‘Probably another poor little git with a waster for a mother,’ Kate said quietly. ‘I don’t know. Why do people go through all the hag of childbearing and then not bother to care for the poor little fuckers?’
The little boy sipped at his orange juice and Kate felt tears prick her eyes. He looked so helpless, so vulnerable. So bloody
small
. She swallowed down her anger and her pity.
It was all she could do.
Caroline was sleepy; the heat of the water and the night’s exertions had tired her out. She pulled herself reluctantly from the bath and wrapped a big towel around her body as she walked through to her lounge. It was as always pristine.
Lighting a Rothman’s, she pulled on it deeply and absent-mindedly straightened a cushion that was already perfectly aligned. Opening her handbag, she pulled out £300 in twenties and another £150 in tens. She had the money for that coffee-table she fancied and for Christian’s new trainers.
Caroline felt a glow inside. The night before had been worth it, after all. Something to put out of her head, like all the other nights she had so conveniently forgotten.
Yawning, she walked through to the kids’ bedroom. After pulling back the big bolt on the door, she pushed it open, smiling in readiness. But it was empty. The small, designer-decorated room was completely empty!
Caroline felt her heart stop in her chest. Rushing inside, she pulled back the covers on the beds and even looked under them. Her eyes were darting around the room, expecting at any minute to see her children standing in front of her.
The plate of sandwiches she had left was still on the night table. The bottle of orange was still there too. So they had not had their breakfast or anything.
Then she tore from the room and searched the house from top to bottom, panic mounting in her breast. Finally she collapsed on the sofa. Picking up her mobile, she dialled a number and waited for it to be answered.
As soon as the connection was made she screamed into the phone: ‘How dare you take my children, you rotten bastard?’
Her face drained of colour as she listened to Jiggsy Gaston explaining that he was currently in Liverpool with his sister and had not been anywhere near the kids. He sounded alarmed.
Realising that this was even more serious than she’d thought, Caroline broke the connection and phoned the police. Her heart was beating so loudly she could hear a crashing in her ears.
Where the hell were her two little boys? Where were Christian and Ivor?
Patrick walked into a small spieler in Custom House. It was practically empty except for two elderly men and a young woman who worked behind the bar. The girl was Lesley Partridge and as Patrick walked towards her she smiled to see him.
‘Hello, Pat. Long time no see.’
He grinned at her. ‘You look well, Les. Is the old man about?’
She shook her head. ‘Dad’s on the missing list again, I ain’t seen him for three days. You know what he’s like.’
‘Joey’s a lad all right. Give me a Beck’s, love.’
She opened the bottle of beer and placed it on the counter with a glass.
‘Me dad makes me sick, Pat. Still chasing strange at his age. But that’s him all over. I expect he’s still shagging some sort and will emerge eventually. He always does.’
Willy came into the small room and nodded at the two older men as he made his way to the bar. Lesley automatically poured him a Britvic orange.
‘Hello, Willy. Me mum was asking after you the other day. How’s things?’
He shrugged. ‘OK, love. Kicking, as they say nowadays.’
She laughed. ‘I’ll see if I can track me dad down on his bent mobile, eh?’
Patrick nodded and she walked from the bar, her large behind swaying suggestively.
‘He’s gone walkabout, Willy.’
‘He will, won’t he, Pat? He don’t want no one seeing him for a while. Wouldn’t surprise me if he was abroad like. Tenerife or Marbella would be my guess.’
They drank peacefully for a few moments until the girl returned to the bar, shaking her head.
‘Can’t get him, he ain’t answering.’
Patrick swallowed down the last of his beer. ‘When you do hear from him, tell him I need a word, will you?’
She nodded and cleared away. As they walked out into the light and air, one of the old lags stopped them.
‘Listen, Pat. I don’t know what’s going down but some foreigners were looking for Joey a couple of days ago. They were likely lads and all. No please or thank you. One of them was Frankie Oberzaki - and that is one dangerous cunt. He wasn’t looking too thrilled either.’
Patrick nodded solemnly. ‘You think Joey might have had a capture?’
