Bobby Jackson shrugged. ‘Weren’t me what?’
‘Who took Molly?’
Having been on a drunken high since late afternoon, Bobby Jackson burst out laughing. ‘Yeah, I throttled the little brat, then buried her in a shallow grave. Now, what you having? It’s my round.’
Queenie Butler marched towards home. As usual when she got the bit between her teeth, there was no stopping her.
‘Queen, slow down for Christ’s sake. I can’t keep up with you in these shoes,’ Vivian urged.
Turning to her sister, Queenie’s face was a mask of pure hatred. ‘I will never forgive Jo for this and I mean that, Viv. What a terrible liar she’s turned out to be. No wonder Vinny went into one. She should have been indoors looking after her child, not out fraternizing with the fucking enemy. Molly wouldn’t be missing then. Killed my son, that old man of hers did. My Roy’s soul was dead for years before he finally shoved a bullet in his own brain.’
Vivian so wanted to remind her sister that Vinny was also a terrible liar and had drunkenly murdered her son, but she somehow managed to hold her tongue. With Molly still missing, this was neither the time nor the place.
Vinny Butler was sitting at a table in his club with a face like thunder. He had proper lost the plot with Joanna earlier, calling her every swear word he knew, and if it had not been for Michael and Ahmed dragging him out of the house, he would have probably been arrested for battering the lying whore.
‘Shall I get us all another drink?’ Nick asked. He part-owned the restaurant in Stratford with Vinny and Ahmed and had come to the club as soon as he heard the awful news.
The only other people present were the two Old Bill who had followed Vinny back to the club, the two constables who had been standing sentry on the door ever since Molly was first reported missing, and Pete and Paul the doormen.
Vinny put his weary head in his hands. He’d thought nothing could be worse than watching his brother blow his brains out in front of him, or looking in the back of the car he’d just wrecked and seeing his cousin’s head hanging by a thread. But those traumas paled into insignificance compared with what he was going through now. He loved Molly more than he had ever loved a living soul. Only the love he felt for his mother even came close.
Suddenly he got to his feet. ‘I can’t sit here drinking no more. Let’s go out and search for Molly ourselves. Come on, what are we waiting for?’
Little Vinny staggered up Shazza’s path and knocked on the front door. He knew that somebody was in because he could hear ska music playing.
‘Open the fucking door, Shaz. It’s me, Vinny. We need to talk,’ he yelled, kicking the door repeatedly with his right foot.
‘Whatever is going on?’ a lady asked, appearing from the house next door.
‘Shaz is my girlfriend. I need to see her. We need to sort things out,’ Little Vinny slurred.
Aware that the music had now been turned off, Little Vinny grinned as the front door was yanked open. He had a grey Nike tracksuit on and hoped that Shazza wouldn’t be put off because he wasn’t dressed like a skinhead. But when he looked up it was the skinhead he’d befriended on the train, the one who’d invited him to the party where he had first met Shaz.
‘All right, Tim? Where’s Shaz? I need to speak to her.’
Wearing only a dressing gown, Shazza appeared behind Tim’s shoulder. ‘Piss off and leave me alone, Vinny. I’m not interested in you any more. Me and Tim are an item now.’
Vinny smirked at Tim. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’
‘No. Shaz ain’t kidding you, mate. Now, will you please fuck off before the neighbours call the police? Go home and sober up, you muppet.’
Suddenly realizing that Tim was wearing nothing more than a pair of three-quarter-length jeans, and his button and zip were undone, Little Vinny went ballistic. ‘You whore! You fucking slag!’ he screamed. He then picked a stone up and lobbed it straight through the downstairs window.
‘Leave it, Tim, please, leave it,’ Shazza screamed, as her new boyfriend ran barefooted out into the street.
The next-door neighbour appeared again. ‘It’s OK, Sharon. I’ve already called the police, love.’
Hearing the word ‘police’, Little Vinny turned and ran away as fast as his legs would carry him. But as he ran he vowed that he would return and get even another time. No way was Tim or Shazza getting away with mugging him off. No fucking way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Vinny Butler tilted his head back and shut his eyes as the hot water rinsed the soap off his tired body. He, his brother, Ahmed, Nick, Peter and Paul had been joined by Big Stan and twenty-odd other local men in their search the previous evening, but had given up at three a.m. Searching for Molly in the dark, even with torches, was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Hearing his brother calling him, Vinny turned the shower off and shouted, ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’ Both he and Michael had stayed at the club last night. Neither had been impressed to discover that they’d been lied to by Joanna and Nancy. If the girls had said they were spending the day up town when they were actually in Johnny Preston’s company, what else had the deceitful pair of bitches lied about in the past?
Vinny got himself dressed and checked out his reflection in the mirror. He had bags under his eyes, which was hardly surprising. How the hell was he meant to sleep when his little princess was missing? Praying that today would be the day when Molly was found alive and well, Vinny ran down the stairs. ‘Where is everybody?’
