by Bo Brennan
“So?” Doug said. “I thought that was the whole point of grooming. Isolate the kid, then convince them they’re the only one who loves them so passing them around their friends like pieces of bloody meat is normal.”
Colt nodded in agreement. “It is.”
“It will take years of therapy to get Kylie to acknowledge she’s being abused,” Maggie said. “Even then, she might never accept Bashir doesn’t give a shit about her, let alone love her.”
The prosecutor raised his hands, speaking over them. “That isn’t actually the main problem.”
Doug Henderson pulled his bleeper from his pocket and peered at the screen. “Michael, I don’t want to be rude, but could you just get to the main problem, please? I’ve got urgent business to attend to.”
Michael Moore looked Colt straight in the eye, and said, “The Child Abduction Warning Notices you served were brought into question.”
“What?” Colt reeled. Every eye in the room turned to him. Maggie tensed at his side. Under the desk, her hand gripped his thigh, urging him to keep his cool.
“All of the CAW Notices served on the defendants were for children in Local Authority care,” Michael said. “One of them was living with their parents at the time of the offences – Kylie Jones.”
“No, I’m not having that,” Colt said. “All notices were served correctly. We even took the precaution of serving each defendant under Section 2 of the Child Abduction Act 1984 and under Section 49 of the Children and Young Persons Act 1989, just in case the Local Authority had ever had contact with the girls or their families.”
“The defence successfully argued that because you had used amended versions of Harbourers Warning Notices, they were ambiguous. And irrelevant. And I have to agree. You should’ve used the standard template.”
Colt frowned. “What do you mean ‘you have to agree’. Are you taking the piss?” Maggie’s nails dug deep into his thigh, reminding him to choose his next words with caution. Colt took a deep breath before continuing. “The CPS and police only agreed procedural guidance and issued the standard template in May of last year. All our notices were served way before that, as you well know.”
Michael pursed his lips. “The good news is the defence made no attempt to defend any of the contact allegations, it was a purely procedural issue.” He lowered his voice and his eyes, rearranging his papers as he did that ‘thinking aloud’ thing that worked so well for him in the courtroom. “A simple matter of the wrong form.”
But it didn’t work so well here.
Maggie’s nails dug deeper.
The forms were a measly tool in their arsenal, with no statutory or other legislative provision to enforce them, it wasn’t even a criminal offence to breach them. It was just a scrap of paper they could add to their evidence pile against the bastards. “All right, I get it. It’s gone tits up because you got outsmarted by ten defence barristers and a long-winded process, and now you’re looking to pin this fuck-up on me and my unit,” Colt said. “What’s the upshot?”
Embarrassed by the truth, the prosecutor’s cheeks reddened. “The judge has given fourteen days for the correct forms to be served on all defendants, or he’ll dismiss the case entirely.”
“Why fourteen?” Maggie said. “Usually it’s twenty-eight.”
Michael Moore cautiously glanced at Colt. “The trial is scheduled to last four weeks,” he said. “Twenty-eight days’ grace would put St Georges Day smack bang in the middle of it. That’s not going to happen. We’d have every fascist and extremist in the country descending on the Old Bailey. It’d be a blood bath.”
“Politics and arse covering, whatever next,” Colt murmured.
“You saw what happened yesterday,” Michael snapped. “Or you would’ve done if you’d hung around. The commander and I were barricaded in that courthouse for hours after giving the bloody statement.”
Doug Henderson set his jaw. “You’re out of line, Michael. If you hadn’t bowed to political pressure, you’d have given Colt the heads up yesterday so he could’ve served those bastards on the Old Bailey steps and all hell might not have broken loose at all. Now they’ll go to ground and hide for a fortnight while his unit play cat and mouse.”
“Or piss off to Pakistan for a holiday,” Maggie said.
“You don’t need to worry about that. They’re already on the all ports checklist.” Doug Henderson winked at her. “But Mickey bloody mouse here has just cost you a whole hunting day,” he said, glaring at the prosecutor. “You got a plan for catching up with them, Colt, or d’you need a hand?”
