Dolly King: The Gangster’s Daughter

About the Author

Carol Hellier was born in Romford, she has lived in many different counties before returning to Essex 27 years ago, where she raised her family.

She has been a hairdresser, barmaid, cleaner, and care support worker. Now currently working for the NHS, Carol writes in her spare time.

Of all the different jobs she has had, by far the best was being a mother.

Dedication

For my children and grandchildren, family is more precious than gold.

And to my rock, Shelley, true friends are very rare.

Copyright Information ©

Carol Hellier 2022

The right of Carol Hellier to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN9781398429352 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398429369 (ePub e-book)

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First Published 2022

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Epigraph

When you are thrown into a river, you can either sink or swim. The exact same thing can be said of the criminal underworld.

Only the ruthless will survive.

Prologue

My name is Dolly King, and I came kicking and screaming into the world on the 25th of December 1964, right in the middle of my grandad’s pub! My entry according to my dad, was like an unexpected hurricane, no one was prepared for the devastation it caused. And that was when all hell broke loose.

My mum, Sally O Sullivan, and my dad, Michael King, were both only 15 years old when I was born, which is why my grandad went ballistic, especially when I popped out on the carpet of the bar, for all to see. I’m not sure how Sally kept it a secret for nine months but there you go, nothing’s impossible.

Personally, I think my grandad was pissed off because the pub should have been shut by law, but he had an illegal lock-in, he did anything to make a pound note, the money-grabbing old git. And my coming along and spoiling his profit margins just wasn’t acceptable.

Anyway, Grandad threw Michael out which in turn caused a punch-up, with the outcome being, Michael ended up in borstal, so that was my old man out of the picture. And only a few months after that, Sally vanished, leaving me parentless, with a grandad that couldn’t stand me and a nan that wanted to keep me safe. So, there I was only a few months old being carted off to my great Aunt May’s, in Stepney.

Now by the time my dad had done a stint in borstal, I was long gone, and he was angry, so with him not knowing where I was, he then proceeded to tear Bethnal Green apart, looking for me. Before you know it, he’s in big boy prison, serving another three years.

So, while I was starting school at the grand old age of five, he was being released from the scrubs and began on a path of crime. He started working for an old-time gangster, learning the ropes, and making a name for himself, until he was at the top of his game by his thirties.

By the time we met again, I was twenty and he was thirty-five. It was at my nan’s funeral. He told me he knew who I was straight away because of my eyes; we all have piercing blue eyes that are a King family trait.

Although it ended well for me that day, the same couldn’t be said for grandad. Once dad realised what had gone on, he took grandad into the back of the pub, and gave him a pasting. Needless to say, Grandad didn’t walk out of there alive, but on the death certificate it said heart attack; my old man obviously had contacts in all the right places.

Anyway, now I’m back with my dad and his family, and with grandad now gone, I inherited the boozer, which was a big surprise as my grandad never liked me, he blamed me for ruining his little girl’s life, so not sure if my nan had a hand in that, maybe she felt he owed me, then again, my grandad couldn’t read or write so maybe she just got him to sign the will, who knows?

So let me introduce the family: my dad had four brothers, Uncle Graham the eldest, married to Lil, ex stripper who is also two years older than him; don’t be fooled by the word stripper, my Aunt Lil is like one of those old ’60s movie stars, carries herself with grace and elegance.

Next is Uncle Martin and Uncle Bill, the twins, pair of not rights if you ask me. They use my dad’s name to get what they want. Now don’t get me wrong, they can handle themselves, but out of all the boys, they are the weakest link.

Then second youngest, Uncle Pete, who is the closest one to me and my dad, I’ve got him totally wrapped around my little finger, whatever I want, day or night, Uncle Pete will get it for me.

Let me introduce you to the great Michael King, my dad. I’m not gonna sugar coat this, he is a ladies’ man, unable to hold a relationship down because he can’t keep it in his pants long enough. If you wrote down all the women he had been with, the list would read like a phone directory.

All the brothers look alike, dark hair and piercing blue eyes, a pretty good-looking bunch, with an air of danger, and you know what they say, us girls like a bad boy, so as you can imagine, there were always a lot of different women hanging around. I must admit though, I find it strange that I’m blonde and they are all dark; must have got that trait from my mum.

I mustn’t forget to mention my two cousins, Steven who is the product of Graham and Lil, and Terry who is Martin’s, not sure who his mum is though, she’s never been on the scene so even he doesn’t know. Both boys work at the family-owned gym, and both box, Terry more than Steven.

