Refusal (The Cardigan Estate Book 3)

by Emmy Ellis

  Because selling it is a form of control. It isn’t something taken from me by Robins. I have the choice now, and if I’m in charge, it erases all the times I wasn’t.

  Funny how the mind worked, how things made sense only to you.

  “I wasn’t always like this,” she said. “I smiled a lot, even though my childhood—or parts of it—weren’t that nice. I’d learnt to get past it, study, become a solicitor. Then he came in, asking for representation, and it seemed all the happiness got sucked out of me once he let me know what he wanted after the trial. And I can’t seem to get it back. If he’s gone…”

  “I know what you mean. When Cardigan died, well, it hit me hard, and to channel the grief, I made it my mission to find out who’d killed him. I couldn’t rest until I did. Now it’s all over, I’m moving on as best I can. I miss him, that’s a given, and I’ve accepted he isn’t coming back, but that urge has gone, that fire to put things right. Hopefully, you’ll feel the same way. And before you ask, no, I don’t feel guilty.”

  “Not even a bit?”

  “No.”

  Lavender would. She’d promised to uphold the law. Murder was wrong. But the nights she’d stared into space in bed, imagining it, slicing his neck open, watching him bleed and bleed and bleed, telling herself that if he was just dead, if he’d just die, everything would be okay.

  She had to believe that, because fully acknowledging what she was about to do meant facing a side of herself that hadn’t existed before she’d met him. Like Debbie had said, she’d struggled with the enjoyment of what she’d done.

  Lavender wouldn’t. Her struggle would centre around what her dad thought if he ever found out. She’d be the reason for his smile drooping, and it wasn’t something she could handle seeing—again.

  Chapter Nine

  Debbie stood on the steel platform outside her front door at the top of the steps at the side of The Angel. A taxi had come for Lavender, something Debbie insisted on, not only for the parlour girls but those on the corner. Since Shirley’s murder, she’d done everything she could to ensure the women were safe. The taxis, the watcher in the alley, the CCTV in the parlour.

  Okay, one of the watchers, Frank, had fucked up recently, leaving his spot to talk to one of Richie Lime’s men, leaving the girls vulnerable, Sarah getting beaten up, but her present watchers wouldn’t be making that mistake. The Brothers had threatened them that if they ever did the same, they were dead.

  Like Frank.

  Lavender got into the back of the vehicle, and the driver reversed. Debbie waved at her, and Lavender’s face just about broke her bloody heart. It was haunted by her fear, of whatever she’d endured at the hands of Robins, and all the faith she held in Debbie was displayed in her pleading eyes: Please, please help me.

  Debbie closed her door, locked it, and collected their empty cups from the living room. In her posh kitchen, she shoved a coffee pod in her machine—she’d need the caffeine. Phone out, she selected Greg’s number and connected the call. While it was the early hours, he wouldn’t mind answering for this.

  “All right, Debbie?” He didn’t sound sleepy.

  “Did I wake you?”

  He chuckled. “Nah, we’re at the warehouse.”

  “Oh. Right.” She didn’t need to ask why. “Will you be able to nip here when you’ve finished?”

  “We’re at the black bag stage, so give us an hour. Your flat?”

  She nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see her. “Probably best. Thanks.”

  Call over, she put her phone on the microwave and took her coffee to the window. Stared at the gravestones. Two belonged to Cardigan and Shirley, both people she loved, the holes their deaths had created inside her still a wide chasm, one she filled with day-to-day life so they didn’t seem so big.

  Mickey and Harry popped into her head, their final resting place the Thames. Who’d be dumped in there tonight by The Brothers, black bags turned upside down, chopped-up pieces of flesh hitting the surface then sinking below into the brown depths? Who’d pissed them off now?

  A knock at her front door startled her. Greg had said an hour, and she’d barely stood here long, musing. Had Lavender come back? Cup on the worktop, she walked out and down the hallway, trying to gauge who the visitor was by the shadow—she’d had a new front door fitted recently, with a nice leaf pattern on the glass.

