by Ols Schaber
‘Celebrating?’ said Geraldine.
‘Thirsty Thursday. Letting our hair down.’
‘Working at the airport?’ Geraldine looked at his steel-toed boots.
He smiled and winked. ‘Airfield, and that would be telling. Barman, I’ll get that lager too.’
‘You shouldn’t have. How come you’re not wearing an RAF uniform?’
‘We’re contractors.’ He pointed to a logo on his shirt. It said Plane Simple. ‘Work for the private sector.’
‘I thought it was military?’
‘Nah, they’ve got loads of private jets coming in and out.’
‘Hey, Prem!’ one of his mates shouted over from the round table. ‘What’s up with the order? Stop chatting up the local birds. She’s too young for you.’
‘Help would be nice? Heh.’ He took three pints in his hands and took them over.
‘Nice meeting you, Prem, I’ll return the favour.’ Geraldine sipped the refreshing pint and watched them laugh and banter. She was going to wait for another opportunity to find out what was going in that airfield. It wasn’t long till they wanted more shots and one of the younger boys came to the bar. He was in his mid-twenties. His hairstyle had undercut sides with an abstract swirl showing through and a mop-like top. He bent down to do up his laces. Geraldine noticed some redness and bruising around his ankle. He caught her staring.
‘What’s the tattoo?’
‘Hey?’
Geraldine pointed at it.
‘Nothing. Six sambucas, mate.’ He turned to face his mates and leaned on the bar.
For a moment, Geraldine wanted to slap him.
‘Hey, hey, Angela is mine. I’m having her tonight? Hey, fuck yeah. I’m going to–’ He started to simulate sex and slapping. The other guys flicked their fingers at him.
Geraldine restrained herself and gulped her beer.
‘Hey! Ed, calm down,’ said the barman. ‘We have a lady at the bar. After this round I want yous out.’
‘The fun police is out on the prowl!’ shouted one of the guys at the round table. ‘All right. Keep your knickers on. Gimme those shots and pronto!’
Geraldine smiled at the barman and nodded to him as a thank you. Then she saw her opportunity: Prem was getting his coat. He was going for a cigarette. After a moment she followed him out. He was alone under one of the parasols as car headlights passed like torches lighting up the pouring rain.
‘Trying to give up, but failing.’
‘Don’t worry about them – the lads. They just like blowing off steam.’
‘So, you get many celebs coming off those planes?’
He smiled. ‘Yeah, a few. Dicks most of them.’
‘Can’t buy manners. What else gets shipped out?’
‘What’s with all the questions? Just a job for me. I’m studying IT.’
‘IT, job of the future. Nice. Any medical planes?’
‘Yeah, a few. Odd that they seem to be business jets rather than ambulance ones. You know what I mean?’
‘Not really.’
‘I’m not allowed to touch the boxes, even though we are responsible for the cargo. ’As to go through us, you know… and usually we get some tips here and there. But, for them boxes… nothing! Why I am telling you this? You press?’
‘Press? No, just like listening to people. I don’t really care what goes on in there.’ Geraldine took a drag of her cigarette. ‘You should talk to your union or something.’
‘I’d probably lose my job. As soon as I get my IT certificate I’m out of there.’ He waved in the airport’s direction. ‘Bye, bye.’
‘Wouldn’t have come across some guy with a cast on his arm?’
‘Hey, lady… Actually, yeah… what would it be worth?’
Geraldine knew she had aroused his suspicion. So flashed her badge just to keep him from getting too excited.
‘Oh, I see. Oh, OK.’
She leaned forward a little. ‘Keep it under your hat, OK?’
‘Mum’s the word. So who is this guy?’
‘I’m not sure. But he shouldn’t be there. Want that drink?’ Geraldine walked over to the entrance.
‘Stella, I’m having another one here.’
Geraldine walked over to the bar and ordered another pint. The little gang was louder and they were now daring each other. It was time to leave. She could see where this was going and didn’t want to be involved in the aftermath. She left some notes on the bar and left. What was O’Neil doing in Northolt? It made no sense.
