When Ahmed knocked at the door, he recognized Donna immediately. She was half-caste and very beautiful. He had only met her once before, when he had visited Carl at her house to check that he lived where he said he did. ‘Hello, Donna. I don’t know if you remember me, but I visited you to speak business with Carl just before you split up.’
Donna looked perplexed. ‘Carl who?’
‘Carl Thompson, your ex. You were here, Donna, when I visited Carl. So were your twin boys.’
‘Oh him. Yeah, I remember now. I didn’t actually know Carl that well to be honest. I had only met him about a week before you came round here. He seemed keen on me and we went out for a meal. Then he asked me to do him a favour. He said that you were coming round to talk business and he wanted me to pretend that we were a proper couple. He offered me five hundred quid, and bought my boys a load of toys. I was a bit skint at the time, so couldn’t really say no.’
‘Who is it, Don?’ asked a tall black guy who sauntered into the hallway.
‘Just some pals of a bloke I barely knew. This is my boyfriend, Steve,’ Donna informed the rather shocked-looking men on her doorstep.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ Burak ordered, tugging his cousin’s arm.
Ahmed was speechless as he walked back towards the car. Carl had been recommended to him by a very trustworthy contact as one of the best con artists he had ever worked with. It had never occurred to Ahmed the guy would be good enough to con him.
‘Told you not to trust an Englishman again, didn’t I?’ Burak reminded his cousin.
Unable to stop himself, Ahmed grabbed his cousin roughly. ‘Vinny would not have trusted another Turk, how many times do I have to tell you that? So, stop fucking blaming me, OK?’
‘What do we do now?’
‘We find the cunt, cut his lying tongue out of his mouth, then watch him die a slow painful death.’
When Smithers and Townsend introduced themselves, then asked if they could speak to her grandson, Shirley’s heart lurched. When her daughter had disowned Jamie and refused to let him come home after his release from the detention centre, she had taken him in out of the goodness of her heart. But she had always warned him that if he brought trouble to her door, he would be straight out on his ear.
‘What’s Jamie meant to have done?’ Shirley asked.
‘Nothing, as far as we know. We just need to ask him some questions, that’s all,’ Smithers replied.
‘Follow me. He’s in his bedroom. I’ve only just got back from Chrisp Street, which is why that little sod has his music blaring. Is that why you’re here? The neighbours have all complained about him playing loud music when I go out, but he never does it of a night when I’m home. Teenagers will be teenagers, won’t they?’
Having been led to believe that his nan would not be back until after teatime as she was meant to go shopping then visit a friend, Jamie was singing along happily to The Jam’s ‘Eton Rifles’ as he carefully cut out all the latest articles about Molly from today’s newspapers.
Shirley burst into her grandson’s bedroom. ‘Turn that racket off. These policemen want to talk to you. What you been up to, eh?’
Jamie went as white as a ghost as one of the policemen walked towards him, then stared at the newspaper cutting in his trembling right hand.
‘Well well, this looks interesting. What’s your surname, lad?’
‘Preston – but this isn’t what it looks like. I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear,’ Jamie babbled.
The name Preston was the final piece in the jigsaw for Smithers. ‘Jamie Preston, I am arresting you on suspicion of the abduction of Molly Butler. You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but anything you do say—’
It was at that point Shirley Preston fainted.
Dickie Murray worked long hours, so as soon as he arrived home the first thing he did was take his beloved Alsatian Rex for a long walk.
Wallis Road and the pockets of land that lay beyond it could be quite an eerie place at the best of times, especially if darkness was falling. The River Lea ran nearby, and if you headed north it was not that far from Hackney Marshes. There was a lot of overgrown wasteland, some of which had been taken over by gypsies and scrap-metal merchants.
‘Come on, Rex. This way,’ Dickie ordered as his dog began to bark ferociously.
Dickie had never known his dog to totally blank him when he gave a command, so he walked back to where Rex was. Still barking, he was now frantically digging as well. ‘What you found, boy?’ Dickie asked fondly. His dog was forever burying bones in the garden, then digging them back up again.
As Dickie stared at what Rex had found, his mouth went dry and his heart started to pound.
It looked like the arm of a small child.
