Fallout: An addictive gangland thriller from Edie Baylis

PROLOGUE

10 JULY 1995

Tom Bedworth pulled his leather jacket tighter, his face screwing up in irritation. Whatever had died in the aid of making this coat certainly hadn’t lived anywhere but a tropical climate, because it was about as warm as a fucking ice cube.

He knew he should have had a service done on this motor before leaving, but there wasn’t the time to mess about checking if car heaters worked before putting a wide berth between him and the likes of the Reynolds and the Stokers.

What was left of them, anyway.

Tom grinned. It looked like he had been given a clean slate and, therefore, he intended to use it.

Now the Stokers had offed John Maynard, and hearing nothing else to the contrary, it must mean they had no inkling that he had been involved in anything. Or that he even existed.

Oh, yes, John Maynard had done him the world of good.

Tom smiled. Thanks to Maynard’s connections with the Reynold family, Tom had made a nice sum for the sale of his own kid many years ago – albeit getting ripped off by the paltry price Len Reynold had paid for the prize of owning his offspring, but that would soon be rectified.

Yeah, John Maynard had been extremely generous for taking the rap for everything else since. Oh, Maynard, you didn’t die in vain.

The Stoker boys lifting Maynard could only mean they believed him to be the one who’d killed their little brother, Gary, and who’d helped Len Reynold face-plant into a tree. They probably even believed him to be the one behind the blackmailing of Gloria Reynold. That’s if they even knew about that bit, which was doubtful, considering they were all thick as shit.

This was, of course, wonderful, so the only thing of any concern was to proceed with his new plan, but he couldn’t push his luck – not until he was 100 per cent sure he wasn’t under suspicion. However, the most important thing – Samantha Reynold, his daughter – was still intact and very much alive.

Tom glanced out of the window at the coming dawn, unsure of the time. It was early, that was for sure. Okay, so it hadn’t been part of his plan to spend days sleeping in the car, but why waste dosh on one of the few flea-ridden bed and breakfast gaffs around here when he needed to save every penny in order to tide him over until his ship came in?

And that wouldn’t be long now. Not long at all.

Now on to Linda Matthews…

Thanks to his expert detective work and a few chinwags in a handful of the local boozers, it hadn’t taken long to discover where the old slapper lurked.

Even picturing Linda’s face – the way she used to fawn over him and cling like a limpet, wound him up. Getting her in the family way thirty years ago hadn’t been one of his better ideas, but even epic fails had their upsides. If he hadn’t got her knocked up, then he wouldn’t have got that initial payout, and neither would he have had the ability to capitalise on it now.

So, yeah, he’d put up with Linda again. For a short period of time…

Actually, she was Linda Devlin now. Hearing this had freaked Tom out somewhat. A husband on the scene meant a spanner in the works, but he needn’t have fretted. Someone had been stupid enough to marry the woman, but had seen sense and, according to what he’d been told, the marriage had been short-lived, with the bloke disappearing yonks ago.

It also hadn’t taken much more digging to discover Linda was exactly where he’d expected her to end up. In this bloody ghetto of a dump.

Tom glanced up at the concrete monstrosity in front of him.

He’d also been correct in surmising her dictator of a father had long since dropped off the twig. As had his holier-than-thou wife, but Linda was still breathing.

And that was good.

Linda didn’t know it yet, but she was the ticket to get him ensconced within the Reynold fold. And that would mean he got his money.

Tom rummaged in his pocket for his lighter. Yeah, Linda would come in handy. He’d got it all planned.

Instead of continuing to blackmail Gloria Reynold and threatening to tell the whole city that she and her cheapskate husband had paid a pittance for the child they had the cheek to call their own, Linda would get Samantha on side and explain who she really was. Once Sam had recovered from the shock, she’d fall over herself to help out her real parents and then he’d get the payout he should have received in the first place.

Ramping up the pressure with that old bag, Gloria, could now be reassigned as backup if the plan for Linda didn’t pan out. And there were absolutely zilch reasons why it wouldn’t.

