Hard as Nails

Book 4: Liberty Chapman

by Helen Black

Genres: Crime Fiction

Synopsis

'Gripping and gritty, this book will keep you hooked from the first page to the last' Roberta Kray

'The Leeds setting is every bit as gritty as Kray's East End . . . hard as nails!' Peterborough Telegraph

Four months have passed since the shocking death of Frankie Greenwood, but Liberty Greenwood has managed to keep the rest of her family safe and expand their criminal empire.

But when Liberty and Jay set out to teach a protection racketeer a lesson things get out of hand and the Greenwoods soon find themselves under attack: the Black Cherry is fire bombed and Crystal is arrested.

Liberty must hold her nerve, make alliances with old enemies and discover exactly who is trying to destroy her. But that's easier said than done with Sol back on the scene, Crystal's baby to care for and DI Angel holding enough information on Liberty to put her away for good. Is Liberty Greenwood hard enough?

Release date: December 10, 2020

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 272

Sample

5 October 1990

Key worker Hemma’s got a new rule. Well, she calls it a ‘policy’ but it’s the same thing. Basically, she’s got sick of putting everyone right when they get her name wrong like two thousand times a day, so now she won’t answer anybody unless they pronounce the H. What she gets for her trouble is a lorry load of huffing by all the kids in Orchard Grove.

‘Huh-Emma, can I have a travel pass?’

‘Huh-Emma, someone’s nicked my hair spray.’

‘Huh-Emma, Jordan’s having a wank in the telly room and I want to watch EastEnders.’

It’s like we’ve got a group case of asthma and I’m thinking Hemma regrets instigating her policy, but she can’t back down now.

‘Huh-Emma,’ our Jay shouts. ‘Have you heard from that solicitor?’

Hemma gives him a tight smile. ‘No, Jay, I haven’t. But trust me, as soon as I do, you’ll be the first to know.’ She turns to me. ‘But I have got something for you, Elizabeth.’

I could tell her that I’ve got my own policy about names and that no one ever calls me that. But I can’t be arsed. There’s some guideline about not being too casual with kids in care for fear that we start to look on staff as our mates. It’s a load of bollocks if you think about it. They insist on using the names our mams and dads gave us even though most of us don’t have anything to do with our mams and dads. But, like I say, I can’t be arsed to argue.

‘She’s called Lib.’ Of course, our Jay’s always got enough energy to argue. ‘Everybody knows that.’

I flick his ear.

‘Ow,’ he says.

‘Please don’t do that, Elizabeth,’ says Hemma. ‘We don’t accept violence in the unit, as you’re well aware.’

Me and Jay look at each other and crease up. Most days it’s like a cage fight in here. There’s a new lass, Michaela, who battered both her roommates the first night she arrived because she said one of them farted. In the end both girls moved out so Michaela got a single by default. Hemma’s not renowned for her sense of humour, so she walks off.

‘Huh-Emma,’ I call after her. ‘You said you had something for me.’

She nods, reaches into her pocket and hands me a letter. I’m hoping for something from Fat Rob. He’s already sent two since I left Manchester, and although they’re only short, they’re dead funny and it always cheers me up to think he’s living his best life over the Pennines. My heart sinks when I see thin pale blue paper marked HMP. I only know one person in prison, and I don’t want to read anything he’s got to say to me.

Later, in my room I stare at the unopened envelope. Through the wall I can hear our Jay chatting with Michaela. He shouldn’t be in there, but at least she’s laughing and not thumping him. Yet. Neither of us wanted to come back here, but I knew that Jay was just going to get himself into real trouble in Manchester and that he wouldn’t leave without me. I suppose we were lucky that two places came up together in Orchard Grove. The lad who had my room before me got sent to secure for robbing an arcade. Him and his little brother somehow managed to get away with about a grand in fifty-pence pieces. They got caught dragging their bags onto a bus because they were both too young to have passed their test. Anyway, that left this room for me.

I think I’m just going to bin the letter. Whatever Connor wants to get off his chest, he can sodding well keep it in. This is the lad who said he loved me, who said he wanted to look after me, and when he got nicked for dealing drugs he wanted me to take the blame. Rob was so angry with him that he’s not spoken to him since, and they were friends years before they even met me.

