Girl Zero

by A. A. Dhand

  Victor got reluctantly to his feet and came around the desk.

  ‘It’s the first tanker on the left,’ he said, putting his hand in his pocket and handing Percy the keys. ‘Don’t know what to say, old friend. Be safe?’

  ‘Always. You ready?’

  Victor nodded and took a couple of breaths.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ said Percy.

  ‘No need.’

  ‘For me.’

  Victor did as asked.

  Percy punched him square in the face, holding him steady so he didn’t fall.

  Victor didn’t make a sound. The blow split his lip and bloodied his nose. He blinked away reflex tears. ‘Good?’

  Percy nodded and embraced him tightly. ‘Give me an hour before you call the police.’

  Victor nodded.

  ‘Thank you, old boy,’ Percy said. ‘For everything.’

  Outside, Percy made his way towards the trucks. The first on the left, a forty-four-tonne refuelling truck, carried fifty thousand litres of petrol. He climbed inside, threw his bag on the passenger seat and revved the engine. Adrenaline burned through his veins.

  Fifty thousand litres.

  One key location.

  One epic bonfire.

  FORTY-NINE

  RONNIE VIRDEE LET his breath out slowly as Sarah walked towards him, blood splattered across her face. She threw the soiled knife at Ronnie’s feet where it clanged noisily against the rusted train track.

  Her eyes were blazing, her breathing heavy, a look of steely determination on her face.

  ‘Dead?’ he asked, glancing at the bloodied knife.

  Sarah nodded.

  Ronnie was neither surprised nor disappointed. He recognized the pain in her face; he’d felt that way ever since Harry had broken the news about Tara.

  ‘Did he tell you where the girl is?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, her breath white in the chill of the tunnel.

  ‘How does it feel?’ he asked, stooping to pick up the knife.

  ‘Empty,’ she said truthfully.

  ‘Just empty? No … satisfaction?’

  ‘I would have needed to kill him a hundred times, a hundred different ways to feel that.’

  ‘Might have been more use to us alive, in case he was lying about the—’

  ‘He wasn’t,’ she snapped.

  Ronnie searched his pockets and handed Sarah a tissue. ‘Blood on your face,’ he said softly. She wiped the evidence of Billy’s death away and threw the tissue on the floor.

  ‘So where are we headed?’

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way.’

  ‘You’ll tell me now,’ said Ronnie, his grip on the knife tightening.

  ‘I’ve got a condition,’ said Sarah, ignoring the blade as it glinted in the darkness. When Ronnie didn’t reply, she added, ‘I’m the only one who can tell you where you’ll find her murderer.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You and I go alone.’

  Ronnie raised his eyebrows.

  ‘No Harry,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He doesn’t want revenge like we do.’

  Ronnie was silent.

  ‘He wants cuffs and trials,’ she said. ‘That won’t end this, for either of us.’

  Ronnie tossed the knife into the darkness of the tunnel.

  ‘First kill?’ he asked, slipping one hand inside his pocket and grasping the handle of a gun.

  She nodded.

  ‘You see, my problem here,’ said Ronnie, stepping closer and revealing the weapon, ‘is that when you lie, I can’t help but think you’re trying to play with us.’ He pressed the tip of the gun to her forehead.

  ‘Play with you?’ She hadn’t flinched.

  Dripping water from the roof of the tunnel landed on her face, droplets running down her cheeks like tears.

  ‘A first-timer doesn’t act the way you do.’

  ‘I’ve thought about it for years.’

  ‘So, how did you do it?’

  ‘I stabbed him.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Where did you stab him? Chest? Head? Balls?’

  Sarah realized her mistake. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘To me it does.’

  She hesitated, glancing at the gun.

  ‘His throat,’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘You slit his throat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘An amateur doesn’t slit someone’s throat.’

  ‘I saw it in a movie.’

  Ronnie rolled his eyes and repositioned the gun between her eyes. ‘Watch this,’ he said, and pulled the trigger.

