Girl Zero

by A. A. Dhand

  ‘He does.’

  ‘Do you think that?’

  Percy sighed. ‘I think,’ he said, blinking away tears, ‘if I’d been a better granddad this might never have happened.’

  ‘Don’t do that,’ said Sarah, shifting in the pew so she could look him straight in the face. ‘You’re not responsible for what they did to me. Or to Mum.’ She paused, trying to find the right words. ‘You always told me that we can only look in the mirror and judge what we’ve done.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So, tonight? After all this is finished? We’ll look in the mirror together and realize we changed the fate of many girls in this city for ever.’

  Together.

  Percy thought about what he’d told Victor the night before.

  He looked away from Sarah. ‘How’d you get so smart?’

  ‘From you.’

  He faced her and smiled. ‘If tonight doesn’t go—’

  ‘It will,’ she said fiercely, squeezing his hand. ‘Are you sure you’re up to your end? Because—’

  ‘I think I should be with you,’ he said, returning to a discussion they’d had many times before.

  ‘No,’ she said firmly, shaking her head.

  ‘You’ve got so much to worry about, Sarah.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ she said, squeezing his hand again. ‘Harry is going to come and see me – it’s inevitable. I tried to book Billy’s seven-seater earlier, but it’s unavailable. Harry obviously got to Billy.’

  Percy nodded.

  ‘Billy won’t have talked,’ she went on. ‘He’s too involved, and there’s no way he’d cross the boss.’

  He nodded again, slowly.

  ‘What is it?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘I did all this for you, Sarah. For the little girl I used to know and for the woman I hoped you’d become.’

  Sarah looked away, blinking rapidly.

  ‘You told me once that you’d died so many times, there was nothing left to do but actually die,’ said Percy, thinking back to the trauma of her suicide attempts.

  ‘I remember,’ she said quietly.

  ‘And now?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I need to believe you are going into tonight in order to come out to better things.’

  ‘I am.’

  His body relaxed at her words.

  ‘Give your granddad a hug,’ he said, putting his arms out.

  When he released her from the embrace, he got up. ‘Be careful,’ he said.

  Sarah watched him leave, the sound of his footsteps gradually fading.

  She rubbed the GZ tattoo with her finger, then closed her eyes.

  The tattoo focused her mind away from memories of blood staining a machete. More than once.

  She had escaped being the boss’s child-whore in a foreign country straight into an alternative nightmare, where Yasser had obsessively trained her for an unprecedented mission and Sarah had drawn him close, making him believe their relationship was for real.

  Sarah focused on the Epiphany window and saw similarities.

  The detailed paintings told the story of the birth, the crucifixion and the resurrection of Jesus.

  Christ was born. He died. He was re-born.

  The parallels to her life were clear.

  She left her pew and walked down the nave, to set off for Undercliff Cemetery.

  Death wasn’t coming to Bradford: it had already arrived.

  THIRTY-SIX

  HARRY PULLED UP outside Trafalgar House, police divisional headquarters in the centre of Bradford, parking carelessly across a restricted bay before rushing into the building.

  This cannot be happening.

  But he couldn’t be sure.

  If his father had thought Harry marrying a Muslim was bad, where would he stand on Tara’s sexuality? What might he have been capable of?

  Right under my nose.

  What about Olivia Goodwin? Some sort of bizarre coincidence?

  The awkward phone call with the DS earlier now made perfect sense. Harry had been purposefully kept out of the loop.

  Inside, DI Simon Palmer was waiting. He put his hands out, instinctively placating.

  ‘Harry, you need to—’

  ‘Inside!’ Harry collided with his shoulder on the way past.

  Palmer stayed with him as Harry stormed through reception to the back of the building.

  The office was bustling; Harry could feel eyes awkwardly glancing his way before they hurriedly looked elsewhere.

  When he reached an empty interview room, he stepped inside, and waited for Palmer. No sooner had the door closed than Harry pinned Palmer against it, dropping his voice. ‘What the fuck, Simon?’

