Fallout Page 2

  Sam may have helped on the night of Gary’s murder, plus she hadn’t attempted to deny her cousin John Maynard was behind all of the problems, but that didn’t give her the right to expect their family to carry the can for one of them not being a blood relation, when that unpalatable accolade belonged to her all along.

  Sure, it was a shock for her, but to be frank, he didn’t give a fuck. It certainly didn’t justify why their brother was lying in a freezer like a pork chop and their mother still believed there was a chance her youngest son would return home any day.

  Neither did it warrant running the risk that soon, and very soon, their mother would involve the Old Bill by filing Gary as a missing person. If it became public Gary had been offed, then other things could be uncovered too. They may have succeeded in deflecting that so far, but it would not last forever. And neither should it.

  As much as he’d like to, Andrew couldn’t take back the terrible way he’d treated his youngest brother, but the least he could do was ensure Gary got a proper send-off. And that should not be delayed a moment longer.

  Seeing a light in the front room of the terraced house flick on, Andrew zipped up his leather jacket and fired the engine of the SD1, the throaty roar loud in the otherwise quiet Yardley Road.

  Well, it stops here, Andrew thought bitterly. Sick of playing second fiddle, he wasn’t toeing the line any longer. Not like Neil.

  Andrew and his brother Neil might be identical-looking and think along the same lines, but when push came to shove, his twin followed whatever Seb decided. But he wasn’t following what Seb decided. Their father had chosen the wrong son to run the firm.

  There would be no more pussyfooting around with the firm’s reputation and standing. No fucking way. And he wasn’t having cops digging around because of Phil Blunt’s tart wife, either!

  Pressing lightly on the accelerator, Andrew reversed along the street. Killing the engine, he flicked the headlights off, then tugged a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket. Pulling them onto his large hands, he stepped from his car and rapped on the door of the house.

  ‘Evening, Tonya.’ Andrew ensured his voice sounded as amiable as it perhaps might have done if this stupid cow hadn’t opened her gob.

  A flicker of hope shone in Tonya Blunt’s eyes. ‘Is this about Phil?’

  ‘I understand he’s gone AWOL,’ Andrew said, his voice cleverly neutral as he watched Tonya shuffle nervously. He glanced over the top of her head into the living room. ‘We’ve located him.’

  Tonya sagged with relief. ‘You’ve found him! Oh, thank God! Where is he?’

  ‘He’s fine, but your kids? Any idea where they are?’ Andrew asked, his eyes glinting.

  ‘What do you mean? My sister’s got the kids at the moment. I’ve been too worried about Phil to cope,’ Tonya flapped. ‘Where is he? Can I…’

  ‘Come with me.’ Sensing Tonya’s building worry, Andrew smiled reassuringly before gesturing for her to step out of the house. ‘Don’t worry, he’s at the club with Seb.’

  ‘At the club?’ Tonya frowned. ‘Why hasn’t he come straight home? I’ve been so worried.’

  After a quick glance up the street, silently gratified to find the coast clear, Andrew steered Tonya out of the house and led her towards his car, chivalrously opening the passenger door. Getting in the driver’s side, he replaced his smirk with an understanding smile. ‘Things have been getting on top of Phil.’ He started the engine and pulled away from the kerb.

  Tonya looked horrified. ‘But why?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Driving as quickly as possible out of Yardley, Andrew glanced at Tonya. ‘We’ll give him extra work at the firm, it if will help.’

  ‘That’s really kind,’ Tonya said, her eyes filling up. ‘Money has been tight lately. I – I reported him as missing only yesterday. I probably shouldn’t have… I was just so worried. I hope the police don’t cause you problems. I might have said things… things that ma…’

  ‘It’s understandable you’ve been concerned,’ Andrew said calmly, his hands gripping the wheel harder.

  Suddenly noticing the view from the window wasn’t what was expected, Tonya paused. ‘Why are we heading towards Spaghetti Junction? This isn’t the way to the club!’

  ‘You’re right, it isn’t,’ Andrew said, his voice now a snarl.

  Tonya scrambled for the door handle. ‘I want to get out! This isn’t right!’

