But Ning had other concerns. ‘Ryan hit his head on a branch. I think he’s got concussion.’
Ryan cracked a big smile and shrugged. ‘Me head’s fine, I don’t know what she’s on about.’
Ning shot back to her feet and threw her gun down furiously. ‘You . . . You, utter, utter . . . Lying, cheating . . .’
But there was something infectious about Theo’s victory smile, and Ning started to laugh.
‘I’ll get you two back for this,’ Ning said, as she walked towards the gates with her arms raised. ‘I don’t know how or when, but some fine day, when you least expect it . . .’
9. SEGREGATION
Wendy the guard opened a barred gate and offered a handshake to the policeman on the other side.
‘Detective Constable Schaeffer,’ Wendy said, shaking the officer’s hand. He was a tall man, with curly brown hair and a bulbous nose, but his most distinctive feature was the long scar Fay Hoyt had left down his cheek. ‘Welcome to Idris STC.’
Wendy led the officer a few metres to her office, and noted that he was holding a brown paper McDonald’s bag.
‘So the injuries Fay inflicted, is there anything beyond the scarring?’ Wendy asked.
‘Some nerve damage,’ Schaeffer said. ‘My cheek feels numb a lot of the time. It’s worst when you try to eat and end up with food dribbling down your face.’
‘You harbour no resentment towards her?’
Schaeffer shook his head. ‘I’m not Fay’s number one fan. But I regularly deal with people a lot less pleasant than her.’
Wendy slid a piece of paper across the desk. ‘This form gives you our consent to interview Fay. However, as Fay is a minor and there is no other adult present, nothing can be recorded or used in evidence and you must leave the room if she requests it.’
‘I know the score,’ Schaeffer nodded. ‘This isn’t about anything Fay’s done in the past. I’m hoping to offer her a path to redemption, and a way of avenging the death of her aunt.’
Wendy smiled wryly as she grabbed a worksheet off the desk and held it up. ‘As I warned when you phoned to request the interview, Fay’s never been very cooperative. For the last three days she’s been confined to our segregation room after a bullying incident. Anyone who bullies is required to complete a series of anti-bullying worksheets. Here’s an example of Fay’s answers:
‘Question four. If I see another inmate being bullied, what should I do? Fay’s answer, Grind up some glass and put it in their breakfast cereal. Question nine, If your room-mate bullies or intimidates you during the night, what is your best response? Fay’s answer, Wait till they fall asleep, then slit their guts open before plaiting their entrails to make an attractive skipping rope.’
‘Quite an imagination,’ Schaeffer said.
‘So now you’ve signed the form, would you like to meet the beast?’
Wendy led Schaeffer to the isolation room, which was located directly opposite her office.
‘Iso rules are harsh,’ Wendy explained. ‘Fay gets one set of clothes, school books and personal hygiene items only. There’s no TV or radio and you’re only allowed out of the room to exercise for one hour after the other girls have been locked down for the night.’
As she finished speaking, Wendy knocked on the door.
‘Fay, Detective Constable Schaeffer is here to see you.’
‘What’s he brought for me?’ Fay asked.
‘McFlurry,’ Schaeffer said.
‘In that case you can come in.’
Fay hadn’t showered in the three days she’d been in isolation, but she’d kept herself busy with a routine of sit-ups, squats and push-ups. Combined with hot weather, the resulting BO was pretty toxic.
‘Nice scar. How’d you get that?’ Fay asked, before breaking into wild laughter.
‘Show some respect,’ Wendy said.
‘Kinda sexy, I reckon,’ Fay said, ignoring the guard. ‘Do you pull a lot of chicks?’
Schaeffer held out the McDonald’s bag and Fay snatched it.
‘McFlurry!’ she blurted happily. ‘Did you get Crunchie like I asked? If it’s not Crunchie you’re not getting another word out of me.’
Fay dipped the plastic spoon into the McFlurry and nodded happily when she crunched honeycomb.
‘So good!’ she said, squealing girlishly. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’
Schaeffer settled on the end of Fay’s bed.
