For a moment, Mike seemed unfazed. ‘I want to know who initiated this meeting.’
Stoneham was quickly gauging the influence of the man. ‘The local MP, Rebecca Mullins.’
Mike laughed. ‘So, then, some toff has asked you to clean up the streets by using me as a vigilante?’
Feeling uncomfortable with those words, the Commissioner swallowed hard. Whichever way he dressed this up, the plain fact was that Regan would clearly spot bullshit a mile off. He knew he would have to speak Regan’s language for him to get anywhere. ‘Yes!’
Mike raised his brow and smirked. He hadn’t expected that reply. ‘So why would I put myself on the line for you or this Mullins bird?’
Stoneham knew he was getting somewhere at last. ‘Your freedom for starters. We will turn a blind eye to your own business in exchange for cleaning up the streets.’
As Mike chewed the inside of his mouth, he calculated the risks and whether he could even contemplate working for the Filth.
Stoneham read his mind. ‘I know it goes against the grain, I get that, but I also believe that you and I are on the same page when it comes to these sorts of crimes. Old-school gangsters have a moral code I believe. It’s thou shall not hurt women, children, and pensioners. Am I right?’
Mike laughed louder this time. ‘Jesus, you’ve been watching that film The Krays.’
‘No, actually, Mr Regan, I listened to my father. He was a detective in South-East London, and he learned the code from the likes of your father, Arthur Regan. So, like you, I’m also not what you assume.’
‘Fair play, Mr Stoneham.’
Mike’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and Stoneham could almost see the sternness in his eyes melt away.
‘I don’t want an answer now. Please think about it before you make a decision. But the deal is this. You, your son, and your firm – and, yes, of course, I know your associates are tight, as I’ve done my homework – will be released within a week. Your businesses will not be watched, the deaths of all the Harmans will be placed in the solved case file, and all I want in return is for my streets to be cleaned up. I would prefer the scare tactic and not more bloodshed, but we will cross that bridge when necessary. I will give you everything I have on these gangs and the rest is up to you. Now, I will be back next week for an answer, and, as I said, please would you keep this confidential? I mean, between us and your firm.’
Mike nodded. ‘Of course. I can see your problem, and I’ll keep schtum, so don’t worry on that score.’
Stoneham sat back, surprised that Regan was not playing games. He really was a straight-up person.
Lowry opened the door, holding two hot coffees on a tray. He watched in amazement as the Commissioner and Regan rose to their feet.
‘Sorry, Lowry. Our meeting is over.’
***
Brooke Mullins pulled the bed cover over her head as soon as she heard her mother entering the room.
‘Come on, sweet pea, you have to eat something. Hettie has made a wonderful chocolate cake with sprinkles on it.’
Just the shrill tone of her mother’s sickly, over-the-top voice grated on Brooke. At nineteen, she was annoyed with life in general, but the last three weeks had been sheer purgatory. The normal emotional teenager–parent issues had been well and truly put to one side. They were replaced by feelings of devastating anger, humiliation, and – worse than anything – pure fear.
In one fluid movement, she threw the pink daisy-print duvet off her head and sat upright. Her hair was sticking out in all directions, and her once fresh cherry blossom-coloured cheeks were now a wishy-washy grey colour and covered in a layer of grease.
Rebecca tried to stroke her daughter’s arm but was instantly shrugged off.
‘Sweetheart, I know what you’ve been through is so difficult, but you need to eat and . . . ’ she sniffed the air, ‘take a shower. Come on. Please get out of this bed. You will feel so much better.’
Like a deranged young woman, with brown rings under her eyes and the intense hate casting doom, Brooke spat at her mother, ‘Don’t you ever tell me that I will feel better. You have no idea what I’ve been through. And don’t you dare try to tell me it will be okay, because, Mother, it won’t. Now, leave me alone!’
Rebecca backed away. Of course, she didn’t know how her daughter felt, or what on earth was going through her mind. She felt her tears well up and her heart was heavy. ‘I know, darling, I know, but I am just trying to help. I will leave you alone then.’
Brooke heard the door close, and she pulled the duvet back over her head. Her mother and father were the last people she wanted to console her now. They’d never shown any real interest in her or her sisters. She and her siblings were more like a by-product or an accessory. Talking to her mother was like conversing with her former headmistress – cold, stiff, and stilted.
She didn’t care if she needed a bath, and she certainly didn’t need to fill herself with food – that would only result in vomiting it back up. The windows had to be kept locked, no matter how hot it was, and her door closed. The light was permanently on and a kitchen knife lay under her pillow. She trusted no one and probably never would, ever again. She hated herself and the world around her. Things would never be the same, ever. The vision of those wide-eyed men clawing at her like they were devouring a hog roast would be with her for the rest of her life. She couldn’t cry anymore; the tears had dried up, and now she was angry, but also terrified. Her dreams were gone, and she felt her life was over.
Rebecca crept down the stairs, her eyes filling up once more, recalling the moment the police had brought Brooke home. It wasn’t so much the ripped clothes and exposed breast covered by a police blanket, or even the claw marks down her face: it was the dead look in her once bright, shiny eyes that would forever haunt her. Her daughter hadn’t stood a chance. The little bookworm, with her oversized glasses perched on her button nose and her sweetness as she gracefully wandered about, almost on tiptoes, seemed to be a distant memory. A well-liked, clear-headed teenager, who had so many dreams for the future. She worked hard at uni and still ensured she had time to have fun with her friends.
As Rebecca entered the kitchen, she found Kendall, her daughter from her previous marriage, perched on a stool devouring Nutella on toast. Dressed in black leggings and a T-shirt with a derogatory logo on the front, Kendall ignored her mother and swayed to the music streaming through her Beats by Dre headphones.
‘Kendall, do you think you could try to get Brooke at least to eat something? I am so worried about her. The poor little thing, she won’t listen to me . . . ’
Rebecca watched as her daughter continued to stuff her face and sway her head. Suddenly, Rebecca slammed her hands down on the table, which made Kendall jump.
‘Take those headphones off!’
Slowly, Kendall did as she was told, but with a sneering, disapproving look. ‘What now, Mother?’
‘I said, would you talk to Brooke? She won’t come out of her room, and I am so worried. She won’t eat, she is so . . . Look, please try to talk to her. Would you?’
‘For fuck’s sake, she’s your kid, it’s your job. Anyway, I think she needs professional help, or she will carry on like this and just end up milking it.’
No sooner were those words out of her mouth than Rebecca snatched her daughter’s arm and pulled her awkwardly to face her. ‘How dare you say such a cruel thing! That poor girl was raped by three lads!