Stolen

by Roberta Kray

  ‘True to the end,’ FJ said. ‘Shame she wasn’t as loyal to the family who took her in.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re not wrong there.’ Tony grabbed her hand by the wrist and forcibly removed it from his arm. He didn’t let go but squeezed it tightly, his fingers crushing the flesh. ‘And no, it’s not enough,’ he said to her. ‘It’s not nearly fuckin’ enough. I want to hear those words come out of his mouth: I killed Amy Wiltshire.’

  Lolly, wincing, tried to free herself but the harder she tried the tighter he held on. She could almost feel the bruises forming. ‘You want him to lie. What does that achieve?’

  ‘Let go of her,’ Jude said.

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘I’ll report you. I’ll have you done for assault.’

  Tony laughed again. ‘Your word against ours, mate. And how are you going to walk to the cop shop with two broken legs? You going to crawl there or something?’ Abruptly he swung Lolly round in front of him and gripped her throat in the crook of his elbow. ‘Say you killed her. Say you killed Amy or I’ll snap your girlfriend’s fuckin’ neck in two.’

  Jude stood there with his mouth gaping open. ‘Let go of her. Let go,’ he said again, as though if he repeated it often enough Tony might eventually take notice.

  ‘Make me.’

  It was at times like these, Lolly thought, that you needed a Vinnie in your life. Someone who acted first and thought about it later, someone who could flatten the likes of Tony Cecil with his little finger. Pressed up against her assailant the stink of sweat and stale tobacco quickly reached her nose. She sensed the excitement in him, the thrill he got from hurting others. He was more than capable of carrying out his threat.

  ‘An eye for an eye,’ Tony said. ‘Ain’t that how it goes? Sounds reasonable to me. You took Amy, I’ll take Lolly. Fair enough, huh?’

  Lolly thought he was barking up the wrong tree if he imagined Jude gave a toss about her. And Tony hadn’t really cared about Amy either. This was just an opportunity for him to inflict some pain, to flex his muscles and show off to his brother. Her eyes darted sideways. FJ, still with the phone in his hand, was watching, waiting to receive orders. He always took the lead from Tony. He was like a pet dog, forever at heel, blindly following wherever his master took him.

  ‘Terry’s going to rip your heads off,’ she said, hoping they hadn’t heard about the falling out.

  Tony sniggered. ‘You think I care about that bastard? I’m not afraid of him.’

  ‘You should be. I mean, alibis can be given and they can be taken away.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ FJ said, frowning.

  ‘Ask your brother. Ask him what he was really doing the day Amy was murdered.’

  Tony snarled and clamped his hand over her mouth. ‘Shut up, bitch! She don’t mean nothin’. She’s just an evil little cow who needs teaching a lesson.’

  Lolly knew mentioning the alibi had been a big mistake. Now Tony was even angrier, more determined than ever to shut her up for good. Seeing that help wasn’t likely to come any time soon from Jude, she acted on impulse, kicking out at Tony’s lower leg, hitting him as hard as she could with her heel while she struggled to free herself from his grasp. The surprise of the attack temporarily loosened his hold and he had to remove his hand from her mouth to try and get her under control again. She grabbed her opportunity and started screaming, using every last inch of her lung power to make the sound travel.

  Tony grabbed hold of her hair, yanked her head back and hurled her to the floor. She landed with a heavy thump, the impact of the fall both winding and silencing her. Immediately he was on her again, twisting her over, straddling her, pushing her face into the carpet. ‘Bitch! Bitch! Fuckin’ bitch!’ She was blind. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Panic coursed through her veins. Her heart was thrashing, fear rising in her throat like bile. She could feel a darkness descending as the last of her strength ebbed away.

  And then, just when she thought it was over, Jude finally did something. She heard it rather than saw it, a heavy cracking sound followed by some groans and then a clattering bump as an object hit the ground. Immediately the weight of Tony’s body slid away as he toppled sideways. She turned her face the other way to gulp in air, to fill her empty lungs again. It was then she saw the weapon lying beside her – Jude’s typewriter.

