Knife Edge : A Novel (2020)

by Mayo, Simon

  ‘When was this?’ said Charlie.

  ‘Just a couple of hours ago,’ said Lewis.

  Famie stirred. ‘Who rang you, Andrew?’ she said. ‘Who called? There barely seems time for the identification process to have concluded. Next of kin located. Death message delivered. This is fast.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘It’s certainly accelerated. It was the Met Assistant Commissioner. She rang me.’

  Famie’s eyes widened. ‘So she’s made the connection too then! Like I said—’

  Lewis held up his hands. ‘My caution is her caution. I’m merely reporting to you what she reported to me. I’m sure she’d be interested in what Tommi was working on.’

  ‘OK, I’ll tell her,’ said Famie. ‘Give me her out-of-hours number and I’ll call her now.’

  ‘You know I can’t do that.’

  ‘Tell her I want to talk to her.’

  ‘Yes, I can do that.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘First thing tomorrow.’

  ‘So today then,’ said Famie. ‘In a few hours.’

  Lewis nodded. ‘Right. So. Yes. I’d best be going. Taxi’s waiting. Charlie. Famie.’ He nodded at them both.

  Famie followed him down the stairs.

  ‘Have you spoken to his mother?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet. As soon as the police have visited. Which will also be in a few hours. Goodnight, Famie. I’m sorry for your troubles. I’m sorry for our troubles.’

  She watched him climb into the taxi, locked and chained the door, then slumped on to the bottom step. Head in her hands, she burst into tears. Yet more grief. None of this was over. She wiped her eyes with her shirtsleeve. ‘Oh Tommi. You poor bastard. I’m so sorry. So sorry.’

  Charlie appeared, put her arm around her. They sat without speaking. Eventually Famie noticed the rucksack in her daughter’s arm.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ she asked.

  ‘We both are,’ said Charlie. ‘We have to leave. I’m packing you a bag.’

  ‘OK, wait up,’ said Famie, pushing past her. ‘If we’re not going to bed, I need coffee.’

  Kettle on, they sat at the table. Famie put her head in her hands. ‘Christ Almighty, what a terrible, terrifying, god-awful fucking shit show this is.’

  Charlie tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Tell me what you didn’t tell Lewis. I’ll make the coffee, then we go.’

  Famie looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Tommi was following a hunch – you said it, I heard it. Then, when you were getting mad, you said more people might have died on the twenty-second. I thought you needed to shut up a bit, like you were overstepping your own lines, so I walked in. To change the subject.’

  ‘You should be a cop,’ said Famie.

  ‘Or a journalist,’ said Charlie.

  ‘No, absolutely not. I forbid it,’ said Famie with a rueful smile. ‘Yes, Tommi’s idea was that more people might have died on the twenty-second. Turns out a student called Toby Howells was killed then as well. And that he was a wannabe reporter, same as Hari. Tommi copied us in on all his ideas and the conversation he had with Carol Leven, the IPS crime reporter.’

  ‘Then he was killed,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Then he was killed,’ said Famie.

  Charlie put her hand over her mother’s. ‘So we need to leave, Mum. Tommi is dead, someone who looks like me is dead. This is getting way too close. Here’s the truth. We’re not safe here. Not any more. I don’t know what we’re still doing here. Do you think this is anything like the end of it? Because if you don’t, we need to go.’

  The kettle boiled, and Famie got up to make the coffees. She needed to think straight. How many scoops to cancel half a bottle of Jack? She went back to the packet, spooned in some more grains.

  ‘Mum, focus, please! Follow the logic. Are we safe here?’

  Charlie had upped the volume. Famie felt a headache coming.

  ‘I am focusing, Charlie,’ she said. ‘I am following the logic. If “they”, whoever “they” are, have targeted you, and you’re here, then no, we are not safe.’

  ‘You want me to go?’

  ‘Wait! No! Obviously not.’ Famie sighed. ‘So. If they targeted Tommi because of his questioning about the facts of May twenty-two and Sam and I have been on the same investigation, then again, no, we are not safe.’

  She plunged and poured.

  ‘So?’ said Charlie.