As for Linda – well, he’d promise her whatever she liked, but in reality, she’d get fuck all. He’d put her in the same orbit as her precious long-lost daughter, so what else could she possibly want?

Tom winced as a freight train thundered past, its endless caravan of wagons jarring the teeth remaining in his head.

This night just gone had been the last he’d spend in the motor. Tonight he’d be in there. He looked up at the third floor. Yep, tonight he’d make Linda’s life a thousand times better, and because of that, she’d welcome him with open arms.

Once things were in the pipeline, he’d fuck her off and head back to the Aurora to see how much his club’s profits had increased during his absence.

Tom’s mouth twisted into a self-satisfied smile. He’d also got an extra way of increasing his income further. It had been in his plan anyway and, although she didn’t realise it yet, Samantha would be taking on that part.

This unplanned ‘holiday’ had given him time to set up the means of crack production. Hanging around this neck of the woods offered the handy ability to dig up more people he knew from old – many who were happy to earn a few quid and ask no questions. Purely because either they were desperate for cash, or plain fucking stupid.

Tom reached into the passenger seat footwell for the sandwich he’d nicked last night from the Spar. He stared at the sorry-looking item within the plastic packet, wondering which half of the sandwich contained the alleged ham.

As the sarnie had rolled around the footwell for the best part of the night, he hoped he wouldn’t get food poisoning, but having eaten worse things, he’d take the chance.

Besides, he’d need all his strength to deal with Linda.

He’d eat this, have a bit of his remaining crack and then pay the scabby old tart a long-overdue visit.

1

Gloria Reynold didn’t want to venture to the shops, but what could she do? Being completely out of bread, she had no choice but to go out to buy some.

Len had always arranged deliveries of their food from the best butchers and greengrocers in Birmingham, but since his death, she couldn’t face returning the calls about her next orders. It was too much of a painful reminder.

There were lots of things in their well-stocked freezer, but she’d barely touched a morsel since Len’s death and that dreadful business of Samantha finding out the truth. But there was only so long she could go on like this. At the very least, she must force a sandwich down.

Gloria walked towards the small collection of shops Edgbaston offered, sure everyone was staring at her.

The truth about Sam’s real parentage could already be out. It may have been spreading around the city like an out-of-control forest fire for days, yet she had no idea because she hadn’t seen anyone since the night she’d told the truth, including her daughter. Days now with no word and it was breaking her heart clean in two.

Not only had she lost her husband forever, but it looked as if she’d lost her daughter too.

Gloria kept her eyes fixed ahead as she continued walking, if only to keep the rising urge to break down in tears at bay. She wished more than anything that she and Len had told Sam the truth from the start. If they’d told her from an early age, then she might not be in this position of having damaged her daughter’s trust and wrecked their relationship.

When Samantha had arrived in her life, Gloria had been so bothered about what everyone would think if they knew she’d had to adopt, but what must everyone think of her now? And Judith and Mal Stoker must hate her more than most for allowing the rumour to continue circulating that it was their youngest whose parentage was in question, rather than Samantha.

How could she have sat on the truth? How could she have pretended she didn’t know that rumour was about her whilst allowing the suspicion between Judith’s sons to continue? She still didn’t know whether Gary Stoker had even returned to his family.

Gloria almost tripped on the pavement, her haste to return to the safety of being behind closed doors growing. She was a coward. A pathetic, snivelling coward.

Feeling a rising panic racing through her ribcage, her breathing became laboured, the blue sky lowered and the pavement tipped at a strange angle.

She couldn’t continue. She needed to get away from the gaping expanse of the outdoors where there were people.

Rapidly stopping, Gloria yelped, almost passing out from sheer fright as she smacked into someone. Her handbag dropped to the floor, the contents scattering across the pavement.

‘I thought it was you…’ Liam Taylor took in Gloria’s grey, terrified face. ‘Are you all right?’ Steadying her with his arm, he gathered the contents of the handbag from the floor. ‘Come and sit down. You look like you might pass out!’