Next door, Jay’s voice has dropped low and I know what’s coming. I bang on the wall. ‘Do not even think about it,’ I shout.

‘Why do you care?’ he yells back.

‘I don’t give a shit, Jay. I just don’t want to listen to it.’

I hear a few squeaks of the bed and something that might be a cough. I thump again. ‘Don’t make me come in there.’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Jay mutters, and a door slams.

I wait a few seconds to make sure he has actually left Michaela’s room and that it’s not just some charade, then breathe a sigh of relief. It’s not as if I got any privacy when I lived with Rob. I mean, we shared a bedsit with no bathroom. We got used to ignoring each other’s comings and goings. But that’s a far cry from listening to your brother shagging.

I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering what Crystal and Frankie are up to. The solicitor says she’s pushing hard for a contact session, but they always say that. Then I pull myself together and take out one of my books. Hemma’s convinced she’ll have the paperwork sorted for me to go back to college next week and I don’t want to fall behind in the meantime.

Present Day

When Liberty pulled up outside the Black Cherry, Rebecca’s Audi was already in the car park.

‘Shit.’ She pasted on a smile. ‘Hi, Becca.’ Her voice sounded ludicrously cheerful even to her ears.

Rebecca didn’t answer but gave a curt nod, then went to her boot and popped it open. She was wearing a navy windcheater with pink polka dots and a pair of brown chinos, sensible and comfortable, as she retrieved a plastic box. Then she stalked back to Liberty’s Porsche and dumped it on the bonnet.

Liberty yelped and jumped out. The 911 was getting on but she loved that car like an old family dog that peed on the rug but still made everyone laugh. A tangle of chargers fell out of the box onto the paintwork. Liberty grabbed them and stuffed them back inside on top of three Welcome to Playa del Carmen mugs, one without a handle.

‘That’s the last of it,’ said Rebecca.

‘Could you two not talk this through?’

‘There’s nothing to say.’

Music seeped towards them as someone opened the door to the club. Liberty and Rebecca turned to the sound and saw one of the dancers with a packet of fags. She shoved one between her lips and pulled off her Cleopatra wig before lighting up. Liberty gestured for her to go back inside, but the girl held up her cigarette. ‘Break.’

‘Don’t make me ask twice,’ Liberty shouted. The girl huffed, but did as she was told, nipping her cig and putting it back with the others. When the door closed, Liberty turned to Rebecca. ‘You could try counselling.’

Rebecca snorted. ‘Can you imagine Jay speaking to a shrink?’

‘I don’t think they use shrinks.’ Liberty slid the box off the Porsche, praying there were no scratches. ‘Although that might not be a bad idea. He’s struggling since Frankie died. We all are.’

Rebecca’s shoulders softened. ‘I know that.’ She paused as if trying to remember why she was there. ‘But I also know that he’s shagged virtually every dancer in the club.’ She pointed at the door. ‘Probably that one just now. Can you imagine how stupid that makes me feel?’

‘You’re not the stupid one.’

Rebecca tucked her hair neatly behind her ears. She was all wrong here, like one of those odd-one-out puzzles where the clues were meant to be subtle but stuck out like a sore thumb. ‘Tell him I’ve seen a solicitor.’

‘Becca! Please don’t do this,’ Liberty said. ‘You’re truly the best thing that ever happened to my brother.’

Jay’s wife shook her head. ‘There’s no point stringing this out. We both know that Jay’s not going to change, but I don’t want to have to find out about it any more.’

Liberty stumbled into the club, slammed the box onto the bar and slumped onto the stool next to Crystal. She snatched her sister’s drink and took a gulp. ‘Just Coke?’

Crystal patted her pregnant bulge. Mel poured a couple of fingers of Jack Daniel’s into a glass and slid it at Liberty. Then Mel poked about in the box, holding up a cocktail shaker still in its cellophane.

‘You been hitting eBay again?’ Crystal asked.

‘It’s not funny.’ Liberty knocked back her bourbon. ‘Becca won’t change her mind. This time she’s definitely divorcing him.’

