Scratch yawned. ‘I’m going to have to go to bed now. You gonna be all right with that blanket and pillow?’
‘Yeah, fine. Thanks again for letting me stay.’
‘Night then, Tommy.’
‘Where’s me goodnight kiss?’
Having little choice, Scratch duly obliged.
Scratch lay in bed, her mind racing. She didn’t want Tommy to go to prison, he didn’t deserve to. Tomorrow, she would speak to Hunter. Perhaps if Tommy turned QE, gave evidence against the others, he could be put on the police protection programme. A new name, move miles away. A complete fresh start.
Lies and deceit have an awful way of rearing their ugly head when least expected and Scratch had no idea what was about to happen next. If she’d even had an inkling, she would have called Operation Sting off there and then.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Tommy had a bath and changed his clothes at Scratch’s, then headed to a local cafe. As he pulled out his money to pay for the full English, Ray’s phone number dropped on to the floor. ‘Where’s the nearest phone box, love?’ he asked the woman behind the counter.
‘Go out of here, do a right and it’s on the corner. That’s if it’s working. It wasn’t the other day.’
‘Thanks. If my breakfast is ready before I’m back, just put it on that table,’ he pointed. ‘My newspaper and jacket are there.’
Tommy jogged down to the phone box. It was working, so he dialled the number. A woman answered and said the word ‘Hospice’. ‘Erm, can I speak to Ray Clarke, please?’
‘May I ask who’s calling?’
‘Tommy. Tommy Boyle.’
‘Hang on a tick.’ The lady returned a minute or two later and told Tommy she was wheeling the phone into Ray’s room.
‘Tommy.’
‘You all right, Ray?’
‘Not at me finest, lad. That bastard cancer returned with a vengeance. There’s nothing they can do but keep me comfortable now. That’s why I’m holed up in here.’
‘Oh, Ray. That’s proper shit news, mate. I’m so sorry. I truly am.’
‘I need to see you, Tommy. In person. It’s extremely important.’
‘OK. What’s the address there?’
Ray rattled off the address and Tommy scribbled it down. ‘I’m in Rainham right now mate, so I’m not that far from you. I’ve ordered some breakfast, I’ll eat that, then I’ll come straight over, if that’s OK?’
‘That’d be great. But don’t tell anyone you’re visiting me, Tommy. This is only between us.’
‘I won’t. Do you want me to bring anything in for you?’
‘No, thanks. See you soon.’
Tommy was racking his brains as he replaced the receiver on the cradle. Whatever Ray wanted to say sounded very cloak-and-dagger.
Tommy couldn’t believe the change in Ray. He’d lost loads of weight, was a shadow of his former self. His face was gaunt and his skin looked yellow. ‘I brought you the Racing Post. I know how you like to study those nags,’ Tommy grinned, chucking it on Ray’s bed.
‘Thanks, Tommy. Sit down on that chair, lad.’
Tommy sat down. Ray had a serious expression on his face which was rather worrying.
‘I couldn’t go to my grave without telling you the truth, son. You have every right to know, in my opinion.’
‘Go on.’
Ray sighed. ‘There is no easy way to say this. But when Scratch left Maylands, she was pregnant with your child.’
‘No! Never! Nah, she couldn’t have been. We’re back together now. She would’ve told me. That’s bollocks. It has to be.’
‘It’s true, Tommy. I swear to ya. Connie arranged for Scratch to go and live with her sister Caroline and her husband Keith. Caroline couldn’t have children, had already adopted a little girl called Fiona many years ago. It was decided that Scratch would have the baby and Caroline and Keith would raise it as their own.’ Ray handed Tommy a photograph. ‘That’s your son, Tommy. His name is Mikey.’
Tommy stared at the photo, dumbstruck. Only yesterday he’d found out Robbie wasn’t his, and now this bombshell.
‘Scratch isn’t what she seems, Tommy. She’s a police officer and has a fiancé. She’s getting married this summer.’
Tommy shook his head repeatedly. ‘Nah. She works in an office along the A13. Scratch ain’t Old Bill.’
Ray handed Tommy another photo he’d pilfered out of Connie’s drawer. It had been taken at Hendon at Scratch’s passing-out parade.