  Her stomach sank. What was he doing here? And he was supposed to ring beforehand. Debbie didn’t sell herself anymore, but she did have one man she entertained, if you could call it that. He was a one-minute wonder. Rod Clarke, the bent copper, had said he’d protect her if she shagged him. There was an implication that if she didn’t…

  She opened the door, planning to get rid of him.

  He smiled and stepped inside, pushing her against the wall, the door closed with a kick. Rod was in a hurry then—good for her, The Brothers wouldn’t see him here, he’d be gone before they arrived. Rod mauled her for scant seconds then got down to business, condom on, the event over inside a minute this time, him panting, her turning her head to one side so she didn’t have to look at him. He withdrew, zipped up with the condom still in place, the filthy bastard, and grinned.

  “Cheers, I needed that.” He opened the door.

  “Next time, phone,” she gritted out, tugging her knickers up.

  “I did, but it was engaged. I was passing on my way home, thought I’d grab the chance.”

  “Well don’t,” she snapped, then thought better of it. Rod was dodgy, in The Brothers’ pay. She might need him to help with Robins if the twins declined. “I prefer an hour’s notice, you know that.”

  “Must have slipped my mind.” He walked out, winked, closed the door, and his shape flitted past the glass. The sound of his footsteps on the stairs clanked loudly, and he was gone.

  Sickened by having to put up with him pawing her, she had a shower. Pyjamas, dressing gown, and slippers on, she reheated her coffee in the microwave and sat in the living room to wait. She’d do all she could with The Brothers to help Lavender, but without much to go on, info on what Robins had actually done to her, it might be a hard sell.

  A while later, a quiet knock on the front door had her up on her feet and going to open it. The twins stood side by side, and it never failed to amaze her how big they were, filling the steel landing. They could be gentle giants or evil monsters, whichever side of the fence you stood on, and she was glad to be in their good books, not someone they had in their sights, destination the river.

  “Everything all right?” Greg asked, the calmer of the two.

  “Just need some advice. And your help.” She moved aside to let them in.

  “Sounds like a job.” George smiled and entered first, rubbing his hands together.

  “It is.” She walked down the hallway and into the kitchen, leaving one of them to lock up. Not bothering to ask if they wanted one, she got on with making coffee.

  Greg and George sat at the breakfast bar.

  “What’s the problem then?” Greg drummed his fingertips beside the toaster.

  “Lavender.” She turned to chat while the coffee spurted into the cup. “She’s got herself into bother.”

  George’s hackles were up, the straightening of his shoulders and the frown told her that. “What bother?”

  “From what I can gather, she was forced to have sex with someone—all before she came to work on the corner, mind you—and in the end, she had to ditch her old life and start a new one.”

  “Okay, so…?” Greg’s eyebrows rose.

  “So, the man isn’t happy about her disappearing act. He’s been after her for three years.”

  George chuffed out a laugh. “How the fuck hasn’t he found her, considering she’s a sex worker? Well, before, when she was on the corner? She was out there, plain as day.”

  “Not sure. Maybe she used to live elsewhere, on someone else’s patch, and she came here, away from him.” Debbie handed over one coffee and started the next. “We didn’t go
into things in great depth, just that she chose this profession because she was basically a ‘whore’ anyway—her word, not mine.”

  “So what does she want us to do?” Greg asked. “Give him a kicking? Break his legs? Warn him to leave her alone and we’ll be watching to make sure he does?”

  “Kill him.” Debbie passed the second cup to George.

  “Well, that’s not a problem.” Greg sipped. “Lovely, this. Who is it?”

  Debbie shoved a new pod in and pressed the button. “This is where it might get…difficult.”

  George picked up his cup. “Knew there’d be a catch. You can’t just grab hold of someone and murder them these days, can you.”

  She couldn’t work out whether that was a joke or sarcasm so chose to ignore it. “It’s Kevin Robins.”

  “Fuck me,” Greg said. “Um…she’s aware of who he is, yes?”