‘Here’s a question,’ Fay said. ‘You must be at least forty. But you’re still Detective Constable Schaeffer. So does that mean you’re a rubbish cop?’
Schaeffer cleared his throat before explaining. ‘A lot of officers prefer action to paperwork. When you get promoted, you tend to spend a lot more time sitting at a desk.’
‘So you’re an ack-shonnnn man!’ Fay said as she scoffed more of the McFlurry. ‘I’m not usually this hyper, but I haven’t had a conversation in three days. Apart from the boring cow who walks me around outside after lights out.’
‘It must be very hard for a girl with your potential to be stuck in a little room,’ Schaeffer said.
‘You’re actually lucky I got my butt locked in iso,’ Fay said. ‘I thought it would be funny if I made you come here, buy me a McFlurry and then gave you the silent treatment.’
Wendy raised one eyebrow and looked at Schaeffer as she backed out. ‘Good luck, I’m just across the hall if you need me.’
‘You wanna shag me, constable?’ Fay said, trying but failing to shock the experienced officer. ‘Bit of under-age naughtiness?’
‘You don’t like me and I don’t like you,’ Schaeffer began. ‘But we do have an enemy in common.’
‘I don’t have enemies, I love everyone.’
Schaeffer looked surprised. ‘Even Erasto Ali Anwar?’
‘Never heard of him,’ Fay said.
‘Born Somalia circa 1983. Based in the Kentish Town area of north London. Believed to control large heroin and cocaine operations in the London boroughs of Islington, Camden, Haringey and Hackney. On the street, he’s simply known as Hagar.’
Fay nodded, and looked slightly curious. ‘I never knew the man’s real name.’
‘Hagar and his crew are believed to be responsible for the 2009 torture and execution of Melanie Hoyt, your mother, and the 2012 prison slaying of Kirsten Hoyt, your aunt.’
‘I know that much,’ Fay said.
‘Your mother and aunt ripped off Hagar more than a dozen times, along with a bunch of other north London drug dealers. To commit those robberies, they had to know everything. Hagar’s habits, his hangouts, his women, who his sidekicks are, what he liked to do on his days off. You lived in that world and knew everything there was to know about Hagar.’
Fay gently shook her head. ‘Knew,’ she said. ‘Past tense. Things move fast.’
‘If I put you in a car and drove you around those neighbourhoods, I bet you could point out things and faces that would generate a dozen leads.’
‘Hagar’s been running the show for twenty years,’ Fay said. ‘If you want him, go get him.’
‘Hagar’s also extremely careful,’ Schaeffer explained. ‘He rarely goes near cash or drugs, he gets other people to fetch and carry and dole out punishment beatings. We’ve locked up a dozen of Hagar’s lieutenants, but it’s been hard to pin anything on the man himself.’
Fay snorted. ‘Plus half the cops in north London take backhanders to turn a blind eye.’
‘I find that hard to believe,’ Schaeffer said, assuming that Fay was trying to shock him again. ‘But if you’ve got any evidence of corrupt police officers, I’d be very happy to hear about it.’
Fay was irritated by Schaeffer’s calm demeanour and tried to think of something that might annoy him.
‘Do you think about me every time you lo
ok in the mirror?’ Fay asked. ‘You must really hate me.’
‘Do you want me to hate you?’ Schaeffer asked.
‘I don’t care what you think,’ Fay said.
‘I think you do,’ Schaeffer said. ‘Not because you’re the badass you try and make yourself out to be, but because me thinking about you would mean that someone in the world cared that you existed. Your mum and your aunt are dead. You’ve got no real connection with anyone, and bullying and acting crazy are the only ways you know you’ll get attention.
‘In a couple of weeks’ time you’ll be released into a foster-home or a care facility. It probably won’t be very nice. But if you keep things straight you’ll gradually make friends, pass your exams and start to lead a normal teenage life.’
‘Who the hell are you?’ Fay screamed, as she stood up and placed her hands on her hips. ‘Don’t act like you know everything about me.’