Next is my Nan Babs, mouth the size of the Blackwell Tunnel and always getting into trouble. She reminds me of Diana Dors, with the bleach blonde hair and heavy makeup. Even though she’s 60, she still slaps it on every morning, according to my dad she does it with a trowel.

Nan’s best pal, Silvie, lives next door, so not only is she her neighbour, she is also her bingo partner, confidant, and companion. She also likes the makeup, but dyes her hair auburn, she reckons it shows of her green eyes.

And last but not least, my fiancé Tommy Wright, the love of my life. A dark blonde 6’2" Adonis. To me he is the most beautiful man on the planet, even with the scar over his right eye, and the way his hair flops over his eyes if he needs a haircut. He is also a successful businessman, like Michael, only his area is Islington, North London. Now Tommy’s old school, doesn’t like women swearing, and expects his woman to stay in the safety of her own home while he sorts the business. I think he picked the wrong woman because I’m not the stay-at-home type, and he is soon going to realise that!

Part One

Chapter 1

September 1986

Davey Simms had never enjoyed jogging but to further his boxing career and build his stamina, he had taken it up six months ago on the advice of Michael King and with the prospect of turning pro, he had no other choice than to do as Mr King had advised. On the plus side, he was looking more ripped than he ever had in his life and his stamina was higher than it had ever been. Along with his blonde hair and pale blue eyes, he had turned into quite the babe magnet, which came in handy when he was out on the pull with his best mates, Steven, and Terry King. They could get any girl they wanted and now thanks to his boxing career, so could he.

He had just started jogging along the Hertford Union canal in Victoria Park. It was a lovely morning, peaceful and fresh, just how he liked it. Smiling to himself as he reminisced about the previous weekend’s party, he stopped when he noticed something poking out of the hedgerow. Being the nosey sod he was, he decided to take a closer look, and cautiously pulled the hedgerow apart. At first, he couldn’t make out what the bloodied mess was. On closer inspection, he realised it was the body of a woman; well, he assumed it was a woman. She was badly mutilated and covered in blood, her intestine flowed from her body like a string of sausages and lay on the grass in a heap. The only feature he could make out was the long brown hair. Feeling his stomach about to turn inside out, he turned and made his way back to find a phone box. After walking only a few feet, Davey bent over as he felt his mouth water; resting his hands on his knees, he watched as the contents of his stomach ended up on the grass verge, while the lifeless image flashed through his mind again. Wiping at his chin with the back of his hand, he stood up, looking around. As queasy as he felt, he didn’t want anyone witnessing this; he had the reputation of a hard man and he wanted to keep it.

By the time the police turned up and took Davey’s statement, his stomach had settled, and the morning was almost over, so rather than continuing on his way, he decided to give up on the jogging for today. Instead, he made his way back to King’s gym; he much preferred sparring anyway and he felt the buzz of excitement as he looked forward to telling Terry and Steven all about his gruesome find.

DI Grayling looked at the body of the dead woman and raised his eyes to heaven. This was the second body this month to turn up in a mutilated state and he knew his worst fears were coming to fruition: he had a serial killer on the loose. He only had a year till retirement; his hunger for solving serious crime had long diminished, now all he wanted was a quiet life, spent tending his garden.

The DI was a short squat man, who over the years had gained a couple of extra stone, due to spending a lot of his time in the staff canteen. He reckoned he did his best thinking while he was sitting there with a cup of tea; the trouble was he generally had a doughnut or a cream bun to accompany said tea.

His face was, for want of a better word, lived in, and his hair was thinning on top to the point of now having a slick comb over, which looked fine on a summer day but add a bit of wind into the mix and it would flap about on the top of his head like a seagull landing.

What can you tell me, Mike? Mike had worked on many cases as the main forensic psychologist; the men had a good working relationship. Grayling could see the horror on the man’s face and for him to be shocked after working crime scenes for the last 20 years, Grayling knew this was one sick individual running loose in the capital and the bodies were going to mount up. Mike stood up and faced the DI.

Not a lot until I get her back. This is another frenzied attack similar to the last one; whoever did this was full of anger, almost like its personal. I will tell you more later once I’ve had a chance to examine the body fully, but as a heads up, I would say it’s the same person.