  “Of course she is. She represented him in court. He got off, then expected her to be at his beck and call.” She remembered the eavesdropping. “Actually, there was a reason for that. He wanted sex with her, so she went along with that—what with who he is, she thought she’d better. Anyway, she overheard a few things she shouldn’t, and Robins found out. You’ll have to ask her what he made her do after that, but from what I gather, it wasn’t pretty.”

  “For her to have legged it and started again says it all.” George drank some coffee. “If you’re prepared to give everything up… Got to be bad.”

  “Hmm.” Greg scratched his temple, the sound of nails on skin blending with the tick of the wall clock. “But she’s on our patch, one of your girls, so…”

  “He’s a nasty bastard,” George said. “I’m trying to think how we can play this with minimal fuss. Fucking about with leaders, us new on the scene… We’ve got their respect now, so stepping on toes…”

  “As if the Richie Lime shit wasn’t bad enough,” Greg added. “We’ve only just dealt with him.”

  Debbie took her drink in hand. “I don’t want to know.”

  The twins laughed.

  “Does she want to kill him herself?” Greg asked.

  Debbie shrugged. “Not sure she’s up to it, to be honest. She asked me to do it, and I thought that was literally, but what she meant was, she needed me to ask you two.” She wasn’t going to tell them Lavender had guessed about Mickey and Harry, and Debbie had confessed. Best not to muddy the waters. If they thought Lavender was a threat to them, they might refuse to help. “She says she’s angry enough. The thing is, when it comes down to it, will she have the guts?”

  “I think so,” George said. “There’s you, managing it well, then, as you know, there’s two other women we’ve recently helped out. They got on with it, too, shot the fuckers dead. Lavender’s strong, she’ll come through, and if not, there’s always me and Greg. Killing’s nothing to us, as normal as nipping to Starbucks on the way to work, know what I mean? It becomes a habit, one you do automatically, and you don’t bat an eyelid. Take tonight for instance—”

  “That’s enough,” Greg said. “Debbie doesn’t need this bollocks.”

  George’s eyebrows met in the middle. “Eh? I’d have thought she’d want to know, seeing as it relates to what happened to Cardigan.”

  Butterflies erupted in her belly. “What relates to Cardigan?”

  George sniffed. “When Harry planned the shooting, he had certain other people involved. Him and Mickey were in a safe house and needed someone to do a bit of liaising. Now, me and Greg had a little chat this morning and decided we ought to get rid of everyone in the know—present company excluded, that goes without saying. Anyway, there was this fella, he passed on messages to Harry from that ferret, Sid Dempsey. Sid was the go-between for Harry and Mickey with regards to Cardigan. So, with Mickey and Harry gone, that left the bloke and Sid.”

  “And…?” She knew what he was going to say.

  George smiled. “All it took was us waiting outside the pub the bloke ran. The Grapes, know it? We knew where he was because we followed Sid there after he’d been to see Cardigan once.”

  Debbie nodded.

  “He came out to put an empty barrel in the yard, and we nabbed him. Took him to the warehouse. Questioned him in the chair—you know the one. Asked him if anyone else was involved with the hit on Cardigan. He swore only him and Sid. I shot him in the head, Greg cut him with the circular saw. Job done.”

  She saw herself slicing Harry up into small pieces with that saw. Smiled. “And Sid’s next.”

  “Yeah. Loose ends.” George grimaced. “Don’t like them. I prefer packages with tidy bows.”

  “Thanks for doing that,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

  “So, back to Lavender.” Greg slapped his hands on the breakfast bar. “Tell her we’re in. Can’t guarantee how quickly we’ll get to him, though. We need to do a bit of reconnaissance first, see how the land lies.”

  “Recon-what?” George shook his head. “Just say ‘poking about’, you twat.”

  “Sod off.” Greg shoulder-barged him.

  “There isn’t much time. She’s got a week.” Debbie took a deep breath and told them about Charles Lambrough.

  George sighed. “Fuck me sideways. So he’ll get offed by Johnny Black if him and Robins aren’t out of the picture by then—because you know we’ll have to do Black as well. Every leader’s right-hand man dishes out justice if their boss ends up dead. It’s a thing.”

