Little Vinny strangled his baby sister to death, they would both be in big trouble. After all, Ben was the one who’d taken her from the club, even if he only did it because Little Vinny told him they were going to make her disappear for a few hours to teach his dad a lesson. Surely Ben wouldn’t have the guts to grass him up … would he?
‘Vin, we need to talk,’ Michael said, barging into the bedroom.
‘Whatsa matter?’ Little Vinny asked, alarmed. He could tell by his uncle’s face that something was terribly wrong, and his first thought was that Ben must have blabbed. If he had, then Little Vinny would have no option but to turn the tables and tell the Old Bill that Ben was the one who’d abducted and killed Molly. If need be, he’d tell them his pal had always shown an unhealthy interest in his little sister.
Little Vinny cleverly managed to hide the surge of relief he felt when his uncle explained the situation. ‘When will me dad be allowed home?’
‘I’m not sure. Your dad only got bail in the first place because Jackson was still alive. Now he’s dead, it might change things.’
Face etched with fury, Little Vinny leapt up and kicked the door. The whole point of getting rid of Jo and Molly had been so he could have his dad all to himself again, and now he’d been taken away. ‘If my dad gets banged up, who am I gonna live with? Can I live with you? I promise I’ll be good.’
Having just got things back on track with Nancy, Michael knew there was no way he could let Little Vinny move in with them. His wife had made it perfectly clear that she was no fan of the wayward teenager; she even blamed him for what had happened to Molly. ‘I’m not sure there’s room at mine for you with the boys, Vin. But, let’s not jump the gun, eh? Your dad has a good brief and might even get bail yet for all we know. Now I want you to do me a favour. Get yourself washed and dressed so we can go and tell your nan and Auntie Viv the news. Then, later, I want you to help me get the club ready to reopen. If your dad don’t get bail, I am really gonna need you to be my right-hand man. Do you think you can step up to the mark?’
‘Will I get paid more money?’
‘Yeah, but only if you work really hard.’
Little Vinny managed a grin. ‘You got yourself a deal, Uncle Michael.’
Having had an awful night’s sleep, Vivian got up before the larks and took a stroll down to the newsagent. It wasn’t even daylight yet, but Viv knew the papers would be left outside the Patels’ shop.
About to pass Fat Beryl’s house, Vivian froze as she heard the words, ‘Please don’t. I really don’t want to. I’m not that type of girl. You’re hurting me. Stop it.’
‘You’ve let me buy you drinks all night and you’ve been shoving them big titties of yours in my face. I know you want it,’ a male voice hissed, trying to force his rock-hard todger down the back of her throat. The more they knocked him back, the more it turned him on.
Whitechapel had changed over the years. Many residents were afraid to walk the streets at certain times, but not Vivian. Nobody messed with her family, which was why she marched fearlessly down the alleyway.
‘Get off her, you dirty bastard,’ she bellowed, smashing her handbag over the back of the man’s head.
The man leapt up. Had it been light, he would have recognized Vivian, but unfortunately for him it was dark. ‘Jealous are ya? Want some an’ all?’ he taunted, waving his hard-on in his hand.
Trying to whack his cock with her handbag, Vivian screamed, ‘I’ll have you shot, you dirty cunt.’ Realizing the woman was scary and old, the man expertly tucked his penis inside his trousers and bolted.
‘Heard of the Butlers, have ya? You disgusting nonce. I’m Vinny and Michael’s aunt. Watch your back. Your days are numbered,’ Vivian shouted, but to no avail. The man was already out of earshot.
The poor girl was trembling, so Vivian crouched next to her and switched on her emergency handbag torch. She hadn’t got a good look at the man’s face, but could guess what the dirty bastard had been doing. She was actually shaken up herself. That was the first dingle-dangle she’d had waved at her in donkey’s years.
‘I can’t go home. My dad will kill me,’ the girl sobbed.
‘You’re Billy Higgins’s granddaughter, aren’t you, pet?’ Vivian asked. She’d once courted Billy in her younger years and had often kicked herself for ending the relationship. Billy was still handsome, with a full head of hair. He was also a very wealthy, well-respected villain. A far better man than the arsehole she’d ended up marrying.
‘Yes, I’m Janey. You can’t tell my granddad though.’
‘Why don’t you come home with me, Janey? I’ll make you a nice sweet cup of tea and we’ll call the police. This man needs to be caught.’
‘No! My parents will kill me. I lied to them, you see. I told them I was going out with a friend. My dad says I’m too young to have boyfriends.’
‘OK. No police. But please come home with me. You can tell me what happened there, then we’ll work out what to do next. You can’t stay here, lovey. I know your granddad very well. A lovely man. I’d never forgive myself if I left you here all alone.’
‘OK.’
Nosy Hilda could barely contain her excitement as she knocked at Queenie’s front door.
‘What the hell do you want this early in the morning? Oh, don’t tell me, I think I can guess. Has Lil died?’ Queenie asked in the most sarcastic tone she could muster.
‘No. I saw her niece as she was going to work and it looks like Lil might pull through,’ said Hilda, oblivious to the sarcasm. ‘I just wanted to say how sorry I was about your Vinny. Must have been a terrible shock for you that Bobby died. I mean, who’d have thought he’d croak it, after all this time.’
‘Vinny! Bobby! What do you mean?’ Queenie asked, the colour draining from her face as the realization started to kick in.
‘Bobby Jackson. He died yesterday. They arrested your Vinny for murder last night and carted him off in a police wagon. Didn’t you know?’
‘No, I bastard well didn’t,’ Queenie hissed, slamming the door in Hilda’s face.
It was in Hilda’s nature to have the last word. ‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news,’ she trilled through the letterbox. ‘I’ll be off now then.’
As soon as Janey said her attacker’s name was Pat and described what had actually happened, Vivian knew who the culprit was. One Eyed Harry had told her only last week that he’d been released.
Tall, dark and handsome, Pat Campbell was the local sex-pest, playing on his looks to entice young girls to go out with him. He had a foul reputation for not taking no for an answer. He’d been getting away with it for years before one of his victims finally went to the police, and even then all he got was a slap on the wrist, a measly eighteen-month stretch.
‘Thank you so much for your kindness, Vivian. I don’t know what I’d have done otherwise. And thanks for allowing me to use your phone to ring my friend and my mum.’
Urging the seventeen-year-old to sit next to her on the sofa, Vivian squeezed Janey’s hands. The girl had been adamant about not involving the police, and Vivian had reluctantly gone along with it, not wanting to see the poor kid forced to relive the whole thing in court and probably end up being branded a slag for having gone out on a date with the bugger in the first place.
‘Are you sure that he never actually did you-know-what to you?’ asked Viv when she’d finished helping the girl clean herself up.
‘I’m positive,’ said Janey, pulling on the fresh pair of tights Viv had given her. ‘I’ve told you everything, honest. It was disgusting when he tried to put his thingy in my mouth. You won’t call the police after I leave, will you? I’m afraid they’ll say I led him on, that I’ve only myself