by A. A. Dhand
Harry slapped him on the arm. ‘That’s the spirit. Christ, you’re right, Willy might suit you better.’
‘I take it you’ve come here to insult me before asking for a favour?’
‘Much as I would love it to be a social call—’
‘When? Where?’ said Charles, reluctantly sitting at his desk and tapping keys on his computer.
‘No guessing today?’
‘All right, I’ll say Holme Wood?’
‘Nope.’
‘Manningham?’
‘Last guess.’
‘Thorpe Estate?’
‘Bingo. Friday night. Pull up seven thirty, eight o’clock?’
‘Paperwork?’
‘You’ll get it.’
‘You said that last time.’
‘You wouldn’t be able to read my handwriting.’
Charles pulled up the cameras and Gerard House appeared on screen.
‘That one,’ said Harry, pointing at the left-hand monitor. ‘Car park, rear entrance.’
‘What are we looking for?’
‘White Audi. Asian lad.’
Charles played the video at four times its normal speed.
‘There!’ said Harry.
Charles paused the video. ‘Got it. White Audi. You want the licence?’
Harry nodded, grabbing a pen and scrap of paper from the desk.
‘GH12 YHG.’
‘How much zoom can you get on the driver when he gets out?’ asked Harry, writing it down.
Although the image distorted as Charles worked the software, it remained clear enough to show Harry a decent profile.
‘Big lad,’ said Charles.
‘Probably all brawn, no brain.’
‘Charming.’
Charles kept tapping keys on the computer and found him again. Forty minutes later the man returned, carrying two large suitcases and accompanied by a woman and a little girl. Olivia was younger than Harry had expected her to be. Her age had been missing from Tara’s notebook, but he’d assumed she was eleven like the others. Now it appeared Olivia was much younger than that.
‘Can you take a screenshot of that and send it to my phone?’ Harry asked.
‘You know I can’t.’
‘And copy the footage on to a USB stick,’ Harry continued, ignoring him.
‘Harry, there’s—’
‘You’ll get the paperwork, Charlie, relax.’
‘If the gaffer collars me, I’ll—’
‘You’ll show him the footage of the many, many incidents you’ve got of his car parked on Lumb Lane while he gets blown.’
Charles looked awkward and glanced around nervously as if his boss might suddenly appear. ‘He says he’s taking the church to the streets to help them,’ he said, dropping his voice.
‘No gain for the girls then. Either way, they get screwed.’ Charles just rolled his eyes.
While the USB flash drive was being loaded, Harry sat in Charles’ seat and used the controls to study the footage more closely. It looked as though Lexi and Olivia were leaving of their own free will with a man who looked like he had a lollipop in his mouth. At 20:33 the car pulled out of the car park. Harry clicked on another camera and tracked the car’s exit from Gerard House. When it hit the road outside the estate, Harry hit the pause button.
He leaned closer to the screen.
‘What …’ His eyes were fixed on the screen, his mouth open. He let it play, stopped the clip and rewound it. He pressed play again.
‘No fucking way,’ he said, and rewound it a second time.
At the other side of the room, Charles hovered with the USB stick, nervous at Harry’s sudden change in mood.
Harry played the clip a third time, the mystery caller’s words from the night before loud in his ears.
Something terrible is going to happen in Bradford …
SEVENTEEN
ALI PULLED UP outside Thornbury Primary School at quarter past three.
Billy had suggested they meet in town, but Ali knew that if he timed it with Billy’s school run, it would force him to keep it brief.
The playground began to fill with noise as children emerged from the school and charged towards the gates. A few kids began playing a game that made Ali’s mind scream; it was the game he thought of when he was in his cellar, in Gori’s bed.
Kiss-chase.
He focused on the white girls, cheeks red, eyes watering as winter air hit their angelic faces. Skin so pure and smooth. Ali shifted in his seat.
As always, the Asian kids watched while the others played. They wouldn’t join in, even if they were asked. Good Asian children didn’t kiss other children, especially white ones.
