Killer Princesses: Gripping and gritty, a twisty and tantalising thriller...

by Jennifer R Hollis

  She turned to her daughter, jumped in fright, and dropped her phone on the floor. Abbie was wearing a white angel costume for the Homestead Community Halloween party. And, she’d added blood spatter to her outfit, and a bullet wound to the side of her head.

  “Oh my God, Abbie,” gasped Debbie, steadying herself. Her stomach turned. “Where on earth did you get that from?”

  “It’s Halloween, Mum,” she stated, as though she was talking to a small child. “I can’t be just an angel, can I? Dad got me it as a present.”

  Debbie grimaced and clenched her fists.

  “Abs, get rid of that thing on your head, or I’m not taking you. No arguments,” she ordered, and Abbie stomped away with a whimper.

  Debbie’s legs felt like lead and when she walked, the floor felt soft beneath her. She put the kettle on and made a strong coffee.

  “Come on them, Mum,” urged Abbie, fifteen minutes later, with Debbie’s car keys in her hand. “Marco is ready, too.”

  Debbie sat down in the car and turned the key. The coffee had worked, and she already felt sharper.

  “We are a bit early Abs. It starts at seven, right? It doesn’t take twenty-five minutes to drive to Homestead.”

  In the back, Marco snorted with laughter and Abbie folded her arms, her face cross and flushed.

  “We’ll go a long way around, have a look at the decorations,” suggested Debbie, though she had another plan in mind.

  When she reached the Melwood junction, she turned off towards South Croydon. This route through the back roads would take her past Renee Beck’s house.

  Renee. She had been so radiant at the staff party, and so full of life at work since. Yet, she’d phoned in sick on the day of the inspection and taken today off as annual leave at short notice.

  Debbie reached Renee’s house and pulled up on the opposite side of the road, giving her a clear view of the front door. Renee’s car was on the drive, and her front window lights were on, the blinds half down. A group of dads and young children in costume were almost at Renee’s door with arms full of sweets. Debbie turned off her engine.

  “Mum, why have we stopped?” asked Abbie from the back seat.

  “Shh, Abs, we’re too early anyway. Let’s just stay here for a minute.” Debbie pretended to check her phone.

  A minute later, the group of children scurried up to Renee’s front door, which opened after the second knock. Debbie did a double-take; Renee didn’t look terrible, but way below her usual standards. Her hair was wavy, her face was pale, and she looked exhausted. She reappeared at the door with a bar of chocolate. She passed it over, then slammed the door in the scared-looking children’s faces.

  “Was that the fit woman from your work?” asked Marco, curiously.

  “No,” lied Debbie as she sped off towards Homestead. “And trust me, it’s not all about looks, Marc.”

  They arrived ten minutes early, which didn’t stop Abbie running in ahead of Debbie and Marco.

  “Debbie,” sang a familiar voice from the edge of the hall. “Come and give me a hand with this.”

  “Oh no,” muttered Debbie under her breath, as she recognised Gillian. Her boss, dressed in a fitted red dress and a pair of flashing devil horns, was attempting to unfold a picnic table.

  “I didn’t realise you helped organise this,” said Debbie, as she grabbed a table leg.

  “I do it most years,” replied Gillian. “This is the area I used to represent,” she added, bitterly.

  Debbie bit her lip as the memory came back to her. Earlier this year, Gillian had been a local Councillor for Homestead. But she’d lost her seat in May to an independent candidate who opposed supermarkets. Debbie and Karen had found it funny at the time, though Gillian had been quite distraught.

  Debbie bit her lip as Gillian fussed over the table display. She neatly lined up each craft item and hummed to herself as more people entered the hall.

  Debbie wondered if Gillian, who was so meticulous and organised, had noticed what she and Dawn had. She was the Manager, after all, and as a former Councillor, she might know the best way to handle the situation. Perhaps, even better than her and Dawn.

  “Gillian,” said Debbie tentatively. “Could I have a private word with you some time, outside of work?”

