Bang to Rights

Book 2: Liberty Chapman

by Helen Black

Genres: Mystery

Synopsis

'Gripping and gritty, this book will keep you hooked from the first page to the last' Roberta Kray One year on from being reunited with the family she abandoned, successful lawyer Liberty Chapman is still in Leeds - although she has stayed well away from the Greenwood's business activities. Their criminal life style may not sit right with Liberty, but blood is thicker than water and surely what they do is their business not hers? But when her youngest brother, Frankie, is seriously injured in a shooting, Liberty is forced to decide which side she is on and how far she will go to protect her own. And if that means torturing the local gangster for information or kidnapping another at gun point, then so be it. Turns out Liberty is a Greenwood after all. Meanwhile, PC Amira Hassani will do whatever it takes to put Liberty and her family away for good, and if that includes blackmailing her colleague Sol Connolly to secure evidence against them, then so be it too. Will Sol betray Liberty to protect his wife and his career? And how far will any of them go to do what they think is right? 'The Leeds setting is every bit as gritty as Kray's East End . . . hard as nails!' Peterborough Telegraph

Release date: November 29, 2018

Publisher: Constable

Print pages: 304

Sample

I try to concentrate on my homework but there’s ructions going on next door.

Imbo’s kicking off again and that new key worker, Carl, is trying to calm him down. He’s using the voice they put on in the beginning, all low and quiet. Probably something they teach them at Social Services. He should save his breath. When Imbo’s in one of these moods, the only thing that will settle him is a two-litre bottle of cider and half an hour with his favourite issue of Knave.

‘I can see you’re upset, Ian,’ says Carl.

I suck in a breath. If there’s one thing guaranteed to send Imbo into one, it’s anyone calling him that.

There’s a bang, which might be Imbo’s fist hitting the wall. Or Carl’s head.

‘What did you just call me?’ Imbo screams. ‘Say it one more time and I’ll rip your arms off.’

‘Please don’t threaten me,’ says Carl.

‘It’s not a threat, you twat, it’s a fucking promise.’

I glance over at Vicky’s bed, where she’s buried herself beneath a pile of blankets and clothes, and then reread the essay question for the millionth time. How does Chaucer explore the Wife of Bath’s attitude to sex and sexual attraction? I’m already two days late handing it in. If I don’t get it to Mr Morris tomorrow, I’m bound to get a detention.

There’s another bang and Vicky sits bolt upright. ‘Shut up, Imbo.’ She thumps the wall. ‘Shut the fuck up.’

‘Shut the fuck up yourself,’ Imbo roars back.

I sigh as Vicky jumps out of bed and races next door in her denim shirt and knickers. Imbo might be nearly six foot and built like the Terminator, but nobody talks to Vicky like that. I close my textbook and follow her.

‘Could you girls go back to your room?’ says Carl, fiddling with his earring.

I feel a bit sorry for him. I expect he thought he’d help people in this job. I give him what I hope is an encouraging smile, but Vicky just pushes past and gets right up into Imbo’s face.

‘Listen to me, you ugly little prick,’ she shouts at him. ‘I’m trying to get some kip and she,’ Vicky jabs a thumb behind her in my vague direction, ‘is trying to do her chuffing homework. How do you think either of us can do that with you losing the plot like you’re on a mental ward?’

‘Carl says I can’t watch the telly tonight,’ screams Imbo.

Vicky spins on her bare heel and glares at the social worker. To be honest, the bed hair and smudged eye liner make her look like she’s the one just stepped out of an asylum.

‘Ian lost his privileges when he was caught vandalizing the staff toilets,’ says Carl.

Last Saturday, off his head on Merrydown, Imbo spray-painted a knob on the wall of the staff toilets. And shat in the sink.

Imbo launches a flying kick at the wall. ‘Stop calling me that.’

‘And if you girls don’t go back to your room right now, you’ll lose your privileges too,’ says Carl. I’ll give it to him, he’s still got the voice down pat even in these circumstances. ‘Elizabeth? Victoria? Are you hearing me?’

‘Do you think I give a shit?’ Vicky steps towards Carl. The nail varnish on her toes is red and chipped and there’s a yellow bruise on her shin. ‘Do you think I’m actually bothered about watching the poxy telly?’

The thing is, Vicky does give a shit. We all do. It’s Thursday so it’s Top of the Pops. And tonight’s not just any Top of the Pops. Tonight, the Stone Roses and the Happy Mondays are on.

‘Vic,’ I say. ‘Let’s just go back next door.’

