by Bo Brennan
Colt grimaced. Didn’t have the heart to tell her Maggie was the images maestro, not him. “It’s my job, babe. Most of what we do is images work.”
“I made a start.” She sighed and flipped the pages on her pad, revealing column after column of scratched out number sequences starting at 0800 000000 and ending mid page with 0800 008137. “Suppose I’ve got fuck all better to do right now.”
Colt stared at her. Assuming the remainder of that Freephone number was indeed six digits, there were literally a million possible combinations . . . and she’d already tried over eight thousand of them. For someone who possessed such a brilliant methodical mind, it was unfathomable she’d missed it. “Sixty-nine, sixty-nine, sixty-nine,” he said.
India cocked her head and frowned.
Colt grinned and capped his coffee. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. Students have drunken party sex. If they can’t remember to use protection – how else would they remember an emergency contraception number? Nine-nine-nine’s already taken.”
Her lips twitched as she picked up her phone.
Colt checked his watch and kissed the top of her head. “Got to go. Whatever you need, call me.”
At the door, he took one last lingering look that hurt his heart. Phone already pressed to her ear, she stuck up a thumb and beamed him her one-sided smile.
Colt smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
This morning’s pit stop wasn’t Dunkin’ Donuts, it was fuckin’ Firman.
Portsmouth, Hampshire
Gray was watching Priti sleeping soundly when his phone rang shortly after 6am. ‘Terri’ flashed on the screen.
“It’s only my sister,” he said, as his startled guest stirred. “Go back to sleep.”
The phone stopped ringing as he stepped onto the landing, a text alert sounding instead. Outside. Key won’t work.
Jesus Christ, she must’ve shit the bed, he thought, taking the stairs two at a time before she started knocking and shouting and waking the whole bloody street.
Cara’s repossessed keys still blocked the lock. Gray opened up to find Terri standing on the dark doorstep, a black bin liner in her arms. “Thanks for doing this,” he said, relieving her of the bulging bag. “I owe you one.”
“It’s fine. They were destined for the clothing bank. The girls sorted their clothes at the weekend.”
Gray frowned as he peered into the bag. “You brought kid’s clothes?”
“You said size six,” she snapped. “I haven’t been a size six since I was twenty-one. I had a couple of nostalgia items in the back of my wardrobe but, well, you also said conservative. That’s a tall order at short notice, Gray.” Terri glanced over her shoulder to where she’d parked under the muted orange glow of a streetlamp. “They’re growing up fast,” she murmured. “And all the time I’m paying for their clothes – they’ll remain bloody conservative.”
He dumped the bag in the lobby and stepped into the forecourt, tilting his head to see the two sleepy, pyjama-clad teenage girls in the back of his older sister’s car. They smiled and made heart shaped gestures at him with their fingers and thumbs. Gray winked and made the same gesture back. “I’ll take them out at the weekend and buy them something nice to say thank you,” he said.
“Not clothes you won’t. They’ll run rings around you and end up looking like hookers. Besides, you’re not taking them anywhere until I know what the hell’s going on.”
Gray flinched at her frosty tone.
Inside the house, the toilet flushed. Terri shifted her weight and angled her head to see in. Gray stepped into the lobby, blocking her view.
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry, we’re not coming in. We need to be back in Winchester for eight,” she said. “You know, for school. What exactly is going on, Gray?”
“Nothing.” He nonchalantly leant against the doorframe. “I’m just helping out a friend, that’s all.”
“A friend no one’s ever met, and who has no clothes?”
“It’s complicated, Ter.”
“It usually is with you and women.”
Gray gaped at her. He had the most uncomplicated love life of anyone he knew. He didn’t have one, how complicated was that?
She crossed her arms over her chest. “According to Cara, you used her to get over Charlie’s death and then moved on pretty damn swiftly.”
His spine straightened. “Cara phoned you?”
“Don’t be daft. She phoned Clare in hysterics.”
Shit. A wired jaw wouldn’t keep his youngest sister’s mouth shut. Clare was a beautician. Gossip and glitter the tools of her trade. “What did she say?”
