Читать книгу The Wronged: No parent should ever have to bury their child... - Kimberley Chambers - Страница 8

Whitechapel was a close-knit community, especially amongst the old school who had been born and bred there, and the brutal murder of the three-year-old child had left a bitter taste in everybody’s mouths.

Thankfully, the police had caught the killer. But with the murder still fresh in people’s minds, parents were much more vigilant than they had been, and many a child was not allowed to roam the streets as freely as they had before Molly Butler’s death.

Little Molly had been no ordinary child. She was the daughter of the infamous Vinny Butler. With Ronnie and Reggie Kray banged up, Vinny and his brothers now stood at the top of the East End’s criminal ladder, along with the Mitchells from Canning Town. On the day of the funeral service, the grounds around the church were mobbed with people who had come from far and wide to pay their respects. Most of the local English shopkeepers had shut down their businesses for the day, and even though villains from across the river usually steered well clear of the Butlers’ turf, Vinny recognized many faces from South London as the black limousine drove slowly through the crowds.

Molly’s final journey was a mournful yet stunning sight. Two white horses pulled a glass coach through the streets of Whitechapel, past the club that the Butler brothers owned, then on to the church. As the family filed in, bystanders bowed their heads and murmured their condolences to Vinny’s mother, Queenie, and her sister Viv, showing them the kind of reverence that had once been reserved for Violet and Rose Kray.

The service was extremely moving. There was barely a dry eye in the church when the pianist began to play the golden oldie, ‘You Are My Sunshine’. Shortly before her untimely death, little Molly had performed the song in a talent competition at a holiday camp in Eastbourne. With her angelic looks, blonde curls and bubbly personality she had received a standing ovation from the crowd and taken first prize.

The most poignant moment of the day though, was when fourteen-year-old Vinny Butler bravely stood at the front of the church and read out a poem he had written for his little sister.

‘I miss you more than words can say,

and blame myself every single day.

As your big brother I should have protected you more,

But I fell asleep and you walked out the door.

‘I hope that God will take good care of you,

and love you as much as your family do.

Life will never be the same without you, Molly,

and I hope you are playing in heaven with your favourite dolly.

‘That wicked boy who took you away,

will pay for his evil sins one day.

Until that time I want you to know,

that me, Dad, Nanny, Auntie Viv and Uncle Michael all loved you so.

‘Rest in peace my beautiful little sister, from your big brother, Vinny.’

When the emotional teenager returned to the pew to sit alongside his family members, not a single member of the congregation sensed anything was amiss. Why would they?

The only person inside that church who knew the police had arrested the wrong boy, leaving Molly’s killer still at large, was young Vinny Butler.

How did he know?

Because he was the one who had put his hands around his little sister’s neck and cold-bloodedly throttled the life out of her.