Tommy leapt up and repeatedly head-butted the wall. ‘The fucking bitch. What is she planning to do then, bang me up? I loved her, Ray. Really loved her. How could she do this to me?’
‘I don’t know what she’s up to at present. But if she’s sniffing around you asking lots of questions, chances are it’s a work thing. Her name is Kim Regan now.’
Tommy sank to his haunches and put his head in his hands. He’d told the bitch only last night that Ronnie had killed Griff, and he’d admitted to murdering a man and dismembering bodies. He’d even told her Jack had killed a couple of men. You could bet your bottom dollar that flat was wired for fucking sound and, thanks to his stupidity, he’d dobbed them all in it. He’d trusted Scratch. What a mug he was.
Ray handed Tommy a piece of paper. ‘That’s Caroline and Keith’s address where Mikey lives. Be careful though, Keith’s Old Bill an’ all. Don’t go round there like a bull in a china shop. Act sensibly and tell them you’re the lad’s father and you have every right to see him on occasions. Threaten them with court if they fail to agree.’
Tommy stared at the photo of his son once more. No wonder Connie had snatched a similar photo out of his hand once in her office. Mikey looked like him, was standing at the garden gate with a football under his arm. ‘Thanks, Ray. For telling me.’
‘You’re welcome, lad. Every father has a right to know his son, and vice versa.’
‘Does Scratch see him a lot?’
‘I don’t think so. Not since she moved out. Connie says very little to me now. She’ll never speak to me again when she finds out I’ve told you. But what have I got to lose? I’ve only a few weeks to live anyway.’
Tommy hugged the man who had raised him for part of his life. ‘I’ll come and see you again soon.’
‘I’d like that. You were always special to me, Tommy. Like the son I never had. Be lucky and happy.’
Tommy felt anything but lucky and happy, but nodded nevertheless.
‘Good work, Regan,’ Hunter grinned as he stepped inside his colleague’s car.
‘Thanks, Guv. I feel bad about Tommy, mind. He isn’t like those Darlings. He’s got a good heart deep down. Can’t we strike a deal with him? Put him in witness protection.’
‘You think he’ll grass on ’em all?’
‘I don’t know. What I do know is he won’t be able to handle a long stretch inside. It would kill him.’
‘That’s the way the cookie crumbles, unfortunately. Don’t do the crime if you can’t take the time. When is he back round at yours?’
‘Monday. I’m cooking him dinner.’
‘Very romantic. You need to get him to tell you where those bodies are buried, Regan. Once we find them, we can drag the whole Darling mob in.’
Scratch felt torn between the devil and the deep blue sea. The hatred she’d harboured so long had disappeared since spending time with Tommy again. If anything, she felt sorry for him. He was still that same mixed-up lad she’d fallen for at Maylands. Whereas, she had a job to do. That’s what she needed to keep reminding herself. She was DS Regan, not bloody Scratch.
‘Well?’ Hunter grunted.
Scratch forced a smile. ‘I’ll do my very best, Guv.’
Tommy ordered a large brandy and sat in the corner of the pub. Scratch’s betrayal had all but ripped his heart in two. Surely she knew the Darlings would kill him? Did she honestly hate him that much that she wanted to see him dead or doing life behind bars? Obviously, she fucking did.
A
plan forming in his mind, Tommy finished his drink and rang his landline from the call box. Nobody answered, so he leapt in his car and headed towards South London.
Aware that Jack might have sent somebody to watch the house, Tommy parked around the corner, leapt over a couple of his neighbours’ fences and entered his house via the back door.
Everything looked the same as it had the other day, so he guessed Donna and Robbie were staying with her new bloke. Good. The poor fucker was welcome to the no-good treacherous whore.
Tommy ran upstairs and took a sports bag out of the airing cupboard. He packed a black tracksuit, black trainers, a balaclava, jeans, a couple of shirts and some underwear. He then got a ladder, clambered into the loft and removed the fake panel. He put all the money in a separate bag, along with a big hunting knife, a gun, masking tape and some rope.
Tommy took the photos out of the bottom of his wardrobe and sifted through them. He chose the ones he wanted, then packed the framed photo Scratch had given him when he left Maylands.
