by Jessie Keane
‘Who would be stupid enough to announce their involvement in a robbery?’ Harman asked Romilly half an hour later, when they were trudging down the stairs with Kevin Batley leading the way.
‘One gang trying to make trouble for another?’ she suggested.
‘Maybe it’s a double bluff.’
‘Or maybe a challenge.’
Batley was calling the workers together, clapping his hands and standing on a pallet to give himself a little height. They gathered nervously, some of them still looking shaken from their experience.
‘We want to know everything you saw. However insignificant,’ said Romilly. ‘If any of you think you have something that could help in our investigation, please hold up your hand now.’
Several did. One woman stepped forward and said: ‘I think one of them was black. He had black hands. No gloves, not like the others. And I saw dreadlocks down his back. And he had gold fillings in his teeth.’
‘And you are . . .?’
‘Jane Mowbray,’ she said. Harman was taking notes.
Another woman piped up: ‘We all saw another one. Tezzer knocked his hat and balaclava off. He was scrawny. Tatty blond hair. Wrinkles. He wore gold chains. And his teeth were bad.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Romilly.
Silence.
‘Look, if that’s all, can we get on?’ asked Kevin Batley.
4
There was happiness, and then there was what Daisy Darke felt when she danced in Rob Hinton’s arms at their engagement party that same evening. The lights were low in the big living room at the back of Ruby Darke’s house, and it was hot in here despite the cold outside, with nearly a hundred people crammed in, all of them high on booze, sugary cake, too many sandwiches, sausage rolls and cheese straws. Everyone was pleased, after the excitement of Christmas, to have this celebration to ease them through the end of the January doldrums. The DJ they’d hired for the night had Peaches and Herb on the turntable, singing ‘Reunited’. It was a smoochy number and one that made Daisy smile, because she and Rob were reunited, after quite a long time apart.
Five years ago, they’d split up. Mostly that was down to Rob, not her. Rob had a chip on his shoulder about Daisy having grown up in the palatial Brayfield House with her bastard of a father Lord Cornelius Bray and her supposed ‘mother’, Lady Vanessa – who had turned out not to be her mother at all. Ruby Darke was her true mother, but Daisy had been to finishing school and spoke with a plum in her mouth, and she knew that Rob had tried to get over it, he really had, but for Christ’s sake he was an East End boy and she knew it grated.
So, he’d finished it.
Daisy was aware that his mother Eunice had called him a fool.
Daisy’s twin brother Kit, who was also Rob’s boss, had come to her defence and kicked his arse royally over it.
But Rob had been unmoving. It was over.
For a long time after that, she knew he’d deliberately steered clear of her. And then one day – this had been about a year ago – they’d bumped into each other unexpectedly at Kit’s house, and that was it. They were back on again. So here they were – yes, reunited. And engaged.
The smoochy number drew to a close and the DJ put on a fast track by the Bee Gees. Daisy and Rob left the dance floor, and so did a few other couples.
Ruby and Kit came over. Daisy thought again how very alike her mother and brother were, both of them dark-skinned, black-haired, and stunningly attractive. Ruby was wearing a simple lime-green shift, Kit was in a black bespoke suit. Daisy was so proud of him. She thought that Kit had grown in stature over the years. Once, her twin had worked as an enforcer for big noise Michael Ward. Michael had owned clubs, restaurants, snooker halls, and was paid protection by half the businesses in town. When Michael died, all that he’d owned had passed to Kit, his right-hand man.
‘You happy, darlin’?’ asked Ruby, hugging Daisy as Kit went on to where the bar was set up, then vanished into the next room.
‘Happiest I’ve ever been,’ said Daisy truthfully.
‘Call for you,’ said Leon, coming up to Ruby. ‘Unless you seen Kit, he could take it . . .’ Kit wasn’t in sight right now, so she went off into the kitchen and picked up the phone.
‘Hello?’ she said.
Kevin Batley’s furious voice bellowed out of the receiver at her: ‘Would you mind explaining to me, you cowing bitch, just what the fuck we pay you people for?’