  ‘Listen, you best get a grip, Harry. This isn’t about to get any easier.’ Palmer’s voice was strained; he was trying not to panic. ‘Sit down, Harry.’

  ‘I’m fine standing.’ Harry let him go and backed off a step.

  Palmer moved to the other side of the room, putting the table and chairs between them. Harry locked the door. Palmer glanced at it nervously. ‘Are we going to have a problem?’

  ‘Why would we? I trained you, so I assume you’ve got something concrete on my father. I want to know what, and I want to know why I wasn’t kept in the loop.’ Harry slammed his fist on the table, unable to shake the fear that his father might have murdered Tara, a possible honour killing – far from fucking honourable in Harry’s eyes.

  He thought of the night he had left home. He knew what his father was capable of.

  ‘You know why. The DS told you, this isn’t your case.’ Palmer kept his voice even.

  ‘I thought you of all people would have kept me up to date. You know how many times I’ve bent rules for you, Simon? You want reminders?’

  Palmer shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘So start talking.’

  Ranjit had been placed at Tara’s house on the night of her murder. Text messages proved they had arranged to meet, and CCTV cameras showed his vehicle parked outside her home for forty-five minutes while he was inside.

  ‘Tara was found at Wapping School,’ said Harry.

  Palmer nodded. ‘He might have moved the body.’

  ‘You’d have seen it on the cameras.’

  ‘Not if he used the back entrance. No cameras there.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Simon, you’ve got nothing.’

  ‘There’s more. He denied meeting with her that night.’ Palmer suddenly looked nervous. ‘He got angry. Said we were hassling him because he doesn’t get on with you. That you put us up to it.’ Palmer didn’t know about Harry’s issues with his family. Nobody at work did. ‘So, we brought him in for questioning.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘You arrest him?’

  ‘No. He was happy to cooperate. At first. Voluntarily gave his clothes and jewellery for Forensics to examine. The usual.’

  Harry nodded. ‘You kept him overnight?’

  ‘Yes. We … arrested him. Held him incommunicado.’

  Incommunicado, which is why Harry hadn’t heard about it. Palmer had been worried Harry’s loyalty to his father might have swayed his better judgement, causing him to tamper with possible evidence. The arrest wasn’t known to anyone outside of the investigation team.

  ‘We got the forensic results, Harry.’

  Palmer’s face said it all. Harry didn’t want to hear it.

  ‘We found Tara’s blood under your dad’s ring.’

  Harry had a vivid flashback. His father’s ring on his right hand, accelerating towards his face. A back-hander: his father’s preferred choice of discipline.

  Harry slumped into a chair.

  He’d received that particular blow many times in his life. The last time, the night he left home.

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Fine,’ he croaked, unable to look at Palmer. ‘Keep going.’

  ‘We asked him about it �
�� told him we had proof he’d been there – but still he denied it. He got angry, Harry. That’s some temper.’

  The room was spinning. Harry knew that temper.

  ‘Fuck,’ he whispered.

  ‘Listen, Harry, we had no choice. Look at the facts. We’ve got him at the scene, there’s DNA, and he won’t cooperate. Plus, he’s shown us he’s capable of violence.’

  Harry felt sick. He wanted to stand up but didn’t trust his legs. ‘Does my mother know?’ he whispered.

  ‘No. You’re the first person we’ve told.’

  ‘My brother?’

  ‘Nobody. Like I said, just you.’ Palmer hesitated, then said, ‘We’re raiding the house, Harry. You know the drill. It’s why I told you. Knew you’d come storming down here. I’m doing you a courtesy because of who you are. Because … I wanted you to know before it happens.’

  Harry nodded. ‘When are you doing it?’

  ‘The team’s assembling at the moment.’

  ‘What have you charged him with?’

  ‘Nothing yet – he’s looking at a murder charge today.’

  Harry’s breath caught in his throat.

  ‘I want to see him.’

  ‘Not a chance.’

