Riot Page 23

  When she was deep asleep he insisted on speaking to her surgeon. As she was in theatre the registrar came to talk to him instead, who appeared to think nothing about talking to a high risk prisoner and his escort.

  “Will she be okay?” Jez demanded of the man the moment he walked into her room.

  “We anticipate a full recovery,” the tubby, cheerful man replied. “Fortunately we were able to repair the spleen. Her other injuries are superficial. We’re looking to transfer her onto a general surgical ward tomorrow.”

  “When can she go home?”

  “She’ll be here for at least another week,” he said. “There is a risk of post-operative infection and bleeding. We just want to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  The man’s certainty made him feel a little better about leaving her here. Once the doctor had gone Jez remained unmoving in the chair, staring at Cathy, the steady rise and fall of her chest reassuring. She wasn’t going to die, she was going to be okay. The relief made his hands shake.

  “Alright,” said the prison officer when an hour had passed. “Time to go.”

  “Just a bit longer,” said Jez, refusing to take his gaze off his wife.

  “You might not have anything better to do but I bloody do, so on your feet.”

  “No,” said Jez quietly but rebelliously.

  “On your fucking feet before I drag you out of that chair.”

  Jez leapt up and thrust his face into his. “You’re not capable you fat flabby bastard.” He hated this PO, he was a bully, no doubt some inadequate who got his rocks off wielding a paltry bit of power.

  “You want to go, do you? You might be the big man out there but in my prison you’re fuck all, lower than the dirt on my shoe.”

  “It’s not your prison you wanker.” A derisive smile lit up Jez’s face. “You were bullied as a kid, weren’t you? I bet you had that massive nose of yours smashed more than once. I bet you pissed the bed too and your mummy spanked your oversized arse for it. Go on,” he grinned when the screw drew back a meaty fist. “Do it. My solicitor will have your job.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And I’ll take your fucking hand.”

  Mr Wilson opened the door, having overheard them arguing.

  “Eric, don’t,” he said in warning.

  The prison officer grunted and lowered his fist before flinging open the door. “Get this piece of crap out of here,” he ordered the other two officers.

  “I can fucking walk,” said Jez, shrugging off one of the officers when they tried to take his arm.

  “Don’t act up Jez,” said Mr Wilson. “If you do they won’t let you visit her again.”

  Jez nodded, willing away his temper. “Can I kiss her goodbye?”

  “Course,” he replied, making Eric glower.

  “I’ll see you soon babe,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead.

  She murmured something inaudible and opened her eyes. “No, please don’t go Jez.”

  “I’m sorry sweetheart, I have to.”

  “Don’t leave me,” she said, starting to cry.

  “I’ll be back soon babe, promise.”

  “Jez,” she sobbed as he was led out of the room.

  “I love you Cathy,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Jez…”

  The door was closed, blocking out her cries.

  “Paula,” he croaked. “Please could you sit with her? She’s upset.”

  “Will do,” she said, striding through the group of prison officers blocking the door, forcing them to stand aside for her.

  Jez was unable to see into Cathy’s room as the blinds had been drawn but he could still hear her crying as he was taken away from her. Rage swelled inside him. He was going to get out of prison and he didn’t care who he had to burn to do it.

  Even Bridges found Dwyer’s satisfied smirk rather intolerable but he didn’t point that out, not when things were going so well.

  “It’s working,” said Dwyer, beside himself with excitement. “I have a list of people willing to give evidence against Mikey and Jez, who are finally where they belong. Keep this up and they’ll soon be in prison permanently. I’ve also managed to get Alice Parker onside. She gave me a statement saying Jules set her on fire when she was just sixteen.”

  “Why would Jules set a sixteen year old on fire?” said Bruce.

  Dwyer rolled his eyes. The man was an utter cabbage, it didn’t seem fair he had so much wealth. “She didn’t. Jules was sixteen when she set Alice on fire.”

  “And who is this Alice?”