‘Show everyone the ring,’ said Rob’s mother Eunice, who was sitting with her partner Patrick Dowling – Rob’s father having died four years ago – and Rob’s older sisters, Trudy and Sarah, and their husbands. So the happy couple did the rounds, and everyone oohed and ahhed over the sapphire with tiny diamonds clustered around it, all set in a platinum band.
‘Beautiful,’ the women gushed. ‘Oh, that’s lovely.’
‘Must have cost you a fucking fortune,’ said the men to Rob, pulling his leg.
‘You’ve got great taste in women,’ said Ashok, who also worked for Kit. He gave Daisy a kiss on the cheek.
‘Yeah, but she’s got fucking awful taste in men,’ said Fats, another of Kit’s employees. He gave Daisy a hug. ‘What’s she see in ’im, eh?’ Fats asked Ashok and Daniel, Rob’s younger brother. Daniel was the quiet middle child, not in-your-face assertive like his older brother Rob and not mouthy like his younger one, Leon. ‘Ugly as sin and big as a house,’ said Fats.
Daisy was giggling, her eyes dancing with mirth as she looked at Rob. Rob was big – six foot three – but he was all solid muscle, with fine, handsome features, straight treacle-blond hair and sexy khaki-green eyes. Every time she looked at him she thought, God, I am so lucky.
‘Oi! You pair,’ said Rob, pulling a laughing Daisy away from Fats and Ashok. ‘She’s spoken for.’
Ruby came over. She looked troubled.
‘Everything OK?’ asked Daisy.
‘Yeah, fine.’ Ruby gave her daughter a bright smile before turning to Fats and snagging Daniel as he passed by. ‘You two. With me.’
‘What’s that all about?’ Daisy asked Rob, watching her mother’s departing back with concern.
Daisy was getting used to the fact that Ruby, once a model citizen, had over the past couple of years become a key part of both the legit and criminal businesses that Kit ran. Ruby had her own interests, too – she’d acquired a Soho nightclub, for example – but her flair for business had made her an invaluable part of Kit’s team.
‘Whatever it is, Ruby’ll sort it,’ said Rob.
Finally they were able to escape outside, alone, just the two of them. Daisy shivered and Rob took off his jacket and draped it round her shoulders. He’d always looked after her, cared for her, stood by her, even when she’d been a total pain in the arse, and she loved him for that. She could feel his warmth trapped in the purple silk of the lining, enveloping her. Rob pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Now the noise was really cranking up in there, the DJ was playing ‘YMCA’ by the Village People, and everyone was singing along. There was a lot of stamping of feet and clapping and shouting. Rob and Daisy had to stop kissing, they were laughing so hard.
‘It’s been a great night,’ said Daisy.
‘Fucking fantastic,’ said Rob. He stared down into her eyes. She was a beautiful, statuesque, corn-gold blonde, blue-eyed like Kit her brother, but with a complexion like fresh summer rose petals. ‘You gorgeous thing,’ he murmured.
‘You’re the gorgeous one.’ Daisy snuggled up. ‘We’re going to be so happy, aren’t we?’
‘Yep,’ said Rob.
They were interrupted by Daisy’s six-year-old twins barrelling out of the door. There was a blast of hot air, a crash of singing voices, a hard disco beat and a glimpse of many hands forming the letters Y M C A.
Matthew yelled, ‘Uncle Rob,’ and flung himself at Rob, who laughed and hoisted him up for a hug.
Luke, always the quieter one, fastened himself to Daisy’s legs like a large limpet.
‘How ya d
oin’, soldier?’ Rob asked Matthew. ‘Having a good time?’
Matthew nodded and cuddled in. Rob smiled into Daisy’s eyes over her son’s head.
‘We’re going to be fine,’ he said. He ruffled Luke’s hair, who gave him a shy grin. ‘That right, Luke?’
‘Yeah!’
5
An hour after he’d made the call, Kevin Batley sat tied to one of his own kitchen chairs, bloodstained and battered, and reviewed the situation. He hadn’t thought today could get any worse, but he’d been wrong. Usually he was cock of the walk; king of all he surveyed. He strutted around at work, in a place as big as an aircraft hangar, watched the staff straighten their spines and work that bit harder whenever he passed by. He enjoyed his job. The power of it. His to hire and fire. His to goose behind the filing cabinets if he so chose. Which his little dolly-bird secretary wouldn’t ever complain about, because she wanted to hold on to her job. It paid well, even if it meant working with him.
