Ruby kept her breath soft and shallow, terrified that her superior would find her when the conversation ended.
Worrow took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. ‘Because I value my job, that’s why.’
Ruby’s legs began to fizz with the onset of pins and needles as her blood supply was compromised from her cramped position behind the cabinet.
‘There won’t be any disrepute. What you do in your own time is your business. As for the rest of it… I’m not being tetchy. No, you listen to me, it’s your mess, you sort it out.’ The conversation ended and Worrow fell silent.
This is it, Ruby thought, waiting for her superior to turn her head. But luck was on Ruby’s side. Worrow’s mobile phone rang. It was a job call, and Worrow spoke for all of two seconds before hanging up and striding back out. Heaving a sigh of relief, Ruby straightened herself up. She had got more than she bargained for, in more ways than one. What was going on with Worrow to make her react that way? Ruby’s fingers lingered over the phone keypad before dialling 1471. Noting down the phone number, she bit down on her bottom lip. It was one she recognised. Just what were they playing at, ringing Worrow for help? And how much trouble were they in if it would risk Worrow’s job?
Ruby would think about it later. Right now she had to organise her meeting with Lenny. She descended the stairs, hating the sickly feeling of being on the wrong side of the law. She’d joined the police to protect people and to uphold order. There was never any intention for personal gain – even though she’d had plenty of opportunities to turn crooked and help the criminals she grew up with. Such endeavours would have given her a nice income, and she certainly would not have been the only one. But Ruby was not a dishonest person, and her team meant everything to her. She would have given up her life rather than turn bent like some of her predecessors.
But now she was forced to make this deal with Lenny because she could not bear to have another life lost. It was a trade-off; sacrificing a considerable drugs find in order to take a killer off the street. There would be other drug busts. She was going to find Lucy and she was going to take her in. At least she knew why Worrow had been so stressed lately. Ruby nibbled the skin around her thumbnail. For now she would hang tight and not make any rash decisions. The caller was yanking her chain, and brought with them a problem that Worrow was working hard to shake off. What did they mean ‘disrepute’? And what had that got to do with risking Worrow’s job?
* * *
Standing in the stairwell, Ruby slid out her phone and sent a quick text to Lenny, asking to arrange to meet. The thought of obtaining her daughter’s details brought discord. It would be hard enough speaking to her, but what if she had to make an arrest? A ripple of anxiety rose up inside her. She had no choice. Contact would have to be made. Time was running out, and she could not afford to waste another second.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Monica jumped as a door slammed upstairs. Just how long had she been down here? Without any windows it was impossible to tell. The heady smell of stale urine clawed the back of her throat, and she squirmed in her chair, breathing in recycled air. Her mouth was bleeding now from her failed efforts to bite her way through the saliva-sodden gag. She wriggled her wrists and was rewarded with a slice of pain. The more she struggled, the deeper the thin strip of rope embedded in her flesh. Yet, she had to fight because there was no other way out of this scenario. Fear crushed Monica’s soul as the reality hit her: she might never see daylight again. She hung her head as a whimper rose in the base of her throat. To die in this humid hole, where no one might find her, was too much to bear.
Monica’s thoughts galloped on, each one more frightening than the one before. Would anybody actually care? For the last few years she had worked so hard in her career, walking over her friends to gain promotion. Had her well-paid job been worth abandoning them all for? Now, when death was near, the answer was loud and clear. No amount of designer jewellery or trendy clothes could comfort her. She thought of her husband, Adam. He would probably be relieved when she didn’t come home. She had done nothing but nag him in the last few years, always pushing for a better promotion and a bigger house. Her sniffles echoed in the darkness. What was she doing, reflecting on her life when she should be trying to escape? She was used to thinking on her feet; surely she could work a way out of this? But without the power of speech, just how was she going to reason with her captor? If only she could persuade her that she had been wrong about turning her away; perhaps then she stood a chance. Maybe Lucy was just trying to frighten some sense into her. But somehow Monica doubted that very much. The muffled sounds of the television droned, chilling her senses.