The man shrugged theatrically. ‘Who knows? But he’s been ducking and diving a lot recently. Had a tear-up in Epping Country Club a week ago. Honestly, it’s like he’s going through a second childhood, the dozy twat. He was rowing with Dickey Dalton - the younger that is. Slapped him all over the place. Even the bouncers gave it a wide one. I mean, no one wants to be caught up in all that, do they?’
Patrick looked at him in amazement. ‘He had a tear-up with a little nonce like Dalton, at his age? Has he finally fell out of his shopping trolley?’
The man sighed. ‘It’s the okey doke, ain’t it? More goes up his hooter than on a dental association outing. Makes him paranoid. He’s rowing with everyone, and let’s face it, Pat, Mr Amenable he never was. One awkward ponce is Partridge.’
‘Well, thanks for the SP.’
The man shook hands with them and walked to his brand new Merc. They both watched him pull away.
‘That was a touch, Pat. He’s normally very tight-lipped, old Tom Ellis. Must have been well annoyed with Partridge to spill that little lot.’
‘He owes me a favour. His boy’s doing life for murder. I gave him an easy set in Durham. Single cell, et cetera.’
Willy nodded. ‘Least he can do then really. Where to next?’
‘To be honest, Willy, I don’t have a clue,’ Patrick sighed.
Christian ran into his mother’s arms and Kate was pleased to see there was a genuine closeness there. She was dreading the woman’s next question.
‘Where’s Ivor?’
Caroline’s pretty face was expectant and Kate sat her down gently before explaining how Christian had been found, and that he was alone.
‘You’re telling me that my son was thrown into a bin van and my other son’s still on the missing list?’
Kate could hear the rising hysteria in the woman’s voice.
‘So where the fuck is Ivor then? Who’s got my Ivor?’
Kate shook her head sadly. ‘We don’t know. Until we heard from you, how were we to know that two children were missing? Also, three witnesses gave a description of a woman who could be you at the scene. So we have a dilemma on our hands. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’
Caroline looked as if she had been punched in the solar plexus.
‘How come you didn’t notice you’d mislaid your children until nearly lunchtime today? Most kids are up and about by eight. And how come you don’t have any idea who could have taken them from under your nose? In short, if you tell us the truth about what happened, maybe, just maybe, we can try and locate Ivor for you. But without you telling us the full story, we can’t help you at all. A three-year-old child is wandering around out there somewhere and it’s imperative we find him before he harms himself. So, Caroline, let’s start at the beginning, shall we?’
The other woman looked into Kate’s eyes and felt the tears welling.
‘You think a nutter has him, don’t you?’ Fear was all she felt and tasted. ‘Where is he? Where’s my little Ivor?’ she said frantically.
‘I was hoping you could answer that,’ Kate told her. ‘Listen, Caroline, you were placed there at the scene. We’re going to ask you to take part in an identity parade some time today. I suggest you get a solicitor and take advice.’
Caroline’s eyes were terrified, giant orbs in a white face. ‘You think
I
have something to do with all this, don’t you?’
Kate shrugged. ‘An ID parade could clear you, remember that. But as we have three witnesses who gave a description that sounded remarkably like you, we cannot rule you out of our investigation just yet. I feel, though, that there are a lot of unanswered questions here and only you can provide us with the necessary answers.’
Caroline’s face changed. ‘My boys are my life, whatever anyone might think. I admit I do a few things wrong but I love them boys and I do what I do for
them
. You must believe me.’
‘I deal in facts. Plain and simple facts. The only ones I have now are that your children were taken from under your roof, one child was dumped in a bin van, the other is still missing. We need to find him. Fast.’
As Kate watched the changing expressions on the girl’s face she wasn’t sure whether the mother was behind the children’s disappearance or not.
Suddenly, Caroline leaped from her seat and roared at the top of her voice: ‘Where is my little boy? You’re the police. Fucking go and find him!’
