Stolen

by Roberta Kray

  Through her marriage to Reggie Kray, Roberta Kray has a unique and authentic insight into London’s East End. Roberta met Reggie in early 1996 and they married the following year; they were together until Reggie’s death in 2000. Roberta is the author of many previous bestsellers including No Mercy, Dangerous Promises, Exposed and Survivor.

  Also by Roberta Kray

  The Debt

  The Pact

  The Lost

  Strong Women

  The Villain’s Daughter

  Broken Home

  Nothing But Trouble

  Bad Girl

  Streetwise

  Dangerous Promises

  Exposed

  Survivor

  Non-fiction

  Reg Kray: A Man Apart

  SPHERE

  First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Sphere Copyright © Roberta Kray 2019

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-0-7515-6965-0

  Sphere

  An imprint of

  Little, Brown Book Group Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  An Hachette UK Company www.hachette.co.uk

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  Contents

  Introduction

  Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Epilogue

  Introduction

  In 1958 an event took place that shocked and horrified the country. A baby, Kay Fury, was snatched from the grounds of her family home and her nanny deliberately drowned in the lake. Despite a long investigation, no trace was ever found of Kay.

  Two years later, Mal Fury discovered the identity of the abductor and a confrontation took place during which the man, Teddy Heath, was accidentally killed. With the death penalty still in place and fearing that he could be hanged, Mal left the scene without informing the police. The only person he did tell was his wife, Esther, a confidence he later came to regret.

  Over the years, the Fury marriage fell apart but the couple stayed together. Mal, against his wife’s wishes, took on the guardianship of an East End orphan called Lolly Bruce. They became close and Lolly remains fiercely loyal to him.

  Seventeen years after Teddy Heath’s death, Esther finally turned on her husband, revealing his secret to the police. Mal was charged and convicted of manslaughter. He’s now nearing the end of his sentence and looking forward to the future.

  Characters

  Lolly Bruce

  Originally from the East End, the orphaned Lolly was saved from being taken into care by the intervention of Mal Fury. Now, aged nineteen, she’s back in Kellston in the East End of London working on the wrong side of the law. With the past kicking at her heels, she’ll have to keep her wits about her. She’s experienced privilege but it’s street smarts she’ll need in order to stay safe.

  Mal Fury

  Mal, Lolly’s guardian, is currently serving a prison sentence for the manslaughter of the man who abducted his child. Once a successful jeweller, his life is in tatters. He’s clinging to the hope, however, that Kay may still be alive, and someone’s about to give him further reason to believe it.

  Esther Fury

  Mal’s beautiful, spoiled and selfish wife is moving on, putting the past (and her husband) behind her. At least that’s the plan. She’s used to getting her own way but she’s going to find out that there are some things she simply can’t control.

  Nick Trent

  Nick’s uncle, Stanley Parrish, was once employed to help track down Kay Fury. Now a private investigator himself, Nick knows better than to get dragged into the case that resulted in his uncle’s death. But his better judgement doesn’t count for much when it comes to helping Lolly. If she needs him, he’ll be there.

  Heather Grant

  Heather, a young reporter, makes a living out of uncovering other people’s secrets, but she also has secrets of her own. As she delves into the history of the Furys, examining their pain and loss, her own demons quickly rise to the surface.

  Jude Rule

  The handsome, talented, obsessive Jude – Lolly’s first love – is now firmly attached to Esther Fury. But is the past about to catch up? Once a suspect in the murder of a teenage girl, the shadow of guilt, at least in Lolly’s eyes, still hangs over him.

  Vinnie Keane

  Vinnie works for the boss of the East End, Terry Street. A great bear of a man, loyal and tough and built for intimidation, he appears to be indestructible. But there is one chink in his armour. Love could be the undoing of him.

  1

  1977

  Friday 16 September. Kent

  Lolly Bruce reached out from the passenger seat and angled the rear-view mirror so she could study her face, peering at her reflection with a combination of intensity and disappointment. Grey eyes, small pink mouth, brown hair swept into a topknot. She sighed. Even with all the effort she made, her make-up carefully applied, she felt she never quite pulled it off. There was something in her features that betrayed her, something more East End than West, more Kellston than Mayfair. She had learned how to imitate sophistication but not how to inhabit it.

  ‘Do you have to do that?’ Vinnie asked.

  ‘How else am I supposed to see what I look like?’

  ‘You look the same as the last time you checked.’

  Lolly gave a snort. ‘That was over an hour ago. Women of substance have to pay attention to their appearance.’ She applied more lipstick and dabbed at
her lips with a tissue. ‘All right. I’m ready.’

  Vinnie rolled his eyes and then moved the mirror back to where it belonged.