So tough shit, Julie.
But today wasn’t like any other day he had ever experienced. Three mill in wages, gone. Bloody bombs outside his patch. Today was the sort of day where you were happy when the bastard finally came to an end. And you hoped you would live to see tomorrow – but right now? That was doubtful.
First, it had happened. The robbery. So sudden it made your eyes water. So violently efficient it had shocked him and everyone else in the warehouse to the core. His responsibility, of course. The buck stopped with him.
When panicky members of staff came hammering at his door he’d told them to piss off and shut up. Too bad he couldn’t do the same when the police came knocking. And after enduring their stupid questions he’d had to put up with more of the same from his superiors upcountry, who were already in touch with the insurance people. And then he’d got the roasting of his life from the chairman of the supermarket chain.
Jesus, what a day.
‘I’m still waiting,’ said the woman.
Despite the dire straits he was in, Kevin Batley noticed what a looker she was. He’d never actually seen her before, not close up. He’d heard about her, of course. He’d dealt with her son, Kit Miller, just once – and that had been a pretty damned scary experience, not one he cared to repeat. The man had left him in no doubt he was fucking dangerous. Since then, all he’d seen of the firm that his firm paid protection to was Fats, who came and collected the money every fortnight. Fats, who was now clouting him in the head like he was a punchbag.
The call from the chairman was where it had all gone wrong. He’d received the bollocking. Taken it on the chin and up the arse. Afterwards, smarting, stinging with resentment, red in the face with humiliation, sweating with stress, he’d put the phone back down and wondered if he would still have a job come Monday. He had security guards about the place, why hadn’t they done something? Too slow. It had all been too sudden. He’d sacked four of them, straight off. The ones he didn’t like, anyway. The other four he’d spared. For now. He was a beneficent ruler, all-powerful. Couldn’t believe the Chair had spoken to him over the phone like he was some fucking lowlife office junior getting a carpeting. He had his own designated parking space at the front of the building, and his Aston Martin was parked in it. He ran this place. And yet they talked to him like that, like he was nothing.
It was all too much.
Not thinking – furious, wounded – he had snatched up the phone and called the number. When it was answered, it sounded like a party going on at the other end. Oh, they were having fun, were they? When he had been living through the worst day of his entire life? He’d demanded to speak to Kit Miller himself, or to the mother, Ruby Darke. She was the one who came on the line, and by Christ he was ready for her, incandescent with rage. That was when he’d said the words he now wished he could snatch back.
‘Would you mind explaining to me, you cowing bitch,’ he’d said, ‘just what the fuck we pay you people for?’
Huge mistake.
Now here he was, sitting in his own home, tied up and punched to fuck. She’d showed up with two heavies, Fats and some other guy. On his fortnightly visits to collect their fee, Fats was all smiles and courtesy. No courtesy now, though. None of that. Fats and the other one had battered him about the head until his ears rang. He was bleeding from cuts all around his eyes and chin.
‘Don’t mark him up too much,’ said the woman.
So they’d started on his middle. The woman stepped daintily back as he shook his head and a crimson droplet fell near her black suede court shoes. He yelped as a punch landed right in his belly, which was soft from too many expense-account lunches.
‘Still waiting,’ she said near his ear.
‘I’m s-sorry,’ he gasped out.
‘Louder,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry!’ he shouted, and started to sob.
Ruby Darke stared down at the man. You couldn’t let disrespect go unpunished, but right now, seeing him broken and pathetic, she felt some sympathy for him. Kevin Batley was an arrogant little man used to chucking his weight about. He’d just miscalculated, that was all.
She nodded to Daniel. Rob’s younger brother had joined the family firm a couple of years ago. He was a lean young bruiser with a patient, solid presence who was getting very handy on the firm. Ruby liked him. He was much easier to deal with than the youngest Hinton boy, Leon, who was fiery and unpredictable. Then she nodded to Fats, who was an old hand in such matters.
The two of them loosened the wire binding Kevin’s wrists.
