Jaded

by Rob Ashman

  ‘You okay?’ Tavener asked.

  ‘Yeah, there’s a lot riding on this.’

  ‘I know, but the intel is good. We’re in for a big result today.’

  Kray glanced at her watch, five to two. ‘Comms check,’ she said into her radio. The teams sounded off, each one confirming they were in position, ready to hear the command – ‘Go, go, go.’

  Marshall was suited and booted and sitting in the club sipping a black coffee. The caffeine was definitely helping. Twelve hours earlier he had loaded his latest delivery from Mr Zhang into the Transit and handed over a briefcase full of money.

  The big gorilla in the overalls had been at Zhang’s side again. Marshall had wondered why the guy chose to wear a boiler suit. Then, when he got close, he could smell grease and diesel oil. He obviously worked on the container ship in some engineering capacity or another.

  Marshall had checked the manifest and found everything to be in order. They had ushered the women out of the container and into the van with a minimum of fuss; fourteen young women each with the same bewildered look on their face. Women who had braved the journey from Laos into Europe and across the sea into Liverpool – who were to be sold into prostitution and forced labour, not to mention the odd one destined for organ harvesting. Fourteen women who had put their trust in people, promising them a better life.

  The journey to pick them up had been a ball-aching trip, because they had kept to the back streets and A-roads rather than use the motorways. It was worth it to avoid being captured by the ANPR system. Marshall drained his cup and checked his watch. Everything was ready, it was almost showtime.

  Billy Ellwood was perched on a bar stool looking out of the window at the people walking by. His coffee had long since gone cold and the paper in front of him remained unopened. From his vantage point he could just see the front of the Paragon. This was the closest he dared get to the action. The club was shut. The front windows reflected the images of the people walking by. His eyes were everywhere, trying to spot a sign of the police operation that was about to unfold. He had no idea what time it would kick-off, but if it were up to him, he would crash through the doors at 2pm for maximum impact.

  Kray picked up her radio. ‘All units – go, go go.’

  She and Tavener left the car and walked up the street. They could see the flood of armed officers dressed in paramilitary gear rushing towards the front of the Paragon. She knew there were another two teams around the back doing the very same thing – one team for the cellar and the other to enter the building via the top landing. The tactical response leader gave the command and the front doors dissolved in a shower of glass.

  ‘Police! Police!’ the first man yelled at the top of his voice. There was a crash as they smashed through the inside door.

  Josh leapt up from behind the bar. ‘What the f–’

  ‘Stand still with your hands where I can see them!’ One of the officers levelled an assault rifle at him.

  Other shouts of, ‘Down on the floor, down on the floor!’ echoed around the dance hall.

  Kray entered the room, crunching glass under her feet, and looked around. Apart from the coppers and a couple of staff the place was empty. She ran to the staircase leading down to the cellar and collided with an officer coming the other way.

  ‘Nothing, ma’am,’ he said, as she pushed past him, her heart in her mouth.

  Kray reached the bottom of the steps to find an officer emerging from a side room, the door hanging off its hinges. She pushed past him, scanning the concrete walls and floor – it was empty – as was the room beyond.

  Kray dashed back upstairs to be met by Bagley standing in the middle of the dance floor shaking his head. Blood rushed through her temples with every beat of her heart. The radio in her hand gargled into life. ‘Team Alpha – all clear.’

  ‘Team Beta – all clear.’

  Kray looked across at Bagley.

  ‘What the fuck, Roz?’ he mouthed. Kray spun on the spot looking at the empty booth seats against the walls. The guy from behind the bar was sat cross-legged on the floor with an officer standing over him.

  Marshall appeared on the stage, dressed in a double-breasted suit, surveying the scene. He was tutting under his breath.

  ‘DI Kray, good afternoon.’ He walked to the front apron. ‘This has to constitute police harassment, don’t you think?’

  Kray looked up at him, her breath short and shallow. Her head was spinning.

  ‘What have you done with them?’ she croaked.

  Marshall simply stood there and laughed.