Geraldine was heading back to the tube when she heard a muffled voice behind her.
‘Hey, nosy bitch.’
She turned around to face a man in a leather jacket and balaclava. Before she could react he had landed his first and then second punch. She felt herself fall towards a brick wall. She was under the railway bridge. It was dark. Only a few passing car lights brought any clarity. His steel-capped boots hit her belly. No one was stopping to help, only a few cowardly horns sounded off the underside of the bridge.
‘Don’t stick your nose where it shouldn’t be. Understand bitch? Eh?’
He kicked Geraldine in the stomach again. She spotted the red mark on the man’s ankle as it moved back, ready to strike again. It was Ed, the arsehole from the bar. Probably fresh out of prison or on parole. Finally, a car horn sounded and a guy hurried out of the car towards the tunnel shouting.
‘Hey! Leave her alone!’
Ed ran off, luckily before he had the chance to kick her again. Geraldine felt the pain rushing through her. The man jumped over the metal rail and ran down to where she was lying, dazed, her face dripping with blood. She thanked the man in a voice that didn’t belong to her and tried to get up.
‘Hey, it’s me, Prem?’ The man put his face in front of hers and she tried to focus on it.
‘Thanks. What was that?’ She managed to ask as he helped her up.
‘It looks like you managed to get on the wrong side of Ed. He’s not one to mess with. Not long out of jail, trusts no one, especially if he smells the filth. Also he’s back into some dodgy business I’m not sure either of us want to know anything about’. He got a tissue out of his pocket and handed it to Geraldine to wipe the blood from her nose.
‘But I need to know what’s going on at that airfield. The guy with the cast, he’s my-my boss.’
Prem looked at her with a mixture of pity and fear. ‘Listen, I really don’t think you want to get involved with that stuff. Like I said, nothing about it feels right or above board. But we just keep our heads down and take the money. Not long to go for me.’
Geraldine’s head was spinning, Gibson’s name flew into her mind. ‘What about a guy called Gibson, ever come across him?’
‘I dunno, what does he look like?’ Geraldine thought back to the black and white photograph attached to Gibson’s file, her cloudy head was starting to clear a little.
‘He’s kind of chiseled looking, dark hair, neat beard, white teeth. He was in the army, as a medic in Afghanistan.’
Prem leaned his head against the tunnel wall working out whether to say what he knew. ‘Ok. I knew a Gibson, looked a bit like that. He was on the same tour as me in Afghanistan. But he was- he left.’
‘Lawrence Gibson? Dishonorable discharge, right? Is that normal?’ Even in her concussed state, Geraldine knew she was onto something the army would never have told her without a warrant.
‘I shouldn’t really say. But we never had this conversation, right?’
‘Right.’
He resigned himself to telling her the story. ‘So, he and a couple of other guys realized there was some big bucks to be made on the black market there. Selling just about anything and everything. Not a big deal in itself, Christ, everyone thought they were on borrowed time, so pretty much did what they wanted. But this was different. When Gibson got found out, for whatever he was doing, the shit really hit the fan. He was sent away literally that night. And we were all told he had ‘family issues’ so had to go on im
mediate leave. But he never came back.’
Forty-One
Geraldine had stopped by a local newsagent to buy a bottle of Chardonnay. She wanted to go for the Pinot Grigio but decided to splash out. It was only a few quid more and she wanted to celebrate something. It had been so long since she had been really happy. Zara had brought her happiness. She now felt comfortable explaining her bruises.
She hadn’t called to say that she was coming over; she wanted to surprise her. Zara had said she often worked days from home and Friday was one of them. She walked around the corner to face Moatlands House and looked up to Zara’s flat. The lights were on. Geraldine suddenly felt a little nervous arriving unannounced. She had only really seen Zara a couple of times – more sex than talking. Her skin tingled at the thought. She wanted more of that.