Dickie bent down to take a closer look. He could now clearly see four fingers and a thumb attached to the arm. Wondering if it was a doll or some kind of dummy a joker had buried for a laugh, he touched the hand – then let out a scream as he recoiled in horror.
Kimmy and Lindsey Pollard were still squabbling over the doll they had found. ‘It’s mine because I saw it first,’ Kimmy said, trying to snatch it out of her sister’s hand.
Lindsey tightened her grip on her find. ‘No, it’s mine, because I picked it up. You didn’t even know what it was.’
Aware of a commotion going on in the lounge, Sarah Pollard stormed in to find out what her daughters were arguing about. ‘Where did you get that?’ she asked, as soon as she laid eyes on the doll.
‘I found it, Mum, but Kimmy reckons she did. I picked it up, so it’s mine.’
‘But I saw it first. I told you to pick it up,’ Lindsey insisted.
Sarah Pollard bent down and took the doll out of Lindsey’s hands. She had watched all the news reports about Molly Butler and she knew this was the same type of doll that the police had asked the public to look out for, as she had been planning on purchasing two for her daughters for Christmas. ‘Where did you find this, girls?’
Kimmy and Lindsey glanced at one another. Both were scared to tell the truth in case their mum told their dad. ‘Just in a street,’ Kimmy mumbled.
‘What street? This is very important. You know that poor little girl that has gone missing? Well, I think this might be her doll. I won’t be angry if you have been visiting those horses again. But you must tell me exactly where you found this, as I need to tell the police and we mustn’t lie to them.’
Lindsey started to cry. ‘You won’t tell Dad if we tell you, will you?’
‘No. But you must tell me the truth. That little girl who is missing needs to be found.’
‘We found the doll over the fields where the horses are, Mum. We wasn’t doing anything wrong. We just bought some carrots because the horses look starving,’ Kimmy explained.
Sarah held her daughters in her arms. ‘I’m going to phone the police now and you might need to show them the exact spot you found this doll, OK?’
Thankful that their mum was not angry with them, Kimmy and Lindsey both nodded.
Having recovered from her initial shock, Shirley Preston was sitting by her grandson’s side at the police station. He was flanked on the other side by a solicitor. Jamie was proclaiming his innocence, swearing that he’d had nothing to do with Molly’s disappearance, and for once Shirley actually believed him. Jamie might be a lot of things, and he had got himself put away for stabbing a boy in an argument. But Shirley did not believe he was capable of snatching a young child, even if that kid did belong to Vinny Butler.
About to start the interview, Smithers was called out of the room by a colleague. ‘Guv, a woman’s just rung up saying she’s got Molly’s doll. Says her daughters found it over the pockets of land that back onto Wallis Road. It sounds viable – it’s just a stone’s throw from Victoria Park. That’s the area the dog section were planning to search tomorrow.’
‘Send somebody straight round there. If the doll is identical to Molly’s, we need her daughters to show us the exact spot they found it.’
When Dickie Murray finally arrived home, both he and Rex were panting. Neither were used to running these days. Rex was ten, which was seventy in canine years and Dickie was fifty-eight himself.
‘I’ll get you your dinner in a minute, boy,’ Dickie said. His hands were still trembling when he picked up the phone. It wasn’t every day you went for a walk and found what he was sure was a dead child buried in a very shallow grave.
When the operator answered, Dickie took a deep breath. ‘Police, please. It’s urgent.’
Back at the police station, Smithers and Townsend were grilling Jamie Preston. ‘Look, I admit I was outside the club the day Molly went missing. I even saw her go into the club. But I never took her, I swear.’
‘So, why was you there then? And why are you cutting out articles about Molly’s disappearance? Come on, Jamie, this isn’t looking good for you, is it? Just be honest and tell us where Molly is.’
‘I don’t know where Molly is. I was at the club to pay my respects to my brother, Mark. He died there, in a fire, and the day I was sat there would have been his eighteenth birthday.’
‘He’s telling the truth. It would have been Mark’s eighteenth birthday,’ Shirley chipped in.
‘But why cut out articles about Molly? You must have had a reason to do that, Jamie? Very strange thing to do, isn’t it?’
