Blood Secrets_A gripping crime thriller with killer twists

  BLOOD SECRETS

  Flesh and Blood Series: Book 4

  Dreada Say Mitchell

  Contents

  Praise for Dreda Say Mitchell

  Prologue

  I. 2007

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  II. 2007

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  A note from the author

  All About Dreda

  Praise for Dreda Say Mitchell

  ‘As good as it gets.’ Lee Child

  ‘A great book written by a great girl.’ Martina Cole

  ‘Zippy, twisty plot…and a bevy of memorable supporting goodies and baddies.’ The Sunday Times

  ‘Thrilling.’ Sunday Express Books of the Year

  ‘Awesome tale from a talented writer.’ Sun

  ‘Fast paced and full of twists and turns.’ Crime Scene Magazine

  ‘Mitchell outguns Martina Cole for pure, shocking East End gangster grit.’ Mirror

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Blood Secrets: © 2018 by Emma Joseph and Anthony Mason

  Cover design © Stuart Bache

  https://www.bookscovered.co.uk

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher.

  Published by Emma Joseph and Anthony Mason

  London, UK.

  ISBN: 978-1-9164202-0-5

  ISBN: 978-1-9164202-1-2

  For Kat, Anne, Rob, Ellen,

  Casey and Adam

  Thank you awesome people for

  your time, advice and for being there xx

  Prologue

  Babs and Pearl faced off like a pair of alley cats ready to do some serious damage.

  Babs got straight down to it. ‘Did you have a word with you know who?’

  Pearl snapped back, ‘He can’t help. I told you that was a long shot.’ Her eyes narrowed, her mouth turned ugly. ‘Although he did have one helpful suggestion that I couldn’t really face up to at the time. Perhaps I’ll have to now though - I’m not sure I’ve got any other choice.’

  Babs’ face burned red at the threat in the smaller woman’s tone. ‘If you’ve got something to say gob it out.’

  Pearl waved her small hand in the air. ‘It’s not just him saying it, but also the spirits are telling me—‘

  Babs butted in with a nasty scoffing sound. ‘Spirits my East End arse. The only spirits you commune with are the ones drifting drunkenly out of a bottle of rum.’

  Pearl moved closer. So did Babs. They stood nose-to-nose. Toe-to-toe. Their hot, angry breaths bounced off each other’s face.

  ‘Listen Pearl, I don’t know exactly what’s gone on here,’ Babs snarled behind gritted teeth. ‘Maybe you got caught up in the moment. Or maybe someone’s leaned on ya, I dunno. I don’t care.’ She wriggled her head provocatively. ‘Let’s just say if you put things right, I’ll say no more about it. Let bygones be bygones, know what I mean?’ That was supposed to be the end of it but her temper got the better of her. ‘Which I think is pretty generous of me in the circumstances.’

  Pearl lost it big time, her head rearing back in outrage. ‘Me? ‘You’re saying it was me? You’ve got the nerve of the Devil and all the evil spirits in hell—‘

  ‘Oh, pack it in with your spirits malarkey, I’m not a mug down the fairground.’

  Pearl folded her arms, tilted her chin back and looked down her nose. ‘I should have guessed you were behind it all along. What an idiot I’ve been.’ She slapped her forehead, her bangles jangling. ‘Trusting you of all people! Are the rest of the Millers in on the deal as well? I bet they are – a right little coven of teefs, the lot of ya.’

  Her Jamaican accent was righteous with molten rage as she pronounced ‘thief’ as ‘teefs’.

  Pearl’s mouth wouldn’t stop. ‘No wonder your gangster boyfriend couldn’t help, he’s already helped you out with this, hasn’t he? You get me? What kind of fool do you take me for? And you know what really hurts? You and the rest of the gang having a laugh at my expense – that’s what really stings. You bitch! You utter, fucking bitch.’

  Babs’ jaw dropped south. She’d never heard Pearl turn the air blue before. Then she reminded herself that this woman hadn’t been banged up with her, less than a year ago, in the prison cell next door for being an angel.

  Babs got right into her face. ‘Now you listen to me. I’ve tried being being upfront but you ain’t having it. You’re gonna put things right, whatever it takes. And if you don’t you’ll be bloody sorry. I’ll chase you down to the gates of hell if I have to…’

  Crack!

  Babs’ head rocked back with the force of Pearl’s considerable slap to her face. She could’ve dealt with the blow – it wasn’t the first and no doubt wouldn’t be the last time someone took a swing at her – what tipped her over the edge was the smug, self-satisfied expression of glee on her former mate’s face.

  ‘Right, you’ve gone and done it now!’

