by Roberta Kray
He tentatively touched his throat, wondering how it would feel to be standing on a scaffold, knowing that you were about to die. Not that he was ever going to find out. There was no death penalty now, well, except for treason and you didn’t get much of that these days. He wondered if Crippen had been sorry for what he did or just sorry he got caught. The latter, he suspected.
Freddy looked up as a girl walked past and approached the counter. She was smallish and skinny, wearing faded blue jeans and a navy T-shirt. He stared at her arse for a moment before lifting his gaze again. Her long brown hair was tied back in a ponytail.
‘Hi,’ she said to Mrs Levy. ‘I was wondering if you kept old copies of newspapers here?’
‘How far back do you want to go?’
‘Oh, about nineteen years or so.’
‘You’ll need the microfiche, then. Do you know how to use it?’
‘Is it complicated?’
‘I’ll show you,’ Mrs Levy said.
Freddy put his head back in his book as the two of them went by. He was having one of those déjà vu moments. This was just like the day Dana had come in, except Dana had talked more loudly, as though she didn’t understand the library rules. Dana had been taller too, with long fair hair that swayed when she walked. It was her hair he’d liked best, shiny like silk and tumbling down her back in waves. He’d wanted to reach out and touch it, but that was against the rules too.
Mrs Levy explained how the machine worked and left the girl to it. Freddy watched her while he pretended to read, quick furtive glances in case she sussed him. He was too far away to see what she was looking at, but a part of him already knew. Nineteen years, she’d said, just like Dana. Could it really be a coincidence?
Freddy closed his book, stood up and drifted down the aisle, stopping every now and again to peer at the shelves, edging ever closer to her until he was standing right behind. That was when his worst fears were confirmed. His body tensed as he saw the article she was reading, a piece about a baby abandoned in Hackney. Quickly he turned and went back to his seat.
He stayed very still, almost rigid, trying to work out what was going on. Was it some kind of trap? A set-up? Perhaps the girl was a plant, sent by the law to see if he would do exactly what he’d done with Dana: sit down at the machine next to her and strike up a conversation.
Mrs Levy might have seen and remembered, might have grassed him up. His eyes darted around the room, but he couldn’t see anyone who looked like an undercover cop. But what if the girl was the cop?
Freddy opened his book again. He was starting to sweat, and his pulse was racing. Don’t get in a funk, he told himself. Don’t do a Crippen. It was important to stay calm at times like this, to think things through, to not do anything stupid. It was more likely the girl was a local reporter, researching Dana’s origins just as Dana had researched them herself. The link between the abandoned baby and the murdered prostitute had only just come out and journalists were playing catch up.
He sneaked another glance at her, unsure as to what journalists looked like. She seemed too young, but then everyone looked young these days. He transferred his gaze to Mrs Levy. Had she even made the connection between the blonde girl who’d come in a few weeks ago and Dana Leigh? The photo in the paper hadn’t been a good one.
When he thought of Dana, Freddy felt a pain in his chest. She’d been special, one of the chosen, and now he’d never see her again. It wasn’t fair. He never had any luck. One after another, the girls proved to be a disappointment in the end. You did your best to help, but it always got thrown back in your face. They didn’t understand the meaning of gratitude. If only Dana had listened to him, taken his advice, she’d still be alive instead of laid out in the morgue like a piece of meat.
It was over an hour before the brown-haired girl turned off the machine and prepared to leave. Freddy didn’t want to have to follow her out and so he put his book back on the shelf and walked as fast as he dared towards the exit. Once outside, he crossed the road and waited from a safe distance. He was still suspicious, still wary, but no one could accuse him of doing anything wrong.
His worries about the police had subsided. If they had something on him, they’d have been round to the flat days ago. So far as he knew he wasn’t even on their radar. Of course, there had been that bit of trouble with the redhead, but that was a while ago, and not even in Kellston. Since coming back here, he’d been clean as a whistle. Well, almost.
Sometimes opportunities just dropped into your lap, like they were meant to be. God-given. How could he refuse? Dana had needed hope and he had given it to her. That’s the kind of bloke he was. And yes, okay, so he had taken some cash off her, but that was only to cover expenses. Time is money – isn’t that the saying? And if that was the case he should have asked for a damn sight more. Hours he’d spent studying those newspaper reports, looking for clues to pull out, twist and dangle in front of her.
It was another ten minutes before the girl came out of the library. What the hell had she been doing? Talking to Mrs Levy, perhaps. He felt his anxiety levels jump up a notch. What if she’d been asking about him? She could have noticed him watching her. ‘Do you know the name of that man, the one who was sitting at the table near the counter? He was wearing a green sweater.’ And Mrs Levy might have leaned across the counter and replied softly, ‘Oh, that one. No, I don’t know his name, but he’s always in here, working his way through the crime section. Murder, rape, strangulation, poisoning: he can’t get enough of it.’
Freddy played over this hypothetical scenario in his head as he trailed the girl down the high street. Was Mrs Levy allowed to reveal his reading habits? It didn’t seem very professional, but then librarians were hardly doctors or priests. They didn’t have an obligation to keep quiet about anything.