  Sarah didn’t flinch. The click of the empty chamber echoed loud in the tunnel.

  ‘Most people would have reacted, even if it wasn’t loaded,’ Ronnie said, lowering the gun.

  ‘I lived in a nightmare for years. I don’t scare easily.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘Why would I lie?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  Ronnie checked his watch.

  ‘Half six. Maybe we’ll stay here until this thing’s over. Let Olivia go. I don’t really give a shit about her anyway.’

  ‘You want Ali. If the deal completes, you’ll lose him, he’ll disappear underground tonight,’ she replied. She looked calm but there was a definite edge to her voice.

  ‘I’ll find him. There are other ways.’

  ‘I’m leaving,’ said Sarah, and turned to go.

  ‘Only one way out,’ said Ronnie, jangling keys at her.

  She looked back at him.

  ‘The truth,’ he said.

  Ronnie was bluffing and she knew it. He hadn’t come this far to stop now.

  ‘There’s nothing I’m not telling you.’

  Ronnie’s anger flared. ‘My brother and I work together. You wanting to cut him out makes me suspicious.’

  ‘He told me everything,’ Sarah said, unperturbed. ‘I thought he was a bent cop, but he’s not. He’ll try and stop us doing what we’ve come to do. And after everything that’s gone down,’ she gestured down the tunnel towards Billy, ‘I’m not willing to risk it.’

  She could see Ronnie softening.

  ‘Harry told me about a green door he can’t knock on,’ she continued. ‘The house where the parents of that boy he killed live. He said what he put them through keeps him awake at night. You think he’s gonna let us win?’

  Ronnie’s hands went to his hair. She had him, she knew it.

  ‘I want the man who ruined my life. I want the boss of this gang to beg me not to kill him. Is what you want so different? Or are you more like Harry than you thought?’

  ‘OK, you’ve given me your condition. Now you can hear mine.’

  Sarah nodded.

  ‘I’m calling in back-up. My partner, Enzo – he’s got no problem with what we want.’

  She nodded again. ‘One more thing.’

  ‘Christ, what now?’ said Ronnie impatiently.

  ‘Give me your phone. Harry’s going to call and I don’t want you torn.’

  ‘I just told you—’

  ‘No distractions,’ she said, putting out her hand. ‘I’ve waited too long for this to let brotherly loyalty confuse you.’

  Ronnie found his phone, turned it off and slapped it into her hands. ‘We don’t have time for this, little girl,’ he whispered.

  ‘Don’t call me that. Little girls don’t play with knives,’ said Sarah, and headed towards the entrance.

  FIFTY

  HARRY HAD PARKED on Leeds Road. Google Maps showed him an alleyway at the back of Mughal’s restaurant that looked like it led to a row of terraced houses.

  Ronnie’s location was still showing as Queensbury Tunnel. The plan to break Billy clearly still underway.

  What now?

  The alleyway was dark, the ground beneath him uneven.

  Ten houses, five either side of the path. His attention instinctively fell on the house at the end. Two external locks, peeling pai
nt and, instead of curtains, it looked as though dark sheets had been pinned across the windows. Glancing at neighbouring houses, Harry saw open windows, clothes lines, the usual signs of life.

  The house on the end might as well have had a big fuck off banner across the door.

  Broken guttering.

  Internal security bars across cracked downstairs windows.

  Harry opened the gate and walked to the front door.

  No doorbell.

  He hammered his fist on it, leaning closer to listen for any movement inside.

  Nothing.

  This was Ali’s place; Harry could sense it.

  Harry hurried down the neighbour’s path where windows were open, the scent of garlic and frying onions.

  He tapped on the door and an elderly Asian woman wearing a dark headscarf appeared at the window. Harry held his badge to it, leaned closer and said, ‘Police.’

  She glanced at the badge blankly, then turned away. Harry rapped on the door again, then impatiently on the window.

  The woman shook her head. ‘Come back six o’clock,’ she said in broken English.