‘You’re angry about what happened to your aunt and your mother,’ Schaeffer said. ‘I’m offering you a chance to take a walk around your old haunts, look at some photos in our suspect books and give us everything you know about Hagar and his crew. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll give us a sliver of information that will help us put some or all of them behind bars.’
‘I don’t want Hagar in prison, I want him to die,’ Fay said. ‘Preferably in the most painful way imaginable.’
Schaeffer shrugged. ‘I’m afraid we live in a society of laws. I can’t offer barbaric punishments, but if Hagar goes down, it will be for a very long time.’
‘I’ll sort Hagar out,’ Fay said, as she finished the McFlurry.
‘Oh come on,’ Schaeffer said, smiling slightly. ‘You’re a fifteen-year-old girl.’
‘And I’m no grass.’
‘You’re seriously telling me that you don’t want to spend a few hours helping the police arrest the people who killed your aunt and mother?’
Fay scowled. ‘I fight my own battles.’
‘Your aunt and mother were both older and more experienced than you are and Hagar got them in the end. His crew are probably more powerful now than when you went inside eighteen months ago. So I really hope you’re not foolish enough to mess with them.’
Fay shook her head. ‘I’d like you to leave now.’
Schaeffer took a business card out of his jacket. He held it out, but Fay refused to take it.
‘I’ll leave it on the window ledge,’ Schaeffer said. ‘Please give me a call before you try anything stupid.’
10. CONTROL
After years of leaks and repairs, CHERUB campus’ high-tech mission control building was finally free of out of order signs and drip buckets. Ryan Sharma was crunching along the gravel path leading to its main entrance when he heard someone jogging across the surrounding lawn towards him. Upon seeing that it was Ning, he threw down the backpack looped over his shoulder and dropped into a fighting stance.
‘Nervous, are we?’ Ning teased, raising her hands into a surrender gesture as she slowed up and stepped on to the gravel. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not gonna get you back right now.’
‘How about a free punch?’ Ryan offered. ‘Anywhere but my balls or nose.’
Ning grinned. ‘It’s way more fun keeping you in suspense.’
‘Playing dead wasn’t even my idea,’ Ryan said. ‘Theo thought of it.’
Ning laughed. ‘Oh you’re nice, blaming your nine-year-old brother. And I wouldn’t get Theo back, he’s too cute!’
‘Cute but deadly,’ Ryan said. ‘He starts basic training soon and I reckon he’ll ace it.’
‘Got my e-mail from the training department,’ Ning said. ‘I passed the exercise with no faults, so no extra training for me.’
Ryan looked a little nervous. ‘When did that come through?’
‘I just came out of French and it was on my e-mail.’
Ryan immediately pulled out his iPhone and opened the e-mail app. There was a new message from Mr Speaks in the training department and he read aloud nervously:
‘Performed reasonably . . . Fitness acceptable . . . Worked well with others . . . No requirement for remedial training. Ahh, thank god for that!’
‘Nice one,’ Ning said. ‘So you’re heading for mission control?’
Ryan nodded. ‘Usually that’s exciting, but it’s only James Adams.’
‘I’m seeing James too,’ Ning said, looking confused. ‘I thought he seemed OK when we did advanced driving.’
‘Yeah,’ Ryan agreed. ‘James is a decent guy, but he’s only just been promoted to mission controller. If we were being lined up for some big glamorous mission, it’d be John Jones or Ewart Asker sending for us rather than the new guy.’
‘So I’m not likely to get my black shirt out of this one?’ Ning said, still sounding cheerful. ‘I fancy a mission. I’ve been on campus for over four months.’
They’d reached the mission control building’s main door. Ning was ahead and stared into an iris scanner. After a couple of whirring sounds, the main door popped open and a little screen flashed up, Proceed to room 7A.
Ryan didn’t bother with the scanner, and just sneaked through behind Ning.
‘Come in,’ James said, after Ning knocked.
James was twenty-two, well-muscled, fair-haired, and currently experimenting with a slightly dodgy beard. The office was a decent size, with a big leather couch and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over woodland. However, Ning looked around at empty shelves and bookcases.
