given the two of them a painful seeing-to once too often and they’ve had enough. They’ve got someone to make sure it doesn’t happen again. If they managed to catch him unawares they could even have done it themselves.’
Ralph’s eyes slid sideways as they passed the Whittons’ house. Of course he knew that Connie wasn’t in there. She hadn’t moved back with her family when he kicked the lying, cheating whore out of his parents’ home. She’d moved into a swish apartment in the West End provided by her rich lover. He should have known that, having been bred in this dump, she’d be a no-good greedy tart out to take him for a ride. After she’d got her claws into him he’d even risked his career and his liberty trying to increase his earnings to buy her what she wanted. He’d become a bent copper for the bitch! Ralph’s eyes swerved ahead again, a bitter sneer visibly distorting his mouth.
Bickerstaff had noticed the change in his colleague’s demeanour and he understood the reason for it. Ralph Franks had been the butt of ribald humour at the station when word got around that his fiancée had been humping an old man. ‘You don’t want to let any personal grievances get in the way of how you judge people around here,’ he said. ‘The Whittons and the Keivers might be neighbours but they’re not necessarily out of the same mould …’
‘Shut up, will you,’ Ralph snarled, his face darkening in rage. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’
‘Take it easy …’ Bickerstaff shrugged. ‘All I was going to say is, be careful how you approach this investigation or you’ll give some of them back at the station a reason to start chin-wagging all over again. I’ll let you know my theory on it all, shall I?’
‘If you want to, go ahead,’ Ralph muttered and averted his florid face. The old bastard always had something to say that got too near the mark.
‘This is Campbell Bunk we’re talking about here, so if every woman who’d had a fight with a neighbour – or an ex-neighbour – or every person who got drunk and went arse over tit down the stairs got arrested because they look a bit bashed-up and suspicious, we’d run out of cells to house them all in under an hour.’ He clasped his hands behind his back. ‘Mrs Wild’s distress was genuine enough; I’ve got the proof of that stuck to my shoes.’ He glanced with a grimace of distaste at vomit-spattered leather. ‘It’s a coincidence that those two look like they’ve come a cropper about the same time as Jimmy.’ Bickerstaff frowned thoughtfully. ‘I reckon we’ll find the answer to all of this from Nellie. If it is Wild … and it probably is … I think he got into trouble trying to punch above his weight. I’ve made a few enquiries here and there with nonces that know what goes on. Saul Bateman’s got involved in a prostitution ring. He’s been pimping for Nellie. I think Nellie got involved with him while she was still with Jimmy. Jimmy wouldn’t have liked sharing Nellie’s money three ways. In fact a little dickie bird told me that a fight between the two men took place in Nellie’s flat, and Bateman was heard threatening to kill him next time. Jimmy was spotted running off with blood on his face and his tail between his legs.’
‘Saul Bateman?’ Ralph had gone pale.
‘Yeah; he might be a second-rate rogue but he’s a nasty piece of work nevertheless. Jimmy wasn’t in the same league. If Jimmy refused to bow out gracefully when he was told to, he was a bloody fool. Saul wouldn’t have any qualms about making mincemeat out of Wild and feeding him to the fishes.’
‘I told you not to come here.’
‘Yeah, I know what you told me. I remember what I told you ‘n’ all. I ain’t caring for Mum on me own no more.’ Sarah Whitton glowered at her sister Connie. ‘Gonna let me in, then? Or we going to have a chat about it right here? Don’t matter to me. I’ll do it here … there … anywhere …’
Connie chewed her lower lip in frustration, regretting the day she had ever let either of her sisters know where she was living. She’d only passed on her address in case Ralph might come by Campbell Road, asking after her. She’d cherished a hope that he might perhaps send her a message via her family, or write to her because he wanted to know how she was.
Their parting had been extremely bitter; her pleas for another chance, her apologies for being greedy and stupid, had all been chucked back in her face. Connie had known what he’d really wanted to give her was a right-hander for making him a laughing stock in front of his family and his colleagues in the force. So she’d stayed with Mr Lucas, let him spoil her, as he liked to put it. But she knew it was only a matter of time before the old goat was spoiling someone else.
‘Shove off,’ Connie spat through her teeth at Sarah. ‘Me bloke will be here soon and he won’t want to see the likes of you hangin’ around making the place look untidy.’
‘It’s you don’t want the likes of me hangin’ around,’ Sarah snapped back. ‘Scared he might take a fancy to me, are yer?’ she sneered.
A spontaneous laugh erupted from Connie. ‘Sod me, if he did I’d know his sight’s failing along with the rest of him. You seen yourself lately?’ She gave her younger sister a derisive top-to-toe inspection. Sarah had a pleasant face but her figure was skinny and flat-chested. Today she had scraped her lank, mousy hair back from her features into a drooping bun. As for her clothes … it looked as though the rag shop in Fonthill was still getting her custom.
‘Fresh meat though, ain’t I?’ Sarah jibed, fired with indignation. Connie’s contempt hurt because it was genuine. But she’d wiped the smile from her sister’s face with that last comment. From Connie’s reaction Sarah guessed her sugar daddy had a roving eye. Knowing it unsettled Sarah too. She wanted Connie in clover almost as much as Connie did herself.
Connie’s apartment was on the first floor of an elegant whitewashed building on the outskirts of Mayfair. Having just climbed a wide, curving stairway Sarah now took a glance about the luxuriously carpeted hallway where was to be found apartment number twenty-three. When she’d turned up a short while ago the porter had given her the once-over followed by a threatening finger indicating the exit. It was a different doorman to the one who’d been on duty last time she’d called. This one was a burly hatchet-faced type. Sarah had thought he might kick her out but he’d reluctantly let her pass when she’d said her sister lived at number twenty-three and then carried on to describe Connie.
Hatchet-face had known her alright. Connie had always been a looker; with fine clothes and expensive grooming at her disposal she was beautiful. Even the scowl distorting her features couldn’t disguise that fact.
‘Get in here then fer Gawd’s sake, before someone sees you,’ Connie whispered in exasperation. Her eyes darted to left and right to spot if a nosy neighbour might be observing them.
Sarah whipped past her sister, a satisfied expression on her face. As she entered the scented apartment Sarah wondered how Connie’s gentleman friend liked taking her out and about in company when she spoke the way she did. Perhaps he didn’t give a hoot … or perhaps he’d warned her to keep her gob shut. Sarah was old enough to know a sugar daddy didn’t keep a girl in style so he could listen to her gabbing.
It was the second time Sarah had visited Connie here but the first time she’d been allowed over the threshold. The last time she’d turned up at a bad moment and Connie, on opening the door in just a flimsy silk wrap, had looked like she might faint in shock. Sarah had glimpsed at a distance some little old man with silvery hair peering down the hall at her. Sarah never had found out what yarn Connie had given him. Probably she’d said she was the char or some such thing.
Now Sarah stood in the sitting room gawping at the wonderful things her sister enjoyed. A glittering chandelier was above her head; plush, deep carpet