Lighting up a Rothman’s king size and inhaling the nicotine, the DI made his way back to the police car. He was puzzled, there was a growing number of missing women and he wondered if their bodies would turn up in the same state at some point. If this were to hit the papers, there would be panic all over the capital and his superiors wouldn’t be happy. Sighing, he nodded, giving permission to clear the crime scene. As his stomach rumbled, he decided his next stop would be the police canteen.

Tommy had the hump; this was the eighth house they had looked at and still Dolly was ‘umming’ and ‘arhhhing’.

You want it to be right, don’t you? she snapped.

Babe, I would live in a shed as long as I’m with you. Tommy slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her round to face him.

Dolly smiled, she knew already exactly how he felt about her, which made her love him even more. She wanted to make a home with him, she really did, however, she was worried about leaving her dad alone. She had only had him in her life for a year and she felt she needed a little more time. So, for a house to drag her away from her dad, it would have to be pretty damn amazing.

Tommy watched as Dolly looked up at the house, her eyes taking in all the features, This is perfect, Doll, large drive, 4 double bedrooms, and look at the area, this will get snapped up in no time.

Dolly flicked her hair back and faced Tommy, I need to think about it, I’m not making any rash decisions, can we discuss it later? Dolly wondered deep down if this was all happening too fast, did he really want to get married to her, or was this about winning.

It had been two months since the boxing match, a boxing match Michael had set up because Tommy and Ricky, Dolly’s ex, were about to have a punch up in the pub over Dolly. It was awful, she was sat minding her own business when Ricky had walked up to her, declaring his undying love. Dolly did her best to stop him but, unfortunately, Tommy walked in and heard the end of his sentence. The next thing she knew, they were squaring up to each other ready for a fight. Both men were over 6ft tall and poor Dolly, who’s a fraction over 5’ 2" had to stand in between them and push them apart. When Michael walked in and saw what was going on, after initially blowing his top that his daughter was stuck in the middle, he decided they should sort it out in the ring, both men could box and that way Dolly wouldn’t be involved.

A couple of weeks later and Tommy had won the fight and that’s when he proposed, pulling her into the middle of the ring and declaring his undying love for all to hear. She often wondered if he got caught in the moment with all those people cheering him on but deep down, she knew he meant it.

Two months later and Tommy was still waiting for a date to be set for the wedding; he decided he would just book it if she didn’t get a move on. He wanted to get that sexy little arse up the isle ASAP. Right, come on, I’m taking my woman to lunch. He watched her closely, waiting for the reaction and there it was.

Will you stop calling me that? Dolly rolled her eyes so hard, she thought they would get stuck at the back of her head.

He muffled his laughter, not wanting to totally piss her off; she could withdraw all bedroom rights after all and that wouldn’t be good. Why? Aren’t you my woman then? He knew it wound her up, she said it made him sound like a caveman.

Dolly tutted, Of course, I am, her voice softening.

Tommy grabbed her hand and walked back to the motor, smiling to himself, he felt the fluttering in his stomach that he always felt when he was with her. Thinking he was one lucky bastard, he led her out to his Range Rover. Tommy opened the door to his pride and joy, a black In Vogue 4-door beauty, and ushered Dolly in, kissing her as she slid onto the leather seat and getting a handful of her arse.

Davey couldn’t wait to tell anyone and everyone about his gruesome discovery. Yeah, I was just jogging past and saw her foot, fucking creepy, isn’t it? I mean you’re minding your own business and you stumble upon a fucking corpse. And then I had to phone the old bill and wait for them to turn up, mind you they didn’t take long to get to me. Davey felt his pulse racing as he relayed the events that had occurred, as everyone listened intently. He skipped over the throwing up business, they would take the piss if they knew that titbit of information.

Martin King grinned. So, what state was she in?

Davey was enjoying the attention so much he didn’t notice the excitement in Martin’s eyes; he was going to make the most of this moment, now he was actually over the shock of the image he had seen. Mate, mutilated, seriously I didn’t know if she was male or female. I went by the hair and not the body.

Come on, Bill, let’s go check on the girls, you boys have a good day. Martin turned and walked to the door, his excitement turning to one of his urges; he would take that urge out on one of Michael’s brasses.

Steven looked at Davey, he was now bored with the conversation. I’m going to the café to get something to eat, anyone want a sausage sandwich?

Davey’s mind went back to the woman’s intestine laying on the grass, he felt his stomach churn. Not for me mate, I need the loo, almost running to the door, before he threw up in front of his friends, he headed for the toilet. He definitely wouldn’t be able to eat a sausage again.