‘Only got this office last week,’ James explained. ‘I expect I’ll have it stuffed with mounds of files and crap in no time.’
‘So you’re a full mission controller now?’ Ryan asked.
James nodded. ‘And I was a CHERUB agent myself, so I know exactly what you’re thinking: I’m the newest mission controller, so all I’m gonna have to offer are boring routine missions.’
Ning and Ryan both shook their heads.
‘Thought never crossed my mind,’ Ryan said, though he struggled to keep a straight face.
‘The mission I’ve cobbled together is fairly low-key, but if it pays off it could turn into something quite juicy,’ James began. ‘What do you two know about cocaine?’
‘Goes well sprinkled on toast,’ Ryan answered, before Ning gave a more serious answer.
‘Drug. White powder. People snort it and it gives them a rush.’
James nodded. ‘But if you go into a bar or a club and buy fifty quid’s worth of cocaine, the chances are you’re not actually buying much cocaine at all. Most of what you get is junk that’s been mixed with the cocaine to make selling it more profitable.
‘Cocaine starts off as coca leaves, almost always grown in South America. The leaves are processed in a rural lab and you end up with pure white powder. This gets vacuum packed into bricks and smuggled to Britain in near hundred per cent pure form. Then it gets thinned out by mixing with another white powder – typically lactose, baking powder, lidocaine, even chalk dust. This is called cutting.
‘Everyone cuts the cocaine. By the time a top-level dealer gets it from an international smuggler, the cocaine is cut to about forty to fifty per cent purity. A mid-level dealer will then cut it to around thirty per cent purity and the street-level dealer adds more crap so that your regular buyer-on-the-street ends up with a gram that contains less than twenty per cent cocaine.
‘Some of the cocaine sold at street level is of such poor quality that police have busted dealers and had to release them because the quantity of cocaine in their product is so low that it’s not even illegal.’
‘Is the stuff they cut the cocaine with harmful?’ Ning asked.
James nodded. ‘It’s not great to be snorting chalk dust and baby laxatives up your nose, and it’s even worse for people who inject. Some say the impurities cause more health pro
blems than the drugs themselves.
‘Now, the reason you two are standing here is that a few years ago, a rather clever police officer in Germany started thinking about the purity of cocaine. He started a database logging the purity of the drugs seized in every cocaine bust in Germany. Then he started investigating the areas where the cocaine was purest. Any idea why?’
Ryan nodded. ‘The cocaine gets cut at every stage. So if you find high purity cocaine, the chances are you’re getting close to the top-level dealers who smuggle it into the country.’
James smiled. ‘Spot on.’
‘But why don’t they just dilute the cocaine more if they’re selling it on the street?’ Ning asked. ‘Like from a hundred per cent purity to twenty per cent purity in one go?’
‘They can cover their tracks that way and I’m sure many do,’ James said. ‘But the point is, there are areas where high purity cocaine is sold on the street, and experience in Germany and other countries shows us that investigating areas where purity is high often leads to a large-scale drug importer.’
Ryan and Ning both liked the sound of bringing down a large-scale drug smuggler.
‘So where are these high purity drugs being sold?’ Ryan asked.
‘You’ll be based in Kentish Town in north London,’ James explained. ‘The street cocaine there is consistently around twenty-five per cent pure.’
Ning looked confused. ‘Twenty-five per cent is good?’
James nodded. ‘For street cocaine, twenty-five per cent is about as good as it gets. It’s also consistently cut with two parts lactose and one part lidocaine. The lidocaine is an anaesthetic, which creates numbness, making you think the cocaine is stronger than it really is. The fact that the same chemicals have been detected in dozens of drug seizures indicates that all the cocaine comes from a single, large-scale cutting operation.
‘The trade in cocaine and heroin in that part of London is dominated by a man named Erasto Ali Anwar, more commonly known as Hagar. Kentish Town is his base, but he has a network that sells cocaine and heroin through the London boroughs of Islington, Camden, Hackney and Haringey, and also in nightclubs in central London.
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