She could smell her own sweat, brought on by the fear of her captor being so close. But without her she could be left to rot, starving to death in this blackened tomb. A feeling of dread bore down on her as footsteps clip clopped overhead. After what felt like a lifetime, the basement door opened, flooding the stairs with light. But the footsteps this time seemed lighter than before, and the voice several octaves higher. Monica’s heart accelerated as the voice carried down to her. ‘La la la… ’ it sang as the figure descended the stairs. This was not the little girl Lucy spoke about. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Monica clenched her fists in preparation for what lay ahead. The Christmas tree lights flicked on, and she strained her eyes to see the person before her – gasping in realisation.
There stood an adult-sized girl: a smiling blue-eyed monster with blonde ringlets in her hair. She was holding something square. A music box. The fairy lights flickered: off, on, off, on, casting her white teeth in an eerie green and red hue. Another wave of sickness claimed Monica as she tried to comprehend the situation. There was no little girl coming to save her; it was the same crazed woman, dressed as a child. Monica’s eyes fell on the old-fashioned dress, dark tights and lace-up boots, and all hope fell away.
‘Surprise! It’s me!’ Lucy exclaimed, placing the music box gently on the shelf.
Monica’s stomach dry-heaved. She tried to respond, but all that came out was a series of grunts. Confusion overtook her. Just what was going on? Her throat felt dry and arid, and her stomach clenched in fear.
‘It’s okay, don’t be scared,’ Lucy said, in a childish voice. ‘We haven’t started yet. Do you know what you have to do?’
Monica responded by shrugging her shoulders. If only she could get off this damned gag.
Lucy giggled. It was an ugly laugh. ‘You are a pretty mummy,’ she said, making Monica flinch as she stopped to stroke her hair. ‘I like you. I think you are the prettiest mummy of all.’
Monica’s breath was coming fast. A wave of dizziness overcame her as the blackness called. She closed her eyes, praying for an end to her misery.
‘No, no, no, Mummy, you mustn’t fall asleep. We haven’t started yet. Remember what I said about saying the right thing?’
Bony fingers pulled on the tightly wound knot at the back of her gag. Slowly she unwrapped the filthy material, allowing Monica to spit and cough while gulping in mouthfuls of air. Monica licked her dry crusted lips, turning her eyes mournfully up to her captor. ‘Water,’ she croaked. If she could distract her long enough to go and get a drink, then perhaps she could scream for help while the basement door was open. If nothing else, it would buy her some time.
But Lucy was not that easily convinced and simply shook her head. ‘I’m not allowed to use the tap,’ she said. ‘Now, do you know what you have to do?’
‘Please, I’m not well. I… I need a drink.’ Monica swallowed back her spit, trying to ease her scratchy throat.
But Lucy was skipping round and round the chair, making her dizzy.
‘What’s your name? Your real name?’ Monica croaked, trying to appease her.
Lucy frowned, halting mid skip, and Monica wished she could take back the words. Whatever she had said had clearly annoyed her. She grimaced as Lucy stepped forward and slapped her hard on the face. The sharp sting brought Monica back to her senses, and if
nothing else, at least she was seeing straight now.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Please just tell me what I need to do. I just want to go home.’
‘You should know my name if you’re my mummy. So that’s very naughty indeed. Do you like my tree?’ she said, her mood changing in a split second. ‘It’s Christmas tomorrow; it’s going to be the most wonderful day. There’s going to be food and cake and lots of nice toys; we’re going to play music together and dance… won’t that be wonderful?’
‘Yes.’ Monica nodded her head. ‘Wonderful.’ The words fell like a stone from her lips.
‘Tomorrow you can say the words and we can be together for ever because then you’re my real mummy and we can have the most wonderful time and you will love me for ever and ever and nobody will ever hurt me again.’ Lucy did not pause for breath as the words spilled from her lips. ‘But now you must go to sleep because it’s Christmas Eve and Santa will be here soon.’
The thoughts of the gag going back on her mouth struck another spear of fear into Monica’s heart. She shook her head wildly, each movement returning intense pain to the base of her skull. ‘Please no, not the gag, please. Tell me what I have to say and I’ll do it now. Tell me. Please don’t put that on me again, please.’