“Clare’s Clare. She probably cooed in all the right places.”
“Not Clare, Cara. What did Cara say?”
“Reckons she’s barely legal.”
“Just because she’s Asian it doesn’t mean she’s here illegally.”
Terri inclined her head. “I was talking about her age. Cara reckons your new screw’s a schoolgirl.”
“She’s twenty-six.” Gray frowned, looked to his sister’s car and then back to her. “Is that why you…?”
Terri lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m all they have.”
Gray set his jaw and dropped his head to meet her steely stare. “They have all of us.” His whisper was harsh. “Tell the girls I’ll see them at the weekend. Tell Clare to keep her mouth shut. Tell Cara to fuck herself, and tell India fuck all. I need you to promise me you won’t tell anyone about this, especially India.”
Terri’s angst-ridden face showed the magnitude of what he was asking. He and India were joined at the hip – they kept each other’s secrets, never secrets from each other. “Gray, are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No, but my friend is. I’m trying to help her. She hasn’t got anyone or anything,” he said, gesturing to the bag of clothes at his feet. “Please, Terri. She’s leaving Friday, but it’s important no one finds out she’s here while we figure this out.”
“It’s a bit late for that, Cara’s probably told half of Hampshire by now.” Terri sighed and rubbed at her brow. Gray knew it was a strain she didn’t need. She didn’t like keeping secrets, especially from the cop in the family. They had a nasty habit of biting her on the arse when she least expected it. His eyes pleaded with her. “No one will hear it from me,” she finally said.
Hampshire CID, Winchester
Colt parked in the shadows of the deserted car park and waited.
Firman was always first in. As soon as his car pulled into his designated bay, Colt jumped out of his Range Rover and tapped on the window.
The glass slid down. “Don’t you have a capital city to terrorise?”
“Unlike you, I save that for suspects, not staff.”
Len Firman sighed. “I didn’t have a choice, Jim.”
“You had a fucking choice. You chose a bank robbing tart over India, and I have to wonder why.” Colt bent down so they were eye to eye. “Has Melody Fletcher had her tits in your face too, Len?”
His lip curled in disgust. “Get in.”
Colt rounded the car and climbed into the passenger seat, glowering at Len’s profile as the older man stared out into the empty carpark.
“I’d have done the same if it was Sangrin.”
“If it was Sangrin, it would probably be fucking true. But it wasn’t. It was India you betrayed and left devastated.” Colt shook his head. “You let her down, Len.”
Len’s jaw tightened. “She’ll trounce her exams and be back at work in no time.”
“Not for you she won’t. She’ll never trust you again.”
“And no doubt you’ve still got a sergeant’s position open,” Len said dully. “India’s not cut out for your line of work, Jim. She’d never pass the psych assessment, and you know it. This’ll blow over. She’ll come back, and I’ll retire. Do yourself a favour and stay out of it.”
“Is that what you plan to tell Shayla Begum’s family when bits of her start arriving
in the mail like her sister?” Colt cracked his knuckles. “When I spoke to you yesterday, why didn’t you tell me the dead woman’s name was Nazreem Sinder?”
For the first time since Colt had climbed into his car, Len turned his head to look at him. “Because it’s not. Sinder’s an alias.”
“I know. India told me. She told me everything, Len. She was sniffing around the NCA’s case with your fucking blessing, sounds to me like she was close to cracking it too. Which means you’re either under the NCA cosh or under the lap dancer. Which one is it?”
Len swallowed hard and slumped in his seat. “Melody Fletcher used her custody call to phone her boyfriend. Next thing, a swanky brief arrives from London with a pre-prepared statement, and I’ve got the Home Office on the fucking phone telling me to drop it.”
“Was it Henderson?”
Firman shook his head.
“Then who?” Colt demanded.
“I don’t know and I don’t fucking want to know. Neither should you.” He dragged a hand down his face and gazed out into the car park again as the streetlamps blinked off. “Sometimes we need saving from ourselves, Jim, India more than most. What would you have done?”