She saw her reflection in a window, smiling happily. Again, something she hadn’t seen herself do in a very long time. She went up to the door and buzzed Flat C. She checked her reflection and flicked her hair into shape. For a moment an old habit returned and she caught herself looking into her handbag for some make-up. She hadn’t bothered dolling herself up since the divorce; it reminded her of her past. She pressed the buzzer again, maybe Zara was on a call.. The stair lights came on. Maybe Zara was coming down or the buzzer could be broken. Suddenly a man rushed through the door and barged past her without even a word. ‘Hey, watch it!’ She shouted after him. The door started to close slowly and she held it open with her hand looking back to where the man had gone, but he was nowhere to be seen.
She walked into the hallway and took the stairs to the flat. It would now be a bigger surprise. She heard some music drifting down. Maybe Zara was having a party? Some work thing. For a moment she wanted to turn back, but she carried on. The music was coming from Flat C, it was loud. Zara wouldn’t upset the neighbours with loud music. And hard rock? She hadn’t pegged her as a closet head banger. Geraldine knocked on the door and immediately felt silly. How could anyone even hear a knock? She turned the door handle. The door was unlocked. She walked in to find the living room empty. Her senses were wound by a mixture of excitement and nervousness. A sharp metallic smell caught her, it pricked her, weird and familiar. Her mood changed, her steps became careful and measured.
‘Zee… Zara?’ Geraldine turned down the music on the little hi-fi in the shelving unit. ‘Zara, are you here? Zee?’ No sound, everything was still in its rightful place. She moved to the kitchen. A mug of white tea was on the counter. It was stone cold. Her hand retracted as if it had been burned. Dirty plates were in the sink. ‘Anyone here?’ Geraldine’s veins pounded with tension. She made her way to the bedroom. The door was closed and she opened it.
The wine bottle she had been carrying fell to the floor and smashed. That memory lost in the shock. She stood there trying to breathe, as if she had been winded by a physical blow. As her mind processed the image it hit her with the force of a tsunami, then leaked into every crevice of her senses. Every limb and joint was shaking.
Zara’s naked body was splayed out on the bed, her eyes open – lifeless. Her mouth was open, too, as if gasping for air. But it was the sight of her chest that was threatening to snatch away Geraldine’s sanity: there was a massive dark red sticky hole. Her heart had been taken out.
She heard her name being called out. It took her a few moments to register, as if she had been asleep. Feeling distant and vague, her eyes focused on a living face.
‘Geraldine. Hey, come back. I’m here. What the fuck just happened?’
She gasped for air as if it was a thick sticky liquid.
It was O’Neil. ‘Is that Zara?’
‘Come on, get her out of here!’ Geraldine shouted. She looked up and noticed a message smeared in red on the white wall: You made this happen. On your conscience be it. Rebwar.
Geraldine’s stomach lurched. All she could see were blank faces staring at her.
‘I knew it,’ O’Neil said. ‘That sick fuck.’
Geraldine pushed past him. Her heart was draining, her feet moving without instruction, like she was floating. She reached the living room and threw up over the wooden floor. Bits of her late afternoon muffin and coffee flew towards the wall. O’Neil grabbed her shoulders. She tried to get away from him and was sick again.
‘Tell me what happened?’
She let herself be walked out to the corridor.
‘Can someone go and get her a cup of tea?’ O’Neil shouted to someone, anyone.
Geraldine shook her head.
‘Did you see anything? Where is Ghorbani?’
‘No, it doesn’t make sense.’ Geraldine grabbed O’Neil’s newly re-plastered cast. ‘It doesn’t.’
‘He’s a fucking sick lunatic.’ O’Neil looked at Geraldine’s hand holding his cast. There was a moment that seemed to last forever. It was like being at a crossroads. ‘We are going to catch that Arab cunt.’
‘It’s not him… it can’t be. No. He was setting a trap for the killer.’ Then she realised what might have happened and felt herself choke on the thought.
A swarm of specialists had arrived and were busy working inside the flat, it had now been cordoned off as a designated crime scene.