Crystal inspected a pair of clean gardening gloves with the words ‘The Lawn Ranger’ embroidered on the cuffs. ‘Do you think our Jay’s ever cut the grass?’

‘Straight after he painted the shed,’ said Mel.

Both women cracked up. In spite of herself, Liberty joined in and helped herself to another shot. Even the thought of Jay gardening was hilarious. Who the hell had bought him the gloves? The girl from outside tottered towards them in a pair of high-heeled gladiator sandals, the laces crossed so tightly the string dug into her shins. She had the jet-black Cleopatra wig back on.

‘I can go outside now?’ she asked. When Liberty nodded, the girl glanced at Mel. ‘I can get my phone?’

Mel pulled a shoebox from under the bar and lifted the lid. Inside were at least fifteen mobiles. She offered it to the girl, who grabbed a Samsung with a cracked screen and scuttled away.

‘I bet they don’t like this new regime,’ said Liberty.

‘They can like it or lump it.’ Mel sifted through the phones, double-checking they were all off. ‘No one’s recording anything that gets said in here.’ She held up her palm. ‘And I know you think I’m paranoid, but I’m too bloody old to get sent down, that’s for sure.’

‘What about the punters?’ Liberty asked, pointing at a bloke by the stage: he was ignoring the dancer in cat ears, twirling her tail, as he flicked through Facebook on his phone.

‘Too far away. And there’s the music. But the girls are here before we open and when we’re shutting. Plus, they’re up at the bar, in my chuffing face night and day.’

Crystal was wearing the gardening gloves and waved one at Mel. ‘What if one of the dancers sneaks in a second phone? Thought of that?’

The girl on the stage was now naked except for the cat ears, one foot on the floor, the other wrapped around her neck.

‘If she can hide it and still manage to do that, good luck to her,’ said Liberty.

Mel refitted the lid on the cardboard box and slid it back under the bar with a sniff. Since they’d heard about Mads, the county-lines kid being sent in to spy on Ricky Vines, they were all feeling cautious, but Mel was taking it to a new level. There was no doubt in Liberty’s mind that if she looked at Mel’s search history, there’d be links on how to sweep for bugs. She finished her drink and checked the time. Seven fifteen. ‘Gotta go.’

Mel picked up Liberty’s empty glass and slung it into the dishwasher. ‘You’re still trying to find her, then?’

‘Frankie would have wanted me to,’ Liberty replied, and left the club.

Liberty drove across the Crosshills until she arrived at an all-night chemist, windows full of handmade signs for bargain bubble bath. She pulled over and watched the youngers outside as they crowded around a phone that one was holding. By the looks on their faces they were watching something funny.

When an addict appeared, fizzing with anxiety and need, one of the kids peeled himself away from the screen and took the cash. Then he whistled and another lad on a bike circled around and pedalled towards them.

The door to the chemist opened and a young woman appeared, black baseball cap pulled low over her eyes, hood over the cap. It would have been hard to tell she was female except Liberty knew who she was. Without warning the girl slapped the younger holding the phone on the back of his head and his cap fell to the floor. He shouted out in annoyance but picked it up and put away his phone.

When Liberty hooted her horn the group looked up as one, but only the young woman moved towards the car and got in.

‘Tia,’ said Liberty.

‘Told you before, you shouldn’t come down here.’ Tia pointed at the youngers. ‘Let me tell you, this lot aren’t keeping a proper eye out for the feds. Too busy watching some fight on YouTube.’

‘Who pissed on your chips?’

Tia kissed her teeth. ‘They get on my nerves. Don’t matter how many times I tell them, they just keep doing the same things.’ She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a box of Canesten. ‘Plus, I’ve got the worst case of thrush.’

‘Yoghurt’s good for that,’ said Liberty.

Tia bared her teeth. ‘How is eating that stuff going to help?’

‘You don’t eat it.’

Tia looked down at her crotch. ‘Oh, my days, you cannot think I’m going to put it up there. I mean what about strawberry seeds and that?’

