information, I have nothing to do with my sister or that vile family, so I hardly class the Butlers as my relations,’ Christopher snapped.
When his colleague apologized then walked away, Christopher picked up his newspaper and pretended to be engrossed. But though his eyes rested on the front page his mind was on Ahmed Zane.
Could it be that the Turk was behind Molly Butler’s disappearance?
The Detective Inspector was a different kettle of fish entirely to the CID officers Vinny had dealt with the previous day. Unlike his colleagues, he was in uniform. And his line of questioning made it clear he thought he was dealing with a toerag rather than an anxious father.
Vinny had always had a short fuse and when the DI asked him for the third time whether he had upset anybody lately, Vinny started to lose his rag. ‘You got a problem with me, or what? Only you seem far more interested in my life than you do my daughter’s. Molly is not a dog that has gone missing in the fucking park, you know. She’s a little girl, just three years old.’
The Detective Inspector was no fan of Vinny Butler. As a plod, new to the force, he had worked on the Dave Phillips’ murder enquiry, and like the rest of his colleagues he’d been convinced that Vinny was as guilty as hell. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned about Molly Butler.
‘Vinny, I am just as keen to find your daughter as you are, which is why I’m asking you these questions. As we speak, officers are carrying out door-to-door enquiries, and we’ve flooded East London with leaflets and posters. We’re doing everything in our power to find Molly. But with every minute that passes it’s looking more and more likely that your daughter did not just wander off. And chances are, if she’s been snatched, it’s not random. So let’s not play games, eh? We both know what you are, and that you’ve made your share of enemies. So, I will ask you again: have you had any run-ins with anybody recently?’
Vinny shrugged. ‘I had a couple of rucks, but they didn’t even occur round here, they happened down at Eastbourne. I got nicked for affray, but it was more like handbags at dawn.’
‘Who did you fall out with?’
‘I had a fall out with some lads from South London. One was hitting on my missus and he picked Molly up and dropped her, so I clumped him. They were only kids though. Apart from one being called Lee, I ain’t got a clue what their names were. Oh, and my sister’s new bloke stuck his nose in and got it a bit busted. His name was Scott something, but Bren’s not with him any more. Then a week later I had a falling out with a bouncer – just a drink-related scuffle, nothing major, but that’s when I got nicked for affray. Robert Carson is the bouncer’s name, but he isn’t from round here. He comes from Hastings.’
The Detective Inspector wrote down some notes and then asked Vinny if there was anybody closer to home that might hold a grudge against him. The DI knew it was a dumb question as he asked it, because there was no way Vinny was going to shed light on any Butler skulduggery, missing kid or not. ‘Well?’ the DI asked, impatience creeping into his voice.
Vinny shook his head. ‘Obviously I’ve had run-ins with people round here over the years, but I calmed down when my Molly was born. These days I tend to steer clear of trouble and just concentrate on my family and business.’
The DI eyed him suspiciously. He had heard rumours that Vinny and Ahmed were soon to be under surveillance for supplying the bulk of the capital’s cocaine these days, and there was no telling whose toes they’d trodden on in the process, but there was no chance of Butler owning up to that.
‘OK, if you do think of anybody it’ll be in your daughter’s best interests if you inform me as soon as possible. In the meantime, I would like you and Joanna to do a TV appeal. The press and the public are a great help in cases such as Molly’s and we have found many a missing child alive and well after a tear-jerking TV interview. These appeals tend to bring out the best in people and potential witnesses will then come out of the woodwork.’
Vinny put his head in his hands. He dreaded doing a TV appeal in case his emotions got the better of him and he mugged himself off, but he would do anything to see and hold his beautiful child again. ‘OK. What time?’
‘I’ll speak to the media and get back to you. Are you going to be here? Or at home?’
‘Well, my brother and I were planning to head out with some pals and search for Molly ourselves.’
‘There really is no point in you searching. My officers have everything under control. It’s better you’re here if we need you.’
‘OK. I’ll wait here then. Oh, and did you check out where Jo’s father was when Molly disappeared? I know Jo said she was at his wedding, but I wouldn’t trust Johnny Preston as far as I could throw him. If anybody holds a grudge against me, it’s that bastard.’