  Harry stood slowly, keeping his palms on the table for support. ‘I’m not asking.’

  ‘You know I can’t.’

  ‘Let me help you out here.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘His temper?’

  Palmer nodded.

  ‘I sit across from him and you’re really going to see fireworks. There’s bad blood there.’

  ‘So he said. He reckons you’re fitting him up.’

  Harry laughed, a dry sound.

  ‘I can’t, Harry.’

  ‘You don’t trust me? Come in with me.’

  Palmer leaned against the wall, stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed.

  ‘Listen.’ Harry stepped closer. ‘I don’t want to do this, but you’re forcing my hand. We both know there are things you’ve done that you’ll want to keep secret.’

  Palmer’s face flushed and he looked to the floor. ‘Don’t know what—’

  ‘Fuck off, Simon,’ said Harry, jabbing his finger into Palmer’s chest, all patience abandoned. ‘You’ve screwed half the station. Now put me in that room with him.’

  Palmer met his gaze but said nothing.

  ‘You want a confession? There’s only one person who is going to get it.’

  ‘I’ll bring him to interview room three,’ whispered Palmer. ‘You step out of line—’

  Harry walked out.

  In the kitchen, Harry waited for the kettle to boil. He had tried to call Ronnie but his phone was switched off. Harry didn’t want to send a text.

  He couldn’t have done it.

  The voice in Harry’s mind wasn’t convincing.

  Shit, Ronnie wouldn’t have evidence of who he really was at his house, would he?

  He pulled a mug from the cupboard, one eye on the corridor outside the kitchen.

  There was a moment’s lull. With the corridor deserted, Harry grabbed for the little wooden door stop wedging the kitchen door open, putting it in his pocket and closing the door. He made a coffee, more out of habit than thirst, and held it to warm his hands.

  Of all the shit he’d shovelled dealing with murderers in this city, none of it compared with the raw fear now rooting inside of him.

  Palmer opened the door. ‘We’re ready, Harry.’

  ‘Does the DS know?’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  Harry put his coffee down. ‘Keep it that way.’

  He followed Palmer down the corridor.

  ‘We’re clear. It’s lunchtime, quietest this place is going to get.’

  ‘Appreciate it.’ Harry paused outside the room. He could see his father’s orange turban through the glass panel.

  Harry’s legs were unsteady.

  ‘Ready?’ said Palmer.

  Harry barged him out of the way, sending the DI sprawling to the ground.

  Harry stormed into the room, closed the door and wedged the door stop he’d pocketed into the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor.

  Palmer was back on his feet and desperately rattling the door handle. His attempts to open it only secured the door stop in place.

  ‘You give me ten minutes, Simon. Or I burn you,’ Harry said through the glass.

  Palmer couldn’t cause a scene; he was too afraid Harry would make good on his word. He mouthed objections at Harry who turned to face his father.

  A man he loved.

  A man he resented.

  A man he needed to break.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  ALI WAS SICK of waiting.

  Parked at the rear of the farmhouse where Olivia Goodwin and her mother were staying, he checked the time on his dash again. Only a minute had passed.

  His agitation growing, he played with the toggles on his hood.

  Five more minutes.

  Why this had to be done at exactly one p.m., he didn’t know. But he wasn’t about to rock the boat now.

  Seven hours.

  The back door of the farmhouse was drawing him in.

  She’s in there.

  He looked over at the kit on the passenger seat.

  One large syringe for Lexi; it would keep her unconscious long enough for them to complete their deal.

  The smaller syringe was for Olivia.

  Olivia.

  His thoughts were disturbed by the hurried arrival of a car he recognized. Mud sprayed from its wheels as it ate up the ground and parked hastily beside him, back wheels skidding in the dirt. Even through the blacked-out windows, Ali could feel Riz’s eyes on him.

  Riz got out of the Mercedes, tapped the bonnet of Ali’s Ford and pointed to the empty stables behind.

  ‘Billy and Omar are missing.’ Riz got straight to the point.