  ‘So,’ said Famie. ‘We are not safe. But we are also drunk.’

  ‘Speak for yourself.’

  ‘Charlie, we demolished half a bottle of JD. And you had wine on the train. At the very least we’re over the limit.’

  Charlie leant across the table. ‘This is risk management, Mum. We need to disappear. Or at least not make it easy for whoever is out there. Anywhere else is better than here where two of their targets are waiting for them.’

  Famie swallowed some coffee and winced from the burning in her throat. Charlie’s relentless logic was sobering her up faster than the caffeine.

  ‘We were about to call the DC. Hunter. I should talk to her.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Charlie. ‘When we’re not here. We move, then call.’

  ‘Where would we go?’

  ‘Anywhere,’ said Charlie. ‘Anywhere that isn’t here.’

  ‘What about Sam? He must be in danger too.’

  ‘Can you trust him?’

  Famie was aghast. ‘Sam? Of course I trust him.’ She stared at Charlie. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course I’m bloody serious!’ said Charlie. ‘It must be what nearly getting killed does to you. He’s married, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, to Jo.’

  ‘Trust her?’

  ‘Yes! I … I suppose so.’ Famie’s headache was strengthening. She downed more coffee. ‘She’s a copper. Christ, I don’t know, Charlie! She’s always been lovely to me. She’s from Zimbabwe.’

  ‘Is that relevant?’

  ‘Who knows, Charlie? Probably not.’

  ‘Fine, well, you should tell Sam then.’

  ‘And Sophie. And, yes, I trust her too.’

  Charlie poured the last centimetre of coffee. ‘But that’s it. Not Lewis. No one else.’ She found the paracetamol in the table drawer, put two in Famie’s hand. ‘Take these, Mum. I’ll finish packing the rucksack, you check I’ve got the right stuff, then we’re gone.’

  48

  3.15 a.m.

  THERE WAS NO phone signal till they arrived at the concourse, then Famie’s phone went straight to five bars. Full strength. They had had the escalator to themselves but the station itself was humming. The Euston departure and arrival boards showed nothing for two hours but that hadn’t stopped the vast shopping centre area being used as a thoroughfare. Late-night clubbers, early-morning shift workers and uniformed cleaners all stepped around the homeless and the destitute. Famie clocked the muted conversations, the exhausted faces, the grim determination. We fit in quite well, she thought.

  Making the phone call here was Charlie’s idea. They’d parked in a side road which Famie had thought was close enough. But Charlie had insisted, and as Charlie was less drunk than she was, Charlie had won. ‘If we’re calling the police, we need to be where we say we are,’ she had said, and Famie wasn’t going to argue.

  ‘Here?’ said Charlie, stepping a few metres from the escalator towards a shuttered cupcake stand.

  Famie nodded, and dialled the number from the card. It rang four times. A fumbled, rattling pick-up.

  ‘Hunter,’ croaked a voice at the other end. Asleep certainly, but awake now.

  ‘It’s Famie Madden. I’m sorry to wake you.’

  A rustle and a changed acoustic. A different room.

  ‘OK, go ahead, Ms Madden. I’m listening.’

  Famie glanced at Charlie, who nodded. ‘Someone tried to kill my daughter tonight,’ she said.

  ‘What happened, Ms Madden? Is your daughter OK?’

  ‘Terrified but, yes, OK. She’s h
ere now. Got the last train. She was in the Vue cinema in Exeter. Before the film she noticed a girl who looked like her, same height and hair. That kind of thing. When she left the cinema, it was this girl who had been stabbed. She died later. Your colleagues there are asking for witnesses. Charlie wasn’t a witness. But we think she was the target.’

  There was a silence from Hunter. Famie assumed she was note-taking.

  ‘And there’s another thing,’ she said.

  ‘Where are you, Ms Madden?’

  ‘Wait,’ said Famie. ‘You might not know this yet but Tommi Dara was killed a few hours ago. Run down by a bus near Cockfosters tube station. He was working a lead in the May twenty-two story, then he was dead.’

  ‘I didn’t know that, Ms Madden,’ said Hunter. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll get all the information I can and call you later. Maybe you could stop by the station again?’