Colt gritted his teeth and opened the car door. “Found out who Fletcher’s fucking boyfriend is.”
“Good luck with that.” Len pulled a scrap of paper from his wallet with a number scrawled across it. “Unregistered Pay-As-You-Go mobile,” he said, pressing it into Colt’s hand. “It’s already out of service.”
One foot on the asphalt, Colt scanned the number. “A burner phone?”
“Looks that way. Custody sergeant said the boyfriend’s name was ‘Malik’.” Len patted his shoulder and extended his hand. “Be careful.”
Colt ignored his goodwill and stepped from the car. Before slamming the door, he leaned in, and said, “I don’t need to be careful, Len. I don’t give a shit about your pension or anyone else’s. All I care about is India. And you broke her.”
As he drove away, Colt glanced in his rear-view mirror. Len Firman remained in his seat with his head in his hands.
Chapter 51
Portsmouth, Hampshire
Gray carried the black sack upstairs, passing Priti on the landing as she emerged from the bathroom. “Clothes,” he said, dumping the bag on the bed. “Get dressed.”
He kept his eyes on the floor as he left.
In the kitchen he made tea for them both and sat at the table, listening to Priti moving around above him. Dressing alone would be awkward for her, he probably shouldn’t have left. But then there were a lot of things he probably shouldn’t have done lately.
Involving Terri felt like one.
When he heard Priti coming down the stairs, he pushed her cup of tea to the other end of the table.
“What do you think?” she said, giving a fully clothed twirl in the doorway.
“Very nice.” Gray grimaced and diverted his gaze to the window. It was just jeans, a jumper, and plimsolls, but he’d seen those same clothes on his nieces, and now a fully-grown woman filled them in all the wrong places.
She slid into the chair beside him. “Are you okay?”
“Not really. Courtesy of my ex, my sister now thinks I’m a paedophile.”
“Sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand. “I get that a lot.”
Gray’s hands suddenly became busy, stirring tea a double-digit affair. “I doubt it.”
“Sorry. Meant my age.” In his peripheral vision, she pulled random chalky threads from her plaster cast. “Just as well I can’t afford to smoke or drink, no one would serve me. Get half price bus fares though.”
Gray managed a weak smile at her silver lining.
She leant across the table and picked up her mug. “Could be worse.”
Still stirring, Gray stared at his tea, the swirling beige bubbles strangely hypnotic. “No, it couldn’t.”
“You’re right, it couldn’t. I’m sorry.”
He threw the spoon down on the table and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids. “Please stop saying sorry. She’s my sister. She’s supposed to know me.”
In the silence that followed all he could hear was the steady fizz of frothed tea falling flat.
“Nobody ever really knows anybody,” Priti murmured. “My sister’s husband was a paedophile.”
“Your parents sure know how to pick ‘em. A murderer for you, a paedophile for her. Got any more sisters they can line up for a suicide bomber?” As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes closed in regret. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“It was the same man,” she said quietly.
Gray turned his head to look at her then, really look at her, searching for answers to questions unasked. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “They wanted you to marry your sister’s killer?” he said. “Why the hell would they want you to do that?”
She stared at the table, fiddling with the discarded teaspoon. “For Izzat, honour,” she said. “They didn’t know he killed her then. They thought she killed herself. Someone had to restore the honour Shareen took when she took her own life. I was the only one left. That’s why she came back. She turned up at my graduation with the priest. Said it was all arranged, had been since she died. As soon as I finished my education I would marry her husband. At first I didn’t believe her. I didn’t even believe it was her. But my parents told me when I got home. My marriage was already arranged. To him.”
Gray rubbed his neck, his head was reeling, his stomach churning. “Priti, I don’t understand. How could he be a murderer if she was still alive?”
Priti shivered and buried her chin in her chest, her shoulders hunching to her ears. “He killed the child who carried his child. That’s why Shareen disappeared in the first place.”