  Greg nodded. “That’s why Dave Reynolds copped it an’ all. Lime’s bloke.”

  “Okay, that’ll work for Lavender.” Debbie took a few sips. “Her name’s Aniyah Sutton, by the way, if it helps with your…reconnaissance.”

  George tutted. “Don’t you fucking start.”

  They ended the conversation with laughter, Debbie’s a nervous titter, the twins belting it out in their maniacal way. Fuck, they were nutters, but she was glad they were. Otherwise, she’d be the one killing Robins, she was sure of it.

  Chapter Ten

  Sid stumbled out of The Roxy, his arse cheeks still sore from Lavender’s metal-studded paddle. God, the things he did to root out information. Still, it’d be worth it, and once he knew who’d either killed his friends or had sent them packing elsewhere, he’d tell The Brothers and let them deal with it. Unless it was them, then he’d find someone to help him murder the pair. Who that’d be was anyone’s guess. Not many would be prepared to take on the job.

  Veins swimming with alcohol, he approached the girls still on the corner, who waited for people to come out of the nightclub and take them down a dark alley, all for the price of a few notes. If it wasn’t for Debbie insisting on regular checks, he’d bet they’d be riddled with STDs. He shuddered at the thought and geared himself up to have a chat, maybe cop of a feel of someone’s tits.

  A car slowed then stopped. A BMW. One of the latest ones.

  Just the people he’d need to see if his nosing brought results. He could ask them now if they had his back, whether they were willing to help him.

  The tinted driver’s-side window silently moved down, and George’s face appeared. “Hop in, Sid, I’ll give you a lift.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, chuffed to bits the bloke was being nice to him.

  He lurched round the bonnet and got in the passenger side, his ham-fisted attempt at putting the seat belt on earning him a “Fuck’s sake,” from George.

  Sid got it clipped in, shut the door, and turned to his chauffeur. “I’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

  “Happens to the best of us.” George drove away, hands at ten to two on the steering wheel, attention on the rearview mirror. A strange grin spread.

  Creepy bastard.

  Sid shrugged it off. “I’m celebrating.” Tonight’s arse-paddle was the start of him getting somewhere. Then maybe the incessant niggling in his mind would cease.

  “What’s that then?” George’s expression didn’t change. He was still grinning.

  What’s up with the loopy wanker? “I’m going
to find out who killed my mates. At least, I think they were killed.”

  George grunted. “Didn’t know you had any.”

  That was a bit harsh. Unnecessary. “Well, I did, but they’re either missing or dead, and that’s what I need to find out.”

  “Who are you on about?” The voice came from behind him.

  Sid jolted, barking out “Ooh” in surprise. It hadn’t even entered his head that George was driving alone. He should have known, the twins were always together. “Fuck’s sake, Greg, you scared me.”

  “Why, got something to be scared about?”

  Sid swallowed. Why the nasty tone? “Nope.”

  “We think you have.” Greg’s hand came around the seat. He held a knife.

  “Now hang on a minute, lads, what’s all this for?” Sid’s heart was going a tad mental, the effects of the alcohol wearing off. “Why the blade?”

  It came closer, a whisper away from his throat. If he made a wrong move, or George swerved, Sid would be a goner.

  “Just shut up until we get to where we’re going,” George grumbled.

  The central locking system clicked in.

  Oh, fuck me… Sid swallowed again and opened his mouth to say something else, then remembered he’d been told to shut up. It didn’t go down well if you ignored these two.

  The last time he’d been this frightened was in Cardigan’s office when he’d gone there to pass him that note from Harry. God, that man had been a terrifying bastard, as had his sidekick, Sam. Gone were the days when The Brothers did his dirty work. Now they ran the patch, and Sid had kind of forgotten that—they were the leaders now. He still thought of them as twins who should be avoided if at all possible, just heavies. With Cardigan dead, had they bided their time and come for him now, for his part in things?

  “I just passed notes back and forth,” he blurted.

  “I said, shut up.” George gripped the steering wheel hard.

  His white knuckles reminded Sid of roast chicken drumsticks, the ends.