He had made Dana swear not to tell a soul about him. ‘Most folk can’t keep their mouths shut,’ he’d explained. ‘If word gets around that you’re looking for your mum, it could ruin everything. She might get scared and do a runner. People don’t always want the past catching up with them.’
He’d liked that trust she had in him, and the way her eyes widened every time he gave her a new snippet of information. She’d been kind of stupid, but in an endearing sort of way. That was the trick with women: find their weak spot and exploit it. They all had one. Sometimes it was right there on the surface, like Dana’s, but other times you had to dig a little deeper. That was part of the challenge: ferreting around until you hit pay dirt.
The girl stopped at the traffic lights, preparing to cross over. Freddy turned left onto Station Road and paused by the newsagent’s, pretending to study the display in the window, but really waiting for her to catch up with him. The lights were slow and he had time to study his reflection in the glass. He didn’t hate what he saw, but he wasn’t proud of it either. Ordinary was probably the closest description. He was thin and lanky, and his round pale face had a curious flatness to it. Like he had no cheekbones. Whenever he saw himself, his mother’s words always jumped into his head.
‘You might be plain on the outside, Freddy, but you’re beautiful inside.’
As if anyone wanted to hear that. Being beautiful on the inside didn’t count for much in the real world. And who said that kind of thing to their kid? She had no sensitivity, that was the trouble. She spoke it as she saw it, called a spade a spade and never thought twice. There were things he could have said to her, hurtful things, but he never did. Inside him was a tangled knot of slights and wounds, all quietly festering.
The girl passed by and carried on up Station Road. He trailed behind, keeping his distance. By the time they’d gone two hundred yards a nasty suspicion was starting to form. Could she really be heading for Albert Road? He didn’t have long to wait for an answer. As she approached the corner, she picked up the pace and abruptly turned left.
Freddy wasn’t happy about this latest development. He didn’t follow her but stood on the corner and counted off the houses until
he saw which one she went into. Twenty-four. For fuck’s sake. What was going on? That was where Dana had lived. Was the girl a tart too? She must be. And she must have known Dana or why else would she be poking her nose into business that didn’t concern her?
He shuffled his feet, unsure as to what to do next. He’d never been inside the house, not wanting the other girls to see him, and wondered what it was like. When he thought of brothels he had a picture in his head, an image from a Wild West film where half-dressed women danced around or draped themselves over men, sitting in their laps. Somehow, he didn’t think it was quite like that in the back streets of Kellston.
Freddy didn’t like whores. They were rancid, dirty creatures who preyed on the lusts of men. Usually he stayed well away and had only made an exception in Dana’s case because she’d been young and damaged and in need of someone to take care of her. It was a shame it had worked out so badly, but it wasn’t his fault.
He gazed down the road, trying to figure out what the brown-haired girl might be up to. You didn’t go to the library and look up old newspaper articles just for the fun of it. Maybe Dana had told her more than she should. Or was he stressing over nothing? He scratched his head while he tried to balance out the probabilities. When push came to shove, what could Dana have told her that would be any threat? His name? But lots of people were called Freddy. And it was no secret that she’d been abandoned as a baby. The only secret lay in his attempts to help her find her mum – and the money he’d been taking off her. If the cops found out about that it wouldn’t look good.
The sky had gone overcast and it was starting to rain, a fine drizzle that gathered on his hair and slid under the collar of his shirt. His forehead scrunched into a frown. Most of what he’d told Dana about himself had been lies, but she could have given this other girl a description, said she’d met him in the library. But a description didn’t amount to anything. He hardly stood out in a crowd. No, he didn’t need to worry. But still he did.
Five minutes passed, then ten. Freddy was about to leave – there was nothing more he could do here and he didn’t care for getting wet – when the door to number twenty-four opened again and the girl came out. It caught him by surprise and he couldn’t decide which way to go and so stayed where he was. He watched as she hot-footed it up the road, ignoring a car that was cruising beside her. The driver leaned across to make her an offer she clearly could refuse.
He turned his face away as she walked past, pretending to look in the opposite direction. She went a few yards up the high street and then crossed over as the traffic ground to a halt at the lights. He kept to his side of the road and followed her at a cautious pace. Where was she going? Back to the library? That didn’t make much sense.
Once she’d cleared the green, the girl stopped, looking to the left and right while she waited to cross the road again. Freddy didn’t understand this either. Why cross back when she’d only just crossed over? Couldn’t she make her damn mind up? He strode on purposefully, eyes to the fore, pretending not to be paying attention to her.
Unwilling to get too far ahead, he paused at the Indian takeaway and studied the menu in the window. It was all weird, foreign stuff. Why would anyone want to eat it? He didn’t like spices or sauces. He preferred good British food with gravy. Although he had nothing against coloured people per se, he found it objectionable that they should want to inflict their cuisine on him. He glanced discreetly over his shoulder. The girl was still waiting.
It took her a while to find a gap between the cars and buses, and when she did finally manage it he was prepared and ready to continue the tail. Why not? He might as well find out as much as he could about her. But as she grew closer, a nasty feeling started growing in his guts. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to be heading straight for him. She was, she definitely was. Shit! He didn’t know whether to walk off or brazen it out, and by the time he’d turned the two options over, it was too late and she was almost on him.