About to leave the house, Tommy spotted a letter on the table. The handwritten envelope read:
TOMMY
PLEASE READ
DANNY
Tommy put the letter in the bag, then grabbed a bottle of brandy out of the drinks cabinet.
Satisfied he had all that he required, Tommy left the house the same way he’d entered.
The traffic was a nightmare. Two lorries had collided on the A13, so by the time Tommy got to Barking it was late afternoon.
Finding a quiet spot, not too far from his destination, Tommy changed into his tracksuit and began plotting. Fish and chips were one of the fat bastard’s weaknesses. When he’d lived with him, they’d have it every Friday or Saturday as a treat.
Tommy took a swig of brandy and turned the radio on. ‘Can’t Get Used to Losing You’ was playing. Scratch reckoned she loved The Beat. Was that a lie too? Tommy thought back to their recent conversations. Every band he’d said he liked, she’d said she liked them too. Every topic they’d spoken about was probably riddled with fucking lies on her side, he fumed.
Remembering Danny’s letter, Tommy ripped that open.
Dear Tom,
I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Robbie, but please hear me out before ripping this up.
As you well know, my mum and dad adore you. They also don’t believe in abortion. So when Donna got pregnant with Robbie, it was originally Dad’s idea to pass the baby off as yours.
Donna was really into you at the time, so she agreed. Ronnie also thought it was for the best, as did Eugene and Mum.
I was the one who wasn’t on board. I told Dad it was wrong, but he and Mum were genuinely thrilled that you would become part of our family.
Unfortunately, Donna’s a law unto herself, but don’t worry, we’re gonna sort the situation out. We haven’t found out who the geezer is yet. When we do, it’ll be dealt with, trust me.
Robbie worships the ground you walk on. You’re the only father he wants or needs.
Ring me mate, day or night. Let’s chat man to man and sort this shit out. I know you must be in shock right now. But believe me Tom when I say the whole family is on your side. You’ve always been like a brother to me, and a son to Mum and Dad.
Love you, mate,
Danny
Tommy ripped the letter into small pieces and slung it out of the window. By trusting Scratch, he’d opened an enormous can of worms. There was no going back. Not now. Not ever.
It was a small block of flats, only three floors high. It was dark now, but Tommy put his hood up anyway and was pleased to find the communal door had no lock on it.
Fish and chips in his left hand, Tommy put his sports bag out of sight of the spy hole and rapped on the door of flat number 2. The pretty Irish barmaid had been rather loose-lipped when Tommy had enquired about the arsehole. ‘He only comes in here in the daytime. His wife died a while back. He’s a nice man, polite and friendly. I feel a bit sorry for him, to be truthful. He seems lonely,’ she’d explained.
Tommy had no idea if the beast of a wife was actually brown bread. His guess would be she’d left the scumbag.
‘Who is it?’
‘Your nephew,’ Tommy replied. The flat next door was playing reggae music at full blast, which was handy, considering the circumstances.
The door opened only as far as the security chain. ‘Is that you, Tommy? What do you want? Are you alone?’
Tommy held up the bag of food. ‘I bought us cod and chips, your favourite. I didn’t forget the onions or wallies. Yeah, I’m alone. I thought we were long overdue a catch-up. I can’t find any photos of my mum as a kid and was wondering if you had some I could borrow. I’ll get ’em duplicated and give the originals back to you.’
Ian smiled. Even though he’d changed his name to Tom Harris by deed poll, friends and family still referred to him as Ian. He undid the chain. ‘What a lovely surprise. Come in. I’ll put the kettle on. My, my, haven’t you grown.’ Ian was hopeful. Usually, if a lad came back in later life, they wanted more. That had actually happened to his friend Cecil only recently. ‘Go in the front room, Tommy. Make yourself comfortable. Do you want a plate for your food?’
‘No, thanks.’ The front room reeked of cigarette smoke. There was a two-seater dining table squashed in one corner; two armchairs, a TV and an old radiogram were the only other furnishings; there was no room for anything else.
‘Do you still take two sugars in your tea?’
Just hearing his voice again made Tommy want to chuck his guts up. Did he remember everything about him? The filthy piece of shit. ‘Yes, please.’
As Ian walked into the lounge, Tommy leapt out from behind the door and pointed the gun at his head. Ian, stunned, dropped both mugs on the floor. The tea splashed everywhere.