  Lolly checked her fake Hermes handbag, made sure the goods were still inside and got out of the car. She took a deep breath and pushed back her shoulders. Posture was everything in this game. Well, that and confidence. She had done this same thing so often but the nerves still got to her.

  As she walked towards the shop, Lolly tried to tune in to that sense of entitlement which the monied possessed. I have every right to be here, every right to be the owner of some very classy jewellery. The trick was to look the part – cashmere twinset, pearls, heels – and to sound it too. She could manage the latter without any difficulty. Five years at Daynor Bridge, a public school for girls, had taught her how to speak with a silver spoon in her gob. What it hadn’t done, however, was to wipe away all traces of her working-class origins. Acting in a superior fashion didn’t come naturally to her and nor did the art of disdain.

  Today her name was Anna Carter-West and she had a driving licence to prove it. The licence was as genuine as her handbag. Sometimes they asked for ID and sometimes they didn’t, but she always came prepared. Stopping outside the jeweller’s, she took a moment to steady herself whilst pretending to study the window display. It didn’t do to linger for too long; courage had a habit of draining away.

  Inside, the shop glittered with its fancy lighting and pricey displays. Stepping up to the counter, with what she hoped would pass for blue-blooded nonchalance, she gave the man a pleasant smile. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Good morning, miss. How can I help you?’

  Lolly took one of the small velvet-lined boxes from her handbag. ‘I have a ring,’ she said. ‘It belonged to my grandmother. I’m not sure if I want to sell it or not but . . . Perhaps you could tell me how much it’s worth.’

  The man was in his forties, small and dapper with a thin face and narrow moustache. He took the box and opened it, his gaze flicking between the ring and Lolly. ‘Antique,’ he said, removing the ring and examining it. ‘A ruby. Very nice.’ He put a tiny magnifying glass to his eye and examined the hallmark. ‘Eighteen carat gold.’

  Lolly knew all this already but nodded anyway. ‘And its value?’

  The man hesitated. ‘Your grandmother’s, you say?’

  ‘That’s right. She passed away a few years ago. As I mentioned, I don’t really want to sell it but . . .’ Lolly assumed a suitably sad expression. She knew from experience that it was wise to keep things simple and not embroider the story.

  ‘If you could just give me a couple of minutes, I’ll get my colleague. He’s the expert on precious gems.’

  As he withdrew into the rear of the shop, ring in hand, Lolly had one of those alarm bell moments. Had he looked at her oddly? Why hadn’t he left the ring on the counter? Why was her heart beating like a jackhammer? None of this felt right, and if it felt wrong it probably was. The final confirmation of this came when she thought she heard the ting of a phone being lifted. Had she? She wasn’t sure. Damn it! The bastard could be calling the law.

  She had to make a quick decision. If she did a runner, she’d have to leave the ring behind, but if she stayed he might try and keep her talking until the police arrived. How long would that take? Five minutes? Ten? Unless there was a patrol car in the district, in which case . . .

  Lolly looked over her shoulder and out of the window. It was a busy road with lots of traffic. Vinnie was parked around the corner, out of sight. She was reluctant to abandon the ring – it was worth a few hundred – and Terry Street wouldn’t be happy if she came back empty handed, but she didn’t fancy getting nicked.

  Stay or go? She had a bad feeling, chill fingers running down her spine. Perhaps it was best to cut her losses. At least she hadn’t handed over both the rings. The more expensive one, a large diamond, was still in her bag. She was always cautious when she was flogging dodgy gear, testing the waters with a less valuable item first in case the buyer became suspicious.

  Lolly was counting off the seconds now. If the law did come, she’d be caught in possession of two stolen rings. Not so easy to explain. She peered towards the back of the shop – still nothing – and made a decision. Her gut was telling her to scarper and so that’s exactly what she did. Instinct was what propelled her out of the door and back onto the street, breaking into a run as soon as her feet hit the pavement.

  Vinnie saw her coming and had the engine started when she was still twenty yards away. She jumped into the passenger seat and slammed shut the door. ‘Drive!’ she ordered, like some cliché of a bank robber fleeing the scene of the crime. ‘Let’s go! Get out of here!’

  Vinnie took off with little regard for the cars behind and in front of him. He sped down the road, swung a right and was half a mile from the shop before he turned his head and said, ‘Take it that didn’t go too well, then?’

  ‘He knew something was off. Disappeared out back with the ring and the next thing I know he’s on the bleedin’ phone, isn’t he?’ Lolly had automatically dropped back into her everyday voice. ‘I didn’t hang around for the law to show up.’

  ‘They’ve got wise to you, love. Maybe word has got around.’