  “If you’ll allow me to speak I’ll tell you,” he snapped, making Bruce pout. “Alice Parker adopted Jules when she was a baby. This wasn’t a legal adoption through the proper channels though, it seems she paid Estelle Law for her. There were rumours of abuse and Jules retaliated when she was strong enough. She intended for Alice to die in that fire but the fire brigade arrived quicker than expected and she survived. Now she resembles a raisin. Jules seized control of all the Parker’s considerable wealth, as well as control of Alice herself.”

  “This must have been years ago,” said Peter. “Why is she only coming forward with this now?”

  “Because I’ve promised to find out what happened to Leighton Parker, Alice’s husband in exchange for her evidence.”

  “Did they abuse Jules?” said Bridges.

  “I don’t know for certain,” said Dwyer. “But there are rumours about what the Parkers did not only to Jules but to other girls too.”

  “I’m not sure how much weight the word of a suspected paedophile will carry,” said Bridges. “If Jules cuts a sympathetic figure in court she will get the jury on her side.”

  “One look at Alice will be enough to sway them.”

  “Perhaps not. If the charges of paedophilia can be substantiated then other victims may come forward. Jules will walk free and your witness will be quite rightly sent to prison.”

  “Look,” said Dwyer, struggling with his temper. “This is a great step forward. I can’t connect Jules to Amber or Estelle’s murders and I have nothing else on her.”

  “I understand we’re working for the greater good here,” said Bridges. “But I will not permit a paedophile to be made out to be a sympathetic character, no matter what was done to her.”

  “As I said, it’s all rumour. There’s no solid evidence against her.”

  “Apart from Jules’s statement. It will come down to their word against each other’s. Alice’s terrible injuries could work against her. The jury may ask themselves why a sixteen year old girl would inflict such an atrocity on the person who is supposed to love and protect them.”

  “Simple. Because she’s a psychopath.”

  “But she has no history of setting fire to people. No, I’m not sure about this at all.”

  “Well like I said, it’s all I’ve got.”

  “Perhaps we could find someone to testify to Alice’s good character?” said Bruce. “Say what a good mother she was and that she never laid a finger on Jules or any other kid. Would that do?”

  “Do you know of such a person?” said Bridges.

  “No but I’m sure I can find someone to say all that stuff if I pay them enough cash.”

  “No,” said Bridges. “I punish criminals, I do not make them out to be innocent victims.”

  Dwyer huffed when his phone rang. “What?” he yelled. “DS Miller I explicitly told you not to disturb me…”

  “Is he having some sort of fit?” Peter whispered to the others when Dwyer turned puce and his eyeballs appeared to be on the verge of popping out of his head.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Bruce whispered back. “He’s constantly angry. He’ll give himself a heart attack one day.”

  “Problem?” said Bridges when he’d hung up.

  “Alice Parker’s dead.”

  “What?” exclaimed Peter and Bruce while Bridges remained unmoved and unsurprised.

  “Passed away in her sleep, appa
rently,” he continued. “Shit, Jules must have found out we talked. I bet she has a spy in the care home.” His eyes narrowed. “Onion breathed bastard.”

  The other three men regarded each other with consternation.

  “So it was natural causes then if she died in her sleep?” said Bruce.

  “Oh don’t be naïve,” said Dwyer. “It was Jules, she’s renowned for giving out sneaky hot shots that no toxicology test will ever find. She even visited her yesterday, not long after I spoke to Alice. I’ve ordered an autopsy but I doubt it’ll show anything.”

  “Can you still use her statement?”

  “Maybe but it won’t mean much without her to back it up. I hadn’t even had time to get it typed up and signed by Alice. I can’t nick Jules for it anyway. Fuck,” he yelled, his voice echoing through the room, causing a couple of rats to scatter for cover.

  “Please calm down Dwyer,” said Bridges. “Shouting helps no one.”