  Kray felt a sharp pain in her stomach, then another, then another. She doubled over, clutching her side. She could hear Marshall cackling. The pain surged through her groin.

  She felt warm and wet between her legs.

  Kray’s agonising scream filled the dance hall.

  Chapter 39

  Fluorescent strip lighting whizzed overhead as Kray was propelled down the corridor feet first on a trolley. She blinked as the bursts of light dazzled her eyes. Every now and again a face would stare down at her, filling her field of vision. A man and woman dressed in green marched either side, gripping the handrails.

  She could remember bringing her hands up from between her legs in the club to find them covered in blood. The whole world went into freefall and she collapsed to the floor.

  Next thing she knew, paramedics were trundling her into a waiting ambulance and gave her a shot of pain relief. The sound of the two-tone siren made her feel like she was back at work.

  Kray raised her head to see she was still wearing her jacket and shirt but a thin blanket covered her from the waist down. Her hands were still a patchwork of red.

  ‘Nearly there,’ said the woman walking beside her. Kray turned her head to see she was carrying a plastic bag and a balled-up roll of grey paper towel. They banged through a set of double doors and stopped. The paramedic handed the bag and the towel to a woman dressed in blue, and then began to talk calmly while the nurse nodded.

  ‘We are going to leave you here.’ A man put his hand on Kray’s shoulder and smiled. ‘They will look after you.’

  Kray felt woozy. The searing pain in her stomach had been replaced with a dull ache. A nurse came over and washed the blood from her hands using surgical wipes.

  ‘Let’s get you cleaned up a little. We need to move you onto a bed.’

  Kray was wheeled into a side ward by two nurses.

  The place smelled of antiseptic mouthwash and hand sanitiser. ‘I feel sick,’ Kray said, trying to lift herself onto her elbow. A nurse placed a cardboard bowl under Kray’s chin just in time to catch the vomit. She coughed and spluttered. The nurse handed her a wad of tissues.

  ‘Oh fuck,’ Kray said, wiping her mouth. ‘My baby, can you tell me—’ The sentence was interrupted as her stomach heaved and a fresh mouthful of vomit landed in the bowl.

  ‘Let me get that.’ The nurse replaced the cardboard container with a clean one and handed over another wad of tissues.

  ‘Can you tell me what’s happened to my baby?’

  ‘We’re waiting for the doctor, she shouldn’t be a minute.’

  A woman dressed in suit trousers and a white blouse came in. All three huddled together over a stainless steel table in the corner of the room. Kray could see the ball of grey paper towel. Tears began pricking at her eyes.

  She didn’t need to ask the question again.

  One of the nurses and the doctor left the room, taking the paper towel with them. The remaining nurse sidled over to where Kray was lying.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve suffered a miscarriage,’ she said, in a flat, well-practised tone. ‘We will need to examine you to be sure everything has come away.’ Kray said nothing. She nodded as the tears ran down her cheeks. ‘You’ll probably be more comfortable on the bed. Do you think you can stand?’

  Kray nodded again and lifted herself up onto her elbows. She twisted and swung her legs over the side. She was naked from the waist down
. Her feet hit the cold floor and the nurse held on to her arm.

  ‘You’ll be better off in a proper bed,’ she said, helping Kray to shuffle across the room. ‘How about if we give you a wash first?’

  Kray glanced down to see her thighs were discoloured with blood and dried fluid. ‘Yeah, that would be good.’

  ‘Is there anyone you need to call?’

  ‘Umm, yes.’ Kray tapped her hands on her jacket and found her phone. She pushed a couple of buttons.

  The nurse helped her to lift her legs into bed and covered her with a sheet. She went to the sink to prepare a bowl of soapy water. Kray put the phone to her ear.

  Millican clattered through the door, his phone ringing loudly.

  ‘Roz, what is it? What’s happened?’ He looked at his phone and disconnected the call.

  Kray stared at him, then at her phone and back again. ‘But how?’