‘A police catering van has been set up down the street, so the Old Bill have gone to get some refreshments. Teapot One they call it – bit different to Fred’s café, eh?’ Michael remarked, in hope of at least getting a weak smile out of his brother.
Vinny ignored his brother’s shit attempt at a joke. ‘Where’s Ahmed and the others?’
‘Ahmed’s gone home to get some kip, but said he’ll be back this afternoon. Pete and Paul have gone to get changed. They’ll be back by ten, and are gonna bring some decent torches with ’em in case we need them later. Nick’s still here. He’s asleep on our sofa upstairs. So, what’s the plan? You can’t go out searching in that clobber, Vin. It’s absolutely pissing down out there.’
Vinny sighed, then flopped onto a nearby chair. He always wore suits; they matched his status in life. ‘Trust it to be pissing down again. Say Molly is lying in some alleyway or ditch, eh? How is she meant to have survived this freak weather? She’s only a nipper and didn’t even have her coat on.’
Michael did his best to offer words of comfort, but it was a struggle. Vinny wasn’t stupid, and both men knew deep in their hearts that the longer Molly was missing, the less chance there was of a joyous reunion.
Old Sid felt as sick as a dog as he was ushered into the interview room. He knew what his beloved wife Sylvie would have said, had she still been alive. Sylvie wasn’t a fan of the Butlers or the Jacksons. She reckoned both families were nothing but bloody trouble, and she’d have told him in no uncertain terms to keep his trap shut and not get involved.
‘Can you assure me that the information I am about to give you stays anonymous, officer? I am in my seventies, living alone, and I really don’t want or need any grief at my time of life.’
‘Your name will not go any further than this room. Now, tell us about this conversation you overheard?’
Old Sid had been at his usual table in the Blind Beggar the previous evening, right behind where Bobby Jackson and Micky Dunn had been sitting. He’d not slept a wink for thinking of that poor missing child and knew he would never forgive himself if he didn’t share his concerns with the police.
The officer’s ears pricked up as Sid began to explain. CID had been planning to pay Bobby Jackson a visit this morning to question him about the girl he claimed to have seen getting into a blue car with a black man. The officer who’d taken Jackson’s statement last night had noted that he was obviously inebriated, so they’d been allowing him time to sober up before
following up the lead.
‘Are you positive that you heard Jackson say that he had throttled Molly Butler and buried her in a shallow grave?’ the police officer said.
‘Bobby never actually mentioned Molly by name, but Micky did. That was what the whole conversation was about. My eyesight might be going home, but there’s sod all wrong with my hearing. Bobby Jackson even laughed as he spoke about that poor child. He said he hoped she was never found, just like his father had not been. He said it was payback.’
The officer asked Sid some more questions, then shook his hand and thanked him for coming forward with such important information.
‘If you arrest Bobby, you won’t mention me, will you? That pub was packed last night, and Jackson isn’t the quietest bloke in the world when sozzled. He has no reason to suspect me unless you drop me in it.’
‘I can assure you that your name will not be mentioned. Now, you go home and get some sleep, Sid. We’ll contact you by phone if we need to speak to you again.’
Joanna Preston was in a terrible state. She had not slept or eaten, she couldn’t stop shaking, and had vowed to end her own life if Molly was not found alive.
Terribly concerned about her friend, Nancy had remained by her side. Having not been blessed with a daughter herself, she’d taken to Molly as if she were her own, and she adored that dear child as much as she loved her boys.
Lenny’s death and funeral had been painful enough, but Molly’s disappearance was proving far worse. At least Lenny had been killed outright, so they knew he hadn’t suffered. But Molly could be anywhere with anybody, and even now she might be suffering in the most awful way possible. The not knowing was horrendous. Every time she heard a car enter the street, Nancy jumped up to the window hoping it was her husband. She’d heard nothing from Michael since he dragged Vinny out of the house last night. No doubt he still had the hump with her for lying to him.
‘Is it the police?’ Joanna asked hopefully, hearing a car door slam.
‘No. It’s your mum!’ Nancy exclaimed.
Joanna ran to the front door and flew into her mother’s arms. Nancy watched as they clung to one another, sobbing, then excused herself by saying she was going upstairs to freshen up.
‘Is there any news? Where are the police?’ Deborah asked her daughter.
‘The police were here most of the night. They rang this morning to say they would be back soon. Oh, Mum, it’s been so awful – and it’s all my fault. Why did I leave Molly? I love her so much,’ Joanna said, between racking sobs.
‘I know you do, darling, but you mustn’t blame yourself. You’re a fantastic little mum and you left Molly with her father, not some bloody stranger. Where is the arsehole, by the way?’
‘I don’t know. He went mad when I told the police I’d been to your wedding. I had to tell them because I was frightened they might arrest Dad. How did you know Molly was missing?’
‘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?’
Kimberley Chambers 3-Book Butler Collection Page 78