  Scrambling to her feet, she looked down at Tony. For a moment she thought he was dead – Christ, that was all they needed – but then his lips moved and the groaning started up again. Blood was trickling through his hair from a cut on his scalp, but it didn’t look terminal. No brain damage, at least, although it wouldn’t be easy to tell the difference. FJ didn’t seem to know what to do. With his brother out of action, all his bravado had seeped away. He put the phone back on the table and crouched down by Tony.

  ‘You okay, bro? You okay?’

  It was a while before Tony responded. He seemed groggy, concussed perhaps. He lifted a hand to his head, tentatively touched the wound, winced and then examined his fingers.

  ‘Shit!’

  Jude was standing in the middle of the room with a slightly bemused expression on his face, as though he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened or how. Then he gave a start, bent and picked up the typewriter, more concerned with its well-being apparently than Lolly’s. Still, she wasn’t complaining. He’d saved her skin and she was grateful for it. Now all they had to do was get rid of the brothers before Tony revived enough to get mad and have another go.

  As FJ hauled Tony up, there was a loud knocking at the door. When no one else showed any sign of answering it Lolly went through to the hall. She still felt unsteady on her legs, wobbly, as if the oxygen hadn’t quite made it to her lower limbs yet. Two uniformed cops were standing on the doorstep.

  ‘Everything all right here, Miss?’ the taller one asked, trying to peer round her. ‘We had a report of a disturbance.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I . . . erm . . . ’

  Before she could continue they’d gently pushed her aside and gone into the living room.

  ‘Ah, look who it is. Been in the wars have you, Tony?’

  ‘He had a fall, didn’t he,’ FJ said. ‘Banged his head. It ain’t nothing. We was just going.’

  He took his brother’s arm and tried to bustle him out but the cops blocked the way. ‘Not so fast, son. We need a few words first.’

  Tony glared at the officers. ‘I tripped that’s all, nothing for you lot to be arsed about.’

  The smaller cop looked at Lolly. ‘Someone screaming is what they said. A woman. Would that have been you, Miss?’

  The number one rule on the Mansfield estate was never to grass no matter what the circumstances. It only ever made matters worse. Which wasn’t to say she wasn’t tempted – she’d be more than happy to see Tony get his just deserts – but old habits die hard. And anyway, more trouble was the last thing she needed at the moment. ‘Yes, it was me. It was just when he fell and I saw the blood, I thought he was dead or something. That’s when I screamed, you see. Sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.’

  Neither cop seemed convinced. The taller one asked, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Lolly Bruce.’

  ‘And is this your flat?’

  ‘It’s mine,’ Jude said.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Jude Rule.’

  ‘Would you like to tell us what happened?’

  Jude hesitated, perhaps as tempted as Lolly had been to tell the truth, but eventually he simply shrugged. ‘It’s like she said. We were messing about and Tony tripped. That’s when Lol screamed. She panicked. That’s all it was, nothing else.’

  ‘You see?’ FJ said. ‘We were just messing. Can we go now?’

  ‘I’m fuckin’ bleeding here,’ Tony said.

  The tall cop ignored him. He studied Lolly for a while. She smiled back, trying to look relaxed. He glanced at the other three, knowing everyone was giving him bullshit and also that there was sod all he could do abou
t it. Eventually when he could see that nobody was going to budge on the story he gave a cursory nod. ‘Okay, but maybe you could be a bit more careful when you’re messing about in future.’

  ‘We will,’ Lolly said. ‘Sorry.’

  The two officers escorted the Cecil brothers out. Jude closed the door behind them and returned to the living room. He picked up the phone, sighed and put it down again. It was only then that he addressed Lolly, but not to ask how she was or to offer a mug of hot sweet tea after the shock of it all.

  ‘What did you mean about the alibi?’

  She slumped down on the sofa, wanting to cry but forcing herself not to. There was something adrift with him, she thought, with the way his mind worked. Anyone normal would have offered her some comfort, fussed around her, made sure she wasn’t hurt.