  Babs flew at Pearl, grabbing her headscarf and dragging her to the floor, arms flailing as if they were two girls hating on each other in the playground. Babs went down with her. Pearl might be in her sixties but she gave as good as she got. The pair of them wrestled on the floor, grappling and spitting venom instead of landing blows.

  ‘You piece of crap!’

  ‘You two-faced slag!’

  ‘Fuck you!’

  ‘No, fuck you!’

  A roaring fizz and whistle sound shuddered with an almighty thud against the outside of the closed door, followed by an explosion that sounded like a hand grenade going off.

  The two women froze in shock staring straight into each other’s eyes, more like lovers than enemies. Babs hurriedly shook herself free from Pearl, rushed over to the door and threw it open. People were screaming and shouting. Hooded figures attac
ked anyone that didn’t scarper quickly enough.

  Complete, fucking bedlam.

  Part I

  2007

  A week ago

  ‘She’d come to think the yellow stuff might actually be cursed.’

  1

  A stone came whizzing over one of the balconies, missing Babs and Natty by inches as she pushed him around the estate. Babs went bananas, frothing at the mouth, murder in her heart, as she looked up at the block. No sod in sight. Typical! At the first sign of trouble, no one on the Essex Lane Estate, aka The Devil’s Estate, stuck around long enough to put their hands up to a little stone throwing. Babs narrowed her eyes. They were there alright. She could sense their sniggers and Jack the lad high-fiving behind whichever balcony they hid behind.

  So she wagged her finger heavenwards and gave it to them with both barrels.

  ‘Oi! I know you’re up there you bunch of toe rags. I’m telling ya now, if you’d hurt my grandbaby I’d fecking hunt your arses down, day and bloody night…’

  Abruptly, Babs snapped her gob shut. After doing a three-year stretch for the manslaughter of her former husband, gangster Stanley Miller, she’d made a silent vow to keep a low profile. She had more than enough drama to give the writers of ‘Eastenders’ a run for their money. Peace and quiet, that’s all she wanted. Was that too much to ask for, eh? To let her hair down with her family, especially her grandkids. Running her mouth from one end of The Devil to the next wasn’t going to help. Of course, she still had that one ticklish little problem outstanding…but she wasn’t going to pay that any mind at present. There was a time and place for everything. Now was a time to spend with her naughty but nice grandkid.

  Babs’ face lit up as bright as a neon light up the Dilly.

  ‘Aww, there he is,’ Babs said with a grandmother’s pride and delight, cooing and tickling his tum-tum.

  Tucked up, as cosy as a kitten he was, inside a multi-coloured crocheted blanket she’d picked up for a song down The Roman. The pram was a bit of a let down. If it was a car, it would be up for the scrap yard. Its large wheels wobbled and shook and the holes in the black hood were covered with plasters. She didn’t give a toss. Her kids, Jen and Tiff, had been pushed around in that pram when they were nippers. If it was good enough for them it was good enough for the next generation of Millers. Anyways, it beat all those boy racer type prams kids were wheeled around in nowadays.

  Some of the good cheer drained out of her. The one baby who hadn’t graced the inside of her pram was Natty’s mum, Dee. She’d given birth to Dee back in ’72. It hadn’t been easy for a white woman to have a brown baby back in those days but Babs had cherished her. That was until Dee had been taken away from her…Babs shook her head against the heart-wrenching memories. She would’ve given anything – anything! - to have paraded her eldest daughter around the estate.

  Tears burned the back of Babs’ eyes. She’d been so young then, so trusting. Full of dreams and reaching for the moon. And what had she got? Two bastard blokes who had done her over, good and proper. That wasn’t going to happen again. No fucking way! No geezer was ever going to be wiping the soles of his doozy doos on her front doormat ever again. They were trouble, the lot of ‘em.

  ‘Except my darlin’ Natty, o’ course.’

  He squealed with glee, kicking his chubby baby legs in the air. Babs’ proud smile slipped slightly. There was a lot of Dee in him - that was plain to see - with his light-brown skin and loose curly hair. Funny thing though was she couldn’t see a single lick of his dad, John, in him. Babs felt wicked even thinking it. John was laid to rest almost a year now. Another naughty but nice character. One minute he was there, the next gone. Her fingers tightened and trembled around the metal handle of the pram.

  Thinking about John made her instantly think of the stolen gold.

  Sensing the mood shift in his Nanna Babs, Natty’s face crumbled and scrunched up. He wailed piercing and loud.