  Andrew chuckled. ‘You’re spot on there, love. But speaking to the police isn’t right either.’

  From her seat at the two-seater table she’d squashed into the corner of the tiny kitchen, Linda Devlin opened her fourth can of Safeways own-brand cider and took a long swig. Using her elbow, she swiped the Lego scattered amidst cigarette ash overflowing from the ashtray across the scuffed blue Formica tabletop onto the floor.

  ‘Tayquan!’ she shrieked. ‘Get your arse in here now and clear this up!’

  Fucking kids. Leaving a bloody mess everywhere all the goddamn time. With difficulty, she dragged herself off the rickety chair as her youngest raced into the kitchen like a dervish.

  ‘What’s up, Ma?’

  ‘What’s up?’ Linda yelled. ‘This is what’s up, you little shit!’ She pointed to the Lego on the floor and then prodded her son in his bony chest with her chipped fingernail. ‘How am I supposed to keep this place tidy when all you do is mess the bloody gaff up? You know I’m knackered and your tea will be ready in a minute.’

  Tayquan’s bottom lip quivered as he stared at the Lego car he’d painstakingly built, now in several pieces on the floor. ‘Me dad bought me that,’ he sniffed. ‘And you’ve bust it!’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t have left it in the way, should you?’ Linda snapped, refusing to allow the sadness on her son’s little face to pull at her heartstrings. ‘If it’s bust, your dad can fucking well buy you another one!’

  Not that there was much chance of that. She’d only seen the boy’s father three times since the birth and each time he’d filched money off her.

  Watching her son scrabble on the filthy kitchen floor to retrieve what could be salvaged of his treasured Lego, Linda moved to the grill to check the fish fingers to deflect from her steadily rising guilt.

  ‘Call your sister and tell her that tea’s ready. There ain’t anything else after this, so if she don’t come and get it, it’ll go in the bin.’

  Watching Tayquan abandon his Lego to get his sister, Linda sighed. All she wanted to do was go down the pub, but there was no chance of that for at least another hour until these two were in bed.

  Reaching for her can of cider, she took another swig, then sparked up a cigarette, waiting the last couple of minutes for the fish fingers to finish. There were no chips left, so they’d have to make do with a fish finger sarnie.

  Christ, she was too old for this shit. Forty-five and still lumbered with two kids under seven. At least the rest of her kids were making their way in the world. Or she hoped so, anyway. Reminding herself of that on a regular basis made her feel a bit better about her failure. Sort of…

  Linda’s face screwed up into a scowl. Once a fine-looking woman, any trace of that had long since departed, thanks to years of abusing just about any substance she could get her hands on.

  Pulling two plates from the sink, stacked high with unwashed dishes, she sluiced some water over them, drying them with the edge of her baggy T-shirt.

  As she turned, she spotted her two youngest sitting patiently at the table. Forcing herself to smile, she shoved fish fingers between what was left of the bread, then dumped the plates in front of them. ‘There you go. Eat up and then it’s bedtime.’

  Linda watched her two youngest shovel food into their mouths and wished they’d hurry up so that she could go out. Then she could finally relax. Except she couldn’t because the guilt would still be there.

  Miserably, she stubbed her fag out in the sink. As much as she preferred to tell herself it didn’t matter, in reality it did. The guilt wedged in the bac
k of her mind haunted her every day.

  Each time she’d got pregnant, she’d convince herself this was the time to make up for all the other children she’d failed, lost or screwed up. But it never worked. Every time, she plummeted into an endless pit of despair and the kids suffered. And it was all because of the first one. The one who had been taken from her. It had all gone downhill from there.

  That day in 1965 was as crystal clear in Linda’s mind as it always had been. As though thirty years meant nothing.

  She could see it now – watching herself staring through the mottled glass of her bedroom window in her parents’ house. She’d known the car belonging to the stranger downstairs had cost more than a few quid and remembered thinking she should be relieved and grateful the person was well off and able to provide for her baby, but she hadn’t been. She’d just wanted the man to leave.

  She’d concentrated on the small bundle that she’d placed in the centre of her bed, creating the smallest of dents on the pink bedspread, and her heart had felt like it might shatter. She’d tried, tried really hard not to get attached, but she’d failed.