Shirley was beside herself with worry. Her house was currently being searched and she prayed the police found no more evidence to link her grandson to Molly. ‘Why did you cut the articles out, Jamie? Tell the policeman the truth,’ she urged.
Before Jamie had a chance to answer, the door burst open. ‘Boss, I need you now. It’s important.’
Smithers leapt up and dashed out of the room. The look on his colleague’s face was the giveaway.
‘Has Molly been found?’
‘Looks that way. A dog walker has just reported finding what he thinks is the body of a young child buried in a shallow grave.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘The wasteland that backs onto Wallis Road. The search team and dog section are heading over there right now.’
Tarkan Smith was not your average name for a Turkish guy. His mother Aysel had married an Englishman called Reggie, which was why he had been landed with such an unusual mixture of names.
Ahmed had done plenty of business with Tarkan in the past and not once had he had an issue. He did now though. It was Tarkan who had recommended and introduced Carl Thompson to him, which was why Ahmed was now sitting stony-faced opposite Tarkan in a pub in Islington. ‘You must have a previous address for Carl? He’s done a fucking runner and could cause me major problems if not found.’
‘Carl’s always been a guy who moves about a lot. He’s a bit of a mystery, but he’s trustworthy. I know at least four other people he has done business with and nobody has ever had a problem with him. What exactly has happened?’
When Ahmed explained in a roundabout way without mentioning names or a missing child, Tarkan tutted. ‘I did warn you before I introduced you to Carl that he was no pushover. You should have just paid him off, Ahmed. It wasn’t his fault that the job couldn’t be completed.’
‘And it wasn’t mine either. I gave Carl fifteen grand up front and told him clearly that the balance of his money would be paid on completion of the job. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the job had to be called off. Carl is still fifteen grand better off and has been living rent-free ever since we set this deal up. I also paid the bills at the flat, so Carl hasn’t done bad out of this, Tarkan.’
‘Yes, but if Carl was relying on that money to buy a bar in Spain, he won’t be best pleased.’
‘You are speaking about him as if he is some big shot, Tarkan. That obviously cannot be the case as big shots have money. Carl is a fucking pauper; else he wouldn’t be relying on my thirty-five grand to buy his poxy bar in Spain.’
‘Carl would be worth a fortune if it wasn’t for his love of gambling. He used to spend seven nights a week in casinos. He only stopped when he lost everything. That’s why this deal he had with you was so important to him. He wanted to buy the bar and move to Spain so he could make a fresh start.’
‘The fact he spunked all his money away like some mug is hardly my fault, is it? I want him found, Tarkan, and fast. In fact I will pay five grand to whoever can track him down.’
‘And what do you plan on doing with him?’
‘Well, I am hardly going to take him for a night out at the casino, am I? The cunt knows too much and needs to be silenced.’
Dickie Murray was worried as he led the team of policemen across the cobbled paths which led to the wasteland where he and Rex had walked. It was pitch-dark now and even though the police had torches, Dickie was anxious he would not be able to remember the exact place where he had seen the arm. The police had brought sniffer dogs with them, so Dickie just hoped that, providing he walked in the right direction, the dogs would pick up a scent.
‘I so hope I can find the right spot. So bloody awkward in the dark. I think I could find it much easier in the daylight,’ he told them.
The search coordinator patted him on the back. ‘You’re doing just fine.’
‘I know I haven’t brought you on a wild-goose chase. As soon as I saw that arm and those little fingers, I knew it was real. I touched it lightly and it was definitely human. Made me feel ill. I’ve never seen anything like it before.’
Tarkan Smith had a difficult decision to make. Being half Turkish and half English, he had no allegiance to either race. He was a massive football fan. His English team was Tottenham Hotspur, his Turkish Galatasaray, and he supported both international teams with a passion. His biggest dread was Turkey and England ever playing one another in a World Cup final, as he would never be able to take sides. However, today he did have to take sides. He knew exactly where Carl Thompson was as he had called him yesterday, and as much as Tarkan liked and admired Ahmed Zane, Carl had been a very good friend to him.
Tarkan sighed, then picked up the phone. He had to go with his heart rather than his head on this particular occasion. ‘Carl, you need to come and see me straight away. I have a proposition for you.’