  Babs clucked him gently under the chin, soothing him. ‘’Ere, we’ll have none of that my lad. Don’t want to muck up that beautiful boat of yours.’ Her voice became distant. ‘Ain’t your fault your Nanna Babs is neck deep in this crap…‘

  ‘What a gorgeous baby,’ a woman’s voice burst over her troubled thoughts.

  Startled, Babs twisted round. Fuck me! It was Angelina Jolie with bouncing platinum hair. That wasn’t the only thing that bounced, Babs decided, copping an eyeful of her jugs. And legs…blimey, they were so long they went up to the fourth floor. The clobber was top drawer and the slap wasn’t cheap neither.

  The woman wasn’t threatening, but Babs instantly moved to an attack dog position in front of the pram. No matter how she’d tried she’d never gotten over that time, years back, when having a dark skinned baby was asking for trouble.

  The woman hesitantly stepped back. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t mean anything by it. Just…’ she waved at the pram as she smiled with a sweet shyness, ‘everyone loves a baby, you know…’ She hitched her Chanel bag more securely to her shoulder. ‘Gotta dash —‘

  ‘No. You’re alright.’ Babs felt like a proper prat. What person in their right mind wouldn’t want to have a gander at her handsome grandson?

  ‘It ain’t you babe. It’s just around these parts we get all sorts out an’ about. Even a baby ain’t safe these days and I don’t want my Natty copping any of that. You hear all sorts of stories.’ She eyed the woman as another thought came to her. ‘And I ain’t seen your face round here before.’

  ‘Natty? Is that his name?’

  Babs nodded. ‘Short for Nathan.’

  Babs stepped aside giving the woman silent permission to come closer. And when she did she let out a long coo as she gazed down at Natty who gave her one of his killer smiles. Her boy knew how to put on a show for a pretty face.

  “What a cutie.’

  Her finger instinctively reached out towards him. Babs growled low in the back of her throat in warning. She didn’t have a problem with folk getting soppy over Natty, but no one touched him without her say-so. First off, she didn’t have a clue who this woman was and you didn’t know where her hands might have been. He was as innocent as driven snow and that’s the way it was going to stay.

  Babs’ warning didn’t put the woman off her stride as she gushed, ‘It’s just me and my fella are trying for our first. We’re planning to tie the knot first o’ course.’

  A slow, dreamy sigh escaped her lips, her brown eyes gleaming with joy. Babs knew that look. Same one she’d worn in those first years of her marriage to that chancer Stan. She only hoped this stunner of a lady had more luck than she’d had.

  Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella’ ring tone peeled from Babs’ mobile. Natty went wild in his pram, thrusting his arms and legs. The old wheels on the pram juddered and shook. He loved this song, which was why Babs had changed her ringtone to it.

  As she fished out her phone the woman smiled gratefully at her. ‘Thanks for letting me have a little peek at your grandson. Let’s hope I get a little man just like him. Be seeing ya.’

  ‘Stay lucky.’

  Babs clocked the name on the mobile’s screen and connected the call.

  ‘Alright Babsie, it’s me, Pearl.’

  ‘I know who it is,’ Babs replied in a rush to the older woman.

  Pearl’s light Jamaican accent dipped low. ‘Thing is, we need to talk about…the oranges.’

  Babs’ eyebrows shot up. ‘Oranges? What are you on about?’

  ‘You know, the fruit I’ve been looking after. The oranges, the apples, the pears that I’ve been looking after for us, in my settee.’

  Comprehension flashed across Babs’ face. ‘Ahhh! Those oranges.’

  ‘Thing is, we need to sort something out here a bit lively. Or they might go off - ‘

  ‘Yeah, we don’t want them going off,’ Babs cut in, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  Pearl was right on the money, of course. That gold was hot property which they needed to get rid of,
as soon as. Oh, how she wished she’d never got mixed up in the whole business in the first place. Truth be told, she wanted to do a Dorothy - click her heels three times - and have done with the whole palaver. That gold had caused nothing but trouble and nearly torn her family apart.

  Babs’ mind cast back to how all this mess had started. Dee’s old man John had done a major league blag with her foster son Kieran Scott that netted them a wagonload of bullion. John, the silly sod, had only gone and double-crossed Kieran and hidden the gold. Then John had cocked up his toes, leaving an almighty shit storm on Dee’s doorstep when the owner of the gold, a craft old codger called the Commander, had sent along a well-known heavy of the old school to get his property back. Turned out the Commander was the grandfather of Florence, her bastard ex-hubbie’s wrong side of the blanket daughter with some posh tart from North London. Chuck in her daughters squabbling and scrapping and ultimately falling out about the newly discovered houses she owned in Mile End, World War Three had broken out. She’d felt helpless as she languished behind bars watching her family fall apart.