Yeah. He had a plan. But they weren’t going to like it. “I’m good, thanks. Rest assured, I will personally see to it that new notices are served on all defendants tomorrow,” he said. “Are we done here?”
Michael Moore raised his brows in question. “Tomorrow? How do you intend doing that exactly?”
Colt locked eyes with the prosecutor. “They all attend the same mosque. I’m gonna get them during prayers.” Maggie squeezed his thigh, then patted. Seemed she approved of the idea.
Michael winced. “You can’t serve legal notices during Friday prayers.”
Colt frowned. “Why not?”
“The community will see it as an antagonistic move,” he said.
“I don’t care how they see it. They’re criminals.”
“It’s a place of worship!” Michael raised his voice, labouring the point. “Completely off limits.”
“That’s what they’re banking on. That’s why they’ll all be there,” Colt said. “And in case you need reminding – nowhere is off limits to me and my team.”
Michael propped his head in his hands. “Find another way. Please.”
“We don’t have time to find another way,” Colt said. “Tomorrow is our opportunity to get them all together, and I’m taking it.”
“Not without a bloody riot squad in attendance you’re not,” he grumbled.
Colt spread his hands. “Then so be it.”
“I’ll sanction that.” Doug Henderson shrugged when all eyes turned his way. “You need the commander’s agreement to deploy the riot team these days, right?”
Since the cutbacks, everything needed to go through the chain, but Colt had no intention of asking. He was pacifying the prosecutor, and planning to go alone. “Right,” he said.
“Hussein will never go for it. He’ll have a fucking breakdown if you go anywhere near a mosque. Swerve him.”
Michael glared at him. “Last time I checked, the NCA were outside the chain of command here.”
“We all have a vested interest in this case going the course, Michael. Last time I checked, your career was riding on it as well as the future of this unit. We’ll work together and we’ll work it out. He’ll serve the papers, I’ll provide the back-up, and you’ll keep the commander busy while it’s happening. We’ll be back in the saddle by tea time. Everything hunky-dory.”
“I like it,” Maggie said.
Michael leaned back in his seat. “I don’t.”
“You don’t have to, you just have to keep the man busy.” Doug looked to Colt. “Let me know where and when and they’ll be there. We’ve known each other long enough to know this is bullshit. And we both know the reason behind it. I’m not gonna stand by while they scapegoat you and your team.”
Neither was Colt. “I’ll drop you a line,” he said.
“That’s that sorted then.” Doug Henderson pushed back his chair when his bleeper sounded once more. “Gotta run,” he said. “Time and place, buddy. Time and place.”
Chapter 22
Badger Farm Estate, Winchester, Hampshire
India stepped aside as the dog handlers wrestled two snarling pit bulls down the path. The Drug Squad officer loitering at the garden gate, hastily backed up. “Fucking things bit me,” he mumbled, holding up bandaged hands for sympathy. “Gloves are shredded.”
“They were doing their job,” India said.
“What the fuck d’you think I was doing?�
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India ignored him and continued to the house.
“You can’t nick me!” screeched the woman cuffed face down on the filthy hall floor. “What about my boys? They ain’t got no dad. They’re too young to be left on their own.”
India stepped through the splintered remains of the front door and casually picked up the scattered morning mail. “Doesn’t bother you when you’re pissing off to the pub meeting punters, Alice.”
“I might’ve known you’d have something to do with this,” Slack Alice snarled as she was hauled to her feet. “It’s them little bastards in there you should be nicking, not me.” She jerked her head at the open sitting room door. “They must’ve done it when I was out. I di’n’t know nuffin about it!”
The sergeant, on his knees at the understairs cupboard, chuckled and beckoned India over. “Tweedledum and Tweedle-dumber didn’t do that,” he said, pointing to the electricity meter. “That’s an expert job, that is. Best bypass I’ve ever seen. A total game changer.”