  ‘Nothing. I was just winding him up.’

  ‘Well, that was a good move,’ he said sarcastically.

  Lolly touched her head where Tony had almost yanked out her hair. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’ She could have told him about Tony’s sexual preferences, about the secret he preferred to keep hidden, but thought it might do more harm than good. If Jude gave even a hint of knowing, Tony wouldn’t be slow to silence him. She gave herself a mental shake. Christ, even now she was trying to protect him. What was wrong with her? But then again, she owed him for the timely blow with the typewriter so maybe that made it all right.

  ‘They’ll come back,’ she warned. ‘They’ve got it in for both of us.’

  ‘I’m getting out of Kellston. If you’ve got any sense you’ll do the same.’

  ‘And go where?’

  ‘Anywhere the Cecils aren’t. This place is a dump anyway. I should have left when my dad did.’

  ‘Will you go and stay with him?’

  ‘What, with him and his tart? No thanks. I’d rather sleep under a bridge. Once I’ve got my visa sorted I’m out of this country for good.’

  Lolly didn’t hate the place the way he did. She just hated some of the people in it.

  Standing up, she went over to the window to check the coast was clear and that the Cecil brothers weren’t still hanging around. There were questions she hadn’t asked, about Esther, about the murder, but she’d lost her taste for investigation. ‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘If I don’t see you again, good luck with everything.’

  Jude was playing with the typewriter, checking out the keys. He glanced at her and nodded. ‘Yeah, you too.’

  As she walked towards the hall, he said, ‘Hey, Lolly?’

  She turned, thinking he might have something more heartwarming to say. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘In case you’re wondering, I didn’t kill her. Esther, I mean.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  He nodded again, half smiled and went back to his typewriter.

  And what about Amy? she might have asked, but she didn’t.

  50

  Thursday 22 September. Kellston

  Freddy had strolled around the twelfth-floor corridors, trying to figure out which flat the girl had gone into. He’d listened at a few doors but hadn’t heard anything other than TVs and radios and a baby crying. Then the Cecil brothers had shown up. Those two were always on the hunt for trouble, psycho skinheads with blood on their boots.

  He’d watched from a safe distance until they’d entered the flat. The same one as the girl? At the time, he hadn’t been sure. It could just have been coincidence that they’d all turned up on the same floor. A few minutes had passed and then the screaming had started. Now he wasn’t going to go knocking on that door, not with the brothers on the other side of it. He wasn’t a fool. No, he’d scarpered outside onto the walkway.

  But he wasn’t the only one who’d heard the screams. Some old crone, the type who didn’t like her afternoon nap being disturbed, came rushing out from the floor underneath and leaned over the balcony to roar at a couple of cops who must have been there to harass another resident. They’d come clattering up the steps, probably hoping for a murder in progress. Freddy, who wouldn’t normally get involved, had made an exception in this case and pointed them in the right direction.

  Then he’d stood back and waited to see what would happen next. The cops hadn’t stayed long, leaving with the brothers in tow. No ambulance. No battered corpse. No sign of the brown-haired girl. He was wondering how much longer to wait when his patience was finally rewarded. She came out of the flat and headed for the landing.

  Freddy followed behind, his heart starting to race. Was he going to talk to her? He hadn’t decided yet. But opportunities like these didn’t come along every day.

  Lolly didn’t take much notice of the man who got into the lift with her. They went through the odd procedure that probably occurs in most British lifts when strangers are forced together in a confined space: a slight nod of acknowledgment without actually making eye contact. Her fingers hovered over the buttons. ‘You want the ground floor?’

  ‘Ta.’

  The doors closed and her nose was instantly assailed by three equally powerful smells: dope, pee and the musky aroma of cheap aftershave. She tried not to breathe too deeply. Her body was hurting in several different places including her scalp, her knees and her wrist. What if the lift doors opened and the Cecils were waiting for her? She could have taken the steps instead but twelve flights were a long way to walk when your legs were still feeling shaky.

  The man cleared his throat, glanced at her and said, ‘Those two should be locked up.’