‘Move. Sit on that fucking chair,’ Tommy spat, nudging Ian in the back with the gun.
Having never had a gun pointed at him before, Ian held his arms aloft like they did in films. ‘What have I done wrong? I always thought the world of you, Tommy. You know that.’
Tommy held his breath as he tied his uncle to the chair. He still had that distinct smell about him. A mixture of sweat and cigarettes. It was a stench Tommy would never forget.
Tommy opened up his cod and chips. He was starving, hadn’t eaten since this morning.
‘What are you going to do to me?’
Tommy ignored the question and sat legs crossed on the floor opposite Ian. He’d wanted to come here and do this for years and now he’d finally plucked up the courage. He had nothing to lose now. He’d lost everything he’d ever cared about. ‘What happened to Sandra?’ Tommy enquired, as he washed the last of his food down with brandy.
‘We separated.’ Ian was trying his best to keep calm. Surely Tommy wouldn’t kill him? Not here in his own home.
‘You hungry?’ Tommy asked, unwrapping the other meal.
‘I can’t eat with my hands tied up.’
Tommy stood up. ‘I’ll feed it to ya. Open your mouth. Make sure you enjoy it an’ all, seeing as it’ll be your last meal.’
Suddenly terrified, Ian screamed ‘Help!’ but as soon as he opened his mouth, Tommy rammed a handful of chips inside. ‘Why did you rename yourself Tom? After me, was it? You disgust me. People like you shouldn’t be breathing the same air as normal people,’ Tommy hissed.
Ian’s face reddened as he tried to talk but instead started to choke. Tommy had black leather gloves on, so he prised Ian’s mouth open once more and stuck a big lump of battered cod in, and the wally.
Realizing Ian might actually choke to death, Tommy shoved the cheap plastic chair forward. It did the trick. Pieces of fish and the wally flew across the threadbare carpet. Ian gasped, spluttered, then managed to steady his breathing. ‘Tommy, please don’t hurt me. I beg you. I feed this little cat every day of the week. The neighbours have kicked her out because she’s carrying a litter. She won’t survive without me. I’m not a bad person, honestly I
’m not.’
Used to people lying to him, Tommy guessed Ian had made up this story as he remembered he was an animal lover. ‘Into bestiality an’ all, are you? Ya fucking weirdo,’ Tommy spat, as he placed the duct tape across the filthy bastard’s mouth. He had heard enough. Never wanted to hear that voice again.
He took the hunting knife out of the bag, turned the chair over and hacked at the waistband of his uncle’s stained grey pleated trousers. The material was cheap and thin, and ripped easily.
Ian began rolling his head from side to side as if he were having a fit. He was trying to plead through his nose, but sounded as if he was deaf and dumb.
Tommy looked away as he fiddled around in the filthy Y-fronts to find the cock that had haunted him for years. Thank God he had thick gloves on. No way would he have been able to touch the thing otherwise. When he grasped it, he turned to the quivering wreck whose eyes were now bulging out of his head. ‘Won’t be ruining any other kids’ lives, will you, Uncle Ian,’ he grinned as he began hacking at his member.
Ian lost consciousness almost immediately, which was a shame for Tommy. He’d wanted to taunt and torment him for much longer.
When the cock was fully dismembered, Tommy drank some more brandy before taking a good look at it. As a child, it had seemed enormous. But looking at it now, it was no bigger than a small pork sausage.
Tommy wasn’t finished yet. He checked the perve’s pulse: he still had one. He’d crapped himself as well, the filthy pig. Tommy untied Ian’s hands and hacked at the right one. It took him a good five minutes to dismember it. The years of practice were coming in handy now. He could practically do this with his eyes closed. He started on the left.
Splattered in blood, Tommy checked the pulse again. This time there wasn’t one.
Smiling, he took another sip of brandy and stood up. He gathered up the chip wrappers, the machete, the gun and packed his stuff away carefully. Not that he was bothered about getting caught. Not in the long run, anyway. But he had stuff to do first. People to meet.
Tommy swigged the last of his brandy, then put the bottle in his bag. He’d worn gloves throughout. There would be no fingerprints.
The Sting Page 29