She doesn’t look at me, but claws her hands as if she’s about to scratch Carl’s face off. I’ve seen her do it before. Not to Carl, but some boy up on the Crosshills Estate that she said called her a slag. That night I had to pick out the bits of skin from under her nails with a cocktail stick.

‘Vic, come on. It’s nearly time and I’m not missing it.’

She sniffs at Carl, pulls her knickers out from the crack of her arse and stalks from the room as Imbo lands another blow on the wall.

The waiting was always the killer. Once things got started, the adrenalin would kick in and the team would move on auto-pilot. Everyone would know where to be and what they needed to do. Clear heads, light limbs.

But now, squashed into the back of the van, watching the commander obsessively check her phone for the go-signal, Sol’s mind jumped around. He needed a fag, a black coffee, to stretch his legs.

Outside, the pre-dawn morning was cool and still, but eight officers crammed in like sardines, all wearing Kevlar, filled the van with heat and sweat.

‘Just so you know, Connolly,’ Hassani leaned against him and whispered, ‘you are minging.’

Sol gave her the finger.

The commander frowned and held up a hand, eyes glued to her phone. The timing of this raid was imperative. All over Yorkshire, other teams were also in place, ready to act as one. They needed to hit the top brass of the Delaney clan simultaneously so they couldn’t tip one another off.

‘Premature ejaculation by any team will be more than a frustration,’ the DCI had warned them. ‘It will be an absolute disaster for which I will personally be slicing off bollocks.’

C Team’s commander might not technically have any bollocks to lose but she was taking no chances.

At last she took a sharp breath and blinked. ‘Unit, go.’

Her words were decisive, their impact immediate. Every officer including Sol braced themselves as the van sprang forward.

‘Ready,’ the driver shouted over the intercom.

A second later there was a jolt as the impact bars on the front of the van hit the gates and a metal clang ricocheted through Sol’s bone structure. Then the back doors to the van were thrown open and they streamed out.

‘Left, left, right,’ Sol hissed at Hassani.

Exit by the left-hand side of the vehicle. Move around it to the left, then down the right-hand side of the house to the back.

He didn’t need to say a word. Hassani already knew the drill. She’d gone over it with the team a hundred times, then another hundred alone with Sol in the Three Feathers.

Their boots crunched on gravel as they ran past the mangled security gates to the back of the house, arriving next to the vast lawn and swimming pool at the same moment as officers who had come around the other side with the ram.

‘Clear,’ Sol shouted and stepped back as the ram battered its way through the back door, splintering wood and smashing glass.

‘Yeah, baby,’ Hassani muttered, under her breath.

A faint smile flashed across Sol’s face. It was her first raid. Better than sex, drugs and rock and roll. Welcome to the dark side.

They ploughed into the house, through the opulent dining room, heels dragging shards of glass with them, and down the hallway lined with antique tables and objets d’art. Sol had to hand it to Delaney. He might have started out selling nicked batteries and jars of coffee to housewives on the Crosshills but his house was bloody lovely.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Sol saw a figure leaning over the walkway that spanned the entire upper floor. Short and square, mouth drawn into an almost smile, it was Jackson Delaney himself.

‘What is it with you lot?’ Delaney shouted down to them in his deep-fried Mars Bar Glaswegian accent. ‘You never write. You never call. Then here you are with not so much as a bunch of flowers.’

‘Come on down, Jacko,’ Sol said. ‘Let’s make this easy.’

Delaney laughed and headed for the top of the stairs.

‘Put your hands where we can see them,’ Sol called up.

‘Have a word with yourself, Connolly,’ Delaney replied. ‘I’m packing nothing but my tackle.’

True enough, when Delaney began to saunter casually downstairs, Sol could see his hands were empty and that the head of one of the country’s biggest crime families was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and his ink.

When he was at the bottom, Delaney smiled at Sol and put his hands out to Hassani.

‘Why don’t you do the honours, hen?’ he said. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve been tied up by someone as young and pretty as yourself.’

Hassani glanced sideways at Sol. He’d told her time and time again that Jackson Delaney was a clever bastard who would mess with them any way he could. This was all part of how he ran his business.

‘Cuff him,’ Sol told her.

Delaney watched Hassani intently as she secured his wrists. Nose bent from a thousand beatings. Knuckles raised and scarred from giving out two thousand. ‘Tight as you like, sweetheart.’

She ignored him as Sol had advised.

‘Right then,’ said Delaney. ‘Let’s get this over with. I need to be back in time for the midday kick-off.’

