The Wronged: No parent should ever have to bury their child.... Kimberley Chambers

pie,’ she had spluttered. Seeing the doubt in his employees’ eyes annoyed Michael. ‘Not being funny, lads, but Roy is dead, Vinny is banged up for the foreseeable, so I’m your boss now. You in or out?’

      Paul and Pete exchanged glances. ‘We’re in, boss,’ Paul confirmed.

      Queenie Butler was not in the most patient of moods. She’d done her utmost to cheer her sister up, but Vivian was still as miserable as sin. Viv had got over having a todger waved in her direction. They’d both roared with laughter over that last night. But she’d now gone into meltdown over Billy bloody Higgins. A man she’d barely spoken to for years.

      ‘I should’ve gone with my instinct and called the police, Queen. If I’d accompanied Janey to the station, she’d have had no need to blurt it out to her family. She didn’t want to tell ’em, but obviously they guessed something was wrong. It’s my fault Billy’s fighting for his life.’

      Queenie gritted her teeth. If her memory served her correctly, Vivian hadn’t shed this many tears over poor Molly. ‘For Christ’s sake, snap out of it, Viv. It’s terrible what happened to Janey, but no real harm was done – he only tickled her with his stick, and she’s barely family to us, is she? As for Billy, he’s been living in Rainham for donkey’s years with a heart condition. Been in and out of hospital many a time.’

      Shocked by her sister’s outburst, Vivian retaliated: ‘You can be a very cold-hearted person at times, Queenie. Has anybody ever told you that?’

      ‘You need to get a grip, love, or you’ll end up in that loony bin again if you’re not careful. I spoke to Michael earlier and he’s promised to deal with the matter sooner rather than later, OK?’

      Vivian nodded. Ensuring Pervy Pat got his comeuppance was the least she could do for Janey and Billy.

      Having waited until it was dark, Little Vinny put the hood up on his jacket and checked nobody was about as he tapped on Alison Bloggs’ front door.

      ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Vin. I’ve been feeling really depressed.’

      Ushering the ugly whore into the hallway, Little Vinny handed her the bottle of vodka he’d stolen from the club. ‘Get that down your neck. It’ll make you feel better,’ he urged.

      ‘D’ya want me to suck you off again?’ Alison volunteered hopefully. She wasn’t used to gifts unless she gave something in return.

      ‘Maybe later,’ Little Vinny lied. ‘First I want you to drink that and tell me everything that’s happened.’

      Alison began to greedily slurp the neat vodka while describing how Social Services had turned up earlier in the week and taken all her children into care.

      ‘They’re stopping me child allowance, Vin. How am I gonna manage financially?’ Alison whined, clearly far more concerned about losing the money than having her kids taken away.

      Little Vinny sipped his cider and smirked as Alison’s eyelids began to droop. He’d bought a score’s worth of Temazepam off a local dealer and emptied the liquid from the capsules in the vodka bottle.

      Putting on an identical pair of Marigold gloves to the ones he’d throttled his sister with, Little Vinny waited until Alison had drunk most of the vodka before plonking himself next to her on the stinking threadbare sofa.

      ‘That you, Vin? What you doing?’ a sleepy Alison slurred.

      ‘I’m doing what I should’ve done a long time ago. Snuffing out your miserable existence, you waste of fucking space.’

      ‘What?’ Alison mumbled, eyelids drooping.

      Little Vinny took the razor blade out of his pocket. ‘Rot in hell, slag,’ he hissed, as he slashed first Alison’s right wrist, then her left. He then took great pleasure in watching the blood and life seep out of her body.

      Patrick Campbell aka Pervy Pat was not a stupid man. He’d experienced more in his twenty-five years than most blokes had in a lifetime.

      Left in a public toilet as a newborn baby, Pat had no idea who his actual birth mother was. He’d then been shunted from one children’s home to another before being fostered by Lena and John at the age of ten.

      John had been a nice man, had encouraged him to take up sport. Lena, however, was a bitch. When John had a heart attack and passed away, Pat had been led a dog’s life, both physically and mentally, thanks to Lena. Well aware that he was now notorious among the locals, since his release from prison Pat had taken to going further afield in search of prey. Pretending he was some big shot usually got him what he wanted these days without a struggle.

      Rubbing his hand up and down his latest victim’s back, Pat was rather pissed off when she informed him that she had no intention of leaving with him, no matter how much he flashed the cash and promised her a good time.

      ‘Your loss, sweetheart. There’s plenty more fish in the sea,’ he said, turning away.

      What Pervy Pat didn’t realize as he sipped the last of his brandy and sang along to Black Slate’s ‘Amigo’ was that outside the Fanshawe Tavern a rather unpleasant surprise was waiting for him.

      Parked up behind Patrick Campbell’s car, Michael Butler was becoming rather impatient at being kept waiting. ‘I thought you said he always left this boozer before ten.’

      ‘He did the other nights, Michael, but we’ve only followed him a few times, remember,’ Pete reminded his boss.

      ‘Give us that torch. It’s as black as Newgate’s knocker out there,’ Michael ordered.

      All three men were sitting in the back of the van while keeping a watchful eye out the front window. ‘Don’t start shining torches. We don’t want to bring unwanted attention to ourselves. No way can we miss him parked ’ere,’ Paul warned.

      ‘So what’s occurring exactly, Michael? We need to know our alibi,’ Pete said.

      ‘Our alibi is a game of poker at the club. Us three, plus Nick, the Kelly brothers and Jimmy Elliot. The others are all back at the club as we speak. I’ve told ’em to answer the phone and say I’m in the middle of a card game if anyone buzzes or rings. I’ve also told Nick to make two outgoing phone calls to my mum and dad, just in case the phone records are checked. I’ll wise my parents up on what time I supposedly called when I get back.’

      Seeing Pete and Paul glance worriedly at one another, Michael grinned. ‘Like two rabbits caught in the headlights, you pair remind me of. Chill, for fuck’s sake. I know you’re thinking I shouldn’t have involved Nick ’cause he has Old Bill in the family. But that makes for an even better alibi, if you get my drift. Anyway, we’re not committing murder, just gonna teach Pat what happens to perverts.’

      Pete stood up and leaned over the passenger seat. ‘Speak of the devil.’

      Pat Campbell’s pride and joy was his Jaguar XJS, so his first thought when he was grabbed from behind by two men in balaclavas was that they were after stealing his car. ‘Get off me, you shitbags,’ he yelled, desperately trying to break free from their grasp.

      Seconds later, Pervy Pat was smashed over the head with a hammer by a third man, then dragged into the back of a van.

      Little Vinny was in high spirits as he strolled back towards the club. Today had been a good day. Visiting Hainault to pay his respects to Ben had made him feel much better about himself, and killing Alison was the icing on the cake. If Ben was looking down from heaven, Little Vinny knew he’d be relieved that his brothers and sisters would no longer have to suffer the hardship he had. At least in care the poor little bastards would be bathed, fed and clothed properly.

      The spring in his step left Little Vinny the moment he put his hand in his pocket. His keys were missing.

      Patrick Campbell had no idea where he was being driven to, or who’d abducted him. The bang on the head had left him dazed and confused, and he couldn’t see a thing because a sack of some kind had been placed