The Locksmith by Linda Calvey (top 5 books to read TXT) 📗

Dedicated to my beautiful grandchildren,

Samantha, Mia, Emily, Alana, Mano, Lacey and Fletcher.

In memory of Billy Blundell:

A true friend, a true gentleman, a true legend.

CONTENTS

Foreword by Martina Cole

Prologue

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Part Two

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Part Three

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Copyright

FOREWORD BY MARTINA COLE

As I hope some of you will know, I’ve been writing about dangerous and powerful women for a long, long time and I know how interesting they are.

Linda Calvey is a friend of mine. A strong woman and a woman with a story. Her life reads like it’s straight from one of my books, and it’s also true. Her voice is real, and like my characters, comes from a world that few can possibly imagine. Linda is also a diamond. She sticks by what she believes and looks after her friends.

The book you are about to read is written by someone who the British authorities considered dangerous enough to lock up for eighteen years. She grew up in the East End, knew – knows – all the faces. She was in deep with the gangsters, robbers, hit-men, gamblers and chancers who controlled the area. It was fast and glamorous and promised money; often violence and definitely power. But things took a wrong turn and she was convicted for murder and went to prison. The papers called her the Black Widow – the men in her life had a habit of turning up dead.

If you’ve read my books, you’ll know that I’m interested in strong women, who take matters into their own hands; women who kill. When a woman writes about crime and violence, they have a different perspective on it than men. Maybe they fundamentally understand it better. They are often on the wrong end of it. Linda Calvey knows a thing or two about that, too.

The Locksmith is a story about a family in east London. At the center of it all is Ruby, who along with her brother Bobby, are a simply a pair of straight, sweet and gobby kids from the tough part of Canning Town – until they are forced to make some hard choices. One step into the criminal underbelly of the East End, soon becomes two, and Ruby quickly discovers a natural talent for negotiating with villians and robbers. So their rise to power begins, with Ruby calling the shots. In this alternative underworld of crime, villains aren’t born, they are made.

I loved every page of this story and I think you will too. It’s a tale that unfolds as you get to know the characters, their family and the world they inhabit. Some writers write what they know. Linda writes about what she lived, and I believe is the bravest and most authentic new voice in crime fiction.

Martina

PROLOGUE

‘Where’s the money?’ shouted the man wearing a balaclava. He marched up to Ruby and pointed his gun directly in her face. ‘Tell us and you live.’

The tall, elegant woman turned to face him, staring down the barrel of his gun. She gave no indication of the lightning jolt of fear now coursing through her veins. Being on this side of the gun was scarier than she’d imagined.

‘Give them nuthin’. Open the safe and we’re all dead!’ yelled her husband Archie from the other side of the room. She caught sight of him, tied up with a gun to his head. Scanning the large lounge, she saw two masked assailants, no security guards or staff in sight. The second man, pointing his gun at Archie, slammed his fist with full force into Archie’s face, breaking his nose. The violence was shocking. She wanted to scream but she controlled the impulse. She mustn’t show fear. If there was anything she’d learned from the life she’d led, it was that.

Blood ran down Archie’s face, splashing onto the white marble floors.

‘Give. Us. The. Money.’ The first man moved closer, the tip of the gun almost touching her cheek. His voice was a snarl.

Ruby’s hackles rose but still she said nothing. She realised immediately that these men were inexperienced crooks, probably a couple of thugs who’d taken their chance and bribed the villa guards. Ruby knew proper crooks and these men weren’t it. The staff were away at a festival, something anyone local would’ve known. Simple but effective, she thought to herself. This instinct gave her strength, focus.

‘All right,’ Ruby said, her voice steady despite the trembling already threatening to take over her body, her heart pounding against her slender chest. ‘I’ll give you the money.’

‘No! Ruby they’ll kill us, d’ya hear me?’ Archie coughed, sinking back into the chair he was tied to. The pain of his injury stopped his plea.

Ruby continued as if her beloved husband was not in the room, as if he wasn’t bleeding heavily from his broken nose. A fly buzzed against the huge glass window that overlooked the bay. The hot Spanish sunshine glittered on the turquoise sea as it lapped against the white shore far below.

‘I’ll do what you tell me, but you don’t touch him.’ Ruby shot back with authority.

Ignoring her, the second gunman raised his weapon as if to strike the man she loved again.

‘You. Don’t. Touch. Him.’ Her voice was low. Despite her pounding heart, she remained calm, dignified.

For a second, she wondered if the robbers had heard her. She knew they might just shoot them anyway, leave them for dead and escape with the priceless paintings that lined her walls. That would cause them problems, though. They’d have to move the stolen artworks, and looking at the two men, they didn’t look the type to have high-class art contacts. They looked downright scruffy. Ruby’s instincts told her they were nobodies, and