India bowed her head to catch sight of the meter and its myriad of protruding cables. She didn’t know jack shit about what they should or shouldn’t look like, and she didn’t care. But she knew a good indication of how long a cannabis farm had been in operation was usually the length of time without energy bills at the property. “How long’s she been off grid?” she asked, feigning interest in the mechanics.
The sergeant took the mail from her hands and sifted through it. “Well, that’s the thing,” he said, excitedly waving an envelope stamped ‘Southern Electric.’ “She’s not.”
India frowned as she opened the long overdue electricity bill, printed in threatening red ink. “I thought it was bypassed.”
“It is. But only the spur for the loft. The house runs as is.” With a gloved hand, he tapped a small black box gaffer-taped to the side of the meter, a thick electricity cable poked from its top, snaking up the wall before disappearing through the ceiling. “This clever little gadget allows for everyday consumption to be recorded as normal. It’s ingenious. I’ve never seen anything like it. Only the growing operation in the loft is actually ‘off grid’. And it’s one helluva slick system they’re running up there. They even tapped into the defunct chimney stack of the property next door to provide ventilation. If they’d put adequate insulation in the roof rafters, no one would’ve been any the wiser.”
India straightened up as footsteps thundered above their heads. Slack Alice’s gummy mouth gaped open as she watched the officers filing down the stairs hauling black sacks filled with stinky prime cannabis bud, and fully grown pot plants. Now that shit, India did know about. “What you got, fellas?” she asked.
“Estimated street value of a quarter mill, easy,” the sergeant said, grinning at her. “You’ve got a keen eye, Kane. I’ll be putting that in my report. Well done.”
She lifted her chin in acknowledgement of the rare pat on the back before returning her attention to Alice. “Who’s your electrician, Alice? We’ll get prints off the box, but you never know, a little bit of name dropping and the judge might go easy. You’ll be thankful of that once I’ve told him what a great mama you are.”
Her eyes narrowed into spiteful little slits. “You’re an evil fucking bitch.”
India raised a shoulder, waiting for the cuffed woman to hurl the only weapon left in her arsenal – a mouthful of gob. Instead, Slack Alice caught them all off guard by making a run for the sitting room door and launching herself at her two boys cowering silently on the sofa. “I’m gonna kill you little fuckers,” she screamed.
India hauled her off by her hair. “Get her out of here,” she growled, shoving her towards one of the slow reacting officers. “And make sure you add threats to kill to her charge sheet.” She bundled them out of the sitting room and slammed the door, leaving her alone with Satan’s spawn.
“We thought you was all right,” Jason Preston said. “For a fed.”
“I gave you a chance, Jason, and you screwed me over.”
He screwed his face into a disgusted scowl. “No I never. I ain’t bin smokin’ and I done the picture of that Paki bird and everything.”
“Didn’t do one of the abductor though, did you?”
He hung his head and picked at his dirty fingernails. “Di’n’t see his face, did I.”
“That’s because he wasn’t there,” India said. “You made the whole thing up for shits and giggles. Ain’t so fucking funny now, is it?”
“Never made nuffink up,” he mumbled.
“He ain’t no liar!” little Leroy shouted, getting brave and jumping from his seat in defence of his big brother. “That Paki bastard took the bird, an’ he chinned Jase, an’ he done the bank!”
India glanced down at his furious little face. The munchkin was trembling with insolent rage, his tiny hands balled into fists. “The bank? That’s interesting. Thanks for letting me know,” she said, patting him on the head.
“Sit down.” Jason tugged at his brother’s arm. A sheepish looking Leroy dropped onto the sofa beside him.
“What’s all this got to do with the bank?” India eyeballed them as the silence extended. “Start talking or you’ll both be going in for cultivating and dealing along with your mother. And it won’t be a caution this time, boys. It’ll be a stint in Young Offenders for both of you. I’ll make damn sure of it.”
Jason pursed his lips and glanced sideways at his brother. Little Leroy grimaced in apology and drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them tight.
“The money you took,” Jason said with a reluctant sigh. “He dropped it when he did the bank over last month.”
