Jason was originally from Bristol – though Vaughn had always thought his accent sounded Welsh – and like others before him, had come to London fifteen-odd years ago to make his fortune. Unlike so many others, he’d done what he’d set out to achieve and had become extremely rich.
Jason was one of the most prolific pimps in South East London and ran his girls with barbaric violence. Vaughn had heard none of Jason’s women had ever been able to leave his firm of her own free will and still have their facial features intact. Another rumour Vaughn had heard many a time was Jason’s liking for very young girls.
The parties he hosted were only for the super wealthy, where anything went as long as you had the money to pay for it. It didn’t surprise him to hear Oscar had joined forces with Jason; they were certainly birds of a feather.
‘What about the Albanian woman who works here? We were told she ran some Romanian
girls from here.’
‘June? Tardy bitch did, until she got a better offer. I treated that cunt well and next thing I hear she’s gone off to work for Oscar. Some bitches will never stop being ungrateful little whores.’
Vaughn walked back over and felt his knee playing him up again; it’d been a while since he’d given anyone a kicking and he was sure tomorrow he was going to pay for it. He looked down in disgust at Cardale who was starting to moan again in agony.
‘And you’ve told me everything there is to know? Because if I find out …’
‘I swear; there’s nothing else.’
Vaughn watched Cardale’s face grimacing in pain and guessed he was telling the truth. Thankful Casey wasn’t there to see a part of him he’d thought he’d left behind, Vaughn walked out, certain Cardale wouldn’t be uttering a word about his visit.
Josh Edwards stepped off the train at platform number five and wondered what the hell he was doing. When Casey had called him and said she wanted his help, he’d been surprised and keen to do whatever he could – but that was before she’d explained the whole crazy story to him.
‘Are you out of your mind, Casey?’
‘I know, but what other option have we? And you owe me, Josh.’
‘I owe you?’
‘Yes, all the time you had that letter and didn’t tell me.’
‘I was only doing what I thought was best.’
‘Well, now I’m doing the same. I don’t want to lose Emmie before I even have the chance of seeing her.’
‘You do know what you’re asking me to do, Cass? I could not only lose my job, but I could go to prison as well.’
‘I realise I’m asking a lot, but I’ve no one else to ask.’
There’d been a long pause before he’d answered and against his better judgement, and as he’d always done, he gave in to her.
‘Okay, okay. I must be insane but I’ll help you. You and your daughter.’
After several phone calls between them, Josh had taken all the names, nicknames and addresses of the people Casey had wanted him to look into. Most of the names she’d given him were well known to the police and had form as long as the New York Marathon. He’d also made calls to colleagues past and present, gleaning as much information as he could.
‘You know this guy Vaughn; he’s no Mr Kipling either.’
‘The cake maker or the writer?’
Josh heard the sarcasm along with the defensiveness in Casey’s voice.
‘I want you to be careful that’s all.’
‘Listen, Vaughn isn’t my concern, Emmie is. He asked me to help and that’s what I’m doing.’
‘Okay, try not to bite my head off. I haven’t turned up anything that you don’t already know: seems they’ve covered their tracks pretty well; but if it’s any help I’ve managed to get someone to cover me so I’ll be on the train tonight.’
As Josh walked through St Pancras station, which was heaving with foreign students all eager to see the London sights, he tried to ignore the voice telling him he was making a very big mistake.
He wasn’t due to meet Casey until the morning but he’d decided to come down and spend the night in London and have a leisurely start, rather than having to share the Birmingham to London train in the morning with overtired commuters.
Flagging down a black cab, Josh decided to push the boat out and treat himself to a slap-up dinner. If he could get a table at L’Escargot, he’d go there. It was a rare opportunity to enjoy an evening on his own without having to worry about work or anybody else. He could do all the worrying he liked when he spoke to Casey in the morning.
‘I’ve lost him; sorry.’
Casey sat having a drink in
Blue Rooms
,
a bar off
Park Lane. She’d followed the man through Hanover Square but somewhere between South Molton Street and Grosvenor Square
she’d lost sight of him.
Besides being soaked through by the sudden downpour, she was also exhausted. When she’d lost sight of the man, she’d taken herself to the bar and left calling Vaughn until now.