  Gillian raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to respond, but Marco interrupted her. He’d run through the growing crowds towards Debbie.

  “Mum,” he gasped, “Abbie’s crying.”

  “What, why?” asked Debbie as she turned away from Gillian. “Where is she?”

  “She wanted to get here early because a boy she likes said he’d meet her here,” replied Marco. “But he told her he’s not coming, cos there’s riots in Croydon, and his Mum won’t drive him here. She’s by the toilets.”

  Debbie apologised to Gillian, then rushed through the crowd. Everyone was checking their phones, so she reached for hers and saw two messages from Joe.

  There’s trouble by work in Croydon, riots by the looks of it. People in Halloween masks running around – police not here yet. I can’t leave work, so I won’t make the party.

  Deb, it’s all over Twitter, trouble is heading south towards you. Take the kids home.

  “Oh God,” muttered Debbie. She remembered the last riots in Croydon back in 2011. Rioters burnt department stores, looted smaller shops and broke into homes.

  She spotted Abbie sitting behind the pumpkin table, pouting and wiping her eyes. Her daughter’s fake bullet wound had reappeared, which made her stomach churn again.

  “Come on, kids. We’re leaving.”

  “But the devil lady says everyone should stay,” said Marco. He pointed towards Gillian, who was standing on a chair, barking orders at everyone.

  Typical, thought Debbie.

  “Stay put everyone,” Gillian shouted over the chatter. “We can lock the doors and wait until the police have rounded the rioters up.”

  “She’s not my boss at the moment, Marc,” said Debbie, “and your Dad says we should go home.”

  That was good enough for Marco, so the three of them ran out of the hall. As they got in the car, Gillian pulled the doors to the entrance closed and locked herself and everyone else inside.

  “You better get a move on, Mum,” hurried Marco, as he scrolled through a social media feed on his phone. “People in Melwood say that groups are smashing up cars near our High Street.”

  Debbie sped towards the main junction by the supermarket and got held up at the lights. Ahead, cars were making three-point turns, as boys in dark clothes ran around them. They were wearing masks, and some of them had cans of spray paint in their hands.

  “Oh no,” groaned Marco, and Abbie started crying again.

  A few of the rioters ran in Debbie’s direction. One of them, a skinny teenage boy, paused by Debbie’s car to catch his breath. She recognised Karen’s son immediately and wound down her window.

  “Daniel!” she shouted. “What are you doing? Wait until I tell your mother.”

  “Tell her if you can find her! She doesn’t give a shit about us,” Daniel replied through deep breaths.

  Ahead, a car window smashed, and someone cried out in fear. police sirens screamed in the distance. The masked figures ahead were moving closer; one of them wielding a baseball bat.

  Debbie pulled her car onto the opposite side of the road and entered the supermarket car park. She swerved past the recycling area and took a slip road marked with a large ‘Do Not Enter’ sign.

  “Mum,” said Marco as he held onto the dashboard. “What are you doing?”

  “Deliveries don’t come at this time,” she replied as she swung into the loading bay for lorries.

  “So, I can take their entrance slip road onto the other road, cutting out the junction.”

  She knew the way through the back roads to her house on the other side of Melwood. She had taken the route a few times when she’d dropped Dawn off after work.

  Dawn. With all the drama of the evening, Debbi
e hadn’t thought any more about their conversation. Now, the memory of it crept back into her head, as she rushed through Melwood’s peaceful back roads. Without thinking too much about it, she turned into Dawn’s road.

  Just as she’d done at Renee’s earlier, Debbie pulled up across the street from Dawn’s house. It was an old fashioned semi-detached that Dawn had lived in her whole life. Her car was in the driveway and the front curtains undrawn. But, strangely, all the lights were off which made it difficult to see inside.

  “Mum,” Abbie and Marco shouted at the same time.

  “Shh,” hushed Debbie, as she reached for her phone. “I thought we could stop here, and check the next few roads are OK,” she lied.

  As the kids scrolled through their phones, Debbie looked over at Dawn’s house. She contemplated her next move. Could she knock on the door and pretend they were seeking shelter from the riots? Dawn would hate the intrusion, and she wasn’t too far from her own home.