Ali had been asked to play only once.
He wasn’t a good child. He’d been told that enough.
The memory burned, forcing his breathing to quicken and hands to scratch at each other. Ali felt the slow, familiar trickle of blood.
It was the first time anyone had asked him to play.
Lily had approached Ali, her blonde plaits swinging, and taken him into the middle of the playground.
‘Do you want to chase us?’ she had asked, struggling not to giggle.
Ali had shaken his head, a little excited but at the same time terrified.
‘But you get to kiss us if you catch us?’
Kiss them?
Ali hadn’t been able to take his eyes from her hand on his coat.
‘You’re the only boy playing, so you should be able to catch one of us.’
Then she had giggled, unable to hold it in any longer.
The other boys weren’t playing. He should have known.
‘OK,’ he had said.
Stupid.
‘Go!’ Lily had screamed.
Standing in the middle of the playground, he had felt instantly vulnerable.
‘Come on! Come on!’ the girls had screamed, scattering in all directions.
And he had chased them.
A tear leaked down Ali’s face, clear at first and growing cloudy as it collected make-up on its way down his cheek.
Run! Run! The freak is coming!
If he kisses you, it’ll turn your face like his!
They had laughed and pointed, but their fear had been real as they ran from him.
For the first time, seeing their fear, Ali had felt powerful.
‘Come on! Come on!’ the girls had screamed.
Ali had chased them, intent on catching Lily and showing them all how good he was at their game so they might ask him to play again.
Another tear rolled a haunted trail.
Ali wound the window up; he didn’t need to hear the screams from the playground as the ones in his mind took over.
The white boys had watched, on their toes, ready to charge. Some of the girls ran towards them, knowing Ali would never dare follow.
Lily, however, had run for the corner. It was a corner Ali knew well, because it was where he spent all his break-times.
The other boys, realizing Lily was about to be caught, had charged protectively but they weren’t fast enough. Ali had cornered Lily and, ignoring the look on her face, he had put his hands on her shoulders, pursed his lips and kissed her. To his amazement, a mixture of disgust and terror spread across her features, then she screamed and burst into tears. The boys had arrived then and started pummelling their fists into Ali’s face.
‘Ring-a-ring-a-roses, Ali’s face exploded!’
Billy’s seven-seater taxi pulled up outside the school gates, bringing Ali back to the present.
Not a lot had changed.
Riz and Billy thought they were better than Ali. They thought they were doing him a favour, using him to do their dirty work. But Ali knew what he wanted now. And they had no idea what he was prepared to do for it.
Tara had been an unexpected complication, Ali couldn’t deny that.
But he was confident he could still find a way to turn it to his advantage.
He watched as Billy climbed out of his taxi and sign
alled for his son to keep playing with his friends before making his way over. Ali automatically checked that his hoodie was secure across his face.
Tomorrow night, Billy and Riz would be busy worrying about pulling off the biggest deal of their lives, selling the youngest girl they had ever secured.
They’d never see Ali coming.
Billy opened the passenger-side door and climbed in. Ali didn’t look at him; he carried on watching the children in the playground.
‘What happened?’ Billy asked, getting straight to the point. ‘Saturday night – what the fuck did you do?’
‘You said she needed to disappear. She has.’
From the corner of his eye, Ali saw Billy’s fingers twitch. He wasn’t worried; Billy wouldn’t lay a finger on him here, not with his kid in view.
‘Why?’ asked Billy. ‘We complete tomorrow night. Why would you take such a dumb fucking risk? Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you, boy?’
What is wrong with you?
It wasn’t a line Ali liked to hear.
‘Her uncle is a detective. Did you know that?’ spat Billy, eyes on his son wrestling in the playground.
‘Detective?’
‘Yeah, Ali. A detective. You see why Riz and I are fucking pissed!’ he suddenly raised his voice, punching the dashboard and making Ali jump. ‘Tell me – why? Give me something to go back to Riz with.’