‘My officers have already spoken to Mr Preston and he has a watertight alibi. At the time Molly went missing, he was at his reception with sixty-odd guests. There aren’t many fathers who would put their daughter thr
ough the misery Joanna is currently experiencing, Vinny, so I reckon you’re barking up the wrong tree there.’ He got to his feet and picked up his raincoat. ‘Right, I’ll get that TV appeal in motion and have a word with the press too while I’m at it. Molly’s photo in the local and national newspapers might help jog people’s memories. Oh, and while I am gone, try to jog your own memory. Any information you can remember might prove to be vital.’
Staring at the DI’s back as he sauntered off, Vinny clenched his fist. ‘Sarcastic old cunt,’ he mumbled.
Mary Walker got off the train at Whitechapel and walked as fast as she could towards Joanna’s house. Nancy had rung her yesterday evening to ask her to keep the boys overnight and take them to school again today, but Mary had no idea that Molly was missing until Nancy had rung up again this morning and explained the terrible situation.
Donald had not been at all happy about her leaving him short-staffed at the café. He had pleaded with her not to go to Vinny’s house, but Mary could tell how upset Nancy was and after spending a week down at Eastbourne with Joanna, she’d grown very fond of the girl. As for young Molly, it sickened Mary to the stomach to think what might have happened to the poor little mite. Molly might be a Butler by name, but she was nothing like the majority of that family by nature. She was one of the sweetest little girls that Mary had ever had the pleasure of meeting.
Having never been to Joanna’s house before, Mary took the piece of paper with the address Nancy had given her out of her handbag and looked around her. It was almost knocked from her hand by a skinhead barging past. ‘Have you never heard of the word sorry?’ Mary protested as he strode off.
‘Shut up, you old witch,’ the boy spat.
Wondering what had happened to her beloved England, Mary hung back to avoid any further contact with him. She hated that skinhead look, found it intimidating, and even though this lad did not have great big bovver boots on, as her and Donald like to call them, he looked a thoroughly nasty piece of work.
As Mary clocked the house numbers, she spotted two policemen knocking on people’s front doors and guessed it was to do with young Molly’s disappearance. She had seen loads of police officers wandering the streets since she had stepped off the train at Whitechapel.
As she drew level with number twenty-five, Mary was horrified to hear shouting and screaming coming from inside. Worried about her daughter, she banged on the door. ‘Nancy, it’s me. Are you OK?’ she shouted.
When Nancy opened the front door, Mary was shocked to see the skinhead boy who had called her a witch standing in the hallway.
‘Get him out of here! Get him out! My Molly wouldn’t be missing if it wasn’t for him,’ Joanna screamed, trying to push the boy out of the house.
‘Whatever’s going on, love?’ Mary asked Nancy.
‘It’s a long story, Mum. I’ll explain later.’
‘My daughter is right. This is your fault – and your father’s, for allowing you to look after Molly in the first place. Now, please just leave. We don’t want you here and you’re upsetting Jo,’ said a woman with dark hair who Mary had never seen before.
When the skinhead slumped down the wall and started to cry, Mary found herself feeling sorry for him even though he had insulted her not ten minutes ago. Judging by what had been said, this must be Vinny’s son. Even though Donald was forever telling her off in the café for getting involved in situations she had no need to, she couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t in her nature to stand by and see a youngster so upset, no matter who they were or what they’d done.
‘Jo, I love Molly so much. She’s my little sister and I am so sorry for falling asleep. If anything bad has happened to her, I will never forgive myself,’ Little Vinny gasped between sobs.
‘Your dad is stopping at the club, Vinny. Go and see him,’ Nancy said coldly.
When the distraught teenager dashed past her, Mary was about to chase after him to ensure he was OK until Nancy grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear. ‘Leave it, Mum. He’s just like his father. The apple never falls far from the tree and in Little Vinny’s case it fell closer than most.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Fiona Mason was worried when the police knocked on the front door and asked to speak with her brother. ‘Scotty’s not here at the moment. Can I help you at all? I’m his sister.’
‘Would you by any chance know of your brother’s whereabouts yesterday afternoon?’
‘Yes. Scott was here with me. As you can see, we’ve been decorating,’ Fiona replied, pointing to the dust sheets, tins of paint and wallpaper.
‘Did your brother pop out at all?’
‘Yes, at teatime, to get us some fish and chips. He was only gone about fifteen minutes though. Why? What’s he meant to have done?’
‘Nothing. We’re investigating the disappearance of a little girl, and just needed to rule your brother out of our enquiries.’
‘Why ever would you think Scott would be involved with the disappearance of a child? He loves kids.’
‘I’m sure he does, miss … Can I take your full name, please?’