  Scooping the baby up, she’d held the child tightly against her chest, her tears falling onto the tiny little face. Kissing the top of her baby’s head, fuzzy little tufts of dark hair tickling her nose, she strove to commit to memory the smell – that unique scent she’d heard people say babies had, which she’d never fully understood until that moment. She’d promised to memorise every single detail of her daughter’s perfect little face, watching tiny starfish hands jerk out to grasp anything within reach.

  And then her mother had entered the bedroom. She’d just walked in, like it had been a normal day. And that day had been indelibly etched into Linda’s brain ever since.

  She’d told her mother that she didn’t want to go through with it. That she’d changed her mind and that she wanted the man downstairs to go away, but it had fallen on deaf ears. She’d had no choice but to watch as the carrycot was lifted from the bedroom floor, her baby placed inside, and along with a small bag with the few items of clothing the child possessed, her mother had taken everything, shutting the door behind her.

  Linda didn’t want to think about this. Every bloody day, it forced itself into her mind and she was sick of it. She could never make up for what had happened. She’d tried, but all it did was make things worse. Fluctuating between hating herself and not giving a shit achieved nothing. But it all came back to the same thing. She was a worthless, pointless woman who should have been sterilised at birth.

  Linda suddenly froze, hearing banging on the front door. She edged out of the kitchen, praying it wasn’t the guy about the rent again. She knew she was behind, but she just hadn’t got it to spare. Not if she wanted cider and fags.

  Deciding it was sensible to ignore the caller, she was about to shut the kitchen door to muffle the noise when a voice shouted her name. A voice that, despite not having heard it for a very long time, she’d have recognised anywhere. It was the voice of the only man she’d ever loved – the person who had started her on the downward spiral of her life.

  A mixed bag of fear, anger and exhilaration rushed up Linda’s spine as she reached for the door handle. Could this really be happening? Could it be that Tom had finally come back for her, like he’d always promised?

  2

  Putting the phone down in his apartment in the Royal Peacock, Seb Stoker scowled. He’d already briefed his police contact, Baker, over what must go on the record about Gary, so why were they here?

  He glanced at himself in the floor-length hallway mirror, straightened his tie and smoothed his hand over his slicked-back, almost black hair. Whatever the police wanted, they’d better not take long. He had too much to catch up with.

  It had taken a lot of internal power to pull himself away from Sam, but she was right. They had to get back to the business in hand. It had been several days since he’d properly concentrated on anything other than exploring every inch of her body.

  Okay, so he’d kept things ticking over via phone, as well as putting things in the pipeline about Gary’s death, but the main reason for his absence wasn’t due to putting things into place at the Orchid, like he’d told his brothers. Not really, unless the phone call Sam had made to that Liam bloke last week and some other Kevin geezer counted?

  But Seb regretted not a second of it.

  For a short period of time and probably for the first time he could remember since walking out of school, not bothering to return for his O-Levels, Seb had felt as though his life didn’t consist solely of a large roundabout turning endlessly around problems, grief and issues surrounding the family firm. And for that short amount of time, he’d experienced what it might be like to be almost normal – whatever that was?

  But it made little difference because this was his life and this was how it would be. End of.

  And he’d barely been back long enough to put on a fresh suit before something else had kicked off. Something to rapidly remind him who he was and what his job consisted of. Like he could ever forget…

  Pulling the apartment door closed, Seb hurried down the stairs. He let himself through the adjoining door leading into the staff area and saw Andrew heading his way. ‘I got the message… What’s going on?’

  Andrew gave his brother a long, cold look. ‘If you’d been here yesterday when Baker arrived to give you an off-the-record heads-up, then you’d know an official visit was expected today. It’s about Phil.’

  ‘Phil?’ Seb ignored Andrew’s reference to his absence and made long strides down the corridor towards his office. Yep, not back an hour and already shit’s hitting the fan.

  If the Old Bill were here because of Phil, then Andrew would do well to remember that it had been his actions that had caused this in the first place. ‘I’ll handle them. Have they spoken to you yet?’