Gloria stared at Liam, wide-eyed. ‘No. I need to go home. I…’

Liam gently lowered Gloria onto a bench at the side of the road. ‘Just sit down for a second and then I’ll walk you back. I’ll call Sam and she ca…’

‘No!’ Gloria cried. ‘You mustn’t.’ The tears ran freely down her cheeks. ‘Sam doesn’t want anything to do with me any more. I haven’t seen John either and I don’t know what to do.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Liam gasped. He hadn’t seen Sam or John for the last week either. The only word he’d had was days ago when Sam had called, explaining she was taking a bit of time off to get her head together and that she’d be in touch.

Liam frowned. As their last meeting hadn’t exactly finished on good terms, he’d thought it best to give her space, but now he wished he’d bypassed that.

He looked at the worry on Gloria’s face. ‘I don’t know what’s happened, but you should tell me so I can help you sort it out.’

Gloria sagged with relief; the need to unburden herself from the crushing weight of her terrible decision and what it had caused was immense.

Liam had been close to Samantha for ten years. He was almost like a son-in-law. Even Len had believed he would soon be just that, so if anyone could get through to Sam and put this right, it was Liam.

Clutching his hand, Gloria began to speak.

Andrew Stoker repositioned his well-built frame in the driver’s seat of his Rover SD1 and rolled his shoulders to ease the ever-building tension.

Through the twilight, he focused on the small terraced house halfway along the street, then stole a glance at his Rolex. Most of this lot around here would be well away in the local boozer by now and wouldn’t bat an eyelid. Not that anyone would dare question him – or any of his brothers. But that might soon change if things were allowed to slide.

His eyes fixed on the front door of the target house.

And she was not helping matters…

Andrew’s mouth flattened into a thin line as he ran his hand across his cleanly shaven jaw.

Thanks to Baker, he was well aware of what had been alleged. And that would be sorted. Right now.

He snorted in derision, the air from his nostrils creating a small, fogged patch on the side window of the car.

It was all very well his brother, Seb, insisting on paying loads of money to keep Detective Inspector Baker onside, but what was the bloody point if he wasn’t present when the cop showed his face?

Of course, Baker had come to speak to Seb, like everybody did. But Seb wasn’t there, so he’d dealt with it instead…

And it was a good bloody job! All that grief he’d got from Seb about overriding his decision and killing Phil Blunt? Seb’s high horse stance had been pointless! Phil knew Seb had killed that geezer in the Aurora, so regardless of what Seb thought, offing Phil was the right thing to do. Phil might have been one of their own, but they couldn’t risk moving him out of the country, even as a temporary measure, like Seb wanted.

Oh, Andrew had tried to reason with his brother – what happened if Phil opened his gob down the line? Or if someone tortured the info out of him? Where would that leave them?

But Seb wasn’t having any of it and still wanted to let the man walk, so he’d been overridden. Simple as that.

Andrew sighed. This latest development proved he’d been right to take the initiative and get rid of the man. Just look how untrustworthy his bloody missus had turned out.

Thought she was clever by involving the Old Bill, did she?

Andrew’s handsome face twisted into a scowl. Luckily, he’d been around when DI Baker had shown up to tell them Tonya Blunt was flapping her gums, otherwise they’d have been unaware.

Staring at his neat fingernails in the dim gloom of the streetlight, Andrew knew he had to act fast.

Seb had barely set foot in the Royal Peacock for a week, finding it preferable to bark orders at him and Neil down the blower, rather than be there in person to deal with the problems they still faced.

Well, no guesses where Seb was now… and why…

Andrew resented Sam Reynold more with every minute that passed. But one burning question persisted: was it down to her using what was between her legs to twist Seb in her favour, or was the reticence down to Seb himself?

After all, Seb had spent the last few days at Sam’s side rather than with them and Andrew would not have the likes of her diluting their power as a firm. For God’s sake, Seb had been against the woman at the start, but since she’d got her claws into him, his attitude had miraculously changed, which was concerning. Really concerning.

Sam may have helped on the night of Gary’s murder, plus she hadn’t attempted to deny her cousin John Maynard was behind all of the problems, but that didn’t give her the right to expect their family to carry the can for one of them not being a blood relation, when that unpalatable accolade belonged to her all along.