‘Not today, Jacko,’ said Sol. ‘Do you not think that every time, pal?’

Sol shook his head. He’d been involved in several attempts over the years to bring down Delaney. Some had fallen apart through lack of evidence. At least two from lack of budget. The one time they had actually managed to get a case to court, none of the main witnesses had turned up at the trial.

But this was different. Computers were being seized, bank accounts frozen and a couple of girls trafficked from Montenegro were already in a safe house.

‘Everything that rises has to fall in the end, Jacko,’ said Sol.

Jay cranked up the sound system and ‘Get Lucky’ by Daft Punk bounced across his garden, mingling with smoke from the barbecue and the chatter of a hundred guests. He grabbed Liberty’s hand and spun her round, then planted a kiss on her cheek.

‘You’re drunk.’

‘Yup.’

He danced off towards his wife, Rebecca, who was helping the caterers put countless bowls of salad onto an already groaning table.

‘He always was a grade-A show-off,’ said Crystal, mouth full of Juicy Fruit.

Liberty smiled as she watched her brother tell a passing waiter to refill glasses more quickly. ‘He just wants everyone to have a good time,’ she said.

‘He just wants everyone to have a good look at how well he’s done for himself,’ Crystal replied.

Liberty shrugged. Not long ago she’d worked in a prestigious law firm in London where her partners routinely threw dinner parties with the sole intention of parading their latest extension, their children’s exam grades and their sizeable bonus. At least Jay’s guests were actually enjoying themselves.

As the chorus belted out from the speakers, Liberty hummed along.

‘Please don’t tell me you’re going to dance,’ said Crystal. ‘Or I might have to kill myself.’

‘Every cloud,’ said Liberty, and tapped her feet.

Crystal turned her head as she always did when she didn’t want Liberty to know that she’d made her laugh, but suddenly her shoulders stiffened.

‘Crystal?’ Liberty followed her sister’s eye line to the patio, where a couple who had just arrived accepted flutes of prosecco. They were flanked on either side by men in dark suits, their heads shaved. ‘Who the hell are they?’

But her sister was already striding across the lawn. She grabbed her husband, Harry, and together they approached the new arrivals.

Liberty moved to the table of food, partly because the smell of searing steaks was making her stomach growl and partly to distract herself from whatever was going on at the other side of the garden. Her family’s business included several strip clubs, websites selling sex toys and a whole host of other endeavours that she preferred not to think about. She knew from past experience that the hidden safe in the Black Cherry contained used banknotes and a loaded gun.

‘Should have known I’d find you near the grub.’

Liberty turned to find Raj grinning at her.

‘You made it,’ she said, and hugged him. His back was slightly damp under a polyester shirt and his belly jiggled against hers.

‘I’m too nosy not to,’ he replied.

When Jay had told Liberty she should invite whoever she liked to the party, the only person she could think of was Raj. ‘Have you eaten?’ she asked.

The look on Raj’s face said he had. It also said he wasn’t about to refuse a burger or three.

A young woman helped them pile their plates, her ponytail sprayed so hard it looked like a croissant. They’d barely stepped away from the table when Raj took his first bite, ketchup and meat juices running down his chin. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

Liberty looked over her shoulder. ‘Someone call a doctor.’

‘Have you thought about a career on the stage?’

‘At the Black Cherry?’ Liberty looked down at her chest. ‘I don’t think my assets are up to it.’

‘I think the assets are more than up to it.’ Raj took another huge mouthful and Liberty did the same, both of them laughing.

‘Seriously, though, I’ve been wondering if you’re staying round here permanently.’

Liberty rubbed at a splodge of mayonnaise that had landed on Raj’s cuff with a paper napkin but made matters worse. ‘I don’t have any firm plans one way or the other.’

‘You must have been here, what, a year?’ he asked. ‘Thing is, I’m rushed off my feet at work. The missus helps out when she can but she’s not a solicitor.’

‘Are you offering me a job, Raj?’

‘I suppose I am.’ He sucked each finger in turn. ‘The money won’t be what you’re used to, mind.’ He told her the figure. It was a tenth of what she’d earned at her firm in London. In a bad year.

‘That’s kind of you, Raj,’ she said. ‘But you do know that my family …’ She let the sentence trail away.

‘That’s them.’ He attacked the second burger. ‘Not you.’

Amira Hassani moved through the cars parked outside Jay Greenwood’s house. Beemers, Jags, Mercs. Evidence, if ever it were needed, that crime did indeed pay.