Liberty closed her eyes. Any conversation with Tia was like entering a parallel universe. Frankie always said he was going to strangle her, but it might end up being Liberty who did the deed.

‘I was just passing so I thought I’d check in on you.’

Tia patted Liberty’s knee. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘Fuck off,’ Liberty replied, with a smile.

‘I appreciate it,’ said Tia, ‘but I don’t want you getting nicked.’

Liberty nodded. Once upon a time, she’d been a teenager without anyone to look out for her. Bad things could happen to kids in that position. She didn’t want bad things to happen to Tia.

Through the windscreen they could see the lads were back watching the video. Tia growled and opened the door. ‘Where’re you off to, then, Lib?’

‘St Stevens,’ said Liberty.

Tia rolled her eyes. ‘Still trying to find her, I take it?’

‘Yup.’

‘Why are you even bothering?’ Tia asked.

‘Because Frankie would have wanted me to check on her, like I check on you.’

Tia stuck out her tongue and jumped from the car. Liberty watched her best dealer jog across the street where she batted the phone out of the younger’s hands with a mouthful of expletives.

Rose Angel rolled her hips, making the nylon of her hi-vis jacket squeak. She needed to see the physio again but getting an appointment was murder. Typical that after all the injuries she’d sustained over the years making arrests, jumping fences, disarming nut jobs, she’d put her back out dragging an unconscious man behind a bus shelter.

The radio on her shoulder crackled but there was no message. Good. She scanned the length and breadth of Carter Street. Everything was quiet and she hoped it would stay that way.

Adam came out of Scottish Tony’s with a polystyrene cup in each hand and something wrapped in foil held in his armpit. He handed a cup to Rose and let the mystery package drop into his now free hand. ‘Burger,’ he said. ‘Assumed you didn’t want one.’

Rose took a sip of tea. ‘I’ll wait until I get home.’

Adam rolled back the foil, took a bite and groaned. ‘I told him I didn’t want any bloody tomatoes.’

‘Do you want to get a fresh one?’ Rose asked.

‘Nah,’ Adam replied, and flicked the slices of tomato from his burger onto the pavement. A sliver landed on his boot and he wiggled his foot until it flew off. They walked up the street towards the squad car. ‘We’ll have to find someone soon.’

Rose sighed. The chief super’s new policy was that patrollers had to make at least one stop-and-search each shift. It was part of the new war against drugs and weapons. Trouble was they had to choose who to search with care. With no Taser between them, and most back-up at least ten minutes away, they didn’t want to target anyone who might cut up too rough.

On their first shift together, Rose had marched off in the direction of a couple of lads openly dealing on the corner, but Adam had pulled her back. He didn’t fancy spending the night in A and E, he told her, and rolled up his sleeve to show her a jagged scar where he’d been stabbed the previous summer. She’d hardly been able to make it out through his copious ink and he’d had to run her finger along the huge black panther that covered most of his forearm so she could feel the ridge, like she was reading him in braille.

‘Do you think they’ll ever issue you with a Taser?’ she asked him.

He shovelled the last piece of burger into his mouth and laughed. ‘They’re like Man U season tickets,’ he said. ‘You put your name down without hope or expectation.’

‘Thought you lot hated Man U.’

He got into the car. ‘We do, but they can’t give away tickets to Leeds with a free haircut.’

Rose got into the passenger side and put on her seatbelt. Then they drove to the Crosshills to rummage around for someone to notch up their numbers. Someone among the hopeless and the homeless who just might have a bit of gear on them so they could get an arrest at the same time. Ruining already crap lives and shattering trust. The job was a good ’un.

‘Tell me again why we do this,’ said Rose.

‘I’m too thick to take my sergeant’s exams,’ said Adam. ‘And you got sacked from being a detective for locking up one of the Greenwoods.’ He wagged his finger at a man pushing a shopping trolley. ‘What about him?’

‘If you think I’m putting my hand in his pockets, you’ve lost the plot.’

‘C’mon, Rose.’ Adam winked. ‘Give the poor bloke a thrill.’

She was about to tell him to get lost when her mobile beeped: email incoming. She checked it and froze as she read the unexploded bomb the words contained.