As she began screaming uncontrollably Kate bundled up the small boy who stood as if turned to stone by his mother’s shrieks and hustled him from the room. She called a medic, watched as the girl was sedated, and then when she was under a modicum of control, Kate started to question her properly. At the back of her mind she was always aware that somewhere a three-year-old child was either dead, dying or being held captive.
Time was running out for Ivor Anderson. If it hadn’t done so already.
Patrick looked around his office in Canning Town in sheer disbelief. The place had been well and truly trashed. All his papers were strewn across the room; his account books had been ripped apart. Even the photographs of his dead wife Renée and daughter Mandy had been destroyed, and this upset him more than anything.
Willy stared at the scene open-mouthed. ‘Blimey, Pat, someone was after something.’
‘You know what, Willy? You always state the fucking obvious. Sometimes it really gets on my tits.’
‘I was only saying . . .’
‘Yeah, well, don’t in future. But I tell you one thing: whoever did this is on a fucking death wish. I will find out who is responsible and kill them.’
‘Could it have been kids?’
Patrick shook his head. ‘This is too professional for kids. My guess is they were after me holding books. Even the floorboards have been prised up. Luckily I keep them separate. What we need to know now is why someone wants them. I own the businesses so why are the books of any interest to an outside party?’
‘Well, maybe whoever did this is after a slice of the pie themselves.’
‘Precisely. Now we have to guess who that could be and rout the fuckers. Put the fear of Christ up them.’
Willy wiped one large hand across his face. ‘My guess is either Partridge or Gunner.’
Patrick’s voice was a sarcastic growl as he answered, ‘Fuck-all gets past you, eh, Willy? Magnus Magnusson been on the blower yet for
Mastermind
?’
Willy was hurt and it showed. ‘No point getting all bolshie with me, Pat. I’m on your side.’
As he spoke he picked up Renée’s photo and tried to smooth it out with his big clumsy hands. ‘Whoever did this will get a right-hander off me just for this little fiasco,’ he mumbled. ‘This is getting bleeding personal.’
Patrick saw that the big man was visibly upset and put an arm round his shoulders.
‘I’m sorry, Willy, but all this is getting to me now. I have someone after me and I don’t even know who for sure. I can guess, I can fight, I can hurt . . . but I still have to find out for definite who I’m dealing with and, more importantly, why.’
‘My poke is on Gunner, Pat. I’ve never liked him, the ponce.’
‘Well, whoever it is had better have some heavy weapons because they’re going to need them. A joke’s a joke, as my old mum used to say. But this is turning into a fucking pantomime.’
There was raw anger in Patrick’s voice. Then the phone rang and they both realised it was the only thing in the room that had not been destroyed.
He picked it up. ‘What?’
A woman came on the line. A quietly spoken woman.
‘Mr Kelly?’
‘The same.’
‘You have two minutes to vacate the Portakabin. It is going to blow.’
He stared at the mouthpiece for ten seconds in incredulous silence before looking at Willy and saying loudly, ‘This place is going to blow up in two minutes. Some sort just told me they were blowing up my fucking drum! Can you believe the nerve of that—’
Willy took him roughly by the arm. ‘In that case, Pat, let’s get out of here, eh?’
As they hurried outside Patrick stared around him at the yard he had had for over thirty years.
‘This has got to be a wind-up.’
Willy pushed him into the car and backed it out on to the road. Then, parking as far away from the yard as he could, they sat and watched.
The yard blew all right.
Patrick could still hear the ringing in his ears when the fire brigade and police arrived, but by that time he and Willy were driving sedately along the A13, Patrick muttering over and over: ‘Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.’
Willy kept quiet.
Chapter Three
Leroy Holdings was tired out. He had been up for two days speeding and knew he should go to bed but he had a meet with another dealer about broadening their horizons around the capital. Drug dealing and prostitution were more lucrative than he could ever have dreamed. Thank God for women and pharmaceuticals - that was his mantra these days.
As he looked around his state-of-the-art kitchen he smiled contentedly. He had come a long way from Manchester. He liked living in Docklands. There was an anonymity about the place that appealed to him, but his girlfriend Letitia had left the place in a mess and that irked him.