32
“You look like a bleedin solicitor. What you playin’ at?”
Bev looked nothing like a brief. Not the Max Viner variety anyway. Charlie’s legal representative, the smooth-talking Mr V, was currently at Highgate earning his doubtless massive remuneration. Jules’s was on the patch looking to make a few quid. Her comment wasn’t so much a reflection on Bev’s sad-git gear, more a disappointment that she wasn’t a punter.
Bev had driven to Thread Street straight from work. It was a bad move. Jules’s face was still falling.
“Got me hopes up there,” she whined as Bev joined her at the railings. “Haven’t had a john since Tuesday.”
“Another quiet night on the Thread Street front?”
Jules gave an eloquent eye-roll. “Apart from Cyanide Lil and Marathon Man.”
“Marathon Man?”
“The runner. That bloke you saw the other night? Set your watch by him, you can. Oh! And a cheeky sod in a three-wheeler. He offered me a fiver. Said he’d settle up on pay day.”
Bev grinned. “What did you say?”
“Told him I didn’t do charity cases and how come he’s always hangin’ round the job centre.”
Bev glanced at Jules. “How’d you know? You looking for work or something?”
She sniffed. “Could be.”
The crossed arms and tapping foot warded off further questions and anyway, Jules’s job prospects weren’t the reason Bev was here. “You on your own?”
“Yeah. Val’s got somefin’ on…”
“Makes a change.”
“…and the others are still twitchy.”
She watched as Jules scanned the street. The fake-leather coat was no match for the February cold. Jules was shivering and her bare legs looked like slabs of brawn. Bev was bringing good news, but it could be better. It could be Hey Jules, you’ve won the lottery, you’ll never have to freeze your ass on a street corner again. Yeah, yeah. Yada yada.
“Look, love, I can’t say much at the mo but it looks as if it’ll all be over soon. Perhaps you can let the others know?”
Jules looked stunned. “You got someone banged up?”
“You could say that.” What with Charlie protesting his innocence and Ferguson still protesting his guilt, the cells had a glut of bad guys.
The momentary thrill had gone. Jules was staring at her wedgies. “If you’re talkin’ Charlie Hawes, you’ll never pin anythin’ on him.”
Bev narrowed her eyes. “I want a word about that.” It had been bugging her off and on since she’d left Val’s. “How come you knew it was Charlie being pulled in? As far as you lot were concerned Charlie Hawes didn’t exist, you’d never heard of him, you wouldn’t know him from the invisible man.”
“Got a fag?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Well, what do you expect? Who’s dumb enough to admit knowin’ Charlie?”
“What’s so special about him? He’s just a bloke, Jules. And with a bit of luck, he’s going down. And staying down.”
“It’ll take more than a bit of luck. He’s got this place in his back pocket. Anyone who crosses Charlie’s gotta be tired of life.”
Bev sighed. The girl seemed to have shrunk. The feistiness had vanished. How come men like Hawes held such sway over girls like Jules? She’d seen it time and again: cases falling down because a woman won’t stand up in court; sleazeballs walking free, then forcing their girls to pay. Women either backed off or lied through their teeth; more often than not, teeth the bastard had broken. But not this time. This time was different.
“We’re nearly there, Jules. We’re nearly there.”
“Yeah. Well, forgive me if I don’t hold my breath.”