She whipped out her mobile and took pictures of the registration plates. Not all of them would belong to villains, but she’d lay odds that a good proportion would. The Greenwoods might give out that they were legit, but Amira didn’t believe it for a second. With enough spadework she would find something on them, she was sure of it.

Up ahead a younger leaned against a Porsche Cayenne with blacked-out windows. Amira could smell the weed he was smoking, hot and herbal, hanging in the early-evening air.

He made his finger and thumb into the shape of a C. Cop. And the other C-word. With her thumb and index finger she made an O and moved it up and down. He didn’t scare her. She could tell just by looking at him that he wasn’t packing.

He pulled out his phone and raised it to photograph her, so she turned away.

Her own mobile rang and she saw Sol was calling. ‘Boss man.’

‘Hey. You did good this morning.’

Amira smiled. ‘Is Mr Delaney still enjoying our hospitality?’

‘Yep. And half a dozen members of his family,’ Sol replied. ‘Plus at least ten of his top men.’

‘Will anyone talk?’

Sol snorted. ‘Not if they value their arseholes. But we’ve got enough to charge him.’

Amira pumped her fist and got into her car. ‘We should clean this area up properly.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Definitely. What’s the point of shutting down Delaney if another clan just takes his place? We should bring them all down, one by one.’

‘I don’t suppose you have another family in mind?’ asked Sol.

Amira looked over her shoulder at Jay Greenwood’s house and heard the music floating towards her on the wind. Inside the perimeter, he’d be there, all white teeth and sunglasses on top of his head. His sister Crystal, pretty as a picture but as poisonous as a snake bite. Frankie was in rehab, but it was only a matter of time until he got out and returned to his favourite pastimes: smoking crack and beating women. And last of all Liberty. The eldest. Liberty My-shit-doesn’t-smell Chapman. So squeaky clean she didn’t even use the family name. Amira’s mouth filled with acid bile at the thought of her.

‘No family in particular,’ she said.

Liberty found Dax on the drive. When he clocked her, he threw away his roach and blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth. Liberty rolled her eyes. ‘What are you doing out here?’ she asked.

‘Jay asked me to keep an eye, innit,’ Dax replied. ‘Five-oh been sniffing around.’

Liberty pressed her lips together. She’d repeatedly asked Jay not to involve Dax in his affairs. The kid was sixteen. He should be in school worrying about his GCSEs and whether the girls thought he was fit, not acting as lookout for the local faces. ‘Got the munchies?’ she asked.

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Dax replied.

‘There’s some really good burgers on the grill.’ Liberty nudged him with her elbow. ‘I’ve already had two.’

He allowed her to lead him back to the garden. ‘How come you ain’t fat? I already seen you eating a bacon roll at breakfast.’

‘Fast metabolism,’ she said. ‘Runs in the family.’

She had no idea if that was true. Both her parents had lived on pints of lager and Embassy Regal, from what she could remember. As for her siblings, Jay spent at least a couple of hours each day at the gym and Frankie smoked enough crack to keep a sumo wrestler thin. As for Crystal, Liberty had never seen her put anything in her mouth except a stick of gum.

Back at the party, Liberty noticed that Jay had now joined Crystal and was chatting to the couple with the guards. ‘Who are they?’ she asked Dax.

He wrinkled his nose. He’d only been in Yorkshire twelve months but he already had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the area’s gangsters. ‘Paul and Bunny Hill,’ he said.

‘Bunny?’

‘I doubt it’s her real name,’ said Dax.

‘You think?’ It never ceased to amaze her how little effort some women made to be taken seriously. Liberty had spent more than half her life creating a persona with gravitas. Everything from her accent to her wardrobe was carefully chosen to reflect what she wanted people to see.

Jay caught her eye and beckoned to her. Shit. The last thing she wanted was to meet Yorkshire’s answer to Tony and Carmela Soprano. But Jay’s grin had her, as it always did.

‘No use trying to fight it,’ said Dax, as he moved off to the barbecue.

‘Fight what?’

‘These are your people.’ Dax laughed at her. ‘Your bredrin.’

She shooed him away, plastered on a smile and walked over to her brother.

‘Lib.’ Jay swayed gently. He’d had a hell of a lot to drink. ‘Let me introduce you to the Hills. Good friends of mine.’

Liberty thrust out her hand and Paul Hill pumped it. ‘Heard all about you. The legal arm of the family business.’

She raised an eyebrow at Jay. ‘I’m having a bit of a sabbatical from work, actually.’