  ‘You called me, saying something about being in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. You told me to meet you at Maternity.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Roz, what the hell happened? Why are you here?’ Kray held his gaze for a few seconds, then burst into tears. She held out her arms. Millican ran to the bed and hugged her. Kray sobbed into his shoulder, her arms pulling him tight.

  ‘Roz, what’s happened?’ He gripped her shoulders and peeled her away from him. ‘Talk to me.’

  ‘I lost the baby.’

  ‘What baby?’

  ‘Our baby.’ She spluttered into his chest.

  ‘Our baby? You’re pregnant?’

  ‘I was, and now it’s gone.’

  ‘Shit! Are… are… you all right?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How… what?’

  Kray broke away. ‘I wanted to tell you, honest I did. But it never seemed to be the right time. And then when it was right I started bleeding and freaked out. I tried so many times to tell you… and every time…’ She dissolved into gales of tears again, hurling herself into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her once more.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay.’ Tears flooded his eyes and ran down his cheeks. ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘A while.’

  ‘A while? How far gone were you?’

  ‘About eight weeks.’ Kray took a tissue from her jacket pocket and wiped her nose. ‘I was meaning to tell you – the other night when you were on call; the time when I had to attend that stabbing. And then… and then… and then I started bleeding.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Millican held her, trying to hug the hurt away. ‘You should have just told me.’

  ‘I tried, honest I tried.’

  ‘You should have just said, “Hey, guess what? I’m pregnant”.’

  ‘I wanted to choose the right time, I wanted it to be right… I wanted it to be… I’m so sorry.’

  They rocked back and forth. It seemed like there was nothing more to say.

  The nurse appeared by the side of the bed carrying the bowl of water and a towel. ‘We need to conduct an examination to make sure everything is okay. The sooner we do that, the sooner we can make you more comfortable.’

  ‘What sort of examination?’ asked Millican, breaking the embrace.

  ‘And you are…?’

  ‘I’m her boyfriend.’

  The nurse nodded. ‘We need to do a pelvic examination and an ultrasound, to check the uterus is clear in order to prevent any infection. If not, we’ll do a D&C which is a ten-minute procedure.’

  The doctor and another nurse came in, wheeling an ultrasound machine.

  ‘Would you mind waiting outside?’ The nurse nodded to Millican. ‘I’ll come and find you when we’re done.’

  ‘Err, yes, of course.’ He broke free from Kray’s grasp and headed out the door. The nurse busied herself drawing the curtains around the bed. As the door closed behind him he could see Kray mouthing the word, Sorry.

  He was rooted to the spot, trying to absorb what had just happened. All the time the same question rattled around his brain – why didn’t you tell me?

  Chapter 40

  I’m struggling to keep to the speed limit as I head south on the M6 motorway. And having to listen to Jade ranting in the back isn’t helping.

  ‘I knew it, I fucking knew it. Stick a knife in his neck, I said. But oh no, you know best. Let’s get the coppers involved – let them do the dirty work. Fat lot of good that was!’

  ‘Piss off, Jade, pack it in with your I told you so routine.’

  ‘But that’s my point, I did fucking tell you. Why do you persist in ducking the issue?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘I made a promise,’ she chants. I glare at her in the rear-view mirror, her heavily made-up eyes staring back at me from beneath her hooded fringe. She leans forward, draping her tattooed arms over the back of the seat. ‘She stitched you up, that DI Kray. You gave her the inside track on something that you should have kept to yourself.’

  ‘You agreed with the plan.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘Piss off, Jade, I’m not in the mood.’

  The M6 gives way to the M5 and I’m forced to slow down because of the damned roadworks. As usual, no bugger is working on them. The events at the Paragon play over and over in my head. I saw the coppers congregating at the front entrance and watched them put the door in. I saw Kray scampering along the pavement and disappear inside. Then… nothing.

  The time ticked by – I kept checking my watch – still nothing.

  I’d been expecting to see a fleet of cars arrive to take the girls away to a safe house but all that turned up was an ambulance. That was when my curiosity got the better of me and I left the café to get a clearer view of what was going on.