‘You talk to me like that again,’ said Ali, finally turning to face Billy, ‘and maybe you and me fall out.’
Billy was breathing hard as he locked eyes with Ali. He’d become accustomed to the way the boy shrouded himself under his hood. Any pity he felt didn’t outweigh his anger.
He removed a crumpled takeaway menu from his pocket and threw it at Ali.
‘ZeeZee’s Kebab House,’ he spat. ‘Seven o’clock tonight. The parcel will be there.’ Without waiting for a reply Billy grabbed the door handle to leave.
Ali stopped him before he could get out.
‘This detective,’ he said. ‘Where does he live?’
EIGHTEEN
IN THE CORNER of the basement of Britannia House, Harry was obsessively watching and re-watching the footage of the white Audi pulling away from Gerard House.
‘Harry, are you all right?’ asked Charles. ‘You … don’t look so well.’
Harry ignored him and played the clip again.
He scribbled a telephone number on a piece of paper and held it up to Charles without looking at him.
‘Phone Val in Traffic and tell her to run a DVLA check on the licence of the Audi. Tell her Harry said it’s life-or-death.’
Charles hadn’t ever heard Harry speak so quietly.
‘Why?’ whispered Harry. The black-and-white of the CCTV gave everything a ghostly quality. As he watched the clip again, he saw the Audi pulling away from Gerard House. Behind it, maybe fifteen metres away, Tara Virdee was running across the estate manically waving her hands.
The Audi braked, as if the driver might have seen her in the rear-view mirror, but after only the slightest hesitation it accelerated away.
Tara kept running until the car was out of sight. Then she stopped in the middle of the road, hands on her head, looking around desperately for help that wasn’t there.
‘Why?’ he whispered again.
Why was Tara out at Thorpe Edge?
‘Something terrible is going to happen in Bradford …’
Harry had immediately checked other cameras in the vicinity but lost Tara when she left the estate via a blind spot in the CCTV. He tasked Charles with finding her; if anyone could, it would be him.
What was she doing there?
He thought about the note in her diary: Why do girls go missing in Bradford?
Lexi and Olivia Goodwin were at risk; that much Harry was certain of.
He had nothing else.
If the woman on the phone was right, if something terrible was about to happen … Harry couldn’t finish the thought.
It was four p.m., why hadn’t she called again?
‘Got it,’ said Charles, rushing back to Harry. ‘Car’s registered to Manningham Lane Autos.’
Harry took the piece of paper from him, still warm from the printer: the registered owner’s details, direct from the DVLA.
‘Val says you owe her.’
‘I do,’ said Harry, removing the USB drive from the laptop. ‘Charlie – email me this footage too.’
‘You’ll have it within the hour.’
‘You’re a good man.’
‘Are you OK?’
Harry pulled out his phone and dismissed an incoming call from Ronnie.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m far from fucking OK.’
Manningham, just a mile from Harry’s house, was one of Bradford’s bleakest areas. It had never recovered from the race riots of 2001.
Manningham Lane Autos was both a second-hand car dealership and a repair garage. The main workshop was fifty metres to the rear of the showroom; you could hear the sound of engines from the street.
Harry pulled his car into a customer parking bay, waiting eleven minutes until the clock read 16:55, five minutes before closing. He wanted the owner impatient to go home; that usually meant they’d be more inclined to help. Harry totted up the value of the cars he could see – over two hundred grand. Business must be good.
Ronnie had texted Harry twice, asking for updates. Harry hadn’t bothered to reply. This had to be somehow related to Ronnie. If Harry showed his brother the footage, Ronnie would surely be able to identify the man, feign ignorance and instead allow his rage to rule his head. Then there’d be no stopping him.
Parked directly in front of Harry, with a sign on the windscreen asking £8,999, was the white Audi that Lexi and Olivia Goodwin had got into on Friday night. The car Tara had been frantically chasing the night before she was murdered. Harry felt his anger rising.