Park Gate, Hampshire
India stared at her mobile phone, waiting for the alarm to sound 9am. The time the robe makers in Winchester opened.
It had been a long few hours since she’d made the call to the Student Sexual Health Line. It hadn’t yielded a specific destination like she’d hoped, but it had narrowed the location of Shayla Begum’s graduation photo to universities solely inside the M25. Colt’s patch.
She missed him already.
8.59. She started dialling before the alarm activated. The old boy answered on the second ring.
“Sinclair’s Quality Outfitters, robe makers of distinction,” he chirped.
“Good morning, sir. It’s Detective India Kane calling from Hampshire CID.”
“I didn’t think it was a student, dear, those lazy swine don’t realise there are two nines in a day.”
India had been counting down the minutes to this one. “I was wondering if you’d had any luck pinpointing the university in the photograph yet.”
“Almost,” he said. “I’ve whittled it down to five, dear. Another few days and we should get a result, as they say.”
“I’ve been doing some whittling of my own,” India said.
“Doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, detective. I’d expect nothing less from a tenacious young career woman like yourself.”
A thin sliver of guilt stabbed at her insides. She was nothing of the sort. Right now, her career lay in tatters and her tenacity was reduced to conning an old man. “Are any of your five within the M25, Mr Sinclair?”
“Just the one, dear. UCL,” he said, elaborating ‘University College London’ when India remained silent. “Do we have a result?”
“Yes, sir. I believe we do,” India said. “When do graduations take place?”
“Varies. July to September. But usually September. It’s by far my busiest time.”
“Thank you, Mr Sinclair. I owe you one.”
“Goody. Love scotch, hate fish, dear.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
India’s lips curved as she hung up, then flatlined as her phone immediately rang. ‘Smithy’ lit up the screen. India hesitated to answer. Her suspension officially cut off her colleagues. He
r only work contact should come through Firman or the rubber heelers at Professional Standards.
Sod it. She liked Smith and Wesson enough that some unknowing fool might even deem it a soft spot. Taking a deep breath, she took the call. “All right, Paul.”
“Morning,” he said. “Updating you on Headbourne Worthy.”
India swallowed hard. “I’ve been suspended, Smithy.”
“Yeah, I know. You want the update or not?”
“You’ll get into trouble for talking to me.”
“Oh, well.”
India frowned at the weird slurping in the background. “What’s that noise?”
“Kate on a thick shake. My shout for breakfast, we’re in McDonalds on the High Street if you want to stick a bag on your head and join us.”
India’s lips twitched. “You’ll fail your fitness test again.”
“Not after all the running around we did for you yesterday,” he said. “Oh, before I forget, first the bad news. Drug Squad asked me to pass on that the Preston brothers have a brain. Little Leroy’s sticky fingers were all over that electricity bypass.”
“The runt wired it?”
“Yeah, turns out he’s real good with electrical shit. Last month, he wired some kid’s chair up to the school mains for saying something about his mum. Blew the bugger twenty foot across the classroom.”
“I think that might’ve been Craig Markham,” India said.
“Not all bad then.” Paul chuckled. “Here’s the good news and the point of the call. Struck gold with the church in Headbourne Worthy. Think the man in the frock’s got a thing for our Kate, got all giddy when he saw her. Gonna personally give our posters out to his flock. Most of the villagers come in, show willing, you know – thank God for all their money. Anyway, we came in this morning to let you know and Sergeant Shit-Fer-Brains said you’d been suspended, and reckoned we’d have had more luck finding the Begum bird under your bloke’s bed.”
“Somewhere a village is missing that idiot,” India grumbled.
There were muffled voices as a clunky scuffle took place, the phone changing hands before Kate came on the line. “The priest covers Kings Worthy church as well, India,” she said. “He lives in Headbourne, but takes mass at Kings on Mondays. Spends all day there, unfortunately. Doesn’t know of one Asian family or resident in either village, but he’s going to distribute the posters and speak to the parishioners in both. Nice man. Seemed pretty shaken by it all. Consider the Worthys smothered. What’s next, boss?”