Sure, it was a shock for her, but to be frank, he didn’t give a fuck. It certainly didn’t justify why their brother was lying in a freezer like a pork chop and their mother still believed there was a chance her youngest son would return home any day.

Neither did it warrant running the risk that soon, and very soon, their mother would involve the Old Bill by filing Gary as a missing person. If it became public Gary had been offed, then other things could be uncovered too. They may have succeeded in deflecting that so far, but it would not last forever. And neither should it.

As much as he’d like to, Andrew couldn’t take back the terrible way he’d treated his youngest brother, but the least he could do was ensure Gary got a proper send-off. And that should not be delayed a moment longer.

Seeing a light in the front room of the terraced house flick on, Andrew zipped up his leather jacket and fired the engine of the SD1, the throaty roar loud in the otherwise quiet Yardley Road.

Well, it stops here, Andrew thought bitterly. Sick of playing second fiddle, he wasn’t toeing the line any longer. Not like Neil.

Andrew and his brother Neil might be identical-looking and think along the same lines, but when push came to shove, his twin followed whatever Seb decided. But he wasn’t following what Seb decided. Their father had chosen the wrong son to run the firm.

There would be no more pussyfooting around with the firm’s reputation and standing. No fucking way. And he wasn’t having cops digging around because of Phil Blunt’s tart wife, either!

Pressing lightly on the accelerator, Andrew reversed along the street. Killing the engine, he flicked the headlights off, then tugged a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket. Pulling them onto his large hands, he stepped from his car and rapped on the door of the house.

‘Evening, Tonya.’ Andrew ensured his voice sounded as amiable as it perhaps might have done if this stupid cow hadn’t opened her gob.

A flicker of hope shone in Tonya Blunt’s eyes. ‘Is this about Phil?’

‘I understand he’s gone AWOL,’ Andrew said, his voice cleverly neutral as he watched Tonya shuffle nervously. He glanced over the top of her head into the living room. ‘We’ve located him.’

Tonya sagged with relief. ‘You’ve found him! Oh, thank God! Where is he?’

‘He’s fine, but your kids? Any idea where they are?’ Andrew asked, his eyes glinting.

‘What do you mean? My sister’s got the kids at the moment. I’ve been too worried about Phil to cope,’ Tonya flapped. ‘Where is he? Can I…’

‘Come with me.’ Sensing Tonya’s building worry, Andrew smiled reassuringly before gesturing for her to step out of the house. ‘Don’t worry, he’s at the club with Seb.’

‘At the club?’ Tonya frowned. ‘Why hasn’t he come straight home? I’ve been so worried.’

After a quick glance up the street, silently gratified to find the coast clear, Andrew steered Tonya out of the house and led her towards his car, chivalrously opening the passenger door. Getting in the driver’s side, he replaced his smirk with an understanding smile. ‘Things have been getting on top of Phil.’ He started the engine and pulled away from the kerb.

Tonya looked horrified. ‘But why?’

‘Who knows?’ Driving as quickly as possible out of Yardley, Andrew glanced at Tonya. ‘We’ll give him extra work at the firm, it if will help.’

‘That’s really kind,’ Tonya said, her eyes filling up. ‘Money has been tight lately. I – I reported him as missing only yesterday. I probably shouldn’t have… I was just so worried. I hope the police don’t cause you problems. I might have said things… things that ma…’

‘It’s understandable you’ve been concerned,’ Andrew said calmly, his hands gripping the wheel harder.

Suddenly noticing the view from the window wasn’t what was expected, Tonya paused. ‘Why are we heading towards Spaghetti Junction? This isn’t the way to the club!’

‘You’re right, it isn’t,’ Andrew said, his voice now a snarl.

Tonya scrambled for the door handle. ‘I want to get out! This isn’t right!’

Andrew chuckled. ‘You’re spot on there, love. But speaking to the police isn’t right either.’

From her seat at the two-seater table she’d squashed into the corner of the tiny kitchen, Linda Devlin opened her fourth can of Safeways own-brand cider and took a long swig. Using her elbow, she swiped the Lego scattered amidst cigarette ash overflowing from the ashtray across the scuffed blue Formica tabletop onto the floor.