India inclined her head. “So now you’re saying the man who abducted the woman from the bus stop also robbed the Central Bank on the high street?”
Jason nodded. “That’s why we said we di’n’t see his face. He’s taking out the witnesses, i’n’t he. We ain’t been back there since he got her. Been hangin’ at the park when our ma’s working. We’re next. We need protection.”
India bent down and got right in his face. “You carry on taking the piss out of me, Jason, and you’re gonna need more than protection. You’re gonna need a headstone.”
“I’m not,” he spluttered, recoiling as far as the sofa would allow. “Swear down. It’s the truth innit, Leroy?” His subdued baby brother, now firmly back in his box, nodded enthusiastically.
India drew a deep breath and straightened her spine. “Here’s the thing, boys. I have a witness for the Central Bank robbery, and she says the robber was white.” In actual fact, he looked like a tinned potato, she thought, but neglected to say.
“She’s lying,” Jason spat. “He runs out the bank, sees us and drops the money. Then he runs up the road and jumps in a white van. That’s how it went down. I swear on me ma’s life.”
India rolled her eyes. Like that promise held much value. If it did, lying would do these boys a favour. “And what about you, Leroy. Do you swear on your mother’s life it’s true as well?”
“No.” He scowled at her. “I swear on Jason’s.”
India flinched, taken aback. Those four little words changed everything. These two didn’t know much, but they sure as shit knew loyalty. She pulled out her mobile phone and called the sketch artist. He answered on the third ring. When she told him she had an urgent job, he muttered apologies and started rambling off a list of other coppers in the queue ahead of her.
“I don’t give a shit what you’ve got on. Drop it,” India said, interrupting him mid-flow. “I need you back at the Badger Farm Estate today. Bill double bubble, I’ll make sure it gets paid.”
Money talked. “He’s on his way,” she said to the boys as she cut the call.
Jason Preston turned to his little brother and smiled, ruffling his hair as India’s phone rang in her hand. DCI Firman flashed on her screen. She pointed at the Preston boys. “Don’t move,” she said, stepping out into the hall to take the call.
“All right, guv? Don’t tell me the Home O
ffice is early.”
“You could say that,” Firman muttered. “What the hell have you been up to?”
“I’ve got a shit load of dope and a name for Pocahontas,” she said triumphantly. “And it’s not Shayla Begum.”
Firman lowered his voice to a gritted growl. “Right now, I don’t give a flying fuck what you’ve got. I’ve got the NCA crawling all over the bloody place looking for you. Get your arse back here and deal with it. Now.”
India’s brows bunched. “NCA?” The line went dead. Fisher simply said his missus worked for the Home Office; he didn’t say jack shit about the National Crime Agency.
Chapter 23
The Paedophile Unit, New Scotland Yard, London
At the gentle knock on his office door, Colt looked up from the freshly printed stack of Child Abduction Warning Notices to see DC Clorindar Hussein hovering tentatively in the doorway, DS Nathan Sharp at her back. “Come in, take a seat,” he said. “I’ll be with you in two minutes.”
He scrawled his signature on the remaining documents and called Maggie into his office. “Done. One batch for mailing, one batch for us,” he said, handing them over. “I want the whole unit at the mosque tomorrow. I don’t care what they’re doing; it can wait till they get back. And I want everyone in stab vests too,” he added, shaking cramp from his hand. “No excuses. No exceptions.”
Maggie gave a curt nod and looked to Clorindar. “That okay with you?”
“Fine.” Clorindar scrunched her brows. “I’ve got no problem doing the job, sir.”
“It didn’t cross my mind for one second that you did,” Colt said, throwing Maggie an irritable sideways scowl.
Maggie raised a shoulder. “Just checking,” she murmured.
Colt drummed his fingers on the desk. Eight hundred people would be exiting that mosque at the exact same time tomorrow. Even with a riot team in attendance, serving their defendants was going to prove problematic. “There’s eleven of us and ten of them,” he said. “Let’s go at it one-on-one with a spotter, Mags.”