  “There’s nothing on the next few roads Mum, but the police are clashing with people on our High Street.”

  “OK, OK, let’s go,” replied Debbie. She started the ignition and turned on her headlights. They exposed a tall, slender figure dressed all in black, coming out of the side gate of Dawn’s house.

  Their hood was up, and they wore a black and white Guy Fawkes mask, which shone back at Debbie. For a second, the person froze in the glare of the headlights. They turned their head from side to side before running back through the side gate.

  “Did you see that?” whispered Debbie to her children, but both of them had their heads down, looking at their phones.

  “See what?” replied Marco.

  “I thought I saw someone in a mask, run out of that gate and then back through.”

  “Uh, sounds like a burglar, Mum, so just drive, and then call the police at home.”

  “Come on, Mum,” pleaded Abbie from the back seat.

  Debbie lowered the handbrake and drove home. The kids ran inside as she opened the garage door and locked her car inside. An uneasy feeling crept over her as she entered her living room and sat down on the sofa. Something wasn’t right about Dawn’s house; especially the dark rooms and open curtains. She had definitely seen someone run through the side gate.

  It could, of course, have been a rioter who’d broken off to run away from the police. That would explain why they were running through gardens and had fled at the sight of headlights. But Debbie’s gut feeling told her that it was something altogether more malevolent.

  Her hands shook as she picked up her phone to message Dawn, who still hadn’t replied to any of her calls or messages. She typed another.

  Big trouble in Melwood tonight. Please let me know you’re OK, I’m really worried.

  Debbie sat there, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She felt nauseous and tired, but she still stared at her phone, willing something to happen. After a couple of minutes, ‘online’ appeared next to Dawn’s name on the messaging app. Debbie focused her eyes as Dawn typed back.

  I’m fine, all OK, do not worry. See you at work.

  Debbie breathed a sigh of relief and used her last ounce of energy to pull herself up the stairs to her bedroom.

  “Dad’ll be home soon, kids,” she yawned.

  She entered her room, changed into her pyjamas, and collapsed into a deep sleep.

  17: Another One Dawn

  Monday 5th November 2018 - Vincent

  “Sir, the surveillance team are reporting optimum conditions.”

  “Excellent, thank you. Let’s begin the operation as per the plan. Team briefing in ten minutes. Round everyone up,” replied Okafor, with a smile that reached his bloodshot, tired eyes.

  It was the moment he’d been waiting for, that would make the recent sleepless nights worthwhile. Surveillance of the Dimont family businesses had produced enough evidence to secure a search warrant of the house. Okafor also had enough evidence to bring in Jack’s sons, Jack Junior, Joey and Jonny, for the handling of stolen goods.

  It all fitted into Okafor’s plan. He’d bring the sons in, leaving Jack sweating on the outside. He’d use the investigation into their minor crimes to search for evidence of Jack’s bigger ones. Once he’d found it, he’d bring Jack in and offer a deal. If Jack exposed the people higher up the chain, he would avoid jail and be offered witness protection.

  As his team assembled outside, Okafor checked that everything was in order. The next forty minutes would be crucial. He stepped out of his office with his head held high to address his team and kick it off.

  “Everyone,” he bellowed, and silence fell. “It’s time. We have the best conditions for the Dimont search and arrests. As you know from your briefings, this means that they – Jack, Junior, Joey and Jonny – are at their house in New Grange. Tricia, the mother, is there too. You all know the plan and have your positions?”

  There was an encouraging chorus of “Yes, sir!” from the team, so he pressed on.

  “We aim to execute a search warrant on the house and arrest the boys for handling stolen goods. Nothing else at this stage, unless they resist arrest. We expect them to come quietly, but we’ll cover all exits from the house, and armed support will form part of the convoy. All ready?”

  The team nodded eagerly.

  “Then let’s go,” he ordered, and he clapped his hands together.