  Lolly, startled, looked at him properly for the first time. An innocuous looking man in his thirties – fawn trousers, fawn shirt, beige cardigan and cream raincoat – with a curiously childlike face. ‘Locked up?’ she echoed.

  ‘The Cecil brothers. They should be behind bars. Best place for them.’ And then, before she had the chance to respond, he added, ‘I was the one who called the police, you know. Well, not called exactly – they were already here – but I told them which flat it was.’

  ‘Oh, well it wasn’t anything really. But thanks.’

  ‘I heard the screaming.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said again.

  ‘I’m Alan, by the way, Alan North.’

  Lolly raised her eyes to the bank of lights above the metal doors, watching the progress of their descent and willing the lift to move faster. She knew it would be rude not to give her name in exchange, but the bloke, although he was probably harmless, freaked her out a bit. ‘I’m Lita,’ she said eventually, choosing her West Henby name rather than her Kellston one.

  ‘That’s pretty.’

  Lolly forced a smile. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Do you live on the estate?’

  ‘No, I was just visiting a friend.’

  ‘And you’re all right? You’re not hurt or anything?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘It’s rough, this place. You should be careful.’

  The lift finally came to a shuddering halt and the doors opened. ‘Well, nice to meet you,’ she said quickly as she scooted out. She thought he said something in return but by then she was already legging it across the foyer. She’d had enough of men for one day.

  Freddy watched her leave, pleased with the exchange even though it had been a short one. Next time he bumped into her he’d have an excuse to stop and chat. Lita. He rolled the name over his tongue, murmured it, liked the sound. She was quite pretty close up in a girl-next-door kind of way. And she had nice hands. He always noticed hands. Hers were small with slender fingers and tidy nails.

  The rain was coming down harder now, but he didn’t rush home. He wanted to savour the moment. It was a shame they hadn’t had the chance to talk more. It was clear, however, that she wasn’t on good terms with the Cecils. That was excellent news for him. Those boys were dangerous, and damsels in distress were his speciality. Although he was no closer to finding out what her connection was to Dana Leigh, he had taken the first step in getting to know her.

  His face fell as he thought about Dana. It wasn’
t his fault what had happened. Sometimes women pushed you too far, made you lose your temper, made you do things you later regretted. It would have all been different if she’d just listened, for God’s sake. How many times had he told her? Well, there was no point crying over spilt milk. What was done was done. It was time to move on.

  51

  Thursday 22 September. Shoreditch and Harlow

  It was that time of day, late afternoon, when trade was slack at Marcie’s. There was a ghost town feel to it, a sense of abandonment. It was only when Nick looked more closely that he was able to make out a few customers huddled in the corners. Music was playing and a girl was on stage slowly divesting herself of her clothes with all the enthusiasm of a grandmother forced to relinquish her cardigan on a cold winter’s day. The smell of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume drifted on the air.

  He chose a table near the back and sat down. A waitress wearing a skimpy black mini dress was on him straight away.

  ‘What can I get you, sweetheart?’

  He ordered a beer, the cheapest drink available, and watched her face fall. Another cheapskate she was thinking, and she was right. ‘Could I have a word, if you’re not too busy?’

  Interest flickered in her eyes again. She sat down opposite him, hoping perhaps for an offer she couldn’t refuse. ‘Never too busy for a handsome young man,’ she said. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Nick tried to keep his gaze on the horizontal and not let it slide down to her ample cleavage. This was easier said than done as she deliberately leaned forward and batted her eyelashes. ‘I’m investigating the murder of Brent Sandler,’ he said. ‘I understand he used to come here.’

  Instantly she drew back, her eyes narrowing. ‘What are you, a cop?’

  He took out his ID and slid it across the table. ‘Private investigator. I’m trying to clear Vinnie Keane’s name. I don’t think he killed Sandler.’

  She examined the ID closely and then handed it back. ‘You working for Terry then?’

  ‘I’m working for Vinnie,’ he said. He shrugged. ‘Although I suppose that means I’m working for Terry too in a roundabout sort of way.’