Taking Liberties (Liberty Chapman) Page 15

  ‘Tell me about this girl you were visiting,’ said Liberty.

  ‘Kyla?’ Jay asked. ‘Not much to tell.’

  Liberty cocked her head at her brother.

  ‘Fit bird,’ he said. ‘Bit of a laugh.’

  ‘You got yourself into this mess for a “bit of a laugh”?’

  Jay groaned and rubbed his head. ‘Okay, okay. She’s a dancer and a junkie, a complete fuck-up, and she’s not the first by a long shot. I don’t know why I do it. Well, I do, but I don’t know why I can’t not do it.’

  ‘Do you ever wish you could just press rewind?’ Liberty asked.

  ‘I used to,’ Jay answered.

  ‘And now?’

  Jay blew across the top of his bottle. ‘And now I just try to concentrate on the here and now.’

  ‘Do you hate me for what I did?’

  Jay frowned. ‘What would be the point of that?’

  ‘It’s what I deserve,’ she said. ‘The world was ending and I left.’ Tears stung her eyes. ‘I left and I didn’t look back.’

  Jay finished his beer, placed the empty bottle on the carpet and reached over to put his hand on Liberty’s knee. ‘You’re here now.’

  Liberty laid her hand on his. ‘Do you think that doing bad things makes you a bad person, Jay?’

  ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Just makes you human.’

  Amira Hassani was glad to find the station relatively quiet. No one around to ask awkward questions about what she was doing. She logged on to the system and tapped in a search for Frankie Greenwood. The screen immediately sprang into life with a long list of previous convictions dating back to when he was a minor. A quick scan confirmed they were mostly for shop-lifting and possession of drugs. No custodial sentences.

  She extended the search and found a couple of cases against him that had been dropped. The first was another drugs charge. He’d been searched outside a nightclub and an officer had found a couple of grams of coke down his trousers. Unfortunately, the lab test had confirmed that the baggie of white powder had been sweetener and Greenwood had walked.

  Amira found the details of the second charge infinitely more interesting. Assault occasioning actual bodily harm, contrary to section 47 of the Offences Against the Person Act 1861. She scrolled to the victim’s statement and her jaw fell slack.

  My name is Magdalena Aleksas and I live at an address known to the police. My date of birth is eighth April 1995. I am a Lithuanian national but have been living in the UK for almost two years.

  For the last four months I have been working as a dancer at a club known as the Black Cherry. I found the job through other Lithuanian girls that I know who introduced me to the manager, a woman called Mel. I do not know her surname. I used to work every day, arriving at around four p.m. with the other girls I know. The club is nearly always busy.

  The owner of the club is a man named Jay and he is often present. Sometimes another woman, who I believe is called Christine, visits the club with him. By the way Mel and the bar staff treat her, I assume that she, too, is a boss.

  Another man who regularly visits is Frankie. Although he does not have to pay for anything at the Black Cherry, it is obvious that he is not in charge. When Frankie comes into the Black Cherry he likes to drink beer at the bar and chat with the girls who work in the club. I have spoken to him lots of times, although only briefly because I am not fluent in English.

  Yesterday the club was very busy. There were a lot of customers. Frankie was sitting on a stool at the bar. He seemed like he was a little drunk. When I walked past he said something to me and his voice sounded slurred. I didn’t understand what he said and I was in a rush to get changed for my next dance, so I just smiled at him and carried on walking.

  As I walked away he shouted at me but I didn’t reply.

  When I got as far as the door to the girls’ changing room, I could feel someone very close behind me. I turned and saw it was Frankie. He was sweating heavily and seemed very angry. I tried to explain that I was in a hurry but he held an arm across the doorway. Eventually I ducked under his arm and tried to get through the door, but Frankie pushed me hard and I fell forward banging my face against it and falling to the floor. My nose began to bleed and my right cheek began to swell.

  Fortunately Mel quickly arrived and led Frankie away, otherwise I think he may have continued to assault me.

  Amira’s mobile rang and she screwed up her face when she saw her brother’s number. ‘Zaid.’

  ‘Where are you?’ he snapped.