There was a long silence on the phone after she’d confessed to losing the trail and then she’d heard Vaughn roaring with laughter, which had immediately got under her skin.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘I’m sorry Cass; I just think it’s funny.’
‘You had the easy job. I had to battle my way through the hordes of people, not to mention the rain.’
‘You’re getting old!’
Casey chose to ignore the last comment. ‘Anyway, what happened with you? Did you have any luck?’
‘Shall I come and meet you? Don’t really want to discuss it on the phone.’
Casey picked up her empty glass. She’d stuck to orange juice so far and she really wanted to get home before she was tempted. She felt drained and she was due to see Josh tomorrow. She hadn’t told Vaughn he was coming down. She wanted to speak to Josh first before she introduced him to Vaughn and she wasn’t looking forward to the introduction; the last thing she wanted was to be in between two very large male egos.
‘No, listen; can we leave it till tomorrow? I’m tired.’
Vaughn was disappointed, he wanted to keep things moving and he also wanted to see Casey but he kept his emotions away from his voice.
‘I can come down quickly, I won’t stay long, I’d like to get a handle on this.’
‘No, really I just need to sleep.’
‘But …’
‘Please Vaughn.’
‘Fine, I’ll meet you at your place first thing.’
‘Can we make it lunchtime? I’ll come and meet you. Whispers is still open isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, Stevie’s running it for Alfie. Shall we say one o’clock?’
‘Okay, see you then.’
As Vaughn put down the phone, he couldn’t help but think Casey sounded guarded.
Casey lay on her bed still fully clothed with her ankle hurting. On the way back from Blue Rooms she’d misjudged the step off the kerb and found herself sprawled over the wet pavements of Leicester Square. Although her flat was only a ten-minute walk away, it’d taken her double that to get home.
In the dark Casey could just about make out the ceiling and she wondered how long it’d be before the large pieces of peeling paper fell off completely. She was trying not to think about Emmie – because when she did it made her blood run cold to think of her with Oscar.
She stretched her legs and drew them back quickly, gasping as cramp hit her left calf, and she rolled about on the bed rubbing her leg.
‘Hello Casey, would you like me to help you with that?’
The sound of the words being spoken in her bedroom nearly made Casey roll off the bed in fright. She froze, clutching her calf even though she wanted to run. She tried to tell herself to move but she wasn’t sure which way the voice was coming from and she was afraid to run into whoever it was standing in the dark.
Casey’s heart was beating fast and she knew she needed to move. She leapt up but her ankle gave way as her feet hit the floor.
‘Where are you going, Casey?’
It seemed like the voice was getting louder and coming closer towards her; or perhaps that was in her head, she wasn’t sure; it felt like her senses were letting her down, as if she were a trapped animal. Her panic seemed to be emphasising the pain in her ankle and frustratingly, she could feel the tears run down her face.
‘I’m over here, Cass.’
It suddenly came to her who the voice belonged to.
‘Shall I come and help you up, Casey? You seem to be struggling.’
She didn’t want to answer him because then she’d be acknowledging his existence standing in the corner of the room but as she heard his footsteps on the bare wooden floor, she vocalised her fear.
‘Please. Please, just stay away from me.’
‘And why would I want to do that? I want to know what you were doing following Zahir. You are what my mother would call a meddler.’
The side lamp was switched on, and Casey rolled away from the sudden light to see the face of Oscar Harding. She watched him slowly put on a pair of black leather gloves – and in that moment Casey knew she had to run.
Leaping up she ignored the pain of her ankle and ran for the bedroom door. It took only a split second for Oscar to react and he ran after her, grabbing on to her jacket. Casey turned and hit out, bringing down her hand in a defensive move onto Oscar’s forearm. It had the desired effect and he lost his grip as she ran towards the front door, but he was right behind her and somehow he dived for her legs, bringing Casey down hard on her face and splitting her chin open as it banged onto the hard floor. She kicked furiously with her legs and heard him groan as the heel of her cowboy boot caught his nose.
‘You bitch.’
She was out of breath as she scrambled on all fours, paying no attention to the splinters going into her hands as she grappled to stand up. It was crucial for her to head for the kitchenette to try to get a knife but as she went towards it, Oscar seemed to read her mind.