‘Tayquan!’ she shrieked. ‘Get your arse in here now and clear this up!’

Fucking kids. Leaving a bloody mess everywhere all the goddamn time. With difficulty, she dragged herself off the rickety chair as her youngest raced into the kitchen like a dervish.

‘What’s up, Ma?’

‘What’s up?’ Linda yelled. ‘This is what’s up, you little shit!’ She pointed to the Lego on the floor and then prodded her son in his bony chest with her chipped fingernail. ‘How am I supposed to keep this place tidy when all you do is mess the bloody gaff up? You know I’m knackered and your tea will be ready in a minute.’

Tayquan’s bottom lip quivered as he stared at the Lego car he’d painstakingly built, now in several pieces on the floor. ‘Me dad bought me that,’ he sniffed. ‘And you’ve bust it!’

‘Then you shouldn’t have left it in the way, should you?’ Linda snapped, refusing to allow the sadness on her son’s little face to pull at her heartstrings. ‘If it’s bust, your dad can fucking well buy you another one!’

Not that there was much chance of that. She’d only seen the boy’s father three times since the birth and each time he’d filched money off her.

Watching her son scrabble on the filthy kitchen floor to retrieve what could be salvaged of his treasured Lego, Linda moved to the grill to check the fish fingers to deflect from her steadily rising guilt.

‘Call your sister and tell her that tea’s ready. There ain’t anything else after this, so if she don’t come and get it, it’ll go in the bin.’

Watching Tayquan abandon his Lego to get his sister, Linda sighed. All she wanted to do was go down the pub, but there was no chance of that for at least another hour until these two were in bed.

Reaching for her can of cider, she took another swig, then sparked up a cigarette, waiting the last couple of minutes for the fish fingers to finish. There were no chips left, so they’d have to make do with a fish finger sarnie.

Christ, she was too old for this shit. Forty-five and still lumbered with two kids under seven. At least the rest of her kids were making their way in the world. Or she hoped so, anyway. Reminding herself of that on a regular basis made her feel a bit better about her failure. Sort of…

Linda’s face screwed up into a scowl. Once a fine-looking woman, any trace of that had long since departed, thanks to years of abusing just about any substance she could get her hands on.

Pulling two plates from the sink, stacked high with unwashed dishes, she sluiced some water over them, drying them with the edge of her baggy T-shirt.

As she turned, she spotted her two youngest sitting patiently at the table. Forcing herself to smile, she shoved fish fingers between what was left of the bread, then dumped the plates in front of them. ‘There you go. Eat up and then it’s bedtime.’

Linda watched her two youngest shovel food into their mouths and wished they’d hurry up so that she could go out. Then she could finally relax. Except she couldn’t because the guilt would still be there.

Miserably, she stubbed her fag out in the sink. As much as she preferred to tell herself it didn’t matter, in reality it did. The guilt wedged in the back of her mind haunted her every day.

Each time she’d got pregnant, she’d convince herself this was the time to make up for all the other children she’d failed, lost or screwed up. But it never worked. Every time, she plummeted into an endless pit of despair and the kids suffered. And it was all because of the first one. The one who had been taken from her. It had all gone downhill from there.

That day in 1965 was as crystal clear in Linda’s mind as it always had been. As though thirty years meant nothing.

She could see it now – watching herself staring through the mottled glass of her bedroom window in her parents’ house. She’d known the car belonging to the stranger downstairs had cost more than a few quid and remembered thinking she should be relieved and grateful the person was well off and able to provide for her baby, but she hadn’t been. She’d just wanted the man to leave.

She’d concentrated on the small bundle that she’d placed in the centre of her bed, creating the smallest of dents on the pink bedspread, and her heart had felt like it might shatter. She’d tried, tried really hard not to get attached, but she’d failed.

