The Traitor (49 page)

Kerry dropped her wine glass on the floor in shock. She stood up and pressed the pause button. ‘The fucking no-good bastard! He will never see my boys again, Frankie, I’ll kill him if I have to. How could he say stuff like that about me? I gave him the best years of my life.’

As Kerry burst into tears, Frankie put her arms around her and squeezed her tightly. ‘It’s OK. Let it all out, mate. It’s not you, Kerry, it’s Sammy – the man’s an animal and so is Jed. They are both fucking arseholes and how we fell for their sweet talk and charm in the first place, I will never know. We’re better than them, worth far more, and we’ll get over this, I know we will.’

Stanley was sitting at a table in the Orsett Cock public house. He had never frequented this particular boozer before, but a few of his pals from the pigeon club used it regularly and were rather fond of the place.

As his mate Brian handed him a pint of beer, Stanley noticed the blonde lady staring at him again. He had seen her clocking him earlier – she wasn’t one of their usual crowd. Seeing her smile at him, Stanley gave a nervous wave and turned to Brian.

‘Who’s that woman with the blonde hair? Is she with one of the men? Only I’ve never seen her before.’

‘I can’t remember her name, I’ve only met her once before myself, but she’s a new member of the club. Derek was telling me that she has the most incredible insight and knowledge of pigeons. She’s new to the area apparently, recently widowed, I think, and Derek said she’s moved here from the East End to be closer to her daughter and grandchildren.’

Stanley was impressed. A woman who knew and could talk pigeons: that was a first. He glanced at her again and as the woman caught his eye, she boldly walked towards him.

As Brian stood up, Stanley panicked. ‘Where you going? Don’t leave me on me own with a woman I don’t know.’

Brian laughed. ‘Just nipping to the gents. I won’t be long.’

Apart from Joycie and his beautiful deceased daughter, Stanley had never felt all that comfortable in women’s company. As the blonde lady sat down next to him, the first thing he noticed was her massive cleavage. She had a low cut white top on and, in Stanley’s opinion, her breasts looked like a couple of rugby balls. Not knowing what to say or do, Stanley began to shuffle his feet. He then began choking and a sudden coughing fit came over him, as it always did when he was nervous.

‘Are you OK?’ the woman asked, concerned.

‘Been eating peanuts. One went down the wrong hole,’ Stanley replied, gasping for breath.

The woman waited until his coughing fit had subsided, and smiled. She held her hand out. ‘Pleased to meet ya. I’m Patricia, but everyone calls me Pat the Pigeon.’

Stanley’s hand shook with nerves as he returned the gesture. As a young boy, he had been obsessed by women’s breasts, but Joycie’s were like a pair of fried eggs compared with the pair confronting him now. Not knowing where to look, he stared into Pat the Pigeon’s eyes. They were beautiful, as blue as the sea and full of honesty.

‘Pleased to meet you. My name is Stanley,’ he stammered.

Frankie and Kerry looked at one another in utter disbelief. They had just listened to half an hour of vulgar conversation and had felt the need to pause the tape again. It was Kerry who finally ended the silence.

‘What a pair of cunts! I can’t believe it,’ she said bluntly.

Frankie said nothing. She was still in shock from what they had learned and it was now blatantly obvious that all the weekends Jed and Sammy were supposedly working away, they were actually spending around Sally’s and Julie’s. And, if that wasn’t bad enough, they had also spoken about other girls they had on the go. They had even bragged about what they had done to two prostitutes the previous month.

‘I feel sick. He made me sleep with him last night – say I’ve caught something?’ Frankie wept.

Kerry hugged her friend. ‘It’s all over now. Once you leave him, he can’t hurt you any more. I dunno about you, but I need another drink. I’ll open another bottle of wine before we listen to the rest.’

‘I don’t wanna hear no more. My stomach can’t take it,’ Frankie replied tearfully.

‘We have to, Frankie. We don’t want them dirty bastards getting their hands on our kids, do we? All we’ve got so far is evidence of their philandering and we need evidence of their dodgy dealings to be able to get our own back. If we can prove that they are robbing old people, we can threaten to go to the police to stop them seeing the kids. And if they don’t agree to our rules, we can take the tape to the fucking police.’