  ‘Just finishing up at work.’ She checked her watch. Damn. ‘Literally just leaving.’

  ‘Seriously, Amira, you are way out of line. We’re going to be late for prayers. You can’t just keep dumping Rahim on us like this.’

  Amira was stung. ‘He’s your nephew, not some random stranger. I thought family was the most important thing in Islam.’

  ‘Don’t even try to lecture me about my religion, sister.’

  Amira sent the last document to print. ‘Look, I’m doing my best, Zaid. I’m just trying to do my job and build a future for me and Rahim. It’s not easy.’ She scooped up the pages and ran for the door. ‘Why can’t you just support me?’

  Zaid didn’t answer immediately but when he did his voice had softened. ‘Just get here as quickly as you can.’

  Amira hung up and smiled. Zaid might be a pain in the arse, but he was her pain-in-the-arse brother.

  Daisy knew that Frankie was getting pissed off with her. It didn’t help that he wouldn’t let her have any gear. He said they needed to keep a clear head, but Daisy couldn’t function on just a couple of lines of Charlie. And shit Charlie at that. The tightness in her stomach had turned into a stabbing pain, like there was a lit cigarette inside. And the sweat was unreal. It was rolling off her. Even though it was a scorching day and the other passengers on the train had been huffing and puffing, fanning themselves with magazines and books, people had still stared at her as she melted into a salty pool. The stupid thing was she still felt cold.

  But even in this state Daisy knew there was something off about the whole deal. According to Frankie, Brixton Dave was a face around these parts, but if that was true, why was he coming to Frankie with his problems? Surely he’d have a lorry-load of his own people to sort the Russians. And, anyway, what was he dreaming of, thinking this was the best way to do that? Everyone knew you had to do things properly with them. You couldn’t mess with them and expect to keep your bollocks. Jay and Crystal never did business with them.

  Brixton Road was heaving as they picked their way to a minicab office. Inside, the woman behind the counter had obviously just sprayed air-freshener. It hung in the air so thickly that Daisy could taste it. There was nowhere to sit, so she leaned against the wall, the back of her head pressed against the concrete, eyes and throat closing.

  Frankie gave her a look filled with disgust.

  If she wasn’t feeling so sick, she’d have told him to do one. He wasn’t so fucking squeaky clean. She wiped her hands down the front of her jeans. The legs inside felt brittle and bruised, an ache seeping right into the marrow of her bones. She’d started taking drugs when her little brother had his second round of radiotherapy. His hair had already fallen out and he was in excruciating pain. The irony wasn’t lost on Daisy.

  Frankie handed over the address to the woman and she told them to wait outside.

  ‘What’s going to happen after?’ she asked.

  ‘What are you talking about now?’ Frankie snapped.

  ‘After we’ve taken the stuff,’ she said. ‘This Brixton Dave must be expecting some come-back.’

  ‘He can handle himself.’

  ‘So why isn’t he handling this himself?’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, Daisy,’ said Frankie.

  Soon they were in the back of a cab, on their way.

  ‘You know what you’ve got to do?’ Frankie hissed at her.

  Daisy nodded. There was no point saying anything else.

  �
�You can’t fuck around,’ he said. ‘We go in quickly. We leave. End of.’

  Daisy forced a smile. The quicker they got this over with the better. Then at last she could have what she needed.

  Chapter 12

  October 1985

  ‘You all right love?’ the nurse mouths.

  Since I still can’t hear too well, she’s made this big song and dance of it, her lips doing all these weird shapes, her eyes open wide like a fish’s. They say my ear drum’s perforated, from where Dad hit me or where my head bounced off the wall. I still can’t remember much. Either way, they say it’ll get better, that I’m not to worry. So I’m not. ‘I’m fine,’ I tell her, hoping I’m not speaking too loudly.

  She holds my wrist in one hand and checks her watch with the other. What’s that about? Whatever it is, she writes it all down on a chart at the end of my bed. Then she hands me a little plastic cup. It’s so small it’s more like a bottle top. My pills, one pink, one white, rattle around at the bottom. ‘Get them down,’ she says.