  Dwyer was sorely tempted to strangle the sanctimonious old sod. “Well I can still talk to Jules about her visit to her giant scab of an adopted mummy. Someone needs to officially inform her of Alice’s death, although no doubt she already knows about it.”

  With that he stomped off, the others watching him go.

  “Bit of a loose cannon that one,” said Peter.

  “He does have a temper,” replied Colin. “But it is always under control.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Colin failed to reply.

  Jules, Ryan and Carter were making their presence felt in The Wherry Tavern, which was often the first place to get hit in times of trouble. So far everything seemed harmonious. The pub was busy, everyone relaxed and having a good time. Ryan watched Jules, who was in full-on Venom mode, idly lounging against the bar sporting her black leather and black eye make-up, that sardonic but vicious smile of hers playing on her lips, eyes full of danger. If anyone thought she was a spent force they just had to look at her to know how wrong that assumption was.

  Everyone whipped round when the door burst open and Dwyer stomped in followed by Miller. The calm, relaxed atmosphere was shattered, the hostility ramping up as the majority of the clientele were members of the Mancunian underworld, several working for the Maguire-Law firm.

  “You,” said Dwyer, jabbing a finger at Jules. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Ask nicely and you can,” she retorted.

  “You really want to have this talk in private.”

  Jules’s eyes settled on DS Miller and she smiled, making the sergeant very nervous, who wondered if she was going to let slip about their nocturnal chat. “I’d rather talk with her,” purred Jules. “She’s much more pleasant to look at. What’s your name beautiful?”

  “You’ll talk with me and you’ll like it,” snapped Dwyer.

  “Must you shout?” sighed Jules. “It’s exhausting.”

  “I find it gets me what I want much more effectively.”

  “You want to talk to me you do it right here,” said Jules. Although she knew full well he’d come to tell her about Alice’s death, no way was she going to closet herself away with a copper in front of the cream of Manchester’s underworld. They’d think she was a grass. They’d all stopped talking to each other to listen in.

  “Fine. Your adopted mother Alice Parker is dead and I think you did it.”

  Jules allowed a shocked beat of silence to pass before saying, “Dead, how?”

  “It looks like she died in her sleep.”

  “Well it’s probably a blessing. She lived in constant pain.”

  “You don’t seem too cut up about it.”

  “Should I be?”

  “She was your mother.”

  Jules snorted. “Yeah, right. Well, if that’s it…”

  “Actually it’s not. You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”

  “Suppose not,” she sighed.

  “You visited Alice the day she died.”

  “So?”

  “What did you give her?”

  “Give her?”

  “I mean what did you inject her with to bring about her death?”

  “Inject her? Why would I inject her?”

  “To kill her,” he exclaimed, rapidly losing patience.

  “Why would I want to kill her? She was harmless enough.”

  “Because she told me you set her on fire.”

  “Me?” she said with mock outrage. “I didn’t. It was an accident.”

  “Yeah, right. No one believes that crap story. You set her on fire because she abused you for years and you killed her because she was going to give evidence against you for setting her on fire.”

  Whispers raced around the room at mention of the word ‘abuse’. She did think not even Dwyer would blurt that out in front of everyone.

  “Jules,” said Ryan in warning when she squared up to Dwyer.

  “I’m calm big bruv,” she said, eyes never leaving Dwyer. “Listen you,” she continued, addressing Dwyer directly. “She never abused me and I didn’t set her on fire. You’re just some fucking lunatic who sees conspiracies everywhere. Piss off and never come back.”

  “Alice gave me a statement before she died. I could pull you in for that.”

  “Go for it.” She smiled when he failed to do anything. “Looks like it’s my turn to look like a smug git.”

  “Take off your jacket.”

  “I knew it, you do fancy me. It’s why you keep hassling me. Is that why you stuck my husband in prison, so you can have me all to yourself?”

  The titters that ran around the room made his cheeks burn. “I want to see if you’ve got your famous daggers strapped to your wrists.”

  “Daggers DCI Dwyer? You’ve been listening to the local rumour mill again, haven’t you?”