  Lolly thought he could be right. She supposed she’d had a good run, over a year now, but she couldn’t afford to lose the income. Once a month or so, she and Vinnie left London and travelled out to the surrounding counties to try and offload some of Terry’s more valuable acquisitions. For everything she shifted, she got ten per cent. Away from the capital, jewellers tended to be more trusting – or maybe just more gullible. ‘Could be a one-off. Perhaps he’s the suspicious sort.’

  ‘You want to try somewhere else?’

  She shook her head. Sometimes, when luck wasn’t with you, you simply had to accept it. ‘No, not today. I don’t want to tempt providence.’

  ‘So the ruby’s gone for a burton?’

  ‘I could have lost them both if I’d stayed,’ she snapped defensively.

  ‘All right, no need to bite me head off. I’m sure Terry will understand. Easy come, easy go, right?’

  ‘You think?’

  Vinnie barked out a laugh. ‘Nah, he’ll be well pissed off.’

  And she knew he was right. She would have to get her story straight, perhaps embellish it a bit, before they got back to London. If Terry reckoned she’d panicked, overreacted, he might jump to the conclusion she was losing her nerve. Perhaps she was. Perhaps, at this very moment, the salesman and his colleague were standing behind the counter, ready to offer her a wad of cash and wondering where the hell she’d disappeared to. It wouldn’t take them long to put two and two together.

  She wound down the window – it was a balmy autumn day – and thought some more about Terry. On the whole, their relationship was an amicable one. It went back six years to when she’d been a skinny thirteen-year-old, orphaned and living with Brenda Cecil at the pawnbroker’s. Terry had recruited Lolly to run errands for him. In those days he’d been working for the gangland boss, Joe Quinn, but Joe was long gone. Terry was the boss now.

  The air blew through the car, freeing fine strands of hair from her carefully constructed topknot. She watched the Kentish roads go by. From the moment she’d woken up this morning she’d had one of those dread feelings in the pit of her stomach, like something bad was going to happen. A premonition? She wasn’t sure if she believed in that kind of stuff. But perhaps that was why she’d reacted like she had in the shop, anticipating disaster even before it had occurred.

  In all the time she’d been working with Vinnie, she’d never been caught. A few close shaves but nothing that came near to an arrest. She glanced over at him. Vinnie Keane was a great bear of a man, about six foot five, and built for intimidation. When it came to trouble, he didn’t have to lift a finger. One look was all it took to frighten off even the stupidest of people. She couldn’t claim they were friends, exactly – he was much older than her – but the two of them got
along okay.

  Her gaze flicked back to the road again, and it was then she saw the sign for West Henby.

  On impulse, she said, ‘Turn right, here, at the junction.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘There’s something I want to see.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘It won’t take long. A quick detour. What’s the matter? You in a hurry to tell Terry the good news about how it all went wrong and we lost his ring?’

  ‘What’s with the “we”? I’m just the driver.’

  Lolly pulled a face. ‘So much for solidarity. I thought you were supposed to have my back.’

  Vinnie smirked, but did as he was asked and turned right onto the smaller road. It was another ten minutes before they came to the village of West Henby. She looked out of the window at the place that had once been so familiar to her. In the year since she’d last been here, nothing much had changed. Why would it have done? There were the same bustling streets, pubs and shops.

  ‘Keep going,’ she said. ‘Straight through the village and then follow the road round.’

  ‘What are we doing here?’

  ‘Taking a trip down memory lane.’

  Vinnie flicked the ash from his cigarette out of the window. ‘Always glad to oblige,’ he said drily. ‘Where do you fancy next, your ladyship – the Riviera, New York?’

  Lolly ignored him. ‘Slow down. We’re almost there. Okay, just beyond that tree. On the left. The gates. Do you see them? You can stop there.’

  Vinnie pulled up, keeping the engine running. Lolly wound down the window and gazed along the long curving drive. It wasn’t possible to see the house from here but she could see it in her mind’s eye: a grand, three-storey white building with a central flight of steps and two big flower pots like Ali Baba jars flanking either side. And behind it, the grounds, including the wide, cold lake with its bulrushes and weeping willows.

  ‘What are we looking at, exactly?’

  ‘The past,’ she said. ‘This is where I used to live.’

  ‘All right for some.’

  Lolly could have told him that it hadn’t been an easy time, that it was never straightforward being the cuckoo in someone else’s nest, but it would have sounded self-pitying. Anyway, she wasn’t in the mood for confidences. Mal Fury had taken her in after her mother’s suicide, become her guardian when she was thirteen, and his wife had been less than happy about it. The only child Esther had wanted was her own, the baby that had been abducted all those years before. No one knew whether Kay was still alive or if she’d drowned in the lake on the day she was snatched.