Frankie watched her friend go into the kitchen, then gratefully accepted another drink. She shuddered as Kerry pressed the play button again. The contents of the tape had been far worse than she had envisaged. Jed obviously hated her with a passion and the way he had spoken of his sexual encounters with other women made her feel sick to the stomach.

Kerry nudged her. ‘Who’s Harry Mitchell? Do you know him?’

Frankie stared at her blankly. ‘Of course I do. He was my grandad, the one I told you about. Why you asking?’

‘I’m sure Sammy just mentioned him. Shall I rewind it?’

Frankie nodded. Kerry must be wrong, Jed hadn’t even known her grandfather. As Kerry pressed ‘play’ again, Frankie listened intently.

‘Do you know who that old grunter Mr Franks reminds me of?’ Sammy said.

‘Surprise me. Come on, who? It certainly ain’t Arthur Daley,’ Jed replied jokingly.

‘Harry Mitchell. Don’t you think that Franks looks like him?’

Shocked by the mention of her grandfather’s name, Frankie got down on her knees and crawled towards the tape recorder. The voices were still clear, but there was now music in the background. Putting her ear right next to the speaker, all Frankie could hear was Jed’s laughter. Then she heard his voice.

‘I don’t remember what Harry Mitchell’s face looked like when he was alive. The only vision I’ve got of that rotten old shitcunt is the face we left him with on his deathbed. Do you remember him begging me to stop beating him, Sammy boy? “Please don’t kill me,” the silly old cunt was saying. Best night of my life, that was. Getting revenge for my own grandad, God rest his soul, beats fucking any bird I’ve ever shagged.’

Frankie stopped the tape, turned white and collapsed on the carpet. Kerry crouched down next to her. She couldn’t understand the recording properly because Patsy Cline was singing in the background.

‘What is it, Frankie? What did they say?’

Without warning, Frankie clutched her stomach and started to heave. Kerry was frightened now, really frightened.

‘Are you OK? Is it the baby?’

Frankie shook her head. ‘They killed my . . .’ she whispered. She couldn’t finish the sentence, the words just wouldn’t come.

Kerry sat Frankie up and propped her against the sofa. She looked incredibly ill and scared.

‘I think I should call an ambulance. You really don’t look well, Frankie.’

As Kerry stood up, Frankie gripped her arm as though she would never let it go. ‘No, please don’t.’

Kerry crouched down again and cradled Frankie’s ashen face in her hands. She was crying herself now. She was frightened, really frightened.

‘What is it, Frankie? Please tell me.’

Frankie met her gaze with a haunted look in her eyes. Her voice was wobbly and sounded nothing like her own.

‘Jed and Sammy, it was them that murdered my grandad,’ she croaked.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Kerry looked at Frankie in bewilderment. This couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t be true. Jed and Sammy might be womanising con men, but surely they weren’t capable of murder?

‘Are you sure that it’s your grandad they’re talking about? I mean, Mitchell is quite a common name, ain’t it? Say they’re talking about a different Harry Mitchell?’

Thinking of her grandfather’s awful death, Frankie retched. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as a mouthful of vomit flew over the carpet.

Kerry ran into the kitchen and returned with a cloth and a plastic bucket.

‘It’s definitely my grandad, I just know it is. The thing is, what do I do now? I can’t tell my dad, because he will kill Jed and get himself locked up for life,’ Frankie wept.

Kerry kneeled down next to her. ‘You have to tell someone. What about Gary and Ricky? They’ll know what to do, won’t they?’

Frankie shook her head. ‘I can’t tell them, in case they tell my dad. I know me and my dad aren’t speaking at the moment, but I do love him and I can’t see him go to prison again. He will kill Jed, Kerry, he won’t be able to stop himself. I so wish my mum was alive; she would know what to do.’

‘Well, in that case I think we should go to the police. We can hand them the tape and get them to listen to it in front of us. They will have to lock Jed and Sammy up then and when they do, I hope they throw away the fucking key.’

Frankie could feel her legs wobbling as she stood up and sat on the sofa. She could hear Harry laughing in the back garden and her heart was filled with pain. One day she would probably have to explain to her children that their daddy was a cold-blooded murderer.

Kerry sat down next to Frankie and hugged her. She looked frightfully ill and Kerry was really worried.

‘I know this isn’t easy, Frankie, but you need to start making plans immediately. You’re not going to stay at the trailer tonight, are you?’

