The Know (54 page)

She grinned.

‘If you’ve got time, I can make the same for you.’

He sat down opposite Jon Jon.

‘Plenty of time, mate.’

So as usual she cooked for them all. Baxter was never off the doorstep lately and Joanie was surprised to find she actually liked him.

Wonders would never cease.

 
Big John sat with his wife, eating a similar breakfast to Jon Jon and Baxter. Kathy was overweight but still had the pretty face that had attracted him all those years ago. She had been a good wife, had waited for him while he was inside with never a breath of scandal about her. But now she wore the haunted look of a woman bereft of her favourite child and he knew he could not make it better.

As she placed another cup of tea beside him he grabbed her ample body and hugged her.

‘All right, babe?’

She tried to smile at him.

‘I’ll survive, John. I ain’t got much choice, have I?’

Somewhere inside her she knew that there was more to her son’s disappearance than met the eye. Big John and her other boys were all going through the motions of caring about what had happened to Kieron but she knew them better than they knew themselves. Kathy McClellan had learned years before never to interfere in their business and this was business, whatever they might try and spin her.

They had ransacked Kieron’s room, supposedly looking for clues to his whereabouts, but she had known that they were looking for something else and whatever it was she assumed they had found it. Kieron had been her last-born, her baby. Now he was gone and no one but her seemed to care about that fact.

But she wouldn’t push it. She had a strong feeling that if she was ever told the truth it would be far worse for her than not knowing.

 
Baxter was like a kid as they landed at Otopeni Airport in Bucharest. He was staring around him in fascination, unable to contain his excitement at being somewhere he had only ever seen on the news.

‘Well, Jon Jon, we’ve arrived anyway. Let’s hope Little Tommy was telling you the truth.’

His voice was sceptical, but Jon Jon knew the man had been honest with him. It was the least he could do in the end.

Fear had been a terrible weapon over the years. Tommy’s father had terrified him, as he had terrified his mother. But he had served up his father in the end - that was the main thing, the thing he had to remember.

Tommy was sensible enough to have known that he would be tarred with the same brush, and his instinct for self-preservation had been strong. Jon Jon understood that, better than anyone.

‘Get a grip, will you,’ he told Baxter. ‘We’ve got a long few days.’

But the DI was like a dog with six lamp-posts. This was all so new to him he was overwhelmed with it all. Jon Jon practically had to drag him out of the terminal and towards the waiting policeman, Michael Crasna.

Baxter shook hands with the slightly built man and then introduced Jon Jon. After they had all lit cigarettes and chatted briefly about their flight Michael led them to a waiting Mercedes. Inside was a large man called Peter who was to drive them to their destination.

‘Beautiful countryside,’ Baxter commented jovially.

Michael nodded, accepting the compliment.

‘We are still recovering from the past. But we Rumanians, we endure.’

He shrugged and Jon Jon respected him for his quiet understatement.

‘Where are we going now?’

‘We are going out to a place called Rahova. It is not very nice there. I wish I could show you the mountains or maybe the parts of Bucharest that still have their historic buildings. But time is short. Maybe some other time.’

Jon Jon nodded politely but they all knew they would never come back here. He closed his eyes to stop any further conversation and tried to relax. He had noticed Peter watching him in the mirror on the dashboard and saw the sympathy in his dark eyes.

‘I have arranged for you to stay in a place called Ferentari tonight. Not much better than Rahova but it will be best for you, under the circumstances.’

Jon Jon nodded once more, keeping his eyes closed.

Baxter was quiet now they were actually on their way. He realised he really had burned his boats this time and still he didn’t care. He was doing the right thing accompanying Jon Jon, he knew that without a shadow of a doubt.

 
Joanie got out of the cab and, after asking the driver to wait, walked into East London Crematorium. She was amazed to see there was hardly anyone present.

Walking into the chapel, she saw Sylvia standing alone and a few men sitting around looking uncomfortable.

Joanie walked up to the coffin and placed her small tribute on the carpet beneath. The cheap pine coffin lay on two trestles and looked startlingly bare. Only a small cross of white chrysanthemums adorned it.

Sylvia came over to her. Joanie didn’t know what she had been expecting but the sickly smile on Sylvia’s face wasn’t part of it.

‘You can put them on the lid, if you like.’

Joanie shook her head.

‘No, thanks. I only came to pay my respects.’

‘Oh, aren’t you staying?’

Paulie’s widow was mocking her and Joanie felt the stirrings of anger.

‘Not today, love. I can see you’re inundated with friends, you don’t need me.’

The barb hit home and Joanie stalked from the chapel. She felt better somehow, but was still sorry Paulie was going out like he was.

But, as he had always told her, you get what you pay for. And Paulie’s widow had obviously decided not to waste a penny more on his sending off than she needed to.

 
‘This is Rahova, gentlemen.’

Jon Jon opened his eyes then. He stared out of the window at the cement blocks of flats and the dirty streets.

‘Low-income housing. I am sure you have the same in England?’

Michael was apologising for his country and Jon Jon felt embarrassed on his behalf.

‘We do. Are we nearly there?’

Michael nodded.

‘Stop the car here,’ he instructed the driver.

They stepped out on a narrow side street.

‘If you look around you, gentlemen, you will notice all these buildings have either blue or pink curtains.’

Baxter and Jon Jon looked around and it was true. Most of the windows did have the same style of curtains. Mainly blue, he noticed.