  I do as I’m told, throwing them into my mouth and accepting a glass of squash to wash them down.

  ‘Mr Reid will be along soon,’ she tells me.

  Mr Reid’s a doctor, but because he’s important he gets to use ‘Mr’. How funny is that? You’d think a doctor would be higher up than a normal person. He’s got quite a kind face, and he’s the only one who doesn’t make a pantomime of speaking to me. He just talks up a bit and looks straight at me, which is all anyone needs to do, really. He says he’s a child psychologist and he was the one who told me what happened.

  ‘How are you today, Elizabeth?’ He arrives and sits on the edge of my bed.

  ‘Fine.’

  He rests his right foot on his left knee so I get a good view of his trainer. I always used to assume that doctors wouldn’t wear things like trainers because they were too posh. Mr Reid seems posh. He talks all posh. But he always wears trainers. Maybe it’s different for psychologists.

  ‘I saw your brothers and sister earlier today,’ he says.

  My heart gives a little flutter at the thought of the kids. ‘Are they . . .’

  ‘They’re absolutely fine.’ Mr Reid puts his hand on mine. ‘They send their love and they’ll come and see you soon.’

  ‘You said that last week.’

  Mr Reid nods. ‘I know I did, Elizabeth. The trouble is, they had to be put in a placement quite a distance from here until things are resolved.’

  ‘You mean until they catch Dad.’

  ‘Exactly that.’

  Dad’s been on the run since that night. The police are looking every-where for him. It’s been on the news and everything.

  ‘You’re perfectly safe here in the meantime,’ says Mr Reid.

  I glance at the copper on duty at the end of the ward. They change all the time. This one’s about fifty and is having a cuppa with one of the nurses. He wouldn’t stand a chance if Dad was set on getting in here. But I don’t think he will. He’s away on his toes, probably in Ireland by now. He wouldn’t come here and risk getting banged up again.

  ‘I understand that you don’t enjoy speaking about it, Elizabeth,’ says Mr Reid.

  I know what’s coming and he’s right, I don’t bloody well like talking about it. I don’t bloody well like thinking about it.

  ‘Your mum,’ he says.

  I give a little cringe at the mention of her. I don’t mean to but it’s like someone has poked me in my bad ear. ‘What about her?’ I ask.

  ‘It must have been a terrific shock,’ he says.

  ‘Not really.’

  He gives a small smile to show that he doesn’t believe me.

  ‘It were only a matter of time,’ I say. He looks away. There are some things even he doesn’t like to face head on. ‘If you’d been there you’d get it.’

  He slips off the bed and sits in the chair next to it, so his face is at the same level as mine, then looks deep into my eyes. This is the serious bit. The bit where he tells me something really important. ‘You’re allowed to be shocked, Elizabeth. Or sad or angry. Or all three.’

  ‘I know,’ I tell him.

  ‘And you’re allowed to express those emotions,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to keep them all in.’

  I look at him with his floppy haircut and scruffy trainers. In his world you get to say what’s in your heart. You get to let it run out, then throw it away like bog roll. But I know I can’t start that game. Paula Greenwood was my mother. Sometimes she was lovely, but a lot of the time she was rubbish. She didn’t read to us or make us nice things for our tea. She didn’t put plasters on our knees or tuck us in at night. She spent a lifetime as Dad’s punch-bag, seeing the inside of A and E more times than any of us want to remember. Then one night she tried to put an end to the violence and got herself killed.

  Now she’s gone.

  ‘I’m tired,’ I tell Mr Reid.

  He nods. ‘It’s the meds.’

  I close my eyes, like they’re too heavy for me to resist, then I wait for him to leave me alone.

  The bar in the Radisson was empty. Liberty took a stool and ordered a gin and tonic that she most definitely did not need.

  ‘Ice and lemon?’ asked the bartender.

  ‘Does it come any other way?’ Liberty asked.

  He smiled, mixed the drink and placed it in front of her on a paper circle. Then he put a small bowl of olives next to it. Liberty popped one into her mouth, then took a slurp of her drink.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be out looking for Daisy Clarke?’