  ‘Yep. Me and Neil said exactly what we agreed, should this happen.’

  Seb nodded and jerked his head towards the door. ‘Make yourself scarce and I’ll get rid of them.’

  Seb gave Andrew time to slip out of the corridor before fixing an easy-going smile in place and opening the door to his office. ‘Good morning, gentlemen. Sorry to keep you waiting. I hope this won’t take long?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m a busy man.’

  He turned to DI Baker, noting the slight nod of acknowledgement. He wouldn’t be held up. Not if Baker was here. The man was paid enough to ensure the Peacock and everyone in it was kept out of the limelight and had just received his highest payout yet.

  ‘Sorry to intrude, Mr Stoker.’ The younger policeman extended his hand. ‘I’m DS Drakeman.’

  ‘DS Drakeman has recently joined our team, Mr Stoker,’ DI Baker explained pointedly.

  Seb shook the proffered hand. A new plod with something to prove. He guessed Baker was accompanying the man to ensure things ran smoothly. ‘I would appreciate it if we could make this quick. Now, how can I be of assistance?’

  DS Drakeman’s slightly overweight frame moved from one leg to the other. ‘It’s rather awkward…’ He glanced at his superior. ‘There’s been an allegation…’

  Seb raised an eyebrow. ‘An allegation?’

  ‘Phillip Blunt is missing. His wife contacted us two days ago. She said you might know something about it?’

  Seb frowned. He knew it. That silly bint had filed Phil as a missing person. ‘You’re obviously aware the man works for me, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, but if he’s gone AWOL, why would I know about that? If anyone knows, it’s his bloody wife!’ he laughed. Catching the slight shake of Baker’s head, Seb changed tack. This new DS was clearly not au fait with their arrangement, and it was better staying that way if he was as much of a jobsworth as he acted.

  Folding his arms, Seb stared at the DS. ‘Joking aside, it was recently brought to my attention that Phil failed to show for a shift,’ he lied, watching the man jot something down in his notebook. ‘It’s out of character because Phil has always been reliabl
e.’ He pulled on a concerned expression. ‘I hope he isn’t involved in something untoward. We run a kosher ship here at the Peacock and if he’s mixed up in something, then I’d appreciate it if it…’

  ‘Mr Blunt is still missing, Mr Stoker,’ the DS interrupted. ‘His wife also informed us that he was hurt quite badly a couple of weeks beforehand and now that he’s disappeared…’

  Unease slithered into Seb’s brain. What the fuck had this woman said? ‘I hope you’re not insinuating any of that is to do with me?’

  DI Baker glared at DS Drakeman, then smiled at Seb. ‘Not at all.’

  Not taking the hint, Drakeman continued, ‘Mrs Blunt said her husband refused to say how he came to be injured, but she thinks it mi…’

  ‘Might be connected with me?’ Seb finished the sentence, his blood simmering. Bloody Andrew disobeying him by taking Phil out had never been the plan. He’d been all set on giving the wife a decent payout, but now she’d decided to turn the tables, the silly bitch would have a long wait.

  Looking at the date in question of Phil’s disappearance in DS Drakeman’s notepad, Seb pulled his desk diary from the drawer. He flicked through the pages, then closed it with a flourish. ‘If you’re in need of my whereabouts on the night in question, I can confirm I was here until 2 a.m.,’ he said, his voice frosty.

  That wouldn’t be refuted. His staff knew how to play the game. ‘That can be substantiated by the many people working here or the customers. I can provide you with a list of who was present that night.’ Cutting DI Baker a look, Seb strode towards his filing cabinet and opened the drawer.

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ DI Baker said hastily. ‘I think you’ve helped more than enough with our inquiries.’ He looked at DS Drakeman. ‘Would you not say, Detective Sergeant?’

  ‘Well, erm…’

  ‘Mr Stoker’s account matches those of his brothers, so I don’t think we need to take up any more of his time.’

  Seb scowled. Until this business with Gary was sorted, he needed the bastard on side, but if Baker wanted their arrangement to continue, he needed to have words with his underlings before a healthy percentage of his monthly payments were docked.