‘Everything okay?’ Adam asked, but she couldn’t answer. ‘Rose?’ He pulled over and killed the engine. ‘You’re worrying me now,’ he said. ‘And I don’t worry about anything except if I’m going to make it for last orders.’

Rose breathed hard. ‘It’s Joel Redman.’

‘The bent copper?’

Rose nodded. ‘He’s killed himself in prison.’

She slid out of the car into the cold night air and pulled up a number she never used. She hesitated for a second before hitting the call button. Liberty Greenwood answered immediately.

‘Redman’s dead,’ said Rose.

‘How?’ Greenwood asked.

The homeless man with the trolley came to a halt a few feet away and stared at her. Rose stared back and jabbed her thumb up the street for him to jog on. ‘Suicide. Apparently.’

‘Look, I can’t speak now, I’m right in the middle of something.’

‘Something more important than this?’ asked Rose.

‘I’m looking for someone. I’ll meet you later,’ Greenwood replied, and hung up.

Rose watched the man and his trolley move slowly away, dirty boots shuffling, wheels squeaking on the wet pavement.

The church hall was cold and smelt of disinfectant. The clinking of a metal spoon against a mug filled the air as Liberty stared at a picture of Jesus on the wall. His face was serene, like he was in soft focus, clearly not yet in the know about how he would end his days. She wondered for a second how Frankie had felt before he died. Did he know what was coming? Did it hurt? Or did he just float away into the blackness?

‘Can I get you a brew?’

Liberty turned to a woman standing by a kettle, holding up a box of PG Tips. ‘Actually, I’m looking for someone.’

‘Aren’t we all?’ said the woman and popped a teabag into a cup. She had a name badge pinned to her cardigan: Jan.

‘Her name’s Daisy Clarke,’ said Liberty. ‘Sometimes goes by Daisy the Dog?’

Jan smiled and poured boiling water over the teabag. ‘Milk and sugar?’

Liberty frowned. There was no way Jan hadn’t heard her question. Jan fished out the teabag with a spoon, placed it on top of a mountain of others and shoved the still-wet spoon into a bag of sugar. She stirred three heaped spoonfuls into the cup and held it out to Liberty.

‘Honestly, I’m just trying to find Daisy.’

Jan didn’t lower her arm, face as placid as Jesus on the wall, so Liberty took the cup, not knowing what else to do.

‘We don’t use names except inside the group,’ said Jan. ‘Everything said there is in complete confidence, including the names of those who attend.’ Liberty glanced at the name badge and Jan laughed. ‘I run the group, so I’m an exception.’ She nodded towards a side room already full of people. ‘You’re very welcome to join us.’

Liberty craned her neck to see if Daisy was in there, but she couldn’t make out anyone’s face. It was possible Daisy was there already or, more likely if she remembered Daisy right, she’d turn up late having missed her bus, lost her phone and managed to row with a randomer on the way. There was a reason Daisy had been mates with Frankie: peas in a pod. Or were they just two desperate crack heads finding a bit of comfort in each other? Was this search for Daisy something Liberty was doing to keep Frankie alive a bit longer? Everyone else seemed to think so. Frankie had been shot by a rival dealer from Manchester, who had sent kids down county lines to grab some Greenwood turf. You couldn’t make that right by tracking down a working girl he occasionally shagged. Maybe, but Liberty hadn’t come across town simply to walk away now.

Jan nodded at Liberty’s cup. ‘Bring it with you.’

Around twenty plastic chairs formed a circle in the middle of the side-room, and most were taken. Liberty slid into a free space and popped her handbag on the floor next to her feet.

Jan had followed her in and took a place near the door. ‘For anyone new tonight, I’ll repeat the rules of engagement. Say whatever you like. No one here is going to judge and no one will ever mention it outside these four walls.’

‘What happens in Vegas,’ said a man a few seats up from Liberty. He was vastly overweight, pink belly poking out from under his football top. White trainers splattered in red that might have been ketchup but could have been blood.

‘Yes, indeed, Bradley,’ said Jan. ‘Now, how are we doing tonight?’

‘Absolute shite, not go. . .