  Raised voices and a scream from somewhere made Charlie jump and grab Famie’s arm.

  ‘No, that won’t be happening,’ said Famie. ‘We’re off, DC Hunter. We’re at Euston and we’re disappearing. Someone is targeting IPS people and now they’re targeting Charlie. So. We’re gonna hide up somewhere until we know what’s happening.’

  The comeback was swiftly, forcefully delivered. ‘I’m not sure that’s wise,’ said Hunter. ‘We need to know where you are. That’s the best way to keep you safe.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ said Famie, ‘too fucking late for that, I’m afraid. If you know where we are, everyone else knows where we are too.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Hunter, ‘got something for you.’

  Charlie frowned at her mother, made a winding-up sign. She was getting nervous again. Famie ran a three-sixty-degree check. A concourse of wasters and no-hopers maybe, she thought, but it’s still probably safer than the flat. She held up one finger to Charlie. ‘One minute,’ she mouthed. Charlie nodded.

  Hunter was back. ‘I got a report back from the officers who went to Boxer Street,’ she said.

  Famie stood taller, adrenalin seeping into her tired body. ‘And?’ she said.

  A beat.

  ‘Ms Madden, I’ll tell you this confidentially to show you how seriously we take your story and your security.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Famie, impatient. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘It says they conducted an operation. That there’s a woman living at number twenty-six, on her own apparently. Said she knew Hari Roy, that he’d done one of her martial arts classes once.’ Hunter was clearly subbing the story as she went – Famie recognized the audible sifting of words and phrases. ‘It says his car is parked in the street but this woman said that didn’t surprise her as there are so many student houses in the area.’

  She had stopped.

  ‘Is that it?’ Famie felt herself deflating.

  ‘They’re still watching the house,’ said Hunter.

  ‘Did they go inside?’

  ‘That’s all I have, Ms Madden.’

  ‘Hardly conclusive,’ said Famie.

  ‘Hardly surprising,’ said Hunter.

  ‘But that’s it?’

  ‘Like I said …’

  ‘You got any better leads? Christ Almighty …’

  Hunter realized that Famie was about to hang up. ‘You might not believe me, Ms Madden, but I have been taking you seriously. And after what has happened tonight I’m sure others will too.’

  Charlie was tugging Famie now. ‘Too long,’ she mouthed. ‘Come on.’ They stepped on to the escalator. Hunter was still asking where they were going when she put the phone down. Famie and Charlie walked the short distance back to the car.

  ‘You’re still definitely over the limit,’ said Famie.

  ‘It’s a risk we’ll have to take,’ Charlie said, popping two extra strong mints. ‘I’ll be careful. Where are we going?’

  She started the car.

  ‘Coventry,’ said Famie.

  Charlie switched the engine off again.

  ‘When I said anywhere was safer than your flat,’ she protested, ‘I obviously wasn’t including Coventry.’ She stared at her mother.

  Famie stared ahead. Through the windscreen and down the quiet side street. She knew she was right. She let the silence run.

  Eventually Charlie sighed, turned the ignition again. ‘OK, you win,’ she said. ‘And God help us.’

  49

  3.30 a.m.

  WHAT FEW POSSESSIONS Hari had taken into Boxer Street were in his rucksack. He was ready to run. He paced the upstairs room. Lights off, curtains drawn. Every few seconds he scanned the road through a carefully arranged gap in the curtains. And every few seconds he saw the same uniformed police in the same car.

  As soon as the police moved, so would they. Hari fought back against a rising sense of panic. He had no escape plan, no idea how to keep his sisters safe and no idea how to contact the IPS woman again. He imagined walking from the house and letting himself into the coppers’ car. Imagined telling them about Binici and Collins, the dead Zak hidden somewhere in the house, and about his imperilled family. He then imagined how long it would take the leader to order the execution of his sisters. No time at all was the answer.

  He peered through the curtains again.