‘Trouble down in the Big Smoke?’ asked Hill.

‘Nothing like that,’ Liberty replied. ‘I just needed a change of scene.’

Bunny grabbed her hand. The fingernails were black claws, pointed and shiny. ‘I get what you mean. Sometimes I’m so exhausted by everything I just have to take off to our place in Majorca.’ Her grip was surprisingly tight. ‘Do you know Majorca at all?’

Liberty shook her head.

‘To die for,’ trilled Bunny. ‘Like a little slice of paradise.’ She turned to Crystal. ‘What about you? Fond of the beach?’

Liberty swallowed a snort and avoided eye contact with Harry. Her sister was as allergic to sunshine as your average vampire. An English spring morning sent Crystal scurrying for the factor fifty to ward off her freckles.

‘Another drink, Bun?’ Jay snapped his fingers at a waiter, without waiting for her answer. ‘Can’t beat a few bubbles.’

When everyone’s glass was refilled and the waiter had wandered off to the next group of guests, Paul Hill leaned in towards Jay. ‘You hear about Jacko Delaney?’

‘It’s not bullshit, then?’ asked Jay.

‘Nope. I’ve half a dozen coppers on my payroll and they all say the same thing.’ Hill took a glug from his glass. ‘Still in custody. Him and half his crew.’

‘Shame,’ said Jay.

‘It is,’ Hill replied. ‘Although of course it does mean that their patch is up for grabs.’

‘Bit early for talk like that, Paul,’ said Jay.

Hill shrugged and drained his glass. ‘Nature abhors a vacuum. If someone doesn’t step up the Russians will be all over it, like flies on the brown stuff.’

‘And who’s going to be doing the stepping up?’ Crystal raised her drink to her mouth, but Liberty noticed that she didn’t take a sip, didn’t even wet her lips. ‘You, Paul?’

‘I was thinking we might do it together,’ said Hill. ‘Two families.’

Crystal eyed him over the rim of her glass but didn’t answer.

‘A fifty-fifty investment,’ said Hill. ‘Split the takings right down the middle.’

Bunny threw out her arms and expelled a theatrical sigh. ‘For the love of God, give it a rest. This is supposed to be a party not a business meeting.’

‘Can’t argue with you there,’ said Jay, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards a group of guests who were dancing. Bunny squealed and began shimmying in her skin-tight white jeans.

Frankie stumbled out of the taxi and swore as he lurched towards the party. He hadn’t meant to get this caned. A few lines to take the edge off had been the plan.

‘The trouble with you, Frankie, is you’ve got no off button,’ Daisy kept telling him.

Frankie ground his teeth. Being lectured to by Daisy the Dog didn’t sit well. Daisy, who had used class As for over ten years. Daisy who had sold everything from her kettle to her arse to pay for them. But once in rehab she’d given herself over to getting clean with as much energy as she’d put into being an addict. Frankie had tried to do the same, of course he had, but attending group sessions to make snot-stained confessions about how much you’d hurt those around you was never going to be as much fun as getting fucked on drugs, was it?

‘And the trouble with you is you’re so boring these days,’ he’d spat back at her.

Daisy had just shrugged. She wouldn’t even come to this frigging party with him. Said she had to go to work at the call centre. A fucking call centre! Eight-hour shifts on the phone trying to convince old biddies to switch their energy provider. He’d rather slit his wrists.

She’d point-blank refused to go back to work for Jay at the Black Cherry. Too much temptation, she said. The ironic thing was that when she had worked there she’d looked like shit and hardly made any money. These days, with a bit more meat on her bones, she’d have had the punters queuing up for private dances. Still, it was her funeral.

He scanned the crowd for his brother and sisters and spotted Jay twirling around with Paul Hill’s latest wife. By the look of things, Jay was pissed. Thank God. He’d be a lot less likely to notice what state Frankie was in. Crystal was looking on, the usual black cloud hovering over her head.

Where was Lib? It was funny, but even though there’d been all those years when he hadn’t seen or heard from her, he still felt closer to his eldest sister than the other two. She was always so pleased to see him. And she didn’t judge.

He caught sight of her over by the food and smiled. However, the smile soon slipped off his face when he saw who she was with. That bloody kid from Brixton she’d all but adopted. Dax. What sort of name was that when it was at home? Had to be moody. Frankie didn’t like or trust him. The sooner he slung his hook back down south, the better for all of them.

A trickle of sweat ran down his neck.

‘Frankie.’ Lib. . .