  “Just do it.”

  “So masterful,” she winked, slowly sliding off her jacket as though she were performing a strip tease, drawing a couple of catcalls and embarrassing Dwyer even more.

  “There,” she said, triumphantly whipping off the jacket. “As you can see, I’m blade-free.” She grinned when he stamped his foot with fury.

  “Ryan Law,” he said, rounding on him. “What do you know about Alice Parker?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “And where’s your lovely wife?”

  Ryan was unaware of it himself but a sense of danger constantly radiated off him, even when he was feeling affable. Those who were experienced in the criminal underworld were adept at recognising it and those innocent of the life felt uncomfortable around him without really knowing why, despite his good looks and charm. When Dwyer mentioned Rachel his aura of danger and aggression suddenly spiked, causing everyone around him to take a step back.

  “Why are you asking about Rachel?” he demanded.

  “Just curious,” replied Dwyer. Other than Jules he was the only one who hadn’t recoiled from him. “You’re never usually far from each other or is there trouble in paradise?”

  “Thank you for your concern but our marriage is fine. She stayed at home with the children.”

  “She doesn’t seem the type to be left at home like the little woman.”

  “As you’re not married, nor have you ever been you’re not in the slightest bit qualified to comment.”

  Fury and unease vied for supremacy inside Dwyer. Obviously this family had done some digging on him and he didn’t like that. “Tell her I’ll be catching up with her soon.”

  “I suggest you leave now DCI Dwyer,” said Ryan, his voice remaining calm and polite while his body rippled with aggression. “You’ve outstayed your welcome.”

  “I’ve got what I came for anyway. DS Miller, let’s go.”

  “Bye bye beautiful,” Jules called after her as she left with him.

  When they’d gone, normal chatter resumed among the pub’s customers. Jules leaned over the bar, retrieved her blades and strapped them to her wrists. “Big bruv, lock the door will you?”

  Divining her thoughts, he
nodded and moved to obey.

  “Carter, lock the back door.”

  Unlike Ryan, he had no idea what was going through Jules’s mind but obeyed anyway.

  She moved to stand in the centre of the room. “Oy, you lot,” she yelled.

  Everyone stopped talking to look at her.

  “Someone told that Nazi tosspot where I am and it had to be someone in here right now.” She drew both blades and brandished them. “I want to know who’s the fucking grass.”

  Shocked silence rolled through the room, everyone staring at her with their mouth’s open. The half dozen Maguire-Law enforcers in attendance detached from the rest of the clientele and flanked their boss, glaring at the rest of the room.

  One particularly huge and gnarled specimen, face criss-crossed with battle scars from his long and bloody career stepped forward, eyes filled with indignation. “No one calls me a fucking grass. I don’t care who they are.”

  “I’m not calling you a grass Duncan,” she retorted. “I’m saying I want to know who the grass is.”

  “No fucking idea. All I know is it’s not me.”

  “Then you’ve nothing to worry about.” Her grey eyes skipped over the room, as did Ryan’s and Carter’s, studying them all one by one. “You,” she said, pointing to a lanky man in his early twenties who looked distinctly nervous.

  “Me?” he squeaked, pointing at himself.

  “Yeah. You look like you’re going to piss your undies. Did you grass to Dwyer?”

  “No Ma’am,” he replied. “I don’t even know who he is.”

  “Then why are you so nervous?”

  “Because you look bloody terrifying.”

  Her lips curled into a humourless smile. “Good. That is the look I generally go for.” She glowered at the rest of the room. “Anyone else shitting their pants or got a guilty conscience?”

  No one replied, everyone avoiding her eyes.

  “Make no mistake, I will find the grass and I’ll do to them what I did to Jimmy. You got it?”

  They all nodded, looking down at the floor.

  She nodded at Ryan and Carter, who unlocked the doors. The room breathed a collective sigh of relief and returned to their chatter, her own enforcers who’d stood by her side returning to their drinks.