  Two paramedics dashed inside, then one of them returned to fetch a trolley. I couldn’t see the face of the person who was wheeled out. After a while the coppers left and drove away from the scene, then Marshall appeared at the front. It looked as if he was waving them goodbye. And that was it.

  I ran back to my car and spent the next hour staring into the middle distance. I could feel the anger of eighteen years boiling to the surface, my knuckles white as I gripped on to the seat. I let out a scream of rage, slapping my hands against the steering wheel. That’s when Jade showed up, spitting bile and fury in equal measure. I had a brief respite from her torrent of abuse when I visited the hardware shop but other than that she’s been on full volume ever since.

  I jolt back to reality and almost smack into the car in front as the traffic slows to a crawl.

  ‘Fuuuck!’ I yell at the top of my voice.

  ‘The cops made you look a complete twat. Hanging on to an eighteen-year-old promise while all around you are laughing their bollocks off. You’re a pussy, you know that, right?’

  ‘I’m not telling you again.’

  ‘Or what? What are you going to do? Report me to your new lady friend in the police? Because if that’s the case I’ll be perfectly fine. Fucking pussy.’

  I slam on the breaks and swerve into the cones, bringing the car to a juddering stop. A cacophony of horns sound around me as drivers make rude hand gestures out the window.

  I spin around in my seat, Jade recoils with her hands in her lap.

  ‘You’re right and I was wrong. Is that what you want to hear?’ I spit the words at her. ‘What the hell do you think we’re doing here?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She avoids my gaze.

  ‘I’m putting this right, Jade. It was a mistake to give the information to the police and I screwed up trying to keep the promise. Every day I torture myself about what happened to your mum, every day I play “what if” scenarios. What if I hadn’t gone home that weekend, what if I’d smacked the guy holding the knife, what if–’

  ‘What if you hadn’t shagged that tart, Natasha.’

  ‘Yeah, that too,’ I yell at her. ‘But I did and your mum died.’

  ‘So did I.’

  Her blistering comment punches me
in the stomach. She has every reason to be angry.

  ‘Yeah, you did and I have to live with that every day – every fucking day. So, don’t give me a hard time about trying to do the right thing because I’ve spent the last eighteen years trying to do the right thing.’

  ‘You’ve known all along what you needed to do.’

  ‘Yes, I have, but I wanted to keep the last memory I have of your mum as pure as possible. I didn’t want that to be as dirty and messed up as everything else in my life. Don’t you understand that?’

  ‘No, I don’t. All I know is Marshall is walking about fit and well. When he should be spilling his blood around my feet while I laugh my tits off.’

  ‘I know, I know. I will sort it, Jade, I promise.’

  ‘Are you making another promise?’

  ‘Yes, but this one’s to you.’

  ‘Shall I shut up now?’

  ‘Yes, that would be good.’ I reverse the car and force my way back onto the carriageway amidst the sound of protesting horns. The rest of the journey passes in silence, though it does nothing to curtail my rage.

  I turn onto Holyhead Road and pick up signs for Handsworth Park. Sixty-three acres of landscaped grassy slopes, plus a lake and a cemetery that boasts the final resting place of the fathers of the industrial revolution and the founders of Aston Villa football club. At the time I wasn’t aware of its heritage. All I knew was it had a copse of trees and bushes in the most northerly corner adjacent to the roadside properties on Hinstock Road. An ideal place to hide my trophies for a rainy day.

  I park the car and retrieve my latest purchases from the boot. I should be more careful, avoiding the problem of prying eyes, but I’m way past caring. I find the spot – overgrown with brambles and undergrowth. I pull on gloves and rip the plants from the soil. I need to work fast.

  The ground is soft and the edge of the spade slices into the earth. I shovel away, creating a rapidly growing mound of dirt. I strike something metal, then drop to my knees and scoop away the soil with my hands to reveal a green, corrugated piece of metal. I use my shovel to lever the metal box from its grave and heave it out of the hole.