The Sister(77)

‘Jack?’ She managed to pull herself together – ever the actress, she turned in a good performance now.

‘It’s Mr President, to you!’ he said, laughing, ‘and I’m planning a very private birthday party for tomorrow night. I'd very much like it if I could come over to you.’

A weak smile crossed her lips and her mood lifted. If she’d have told him what was happening, he’d have sorted it, but she was now confident the situation was under her control.

‘Cheeky! Well, Mr JFK, let me check my diary. Oh, it looks like I’m free around 11 o’clock tomorrow night.’ He had a 'birthday' every week; he reminded her of a man she once saw on the television, who celebrated Christmas three hundred and sixty five days a year. She thanked her lucky stars his sex drive wasn’t up to that; it made her smile vaguely. She felt the loose knot in her stomach tighten as her nerves kicked in.

‘I’ll see you then, Marilyn.’

‘Yes, Jack, I’ll see you then.’

She put the phone down and walked over to where her laptop sat and posted the message.

A few minutes later, she received a call.

‘Tomorrow at 11 p.m.,’ she told the caller in a quiet voice. Lynch was due anytime. If he overheard, he’d do more than ask questions.

The phone disconnected. She chided herself. What are you doing Melissa?

The doorbell rang. She jumped at the sound. Her nerves jangled. It was Lynch.





Chapter 59



Kennedy’s mobile rang. It was unusual for Tanner to ring him on a Saturday unless it was important. He answered it, knowing there was every chance his day off would end in a few minutes. He listened as Tanner requested a meeting with him, away from work.

‘What’s this about?’ he said.

‘Not on the phone, sir. We need to meet.’

‘Okay. Why don’t you come to my house,’ he said, checking his watch, ‘say, in half an hour’s time?’

‘I’ll see you then, sir.’





Agitated by the proposition Tanner had put to him, he paced up and down his living room.

‘Jesus,’ he said, chewing on the end of a pencil. ‘I can’t allow that and you know it!’

Tanner sat forward in the chair to retrieve a glass of water from the coffee table. ‘Sir, we have him placed him in the pub where Kathy Bird was drinking that night, then later you saw him in the street with her. Now we have a caller, who not only says he knows what happened to her, he’s saying he has Eilise Staples as well. What else do you want?’

‘John, believe me, I want him nailed as much as you do, but we don’t have anything that warrants our going sniffing around in the travelling community. What will we do if it’s just some nut that watched both cases on Crimewatch? I can’t risk it, especially at the moment; it’s a Human Rights hot potato. I need good, reliable evidence.’

‘So, you won’t allow me to do this.’ He finished his water and put the glass back down.

Kennedy studied him carefully for a minute. He didn’t take his eyes from his face as he spoke.

‘If you do anything without my knowledge, if anyone finds out about it there’ll be hell to pay. Is that clear?’

There was a mixture of messages in the DCI’s expression. The way he offered his hand confirmed it. He never does that. They shook hands.

Kennedy wanted him to do it.





Later in the afternoon, Tanner switched on his laptop and started to research the history and culture of bare-knuckle fighting among gypsies. He read for around two hours, totally captivated by a world he hadn’t realised still existed. Then he watched a selection of YouTube videos. The fights took place mostly; it seemed, in quiet country lanes, fields and car parks. There was a tradition of settling disputes between families with the fist and not always the fists of those that had the original dispute, but rather more able representatives, usually grown up sons or nephews. It was about honour. The fights were marshalled after a fashion, intervention taking place only if the basic rules were broken, biting being especially frowned upon. The bigger fights had enormous sums of money wagered on the outcome and attracted large crowds. He learned that the venues were never publicised in advance, with arrangements made only in the last moments, because if the police found out they would shut them down. A few of the fighters were clearly legends among the community, but none of them matched the man he was looking for, so he found himself scanning the faces of the people in the crowds. No one bore any resemblance to the E-Fit. No one came close.

He pulled a few strings, someone who owed him a favour who knew someone else. That evening, he got a call back; he was to meet a fighter Sunday lunchtime, at a pub in Tilbury.





Chapter 60



Melissa dressed in his favourite costume, the white sequined gown and examined the fit in the mirror, smoothing it down, adjusting its lines. It would be off in a while, but still, she liked to look authentic. She rehearsed the skippy, happy moves that came just before the end of her singing routine. She practised it to perfection.

The white telephone rang. She jumped at the sound. It was 11o’clock.

He liked to play these stupid games. She felt apprehensive; she wasn’t sure why. Something was happening she couldn’t understand and if she wanted her life back, she couldn’t do anything but go along with it.