  Okafor notified the Superintendent and climbed into his car, towards the rear of the convoy. Uniformed officers drove him and DS Harris through South Croydon. As they got closer to New Grange, he willed the circumstances not to change. If Jack and the boys disappeared, it would raise questions about the integrity of his team. That would slow down the entire operation and tarnish his work to date.

  “Sir,” the surveillance team sounded through the crackle of the radio. “We have a problem.”

  Okafor closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “Go ahead,” he sighed.

  “A girl has turned up at the house, sobbing, banging on the door. Tricia Dimont opened the door, they had a brief conversation, and then she slammed the door in the girl’s face. But she’s not leaving.”

  “Description of the girl?” requested Okafor with a sideways glance at DS Harris.

  “IC1, short, thin, blonde hair, teenager.”

  “We think it’s Jack’s daughter, Jade,” replied Okafor. “We can proceed as intended, but keep me informed of developments.”

  As the convoy reached the turning for New Grange, Okafor saw a group of hooded teenagers gawping back at him. They all had their phones out, taking pictures of the convoy. He expected they were sending them to friends on the estate who were up to no good, including the Dimont boys.

  Okafor shrugged it off. There was only one main road in and out of the New Grange estate; his team had already cornered Jack and his sons.

  “Approach slowly,” he radioed, as the vehicles took up their respective positions.

  The arresting officers crept in front of the Dimonts’ house, followed by Okafor and DS Harris.

  “Identity confirmed as Jade Dimont,” whispered Okafor into the radio. The young girl was still banging on the door, oblivious to the two cars behind her.

  “Dad, I know you’re there, you need to help me!” she sobbed.

  A slight movement caught Okafor’s eye. He looked up and saw Tricia Dimont’s face peering from behind the front bedroom curtains. Her eyes moved from Jade towards the two police cars. He squinted and saw her mouth move; he was sure she’d shouted ‘Jack.’

  “Officers at the garden alleyway and rear door, confirm your position,” radioed Okafor.

  “Confirmed.”

  “They know we’re here. Easy now. Arresting officers, exit your cars now with DS Harris. DS Harris, take Jade to one side, and then officers can proceed as planned.”

  Okafor felt his entire body tense in anticipation. He’d set the trap, and the next few minutes were critical.

  Jade turned around as the car doors clicked open. Her
face was pink in the cold air, and tears streaked her puffy cheeks. Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in confusion at the sight of the officers.

  “Tricia, what have you done?” she shouted, her voice and body shaking.

  Okafor understood the situation from Jade’s perspective. She must have thought that Tricia had called the police to remove her.

  “We’re not here for you, Jade,” explained DS Harris, as she extended an arm to the troubled-looking young girl. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I need you to step aside and not obstruct our business here.”

  Okafor sighed with relief as Jade sloped towards the edge of the front garden, and sat down on the wall, head in her hands. DS Harris placed her hand on Jade’s shoulder and nodded towards the arresting officers.

  Jack answered the door after the second knock. A smile spread across his tanned face, framed by slicked back dark hair and a greying dark beard. He wasn’t the tallest of men, but there was a certain aura around him, and a twinkle in his dark blue eyes.

  “Fellas,” he greeted, with a faint Dublin twang. “To what do I owe the pleasure? My little girl here making a bit too much noise?”

  “Mr Dimont,” stated one of the arresting officers. “We have a warrant to search your premises. We also need to speak to your sons.”

  Jack’s jaw clenched, and he cast a look back at the door, where Tricia had appeared.

  “Why?” he asked, with a forced smile. “Can you talk me through this warrant line by line, son?”

  Okafor sighed; Jack was playing for time. To his relief, the arresting officer realised this too.

  “It’s a lawful warrant and we’ll talk you through it later. There are officers stationed around your house. We will be entering your house, Mr Dimont, and your sons will come to the station with us. Whether we do this the easy way or the hard way, is up to you.”

  Jack’s jaw clenched again, and his fists curled into balls. Okafor held his breath and prepared to issue further orders. But, after a tense ten seconds, Jack stood aside and called his sons to the door.