  The house was silent. Occasionally Hari caught a whisper or the lightest of treads from Binici or Collins downstairs. The Geiger counter was back on too, its sporadic clicking sound telling Hari everything he needed to know about the leader’s fevered state of mind. His obsession with radioactivity continued. If, Binici would reason, their enemies had used radiation poisoning once, they would certainly try it again. And he would be ready. Hari found the clicks an unexpected comfort. Each one was a reminder of Hari’s only success – his fooling of Binici and Collins.

  Click.

  Fooled you.

  Click.

  Still fooling you.

  Click.

  I just have to fool you again.

  And the clicks were getting louder. Binici and maybe Collins were on their way up. Hari hovered by the curtains. Two policemen, one patrol car, no movement. He stepped aside as Binici appeared at his shoulder. He smelt the leader’s rosewater soap and wondered how he had managed to attend to his personal hygiene.

  ‘No change,’ muttered Hari. ‘We have to assume they’re not going anywhere soon.’

  ‘Well we can’t wait,’ whispered Binici. Collins was at his shoulder. ‘Either we leave or they do,’ he said. ‘All the cells are watching. The London Citizens will be on their way soon. They were told eight, they’ll be here at eight. It’s too late to change and we can’t talk to them anyway.’

  Click.

  ‘In which case,’ said Collins, ‘I’ll have to think of something.’

  ‘That would be appreciated,’ said Binici.

  It was Hari’s watch till four a.m., then Binici’s. At five they were all back at the window, the sun about to emerge above the houses opposite. Motionless threads of orange-tinged clouds stretched high above them. Another airless, stifling day in prospect. Hari swept his eyes along the road again, right to left. His wrecked car, the incident tape. The nose-to-tail parking on both sides. The coppers. And at the far end of Boxer Street, a busy T-junction. Traffic swept past their road all day and night. This was where they expected the London cell to appear.

  ‘Same fash, no change,’ Binici said.

  Collins had brought up coffee and fruit.

  ‘How many citizens, again?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m told five.’

  ‘I’ve cleared some space,’ said Hari, ‘but we’re out of beds.’

  ‘They won’t be here for long,’ said Binici, ‘and there won’t be any time for sleep.’

  Two early joggers ran past the house. Hari watched the policeman in the driver’s seat follow their progress. He was white, bearded and awake, his partner mostly obscured by the car’s roof. Six cars drove past, three pulled away from their parking spaces. The police noted everything, photographed everything.


  Hari picked up his coffee, left it black and strong. He said as little as possible, figuring that if he waited long enough, Collins would tell them what she was thinking. He knew better than to push it. Binici drifted away. When they could hear him in the kitchen downstairs, she sat on the floor, crossed her legs. She tugged at Hari’s jeans. He glanced down.

  ‘I’ve thought of something, just making him wait, that’s all,’ she said. She gesticulated downstairs. ‘He’s a genius, you know. His plan will be spectacular, and it’ll work. It’s just that he’s also a total cunt. Maybe it goes with the territory.’

  Tearing himself away from the window, Hari sat down next to her. ‘What is the plan, do you know?’ He tried to sound confident but it came out too breezy, as though they were planning a picnic.

  Collins shook her head. ‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t know about the other targets. Don’t know our target. The shopping centre maybe? A cinema? A school? Christ, I hope it isn’t a school.’

  Hari’s skin crawled. ‘Four private schools nearby,’ she said. ‘Wealthy kids. Children of bankers. Jews. Should be quite a haul, if you can cope with it.’

  So this is it then. ‘And can you cope with it?’ he said.

  She paused. ‘If I have to. You?’

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t know yet. I’ll follow you.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Knives?’ he said.

  ‘Presumably,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘Maybe a lorry. Depends what London brings with them.’

  Hari felt nauseous. He needed some air.

  ‘Assuming we don’t all get arrested when they get here,’ he said.

  Collins shuffled closer.

  ‘So I was thinking,’ she said. ‘Your car is still up there, at the end of the road. I go out, start poking around in the wrecks. The fash won’t be able to resist. As long as they both come down, I should be able to keep them there for long enough. If London are as punctual as Abi says they will be, both coppers will be with me when the citizens arrive. You and Abi let them in. That’s it. That’s the plan.’

  It had some logic to it. It could work. As long as there were only two coppers.

  ‘And the police know it’s my car,’ he said.