  ‘Missing?’ said Ali, sitting down on an old packing case. He turned his face away, conscious of weak streaks of sunshine coming in through the stable windows.

  ‘Billy disappeared off the grid about eleven last night and Omar never showed up for work this morning.’

  From under his hood, Ali’s eyes were burning intensely.

  He couldn’t lose the girl.

  ‘Sure?’ he said quietly, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t like dealing with Riz. He acted like the one in charge, but he was nothing more than a dog on a lead.

  ‘Virdee visited the garage last night. Spoke to Omar, then left.’

  Ali nodded slowly.

  ‘So it’s over?’ he asked, waiting anxiously for an answer.

  If Riz pulled the deal, he’d be forced to act.

  End this now.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Riz.

  Ali’s shoulders relaxed.

  Riz carried on. ‘Billy’s the only other person who knows this location. He won’t talk.’

  ‘Omar?’

  ‘He’s got nothing.’

  ‘How d’you know Billy won’t talk?’

  ‘You don’t know the boss.’

  Ali shook his head.

  ‘Anyway, this is all on you, you little fucker,’ hissed Riz, stepping forward.

  ‘On me?’ Ali said, springing to his feet.

  ‘The Virdee girl. What the fuck were you thinking?’

  ‘Billy told me to make sure she disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared didn’t mean sticking a knife in her chest and leaving her to be found in the middle of the city. What’s wrong with you?’

  What’s wrong with you?

  Ali took a step closer, pushing his mother’s favourite phrase from his mind. ‘She’s quiet now, isn’t she?’ he said.

  Riz backed off, shaking his head. The pressure of the next seven hours was suddenly bearing down on him.

  ‘Girl’s not secure in there with Omar and Billy gone,’ said Ali, pointing to the house, an idea forming in his mind.

  ‘No choice now,’ said Riz.
‘Knock them out, and if anyone arrives before eight o’clock, you bail.’

  Ali shook his head.

  ‘I’ll put Mum to sleep,’ he said. ‘Leave her in there, and I’ll take the girl someplace safe.’

  Riz shook his head. ‘Don’t be stupi—’

  ‘You’re being stupid,’ Ali snapped. ‘There’s a serious chance this has all gone to shit and you want to leave them here while we wait for Virdee to arrive with all his mates?’ Ali paused, unsure if he could pull this off. ‘I’ll take the girl. You get here early. If we’re clear, you call me and I’ll bring her.’

  ‘Where are you going to take her?’ asked Riz.

  ‘My place.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Bradford.’

  ‘Don’t get smart.’

  ‘Makes no difference. I could give you any address. You trust me with the dirty work, but not this?’

  ‘This—’ Riz started.

  ‘I’m your only option,’ said Ali.

  He was right. Riz hated being backed into a corner but he didn’t have a choice.

  Too much money at stake for Ali to screw this up.

  ‘She’s … pure,’ he said, staring intensely at Ali. ‘Understand?’

  ‘I know,’ replied Ali, stifling a smile under his hood.

  ‘You fuck this up …’ Riz closed the gap between them.

  He got his phone out and typed in a search before turning it around so Ali could see the screen.

  ‘You see this guy?’ he said.

  Ali glanced at the screen and although Riz couldn’t see much of his face, he saw Ali’s mouth drop open.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Riz, relieved. Ali’s reaction had been exactly what he needed. ‘That’s our fucking boss. So now you’re in the loop – make sure you behave.’

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  ALI PAUSED BY the back door of the farmhouse.

  The boss.

  Jesus.

  Could he do this?

  He needed time to think it through, but time was the one thing he didn’t have.

  He opened the door into the kitchen, slamming it behind him to ensure he was heard.

  Ali saw the note Billy had left on the counter:

  Don’t 4get, heating man coming in morning Billy x

  He called out.

  ‘In here!’ came a young voice.

  Olivia.

  ‘Where’s your mum?’ He wandered through to the hallway.