Freddy girded himself for confrontation. Denial was the stance he would take, along with a dollop of indignation. Why on earth would I be following you? Can’t a man stand and read a menu without being accused of . . . But even as he prepared himself, rearranging his features into a suitably affronted expression, she was taking a key out her bag and approaching the door to the right of the takeaway.
He let out a sigh of relief as she opened up and went inside. A close shave. And then he laughed. It was funny to think she might be looking for him, trying to track down Dana’s mysterious Freddy, and he’d been standing right beside her. His amusement soon receded, his face growing solemn. Was she a threat? He didn’t have enough information to establish that yet. Still, at least she was small. If the worst came to the worst, he couldn’t see her putting up much of a fight.
41
Thursday 22 September. Kellston
Lolly threw her bag onto the table and collapsed on the chair with a groan. What now? Talk about unlucky! She leaned forward and put her head in her hands. The library had been a waste of time – she hadn’t been able to find out anything useful – but she’d gone to see Stella anyway, hoping her old friend might have some more encouraging news about the hunt for Dana’s killer, or even about Vinnie.
Michelle had told her Stella was out, but just as Lolly had been about to turn around and go, Terry Street had appeared and beckoned her inside. She went over the encounter in her head, grimacing at the memory.
‘Just the person,’ he said. ‘I need a word.’
‘With me?’ Her heart sank. Christ, he was going to ask for the ring back and she didn’t have it. She attempted a smile, but her lips were dry. ‘Sure.’
Terry, unsurprisingly, was in a foul mood. It was written all over his face. First one of his girls had been murdered, and now Vinnie was banged up. ‘Let’s talk in the front room.’
The front room was where the punters waited, a depressing sort of place with yellowing net curtains, a worn carpet and a couple of sofas that had seen better days. As they went through, Lolly tried to think of what she could say. That she’d lost the ring? That it had been stolen? That she didn’t have it on her but would return it asap? None of these, apart perhaps from the latter, was going to go down well.
Terry sat down at one end of the red sofa and she took the other end. He lit a fag and took a couple of puffs before he spoke again. ‘You’ve heard about Vinnie, yeah?’
Lolly nodded. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Did he say anything to you about Laura Sandler?’
‘Me? No, not a word. But he never really talked about personal stuff, girlfriends and the like.’
‘She wasn’t his girlfriend. She was Brent Sandler’s bloody wife. And the bitch has put Vinnie right in the frame. She’s claiming there was nothing going on between them but that he’s been after her for months, harassing her, trying to get her in the sack. Reckons he topped Sandler so he could have her for himself.’
Nick had told Lolly some of this, but not all the details. ‘Jesus. That doesn’t sound like Vinnie. He’s not what you’d call the obsessive sort. He wouldn’t have killed Sandler, would he?’
Terry didn’t answer the question. ‘What was he like when you were with him last week?’
‘Same as always.’
‘And you’re sure he didn’t say anything?’
She thought about it, but nothing relevant came to mind. ‘I’m sure.’
Terry looked disappointed. ‘He should never have gone near the tart. What was the stupid bastard thinking?’
Lolly suspected Vinnie had only been thinking with one part of his anatomy and it certainly wasn’t his brain. ‘Has he been charged yet?’
‘Yeah, he’s been charged, charged with bleedin’ murder. And you know what the filth are like. He’ll be going down for a long stretch if they get their way.’
‘Someone must know who really did it. Who else hated Sandler enough to want him dead?’
‘Apart from his wife?’
Terry stood up and paced around the room for a while, adding his fag ash to the already grubby carpet. She could see how pissed off he was. Vinnie was his right-hand man, the one person he could really trust. Realising he might not be around for the next twenty years was a tough pill for him to swallow. After a while, as if he had just remembered she was still there, he said, ‘Okay, ta.’
Lolly was almost out of the room, relieved that that question hadn’t come up, when something jogged his memory.
‘Oh, you got that ring on you, Lol?’
She stopped and turned around, her chest tightening. She’d been dreading this moment and now it was here. ‘Erm . . . no, I haven’t got it with me.’
‘Okay, I’ll drop by later and pick it up.’
Lolly was tempted just to nod – she didn’t have to answer the door – but she knew she’d have to tell him the truth eventually. She swallowed hard and forced herself to speak. ‘No, I mean I don’t have it any more. At all. I’m sorry. I had to . . . Someone I know was in a lot of trouble and . . . I’ll pay you back, I promise. Every penny.’
Terry was staring at her like she was someone he’d never met before, a stranger who’d robbed him while his back was turned. Two angry stripes of red appeared on his cheekbones. ‘You haven’t got it?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.’
‘It wasn’t yours to give away.’
Lolly could have retorted that, strictly speaking, it wasn’t his either seeing as the ring was nicked, but now wasn’t the time for smart talk. It was the time to grovel. ‘I know, and I wouldn’t have done it if there’d be any other way. I’m not trying to rip you off, Terry, I swear. You know me better than that.’
His voice was cold. ‘Who did you give it to?’
Lolly shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry. But I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do anything.’