‘You looking for one of these?’
Out of his pocket he produced a large serrated knife and for the first time, Casey opened her mouth to scream but it did nothing except slow her down and give Oscar a second’s gain on her. He grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her towards him as her nails scraped along the floorboards, desperately trying to keep hold of her grip. He overpowered her easily; Oscar was strong and determined and Casey could feel any moment now she’d lose the battle. Giving it one more try, Casey twisted her body and threw her hands up towards his hair and pulled, making him cry out but also making Oscar more enraged.
‘Fucking whore.’
Oscar straddled her and pushed down hard on her chest, restricting her breathing with one hand. With the other he held the knife against her cheek.
‘There are some things I don’t like, darling – and cunts who put their noses in other people’s business is one of them.’
Oscar pushed the tip of the knife into her cheek making a small cut and Casey sucked in her breath, biting down on her lip to stop herself screaming.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
The backhand slap sent shockwaves of pain through Casey, and she felt Oscar grab hold of her fingers and start to bend them backwards.
‘Everyone thinks they’re a hero until it starts to hurt. If you don’t want to end up in a body bag, I’d start talking.’
Alfie lay on his bed staring up at the empty top bunk’s rusting springs, and sighed. He forced himself to get up, even if it was only to pace about in the tiny cell. Being inside was killing him, not just because this time he was entirely innocent, but because Oscar had Emmie. No one had heard from him for a few days, and to top it off Janine hadn’t heard anything more from Vaughn either.
Apparently he and Casey had their heads to the ground. Not that Alfie knew why the fuck Vaughn had decided to pick up again with Casey, but as long as they found Em, he didn’t give a rat’s fucking arse if a band of nuns were helping him.
Alfie leant on the cell wall, which was adorned with pictures of big-breasted women put up by his cellmate. He felt as if he was losing the plot, and stared down at the floor as he went over the earlier conversation he’d had with his brief.
‘I’m sorry, they’re not going to give you bail. This is a serious offence.’
‘Don’t fucking give me all your spiel, I know all the patter, just like I know who set me up. It’s the same cunt who’s got my daughter.’
‘And have you got any proof of this, Mr Jennings?’
Alfie yelled at his brief, sitting in his expensive Savile Row pinstripe suit opposite him, and wondered what the fuck he was paying him for.
‘I don’t need proof – the fucking toerag told me.’
‘It’s only hearsay.’
‘Are you trying to give me a cardiac? He’s put me in the picture and he’s got Em and what I need you to do is get me out of here.’
‘That won’t be possible.’
‘What the fuck am I paying you for then? Apart from giving you the monkeys to buy expensive whistle and flutes.’
‘Alfie, the police – as you know – have the gun with your fingerprints on it.’
‘Course there’s bleeding fingerprints on it, because it’s
my
gun! I ain’t denying that, what I’m saying is I didn’t pull the trigger. Ballistics didn’t find a jot on my fingers did they?’
‘No, but not finding a trace of gun resin on your fingers isn’t conclusive evidence you didn’t fire the shot. You could quite easily have worn gloves.’
‘Whose side are you frigging on, mate?’
‘Yours of course, but it’s not a matter of sides; the police have got physical evidence and that goes a long way. You’ve got a record, Alfie, and there are witnesses you had a fight with Jake’s uncle in your club. The police think it was a revenge killing.’
‘Trust me, if I was going to do a revenge killing, I wouldn’t have just shot him in the head; I would’ve fed his own fucking balls to him.’
‘A word of advice. When it goes to trial, Mr Jennings, you should try to refrain from speaking like that.’
Alfie had banged his hand down on the table in the private visiting room which was allocated for legal visits.
‘Am I talking double fucking Dutch here? This can’t go to trial; it’ll be the perfect excuse for them to finally bang me up. I need to get out of here so I can prove I didn’t do it.’
Alfie had seen his brief take a quick glance at his watch before he’d shuffled his files, getting ready to make a move to go. For the first time in his adult life Alfie felt desperate, and he heard the anguish in his own voice. ‘Oscar Harding is the man they want; not me.’