  Harry sighed, repeated, ‘Police,’ again and tapped on the window with more urgency. She didn’t move so he got on his knees and opened the letter box, speaking in Punjabi, hoping she understood.

  Hesitantly, the elderly woman opened the door. Harry remained on his knees, making her feel tall and in control. He called her ‘Bibi’, a respectful term for someone his grandmother’s age.

  Asian gestures; overly dramatic but perfectly weighted.

  He asked whether he could come inside, pushing his police badge into her hands. She looked at it blankly, Harry guessed she couldn’t read, but the gesture seemed to work. She invited him in.

  He apologized for the disturbance and asked her about the area, the neighbours. Finally, he asked her about next door.

  She shook her head and scowled.

  ‘No good?’ he said.

  The old woman told him a boy lived there – at least, she thought it was a boy. She seldom saw him and when she did, he always had a hood pulled over his face. She didn’t think he lived there because she saw so little of him. She was always at home in the day but he only seemed to come out at night.

  Ali.

  All she knew of him were the noises she could hear from the cellar – loud banging noises like building work.

  Harry opened the gate to Ali’s house and walked to the front door.

  No doorbell.

  He hammered his fist against the wood, leaning closer to listen for any movement inside.

  Nothing.

  This was Ali’s place. It had to be. Harry’s skin was prickling with adrenaline.

  He hammered on the door again.

  Silence.

  From an upstairs bedroom window, Ali held his breath and watched DI Virdee as he hammered on the door and turned to look around in the front yard.

  Ali had thought about making a run for it, out the back and through the neighbours’ gardens. But he’d made it this far. Olivia was here, in his house. He wasn’t going to give up so easily.

  The hammering on the front door started up again. It felt like it was thundering through Ali’s body.

  He moved to run downstairs and grab a knife from the kitchen.

  If he stabbed him on the front step, would the dark protect him from witnesses?

  He’s a police officer.

  Ali couldn’t think straight.

  Escape seemed like his only option, but he couldn’t run. He couldn’t leave Olivia.

  No choice, he thought, hurrying across the room to the landing. At the top of the stairs he stooped to pick up a glass fragment, then held his breath as he prepared to defend his home.

  On his knees peering through the letter box, Harry was certain that even in the darkness he had seen a shadow appear at the top of the stairs. He shouted, shining his torch through the letter box, the light reflected back at him by rows of shattered mirrors decorating the hallway wall.

  Harry set off down the side of the house to the back door where he found iron bars across all the downstairs windows, just like the front. He tried the back door, surprised when it gave way.

  An accident? Or a trap?

  He pushed it open as far as it would go and immediately backed off a step, shining his torch into the kitchen.

  His mouth dropped open and the hand holding the torch trembled.

  There was a naked body on the floor.

  With fireworks booming nearby, Harry stepped inside the kitchen, rushing to the body.

  A mannequin.

  A goddamn white plastic mannequin with the word ‘Gori’ carved into its forehead.

  Harry looked into the empty corridor outside the kitchen.

  An empty shithole.

  He looked for a weapon but there was nothing.

  He raised the torch high above his head; he could use it as a club if he needed to.

  He checked his watch: 19:00.

  Then he checked his phone to see if Ronnie was still at Queensbury Tunnel. They could end this here. Now. The app tracking Ronnie’s location didn’t load. Glancing nervously into the empty corridor, Harry tried to phone Ronnie but the call didn’t connect.

  No time to wait.

  He put his phone away and tried the light switch.

  Dead.

  He could make out two doors in the corridor. One looked like access to under-stairs storage, the other was presumably a living room. On the wall were dozens of shattered mirrors, the floor covered in hundreds of pieces of jagged glass.

  Harry kept his torch raised as he moved down the empty corridor.

  The first door had three robust bolts across it.

  So not a cupboard, a cellar.

  Harry shivered involuntarily.

  He tried to avoid crunching the sea of glass but it was everywhere. Harry stopped beside a square mirror, switched the torch to his other hand and pulled away a large V-shaped piece, nicking his hands on a serrated edge and cursing silently.