He removed a small GPS tracking magnet from his glove compartment. He liked to use them to follow suspects – they weren’t exactly legal, and definitely not admissible in court, but they were cheap on the Internet. He slipped it into his pocket and headed for reception.
Inside the office was a scruffy middle-aged Asian man with grey receding hair and a soft waistline. He wore blue overalls smeared with oil, his sleeves rolled back to reveal thick, strong forearms. He was tapping buttons on a calculator and flicking through invoices.
He greeted Harry with a nod.
‘Looking for the gaffer,’ said Harry.
‘That’s me.’
Harry slipped off his gloves and showed his identification.
‘Inspector Virdee,’ he said, no mention of a department.
‘I’m Zed,’ the man replied. He continued to tap the calculator, unfazed by the badge. ‘Work car or personal?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Got an enquiry.’
‘Shoot.’
Harry looked around the makeshift cabin. ‘How many staff do you employ?’
‘Three.’
‘Including you?’
‘No. So four then.’
‘White Audi parked outside. I’m looking for some information.’
Zed chewed his bottom lip and pushed the calculator aside. ‘There a problem?’
‘Not yet,’ said Harry. ‘You let staff borrow the cars for personal use?’
‘If they ask nicely. What’s happened? One of my boys got a speeding fine?’
‘I just need to know if that white Audi was booked out last Friday.’ Zed followed Harry’s gaze towards the car.
‘Hang on.’
Zed disappeared into the back and returned a few moments later with a black ledger. He leafed through a few pages before tapping twice on an entry about a third of the way down the last page. ‘Got it.’ He put the book on the counter, turning it so Harry could see. ‘There: Omar checked it out Friday night.’
‘Full name?’
‘Omar Shah.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Sure.’
‘So why did he want this one?’
‘Christ, I don’t remember. He runs that shitty Ford outside,’ said Zed, pointing behind Harry to a miserable-looking blue Fiesta, parked out of view of the customers. ‘Usually they want a decent car to take a lady out.’
Harry took a good look at Omar’s Fiesta before turning back to Zed.
‘How long did he have the Audi?’
‘All weekend.’
‘Is he here?’
Zed checked his watch.
‘In the garage – he should be closing up.’
‘Can I have a word?’
Zed sighed and closed the file on the counter. ‘You mind telling me what it’s about? If there’s a problem, I need to know.’ He shrugged, palms up. ‘I run this place clean – only way to survive in Manningham. It’s taken me years to build the rep.’
Harry nodded. ‘It shows. Nice set-up. He’s not in trouble, I just need a minute.’
‘I’ll take you round. Couple of lights out. Don’t want you falling over and putting a claim in,’ he laughed. ‘Let me grab a torch and lock this place down.’
Zed disappeared into the office. Harry opened the file on the counter again and scanned the entries in the logbook. There were three columns: name of the employee taking the car, address and mobile number. Harry quickly found his iPhone, checked Zed wasn’t looking and took a photograph of the page. Omar hadn’t bothered with his address, but he’d scrawled his phone number down.
Shouting to Zed that he would meet him outside, Harry walked to Omar’s car and knelt down to untie and retie his shoelace. He checked that the CCTV cameras weren’t pointing his way before discreetly attaching the GPS device to the underside of Omar’s car.
The workshop entrance had been sealed by heavy steel shutters since Harry had arrived. He followed Zed through a side door.
Inside, the lights were dim, but Harry could make out three cars being worked on, their bonnets raised.
‘Omar?’ Zed’s voice echoed around the workshop.
There was no reply.
Zed waited a few moments, then shouted again.
‘Yo! Over here.’ Omar emerged from the shadows in blue overalls identical to Zed’s. He had a lollipop in his mouth. Harry thought of Tara, running after the car out front, the grainy video footage blurring her feet. He clenched his fists by his side until his knuckles cracked and discreetly exhaled his rage through the side of his mouth. Much as he would have liked to lock the garage doors, grab a steel wrench and get stuck into the guy, this was a time for patience, not recklessness. He wasn’t Ronnie.