‘These are child brothels. Depending on the colour of the curtains is whether the children are boys or girls. Very light colours mean very young boys or girls.’

Jon Jon and Baxter were staring around incredulously, the horror of what they had been told slowly sinking in.

‘You’re having a fucking laugh surely?’

DI Baxter, who thought he could not be shocked any more after all he had seen over the years, was absolutely in bits.

‘I wish I were joking, my friend. These buildings are all owned by the Russians, and we have very little jurisdiction over them. If we close one down we run the risk of getting into trouble with our superiors who make plenty of money from turning a blind eye, I think you say. But once you do your job, we will protect you, OK? We have informed the owners what you intend and they’re agreeable to it. In return we will give them a few months’ grace.’

As they stood there a woman walked along with a little boy. He was crying, she was chastising him loudly. Pulling him along by his jumper, she slapped him across the face before they disappeared into the doorway of one of the buildings.

Michael sighed sadly.

‘If we closed them all down this minute they would be open again within hours in different locations. But enough of our problems.’

He pointed to a drab building on the opposite side of the road.

‘The flat you want is in there.’

‘What number?’

‘You’ll see a sign outside saying
Kindergarten
. It’s meant as a joke but also shows the contempt they hold us in. Most of their customers are either German or English. The man you want is in there. He is the one who takes the orders over the Internet and sees they are carried out to the specification of the customer. But you are lucky in that the Rumanian he works for wants him gone as much as you do. He is interfering with the monetary transactions.’

He sighed.

‘Honour among thieves, eh?’

The shame of defeat was in his voice and Jon Jon knew that this man had run a grave risk even giving them this address in the first place. He had obviously put himself out for them and even though he would get some money, Jon Jon had a feeling it was done for more personal reasons than that.

He also knew Michael would take their money, though. And why not? He had done them a true favour.

Michael for his part was only too glad to help. As they were English this would be swept under the carpet. They needed tourism desperately here, but unfortunately this child abuse was part of the tourist trade.

Baxter ground out his cigarette.

‘Come on then, let’s get this show on the road.’

 
The heavily overweight patient was eating a banana, and in between bites chewing on a bar of Bourneville plain chocolate. The combination of the two flavours was his favourite at the moment.

He looked out of the window of his private room and over the gardens. It was lovely here in Essex. He liked the way everyone was cheerful and had a joke with you. His cup of tea was due soon and he knew the girl would let him have as many biscuits as he liked. He was living from meal to meal once more. With the absence of anyone or anything else in his life, he was reverting to his old ways.

A shadow fell across him then and he turned in the chair, expecting to see the orderly who brought in the tea. His face was wiped of all colour as he saw the woman he loved and feared standing before him.

‘Hello,’ she said.

He didn’t answer her. He felt that his throat had closed up and his heart was going to explode.

Joanie could see his terror. He thought she was here to finish the job she had started and she felt real sorrow for him.

‘Don’t worry. I know you’ve seen Jon Jon, he told me what you had done for him, steering him towards Rumania, and we’re grateful. Really grateful.’

She tried not to stare at the scars on his face. She knew he was still having treatment to eradicate the burns and also knew that skin grafts were extremely painful. The skin on his right cheek looked red and puckered, more so than on the other side of his face. His hair had grown back somewhat and he was more recognisable as the man he’d been before. It was only his eyes that had changed.

They were haunted-looking, full of fear. She understood why he felt like that and tried again to allay those fears.

‘I’ve come to say sorry.’

He nodded then, his moon face visibly relaxing.

‘Jon Jon has told you everything then?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you don’t hold it against me?’

She sat on the bed and smiled.

‘I tried to, Tommy, but I can’t. How could I? I know how frightened you were of your father. I’m just sorry we didn’t know more at the time. Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘I couldn’t, Joanie. Surely you can understand that?’

She could see the sheer humiliation in his face, almost feel his embarrassment at what had happened to him at the hands of his father. Understood his need to keep it private, knew that like he had told Jon Jon, mud stuck, especially where they lived. If he had exposed his father it would only have come back on him. Joseph would have seen to that.

‘When he had started the lorry driving, see, it had given me and me mum a break. But it was then that he had made all his contacts. But I did the best I could, Joanie.’

She nodded once more.

Poor Little Tommy was innocent of anything except his lifelong terror of Joseph Thompson, the man who had first raped him as a child of seven and carried on doing so until, as a cruelly obese and withdrawn teenager, he was at least spared that.

But still the cruelty continued. Tommy and his mother were beaten for the least little thing they did to annoy Joseph. With her spirit crushed and her body weakened, his wife took refuge in prescription drugs, trying to blot out the evidence of her own eyes. She knew what he’d done to their son and the knowledge was unbearable. There was worse to come.

Tommy failed to develop like normal teenagers. It seemed in some respects he’d always be a child and retained a natural affinity with them. Joseph traded on it mercilessly, using his son’s continued interest in toys and children’s games to lure in his unsuspecting prey. But when an outraged parent eventually called in the police and Social Services it was his son who got the blame. After all, he looked and behaved like a freak - a hulking teenager playing with dolls and speaking in a childish treble. And when they interviewed his mother, glassy-eyed on Valium and gin, she lied as her husband told her to do. Yes, he was a bit like that, her poor boy. Didn’t mean any harm, though. It wasn’t as if he could actually
do
anything.

Not like the monster she’d married, the big manly
normal
member of the family, who’d threatened to beat her to a pulp unless she backed him up. She did as he said, had no choice.