‘If you’re my real mummy you know just what to say. Now keep steady or I’ll slap you,’ Lucy said sharply, grappling to keep Monica’s head still.
But Monica didn’t want to keep still; she wanted to get away. Plunging her teeth into Lucy’s wrist, she bit down hard. With one final twist of her sweat-laced wrists, she managed to twist the rope enough to pull her right hand free. Grasping Lucy’s blonde ringlets she recoiled in horror as the wig came loose in her hand. Her pause cost her dearly. Lucy reached behind her and launched an object towards her head. With a terrifying finality, everything went black.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ruby allowed the engine of the car to tick over as she parked up underneath the bridge. A quick text to Lenny Crosby had secured a meeting time and place. She had hoped that by meeting at Charlotte’s murder site she would be gifted with a flash of insight. If the killer had been able to escape unseen after mowing the woman down in cold blood, then Ruby’s liaison with Lenny should surely go unnoticed too. She watched as a well-fed rat scuttled under the bridge, disappearing around the corner. Just what had Charlotte been thinking, arranging to meet Emily here in the dark?
It had turned out that Charlotte Lockwood was no stranger to London. Despite the façade of rich living, police investigations had uncovered that she had come from modest means: originating not far from here, in an area of East London that had yet to benefit from restructure. They had managed to track down Charlotte’s first husband, but he had an ample alibi for the night of her death. Her post-mortem results were disappointing; the only evidence on her ravaged body being the deep grooves of the tyres which had punctured her organs and shattered her bones. It was believed that the driver of the vehicle ran over her three times. What kind of anger and hatred would someone have to carry inside to do that to another human being? And why? But Ruby knew it was a question that would never grant a satisfactory answer. She didn’t believe in evil before she joined the police. She thought by then that she had seen all that the darker side of human nature had to offer. But she had barely touched the surface, and evil was as plausible an explanation as anything else these days. Some people had villainy ground into the marrow of their bones.
Ruby checked her rear-view mirror as a black BMW pulled up behind. Tinted windows barely afforded her a view of Lenny Crosby’s thick-necked driver. Waiting for him to show had made her nervous; not because of who he was, but because she was about to pass on precious information. Her stomach churned. If her colleagues knew what she was doing, they would call her a bent copper and turn their backs on her for good. She would lose her job, maybe even go to prison. She rested her fingers on the keys of the ignition before switching the engine off.
She had bent the rules before, but never like this. And the last thing she wanted was to be in Lenny Crosby’s pocket. But at night when she closed her eyes she saw the final moments of terror ingrained on Emily Edmonds’s face. Such a killer did not come from nowhere and return to nowhere. They were likely to strike again. And if it really was her daughter, Ruby had a personal responsibility to sort it out. She would turn her in if she had to, but she would do it her way.
Dressed in a black suit and shades, Lenny exited the vehicle behind her. Ruby froze as her passenger door was pulled open, allowing a blast of street air to invade her space. She gave him the once-over, checking his hands for weapons. His expression gave nothing away. Stony faced, he slid into the seat beside her.
‘I’ve got something for you; a birthday card,’ she said, keen to have their meeting disposed with. She dipped her hand into the door panel compartment. ‘But before I pass it over I want to make it quite clear that I won’t be remembering your birthday again.’ She delivered an intense stare as the words left her mouth, watching Lenny’s grin spread as she spoke behind guarded words. She did not trust him any more than he trusted her. Any verbal admission of wrongdoing could end her in a lot of trouble, if he were recording their meeting. ‘Are we clear on that?’ she said as he reached out to take it.
‘Don’t fret,’ he said, his eyes roaming her body.
The spice of his aftershave rose between them. He was groomed to perfection; smart suit, shoes shined, and a crisp white shirt with two buttons opened at the neck. But, unlike his brother, he was a wolf in disguise, and it would take more than an expensive suit to hide the violence within. Ruby wanted to ask if he was going somewhere, but there was no point in trying to obtain information when she was handing over intelligence to the most vicious man she knew.