‘Fiona Jane Mason.’ She watched as the officer wrote her name in his notebook, then asked, ‘So will you still need to speak to Scott? I have no idea what time he’ll be home.’
‘The information you have given us should be sufficient. If it turns out that we do need to speak to Scott in person, we’ll call back later.’
Fiona waited until the police had driven off before shouting out to Scott that it was safe to come out. Her brother had hidden in her wardrobe when he saw the police car pull up, begging her to tell them he was out and give an alibi if needed. ‘What the hell have you done, Scott? Where was you all day yesterday?’ Fiona screamed.
‘I already told you, I had a bit of business to attend to. What did the Old Bill say?’
‘And would your business dealings have anything to do with kidnapping a little girl?’
‘What? Don’t talk wet! ’Course it had nothing to do with that.’
‘Well, that’s what the police were asking about. Wanted to know where you were yesterday afternoon because some kid’s gone missing.’
‘Jesus, Fi. I might be a bit of a wideboy, but I’m no bloody nonce. What did you tell ’em?’
‘I said you was here with me and we were decorating. I told them the only time you went out was to get some fish and chips at teatime.’
‘What did you say that for? Say they go round the chippy and start asking the staff if they served me?’
Fiona was furious. The least Scott could do was show some gratitude after she’d put her neck on the line for him yet again. ‘Well, I had to make it look genuine, didn’t I? I did have fish and chips last night and the wrappers are in the bin, had the police asked for evidence. If you’ve not done anything wrong, why are you so bloody worried, eh? I swear to you, Scott, if you have had anything to do with that kid going missing, me and you are finished – for good.’
Queenie Butler had been ranting all morning about what a traitor Joanna Preston had turned out to be, but when she started going on about her poor Vinny, Vivian finally snapped.
‘It isn’t Jo’s fault that Molly is missing, Queen. She left the girl with her father, not a fourteen-year-old babysitter. If anyone is to blame for that child’s disappearance, it’s your precious golden boy. We all know that Little Vinny isn’t capable of looking after a fucking goldfish. As for slating the girl for going to her own parents’ wedding, what did you expect? It’s her mother and father – and as you’re always sayin’, blood’s thicker than water.’
Stunned by her sister’s outburst, Queenie stood up. ‘The day my Roy was paralysed was the day his life ended, so excuse me if I’m not happy about that scheming little cow seeing her father behind all of our backs! We welcomed her into this family and treated her like one of our own. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of sitting here twiddling my thumbs. I’m going to the club to find out what the hell is happening. Surely the
police must have some leads by now? They told me sod all when I rang them earlier.’
‘I’m not going to the club. I’ll stay here and wait for news. Oh, and Queen, before you start sucking up to that deceitful son of yours, please never forget that it was he who killed my boy.’
After a heavy night on the tiles, Bobby Jackson was still in bed when he heard someone pounding on his front door. His wife had left him the last time he got sent down, so there was no option but to haul himself out of bed and find out what they wanted. ‘All right, all right, I’m coming,’ he yelled, stumbling downstairs in just his Y-fronts and a T-shirt.
Yanking open the front door, a bleary-eyed Bobby was rather taken aback to see the Old Bill on his doorstep. Before he had a chance to ask what was going on, an officer handcuffed him and read him his rights.
Ahmed Zane had thoroughly enjoyed lunch with his cousin. The juicy T-bone steak was delicious and Burak had had him in fits of laughter with his warped one-liners, but now it was time to make a move.
‘Right, I must be off. I have arranged to meet Christopher at two, then I shall head back to the club and put on my concerned best friend face. My performance so far has been so convincing, I think I deserve an Academy Award,’ Ahmed chuckled.
‘And what are you going to say to Christopher when he starts interrogating you about Molly? He is bound to suspect that we have taken her.’
Ahmed chuckled. ‘He can suspect what he likes. There is no proof to link us to Molly going missing, is there? And we have the perfect alibi. Besides, I very much doubt Christopher will be accusing us of such a crime. How would he explain his suspicions to his superiors?’
‘OK. But I still have a bad feeling about Carl Thompson, Ahmed. I think you should give him some more money. If Carl was as pissed off as you said – and he must have been to slam the phone down on you – then we need to get him back on side.’
Ahmed shrugged. ‘Carl knew the score when I set this deal up. I have already paid him a substantial amount up front and I am not parting with any more of my hard-earned cash until the job is finished. If Carl starts to get too cocky, then we shall just have to make him disappear. After all, that is what we specialize in, isn’t it?’
Payback Page 32