Geraldine felt her body convulse and she threw up again, this time on the carpet in the corridor. ‘Sorry, sorry… no, I can’t believe it.’
O’Neil looked up and signalled to someone in the corridor. DS Blonde appeared from nowhere and passed Geraldine a glass of water. She looked up and begrudgingly took it. O’Neil talked at her. ‘Look you’re now officially on leave. You’re going home.’ He switched eyelines and focused on DS Blonde who was looking around the flat from beyond the perimeter line. ‘You process the scene and report back to me.’ DS Blonde nodded in affirmation and walked under the police tape to the living room. O’Neil followed her and snatched Zara’s laptop from the desk, which, even in her shocked state, Geraldine clocked. ‘I have to get this back to base and analysed.’ He began walking down the corridor.
‘It’s not Rebwar. I can’t believe it. He’s not the killer.’ Geraldine could barely recognise her own voice.
O’Neil stopped walking and turned to face her, steadying the anger in his voice. ‘Look, it’s not your problem anymore. You need to go home. Now. I’ll get someone to take you.’
O’Neil nodded to the young PC standing in the hall, who nodded back. ‘This way M’am.’
‘But, I… want to say goodbye.’ Geraldine stuttered and tried to grab his arm, tears spilling out of her eyes. She felt weak, out of control. She could barely see through the tears splashing onto her top.
DS Blonde came out into the corridor to hand an evidence bag to one of the SOCO team and looked at Geraldine. She looked like she was trying to work out how best to play this and went for empathy, taking Geraldine’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry, I understand she was your friend?’
The way she said it made Geraldine, even in her sorry state, realise that she knew exactly what type of friends they had been. ‘Yes.. we were, friends.’
‘Well, in that case, you will need to come in for questioning.’
‘Well I hadn’t known her for that long… she…’ Geraldine took a breath, and another one. ‘But I think she knew the man we suspect might be the killer. The building site manager, Lawrence Gibson.’ Blonde’s expression changed from confident and slightly patronising to shock.
‘What? That doesn’t make any sense. Why? You saw the message in there, that O’Neil says is from the Iranian refugee Rebwar Ghorbani. You’re just in shock. Go home.’
She could feel her anger rising. Blonde wasn’t listening. She had to tell her the facts. ‘But Gibson was Medical Corps in Afghanistan – he was dishonourably discharged for dealing goods on the black market. We also believe he has some kind of mobile operating theatre in a van but need more information before we can get a warrant. We think they are selling organs on the black market and shipping them to and from RAF Northolt. We just need to get the CCTV. And I saw a man ru
shing out of Zara’s flat just before I went in.’
DS Blonde’s expression changed again, this time to impatience as if Geraldine was taking up far too much of her precious time. ‘Look, you’re in shock, you’re rambling. Not thinking straight. I’ll report back to DCI O’Neil and he can talk to you about it.’
‘But.. I-..’ Geraldine was about to tell Blonde about seeing O’Neil at Northolt but thought better of it, given how far the pretty DS’s head was lodged up her DCI’s backside.
‘I just want to say goodbye’. Blonde was about to go back into the flat and stopped. ‘I’m sorry, that just won’t be possible, now off you go.’ She ducked back under the tape to go back to the crime scene when Geraldine suddenly noticed Zee’s mobile on the table in the living room and called her back.
‘I’m sorry, but I left my mobile on the table over there, could you pass it to me?’
Blonde went to the table and picked up the phone, ‘here you go’. She handed it over and nodded to the PC, ‘take her home will you?’.
Geraldine shook her head, ‘really, it’s fine, I could do with some air’. She walked away, ran down the stairs, and then the reality hit her. Outside the flat was mayhem; Police and other emergency vehicles with blue lights flashing, officers swarming around conducting door to door enquiries and cordoning off the street. A few people – mostly from the flats, or late-night passers by - had gathered behind the police tape to watch what was happening.
She looked at her watch; it was 1am. She took her phone out and rang Rebwar’s number. It went to voicemail. She didn’t know what to say. She was angry. She dialled again and this time she left a message.