  Liberty spun in her seat to find Rance standing in front of her, arms crossed. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through her. Maybe it was the fact that she had committed two criminal acts that day. Either way, Rance seemed small and spoiled and pathetic.

  ‘I have looked,’ she said. ‘I went to her flat, I asked her employer. No one knows where she is, not even the police.’

  Rance stuck out his bottom lip. A twelve-year-old boy in a man’s body.

  She cupped her ear. ‘If you’ve any other ideas where she might be, then do let me know.’

  ‘What if she doesn’t turn up?’ he asked.

  Liberty drank some gin and let an ice cube slip into her mouth. She crunched it, letting the noise fill the bar. ‘I suspect that that is exactly what will happen,’ she said. ‘And you’ll have to be patient, Mr Rance.’

  ‘I’m not staying here.’

  She shrugged. ‘That’s up to you. But if you leave, they’ll have you back in the Mansion before you can say lap-dancer and there won’t be a thing I can do about it.’

  ‘And what are you going to do while I’m being patient?’ asked Rance.

  ‘Me?’ Liberty smiled at him and raised her glass. ‘I’m going back to London.’ As soon as she said it, she knew that was exactly what she was going to do and laughed at the prospect. ‘When Daisy is still a no-show in a week’s time, I’ll list your case again and it will be thrown out. I might not even have to come back.’

  Rance was a thin sliver of spite, glaring at her. ‘You’ve got it all figured out,’ he said.

  Liberty finished her drink and signalled for the bartender to fill her up again. ‘No, Mr Rance, I don’t have it all figured out. I’m just working with what’s been thrown at me.’

  Sol almost laughed out loud. The way Chapman dealt with Rance was class. He watched the man leave the bar, puce with rage, and slid into the stool next to the lawyer. She radiated heat, expensive perfume and alcohol. She was just the right side of pissed. God, how Sol loved that point of the evening. The point where every-thing was funny and everyone looked good. The point before the fights and the hangovers kicked in. ‘Miss Chapman,’ he said.

  She turned, still smiling. In another situation that smile would have had him. No question. As soon as she clocked it was him, the smile retreated. Not fully, though, she was too drunk for that.

  ‘Detective Inspector Connolly.’ She didn’t sound as well-spoken as she had in court or at t
he station. Her vowels were blunted by the booze. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’

  He gestured at the barman to give him a beer. ‘I’ve been speaking to my colleague PC Hassani.’

  ‘I bet she had only good things to say about me,’ Chapman answered.

  ‘She told me something rather interesting as it goes.’

  Chapman put an elbow on the bar and placed her chin in the palm of her hand. ‘I’m all ears.’ Her dark hair fell across her face and he checked the impulse to push it to the side. In the end she did it herself and Sol took a quick, distracting drink of beer. ‘She was doing a bit of digging on the Greenwood family back at the station.’ He took another sip. ‘I mean, there’s quite a lot of stuff there. These aren’t people who’ve made much effort to stay clean over the years.’ Chapman blinked slowly, but otherwise didn’t react. ‘An intriguing but little known fact, though, is that there are four Greenwoods. Jay, Crystal and Frankie have an older sister.’

  When Hassani had called Sol to tell him about Frankie’s dropped assault charge, she’d asked for clearance to access the confidential files in the database. He’d been reluctant. The kid was too hot-headed by far, yet he had to admire her doggedness. He’d given her the password and told her to mail him with anything juicy.

  ‘I think your name is Elizabeth Greenwood,’ he said. ‘Known by her family as Lib Greenwood.’

  She pushed herself up and gave him a slow hand-clap. Sol could see the family resemblance now and he wondered how he’d missed it so far. ‘Why don’t you use your real name?’ he asked.

  ‘Liberty Chapman is my real name.’ She didn’t miss a beat. ‘I changed it over twenty years ago.’

  Sol nodded. The historical files Hassani had found evidenced a torrid tale of the father murdering the mother. The kids all placed in care. Who could blame Chapman for wanting to start afresh? It was quite a feat that none of the Greenwood kids had ended up doing serious time, given their childhood, and it was utterly astonishing that one of them had gone away to become a successful brief.