Chapter 2

Michael King sat in the office at the club, blowing his top, to an audience of one, Graham, who was not enjoying the experience. Some prick somewhere is ripping me off, there’s a discrepancy in the books and I need to get to the bottom off it and then kill the sneaky little fucker who thinks he can take the fucking piss at my fucking expense.

Michael, calm down, you’ll have a heart attack. Graham watched as his brother’s face turned a deeper shade of purple.

I need another pair of eyes over these accounts, where’s Dolly?

Graham raised his eyes to the heavens; it was no good talking to his brother when he was like this. She had a couple of houses to look at with Tommy, she did tell you.

Michael did remember now his memory had been jogged but he couldn’t back track and make himself look silly, so he carried on with his rant and totally ignored his brother.

Fucking typical, another one on the missing list.

Graham decided to not answer. Dolly was the only one that could calm him down, so he would let her have the honour. I’m gonna make tracks now, bruv, I’m sure Doll will be back soon, and Michael, calm down before your head explodes. With that Graham grabbed his jacket and made a hasty exit.

Michael didn’t bother replying, he was too busy scanning the rows of numbers and trying to focus on where they went wrong. Looking up, when he heard the door open, he saw Graham leave and sat back in his leather chair, letting out a long slow sigh.

Michael wasn’t only angry at the arsehole who was taking his money, he was also angry at his daughter for leaving him. It was too soon, he hadn’t had her in his life long enough, he knew he was being unreasonable, but he just couldn’t help it. Instead of focusing on the accounts, Michael poured himself a scotch, and downed it in one; feeling the burn hit his throat, he closed his eyes and allowed his temper to cool slightly, before focusing back on the missing money.

Just after six, Tommy dropped Dolly back at the pub, then he headed off to do his business while his woman was safely in the pub and out of harm’s way, just as he liked it. He was on a high after the afternoon’s hijinks, the visit to the hotel was unexpected and so was what followed. He took a while to regain his composure, however he had work to do, so as hard as it was to drop Dolly off, he knew he needed to get business taken care of so he could get back to her.

Tommy could still smell Dolly’s perfume and the musky smell of sex was still hanging in the air as he drove away. Tommy smiled, that same warm feeling filled him with a sense of satisfaction. They had started the foreplay on the passenger seat when they left the restaurant, his mind flipped back to Dolly unzipping him and sliding her hand in. Shuddering, Tommy shook his head, he had work to do and then he would be back with her for round two.

Thirty minutes later he was pulling up at his snooker club; it boasted 6 snooker tables and 6 pool tables with a bar and a few tables for people that just wanted to hang out. Tommy had not long acquired the snooker hall, another tosser that borrowed money against his business. Tommy had warned him, he knew the risks and still he gambled his livelihood on a large loan and for what, all for a fucking two-bit tart that had it away with the cash. He walked in and spotted the drunk at the bar. The previous owner, John, thought he could take back the club. Well, Tommy was here to tell him otherwise.

John, you need to go, go and sober up. Tommy looked at him with disgust, disgust but also pity.

This is my club; you can’t just take it. John lunged at him, completely missing his target as Tommy side-stepped him, and ended up in a heap on the floor.

We had an agreement; it was all legal, you knew the risk, John. I warned you what would happen.

I’ve lost everything. John burst into tears causing a few gasps from around the room.

Tommy looked at the pathetic, drunken mess hunched over on the floor, his floor. This wasn’t good for business, people came here to relax, not watch some drunk throw a strop. Boys, escort him out. He nodded to a couple of his men, and they dragged the drunken wreck out. John didn’t put up a fight or struggle; it was obvious the man had nothing left now to live for.

Tommy watched as the man was dragged away; there was no point in smashing the man’s kneecaps or roughing him up, he was punished enough for his stupidity. The whole place knew what had happened, Tommy was surprised he had the gall to show his face at all. As the man was dragged away, Tommy shook his head. You live and learn, he thought, although looking at John, some people obviously didn’t.

Tommy didn’t get any satisfaction from taking the snooker club, not like he normally would, he liked John, always got on okay with him. Tommy’s dad would bring him in here as a kid while he played snooker. Tommy would sit and watch all the dodgy goings-on and there was definitely plenty of them. Still, it wasn’t Tommy’s job to pick up the pieces of an old fool’s heart, and to be perfectly frank, he didn’t really fucking care.

Tommy was now left with the dilemma of selling the club, to get the hefty wedge back that he had loaned John, or keeping the place as an investment, although the decision wasn’t only his, it was also his brother Roy’s decision to make.