  He crept into the living room. Dozens of white plastic bottles were scattered across the floor.

  Harry picked one up.

  Cosmetic skin bleach.

  The small print was in a foreign language; Russian, he thought. He placed it back on the floor.

  What is this place?

  He heard a floorboard creak.

  Upstairs.

  His heart hammered loud.

  He looked at the piece of glass in his hand. A poor weapon, just as likely to slice his own hand if he were forced to use it.

  At the bottom of the staircase, Harry shone the torch into the upstairs landing space. The mirrors continued on the first floor too.

  He crept up the stairs, grimacing at each creak of the floor. He turned off the torch, plunging the house into darkness, then waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust.

  The sudden boom of a nearby firework startled him.

  At the top of the stairs, Harry found three closed doors. He backed into the corner by a window and paused.

  Which one?

  The first door, Harry guessed, was a bathroom. He grabbed the handle, set his teeth and pushed the door open. Remaining on the landing, he shone his torch inside.

  Empty.

  The light showed the bathtub, full of a yellowy liquid. The nauseating smell of bleach stung Harry’s nostrils.

  Who is this guy?

  Before Harry could enter the bathroom, the question was answered by the second door suddenly opening as a hooded figure leapt forward, crouched low to the ground. He sliced at Harry’s ankles with a knife before rolling away into the landing.

  Harry fell to his knees, screaming in pain. He dropped the torch but kept a firm hold on the fragment of glass. As he tried to stand, Harry moved back from the figure and lost his balance, teetering precariously at the top of the stairs. The hooded figure saw the peril and lunged forward. Harry had no choice but to allow himself to collapse down the staircase in three thunderous
rolls. As he hit the bottom, the shard of glass he held caught in the floor. Somehow Harry’s shoulder sank firmly over it. He screamed and the world wobbled hazily in front of his eyes as he saw the hooded figure charge down the stairs.

  Ali leapt just as Harry raised his leg, catching him in mid-air. He landed with a thump; Harry heard the air as it was forced from his lungs. Ali crumpled back into the staircase, gasping theatrically as Harry writhed in pain on the floor. His vision wouldn’t refocus but he could hear Ali starting to recover his breath.

  Harry turned his head but failed to avoid the vicious kick to his face. One more to his stomach and he felt a choke-hold wrapping around his neck.

  He felt the floor start to move beneath him as he was dragged down the corridor towards the cellar door. Glass cut through his clothes, the pain excruciating.

  Then the blackness took over.

  FIFTY-ONE

  THE COW AND Calf Rocks were nothing more than two enormous black silhouettes against the starry sky. The rain clouds had cleared and in their wake the cold of a cloudless night was setting in.

  Ronnie parked high in the car park, underneath the rocks so the vehicle would be invisible from the main road. In the far distance, fireworks exploded into the sky, Bradford in the full swing of Bonfire Night. He pictured Harry arriving back at Queensbury Tunnel to find it locked and deserted. He wasn’t comfortable with Sarah’s insistence to cut Harry out, but his focus had to be on ending this.

  ‘We’re on foot from here, I take it?’ Enzo said to Ronnie. ‘I need to get a look at this place. Would’ve been a damn sight easier if we’d got the location earlier. I don’t like being blind.’

  Ronnie checked his watch. ‘Seven forty,’ he said. He turned to Sarah, who was in the back seat, staring out of the window. ‘Let’s hope you’re right about all this.’

  Outside, Enzo opened the boot and pulled out two bulletproof vests.

  ‘Give her one too,’ Ronnie said.

  Enzo threw one at Sarah.

  She slipped it over the top of her burka.

  Enzo handed Ronnie a gun, taking two for himself.

  ‘I could—’ started Sarah.

  ‘Not a chance,’ Enzo cut her short. He pointed towards the rocks. ‘After you. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.’

  Sarah didn’t move.

  Enzo and Ronnie exchanged a glance.