‘Of course not. I never want to see Jed again. I need some stuff, though: my clothes, the kids’ clothes, I’ll have to pop back there to collect some belongings.’

‘We’ll both go. I ain’t letting you go on your own. We can load up the motor before Jed gets back. Just grab what you can, then we can go straight to the police station with the tape,’ Kerry suggested.

Frankie felt a shiver go down her spine. Jed was a dangerous, violent psychopath, and she had to get the kids away from him fast.

‘Alice and Jimmy are meant to be picking Georgie up from school today; they’re taking her home to have tea with them and Jed was gonna pick her up later. I’m gonna have to get her out of school early and then we’ll go and get my stuff. I’ll tell her teacher that there’s been a family tragedy or something. We can take the kids to the police station with us: I don’t want Jed or his family near them ever again.’

Kerry stood up and held out her hand. ‘Come on, let’s get our skates on.’

Over in Orsett, Stanley was thoroughly enjoying the company of Pat the Pigeon. He had got over his initial nervousness and was now totally captivated by this unusual woman with the raucous, hearty laugh.

Pat squeezed Stanley’s hand. She hadn’t left his side since she’d introduced herself earlier, and unlike Joyce, had shown great compassion for the deaths of his beloved pigeons, Ethel and Ernie.

‘I’ve got just the tonic for you, Stanley. George and Mildred, my finest, have recently produced some striking squabs. Why don’t you come round, have a look and take your pick? I’ve had loads of people trying to buy ’em off me. I was gonna keep ’em all for myself, but seeing as you’re suffering such an awful bereavement, I’d like you to have one. It’s a gift – I don’t want paying for it.’

Stanley was overwhelmed by Pat’s kindness. She had a wonderful knowledge of breeding and racing pigeons and obviously had a heart of gold to go with it. He stood up and smiled at her.

‘That’s very kind of you. Let me get you another drink, my dear. G and T again, is it? Would you like a double this time?’

Pat the Pigeon laughed. ‘Oh, you are naughty, Stanley. Go on, then, I’ll have a double.’

Stanley walked up to the bar with a spring in his step. He could see the envious glances from some of the other men and it made him feel a million dollars that Pat had made a beeline for him.

‘How’s it going, Stanley? That Pat’s been all over you like a rash. That’s why me and Brian stayed up the bar – we didn’t want to intrude. What’s she been saying to you?’ Derek asked him.

‘She’s going to give me one of her squabs,’ Stanley said proudly.

Derek laughed. ‘And the rest.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I can see the way she’s looking at you, Stanley. She wants to give you more than a squab, mate.’

Stanley felt his heart start to pound in his chest. In all the years he had been with Joycie, no woman had ever come on to him and, even before he had met Joycie, he hadn’t exactly had the luck of Errol Flynn with the female sex. His hand shook as he handed the barmaid the money.

‘Pat’s just being friendly. I’m sure you’ve got it all wrong,’ he told Derek.

Derek chuckled. ‘No, I ain’t. Pat has a vulture look about her and by the looks of it, you’re her prey, mate.’

Stanley picked up the drinks and returned to the table. His legs were trembling and he had no idea how to stop them from doing so.

‘Are you OK, Stanley?’ Pat asked, concerned.

Stanley looked into her kind blue eyes and smiled. ‘I’m fine, Pat, honest I am.’

Georgie O’Hara’s teacher looked startled when Frankie barged into the classroom and nigh on dragged her daughter outside.

‘I need to take Georgie home, something terrible has happened,’ she gabbled.

Mrs Lawson stared at Frankie. ‘Are you OK? Would you like me to get you a glass of water?’

Frankie shook her head. Since leaving Kerry’s sister’s house, she had felt full of absolute panic and she couldn’t stop herself from shaking.

‘I’m fine. I just need to take Georgie home with me now,’ she insisted.

Mrs Lawson was exceptionally concerned. She could smell the wine fumes on Frankie’s breath, and it was obvious that Frankie was in no fit state, physically or mentally, to take her daughter anywhere. She ushered Frankie along the corridor. The headmistress would know how to handle this.

‘I need to speak to the headmistress first, she will need you to sign a form for her. Wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.’

Frankie waited for the teacher to disappear out of sight, then ran back to the classroom. She spotted Georgie immediately. She was sitting at the far end of the classroom.