‘They say anything, these people? When they were taking the cash?’ asked Ruby. She was not an unreasonable person, and Kevin Batley did have a point; the warehouse paid protection to the family firm, and it was down to them to rectify this situation if they could. So he was right to be upset. But not abusive. She couldn’t tolerate that.
Kevin shook his head. His eyes widened in wild hope as his wrists were freed. They weren’t going to hurt him any more.
Without a word, Ruby and the two men made their way to the back door, now hanging from its frame where they’d kicked it in and come storming into the house.
‘Wait . . .’ Kevin licked his dry lips, wincing as his tongue touched a sizeable, oozing split there.
Ruby Darke turned back. She looked so bloody civilized, that’s what struck Kevin. She was tall, slender and neatly groomed in a lime-green shift dress and black jacket. Half-caste, obviously, with her black hair gleaming in its tidy chignon. Long gold earrings catching the light as she moved. Her eyes were dark, speckled with gold. A beauty. But cold as ice. Back in the days when she was running Darkes, the chain of department stores that bore her name, she was known as the Ice Queen of Retail. But now she’d grown into something else. Something deadly.
He tried to think, but his brain felt like mush. Hadn’t one of the girls – was it Jane? – hadn’t she said . . .? Yes. Now he had it.
‘An employee who’s in the Territorials tackled one of the raiders, pulled off his balaclava. Everyone got a good look at him. Thin bloke. Gold chains around his neck. Blond hair. Raddled skin. Bad teeth. And one of the girls saw a guy with black hands, black dreads. And gold fillings, she said.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Ruby.
‘Yeah. There is. As they were leaving, one of them yelled that this was a present from Thomas Knox,’ he gasped out. ‘He’s one of your lot, isn’t he?’
Ruby took a step towards him and her eyes were like flint.
‘You fucking what?’ she asked, very cold.
Shit, thought Kevin as the two heavies began to walk towards him. ‘I mean, in the same sort of trade as you and Mr Miller,’ he said in a rush.
The two men were coming closer, closer.
Ruby Darke was staring into his eyes, a cobra mesmerizing its prey.
Kevin knew then that the day wasn’t over.
Not yet.
6
Thomas Knox was pissed off. First it had been the police, hauling him in for questioning about some robb
ery or other. And now he opened the door to his plush Hampstead pad and there was Ruby Darke, with whom he had once had a hot thing going, a major thing, and she was grabbing him by the throat and shoving him back into his own damned hallway.
Her eyes were crazy-mad, glaring into his. He was a big man, blue-eyed, blond-haired, and he’d liked the thing they’d had going together, he’d thought it was something special. But it had fizzled out and he was surprised to see her, and even more surprised at her obvious fury.
‘Hello, Ruby,’ he managed to croak. ‘What the fuck are you doing? Chloe could have been here.’
‘Oh, your wife? Not that I give a toss, but I just saw her leave. This isn’t a social call. And I’ll tell you what I’m doing,’ she said, her voice flat and without emotion. ‘I’m asking you a question, and I want a straight answer. I mean, straight.’
‘Go on then,’ he said, wondering if he was going to die right here in his own hallway. If she had a knife or a gun in her pocket – and she might – this could turn nasty in a heartbeat.
‘Did you have anything to do with that warehouse robbery?’
‘Christ! Not you too. I’ve spent most of the day down the police station, answering their stupid questions.’
‘Did you do it? Was it you?’
‘No,’ said Thomas. ‘Fuck’s sake, of course not. Someone’s playing silly buggers. It was nothing to do with me. I know Kit’s over that side, why would I do a stupid thing like that, step on his toes, start a war between him and me?’
‘You swear? Or by Christ, I’ll slit your throat myself, I promise you.’
‘On my life,’ he said.
Ruby stared into his eyes for long, long seconds. Finally she pulled back.
‘Kit was ready to come over here himself and rip you a spare arsehole,’ said Ruby. ‘But I said you would never do a thing like that. Not on his manor. Lucky for you, he’s letting me handle it.’
‘Well, you’ve handled it,’ said Thomas.
‘The men who did it said it was down to you. “From Thomas Knox,” they said. What were we supposed to think?’