Scooping the baby up, she’d held the child tightly against her chest, her tears falling onto the tiny little face. Kissing the top of her baby’s head, fuzzy little tufts of dark hair tickling her nose, she strove to commit to memory the smell – that unique scent she’d heard people say babies had, which she’d never fully understood until that moment. She’d promised to memorise every single detail of her daughter’s perfect little face, watching tiny starfish hands jerk out to grasp anything within reach.

And then her mother had entered the bedroom. She’d just walked in, like it had been a normal day. And that day had been indelibly etched into Linda’s brain ever since.

She’d told her mother that she didn’t want to go through with it. That she’d changed her mind and that she wanted the man downstairs to go away, but it had fallen on deaf ears. She’d had no choice but to watch as the carrycot was lifted from the bedroom floor, her baby placed inside, and along with a small bag with the few items of clothing the child possessed, her mother had taken everything, shutting the door behind her.

Linda didn’t want to think about this. Every bloody day, it forced itself into her mind and she was sick of it. She could never make up for what had happened. She’d tried, but all it did was make things worse. Fluctuating between hating herself and not giving a shit achieved nothing. But it all came back to the same thing. She was a worthless, pointless woman who should have been sterilised at birth.

Linda suddenly froze, hearing banging on the front door. She edged out of the kitchen, praying it wasn’t the guy about the rent again. She knew she was behind, but she just hadn’t got it to spare. Not if she wanted cider and fags.

Deciding it was sensible to ignore the caller, she was about to shut the kitchen door to muffle the noise when a voice shouted her name. A voice that, despite not having heard it for a very long time, she’d have recognised anywhere. It was the voice of the only man she’d ever loved – the person who had started her on the downward spiral of her life.

A mixed bag of fear, anger and exhilaration rushed up Linda’s spine as she reached for the door handle. Could this really be happening? Could it be that Tom had finally come back for her, like he’d always promised?

2

Putting the phone down in his apartment in the Royal Peacock, Seb Stoker scowled. He’d already briefed his police contact, Baker, over what must go on the record about Gary, so why were they here?

He glanced at himself in the floor-length hallway mirror, straightened his tie and smoothed his hand over his slicked-back, almost black hair. Whatever the police wanted, they’d better not take long. He had too much to catch up with.

It had taken a lot of internal power to pull himself away from Sam, but she was right. They had to get back to the business in hand. It had been several days since he’d properly concentrated on anything other than exploring every inch of her body.

Okay, so he’d kept things ticking over via phone, as well as putting things in the pipeline about Gary’s death, but the main reason for his absence wasn’t due to putting things into place at the Orchid, like he’d told his brothers. Not really, unless the phone call Sam had made to that Liam bloke last week and some other Kevin geezer counted?

But Seb regretted not a second of it.

For a short period of time and probably for the first time he could remember since walking out of school, not bothering to return for his O-Levels, Seb had felt as though his life didn’t consist solely of a large roundabout turning endlessly around problems, grief and issues surrounding the family firm. And for that short amount of time, he’d experienced what it might be like to be almost normal – whatever that was?

But it made little difference because this was his life and this was how it would be. End of.

And he’d barely been back long enough to put on a fresh suit before something else had kicked off. Something to rapidly remind him who he was and what his job consisted of. Like he could ever forget…

Pulling the apartment door closed, Seb hurried down the stairs. He let himself through the adjoining door leading into the staff area and saw Andrew heading his way. ‘I got the message… What’s going on?’

Andrew gave his brother a long, cold look. ‘If you’d been here yesterday when Baker arrived to give you an off-the-record heads-up, then you’d know an official visit was expected today. It’s about Phil.’

‘Phil?’ Seb ignored Andrew’s reference to his absence and made long strides down the corridor towards his office. Yep, not back an hour and already shit’s hitting the fan.

If the Old Bill were here because of Phil, then Andrew would do well to remember that it had been his actions that had caused this in the first place. ‘I’ll handle them. Have they spoken to you yet?’

‘Yep. Me and Neil said exactly what we agreed, should this happen.’

Seb nodded and jerked his head towards the door. ‘Make yourself scarce and I’ll get rid of them.’

Seb gave Andrew time to slip out of the corridor before fixing an easy-going smile in place and opening the