‘Don’t you have something for me in return?’
Lenny tutted, his eyes dancing as he revelled in the game. ‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you don’t give to receive?’
He snatched the envelope from her grasp, tearing it open before her. Ruby watched his eyes dart from left to right as he greedily scanned the information. It seemed to confirm his suspicions, and he slowly nodded as he absorbed the text.
The heat of anger rose inside her. He was not going to have one over on her. She wouldn’t allow it. Her fists clenched, ready to snatch the information from his hand.
Lenny glanced up to see her glowering next to him, and a laugh escaped his lips. ‘For fuck’s sake, relax will you? I haven’t forgotten.’
Sliding his hand into his jacket pocket he pulled out a piece of folded notepaper, touching the palm of Ruby’s hands as he handed it over. His fingertips were cold, and Ruby suppressed a shudder. She was making a deal with the devil and hoped it would be worth the inevitable repercussions. Ruby glanced at the writing. It simply gave an address and the name ‘Goldie’ and a time: 2.30 p.m. The name was familiar. It was someone Ruby had dealt with before.
‘What’s this?’ Ruby said, forgetting her earlier caution.
Lenny curled his fingers around the door handle to leave. ‘It’s a lead. You’re the detective, you work it out.’
‘And if it doesn’t pan out?’ Ruby said, folding up the paper and shoving it in her breast pocket.
‘I told you I’d find her and I will. Goldie’s just a gesture of goodwill; something to keep you out of trouble. And thanks for this, by the way. If you ever want to do business again… ’
Ruby shook her head, swallowing back the bile induced by her betrayal. ‘We’re both getting what we want. Let’s just leave it at that,’ she retorted.
She felt sick in Lenny’s company, and there was no way there was going to be a repeat performance. Ruby pulled away from the kerb as Lenny returned to his car. But she could still smell his scent in the air. It clung to her senses, along with a growing sense of disloyalty. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she drove to the police station. Back to the people she betrayed. But she knew she would get over it. It was collatera
l damage; the price she had to pay. She could live with her treachery, if it meant catching the killer before they struck again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
After obtaining the IP address, Luddy had seized the CCTV from the internet café from where it was sent. At least now they had a description of Ruby’s mystery emailer. A dark-haired young female, her features were partially obscured. Her image was firmly imprinted on Ruby’s mind as they approached Goldie’s address.
‘Remember what I said.’ Ruby turned to Luddy as they approached the door of the flat. ‘Goldie may seem all sweetness and light, but she’d have you over in a heartbeat. Don’t turn your back on her, and don’t give her any money.’
‘Money? Why would I give her money?’ Luddy said, dropping his voice as the door opened.
It did not take much persuading for him to accompany Ruby to the address listed under the guise of the police investigation. Goldie was a bolshy twenty-two-year-old woman who worked for a pimp named Frenchie, known for his connections with dealers in France. Once a hive of intelligence, Goldie had stopped providing information for money after receiving a warning for which she ended up with internal bleeding and the loss of her thumb. Ruby had her suspicions that Lenny had been responsible and guessed that the woman had escaped execution only because she was worth more alive than dead.
On the streets from an early age, Goldie had become hardened to her way of life, and earned her pimp a decent income. Ruby did not want to keep such a valuable source of information waiting. Equipped with takeaway teas and a sandwich she brought the offerings along with her. Goldie’s time was precious, and after a night on the streets she was probably yet to eat. As much as she needed her, Ruby did not want to attend that particular estate alone, and Luddy swallowed her lie about chasing information from an anonymous source.
Goldie flashed a smile as she welcomed them inside, revealing the gold-plated teeth which had earned her the nickname. That, and the blonde beehive hairstyle piled high on her head. It was not there just to look pretty. Ruby knew that Goldie’s long silver hairpins acted as weapons, if the need occurred. She was battle-scarred from a life on the streets. A broken arm, cracked ribs, and now an amputated thumb. Just a few of the injuries she had experienced over the years.
Love You to Death: An Absolutely Gripping Thriller with a Killer Twist Page 14
