“I’d better go soon,” Aurora spoke, her words slurring badly, “It’s like midnight.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Sasha said, taking a slurp of her vodka and coke, “We should definitely do this again sometime soon.”
“Yeah, it’s been fun,” Aurora sighed.
“What’s up?” Sasha asked, flipping onto her side to look properly at Aurora.
“Nothing,” Aurora laughed, flapping her arms.
Sasha stifled a laugh, and then her face turned serious.
“You can tell me,” Sasha persisted, “I won’t say anything.”
“Promise?”
“Double promise,” Sasha whispered, “Is it big?”
“I dunno, I don’t know if I should say anything.”
“Come on, spill the beans.”
“Okay,” Aurora relented. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to say anything, but she needed to tell somebody. The first person she’d have gone to would’ve been Shan, but now she was gone, and her mother had flipped out, Sasha was the one person she trusted enough to tell. “Well, it’s about a guy.”
“Oh, right,” Sasha said knowingly, “You mean Clint?”
Aurora was taken aback.
“How did you know?”
“Babe, it’s so obvious,” Sasha grinned, “You two are so cute, walking home together and all.”
“Is it really that obvious?” Aurora asked, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t worry about it if I was you.”
“So, do you think he’s interested in anyone at the moment?” Aurora asked hesitantly, not sure if she really wanted to know the answer.
“Definitely,” Sasha said seriously, “She’s really pretty, and he so definitely has the hots for her!”
“Really?” Aurora asked, feeling her heart beating fast, filled with dread, “Who is she?”
“It’s you, you dumbass.”
Aurora let it sink in, and then threw a discarded pillow at Sasha’s head. Sasha laughed and threw it back. They both started laughing again, and Aurora felt her stomach clench. It felt like she hadn’t laughed this much in years.
“So you think he likes me then?” Aurora asked, more confidently this time, after they’d composed themselves and the laughter had died down.
“Yeah, he’s even more obvious,” Sasha replied, “Or maybe it’s just because I can read men like an open book.”
“You wish,” Aurora laughed.
“So, how you going to snare him then?”
“Snare?” Aurora repeated the word, “That makes it sound like I’m trying to trap a wild animal or something.”
“Men are wild animals,” Sasha said, and winked, “That’s why you need a plan.”
“What I really need right now,” Aurora said, rising slowly to her feet, “Is to get home.”
Sasha laughed, “Yeah, I’m pretty knackered myself. Do you want me to walk you home?”
“Nah, I’ll be okay.”
“You sure?” Sasha asked, her face concerned, “My dad can take you back if you want?”
“It’s fine, I’m not that drunk!”
“What, would you be embarrassed to be seen walking home with my dad?” Sasha asked jokingly.
“No, but my mum flipped out when Clint walked me home, imagine what she’d say if your dad walked me to the door!”
Sasha burst into hysterical laughter, and Aurora kissed her on the cheek and left the flat. She could still hear Sasha from out here. The air was colder than it had been before, and she wished she’d brought a coat with her. Then again, her mum hadn’t given her much time to get organized when she’d gone crazy and chucked her out. Hopefully she’d be in bed by now.
She walked across the courtyard, and turned down a narrow alleyway. It was dark, but she knew her way around the estate well. She’d lived here long enough. A crowd of boys stood at the end of the alley, kicking a ball around. Her heart beat faster, and she thought about Shaniqua. Was this how it had happened? Had she just been walking along, thinking about the night’s fun, not thinking about the boys ahead of her? And what they would do to her? Aurora shook her head. She had to stop thinking like that, or she’d never be able to move on.
She passed through the group of boys, and apart from a few wolf whistles, they left her well alone. She turned the corner and went up the stairs of her block. When she reached her front door a few minutes later, she sighed with relief. Her key slid into the lock, and the silence of the flat filled her ears. So her mum was asleep after all. Another relief. She went to her bedroom and dumped her bag on Shan’s bed. The night had been good, she thought. And it had felt good to know that Sasha thought Clint liked her too. She’d known all along, really, but had needed someone to confirm it to her. To prove she wasn’t just imagining it. Maybe, just maybe, she and Clint could end up together after all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Saturday mornings were always the same on the Goldsworth Estate. The women went to the supermarkets, some dragging wailing children behind them, some pushing prams, and some looking rougher than they normally would, thanks to the party spirit Friday nights entailed. The men went to the pub to watch the football at midday, and then stumbled home in the early hours of the morning. The teenagers hung around all day in groups, some venturing off the estate, but most just hanging around the ‘park’, if it could be called that, some playing football, and others drinking and smoking all day. By Saturday night, all of them would either be drunk and rowdy, or complaining about their drunk and rowdy neighbours. It was all so predictable, Serena thought to herself as she sat in her car, waiting.
Today, thankfully, she hadn’t needed to bring Casey. Although he’d helped motivate her yesterday, she had a feeling that it had more to do with humouring her than actually intending to help her. Whatever, she thought. Why would she care what that pathetic little man did or didn’t do?
As it was a Saturday, she was dressed more casually than she normally would be. Her jeans made her feel more comfortable than the skirt and blouse she’d been accustomed to wearing as a detective, and her black coat, with the fur-lined hood, kept her warm. She’d had the car heating on, but she’d had to turn it off when the windows started to steam up, thanks to the cold morning air all Londoners had to endure. She rubbed her hands together, and was beginning to wonder whether this had been a wasted journey, when she saw her target.
Zoe Taylor looked paler than the day before, Serena thought, and wondered if it was due to the pregnancy. Or maybe she’d just got wasted the night before and was suffering for it this morning. Either way, it had been enough to drive her out into the cold, first thing on a Saturday morning, and she was now walking back home with a plastic pharmacy bag. So her paleness probably was hangover-related. And Serena would have bet money on there being painkillers in the bag.
She opened her car door, and felt the cold air hit her face, and gasped. She scrambled out of the car and wished she’d worn gloves and a hat. Had she really forgotten the London weather? After all those years she’d spent living here, on this very estate? Then she remembered. She’d tried blocking everything about those years out of her mind. Perhaps her efforts weren’t in vain after all.
“Can I have a word, Miss Taylor?” Serena asked as she neared the girl. She kept her voice light. She didn’t want the girl to run off and injure herself or the baby. Or alert the others.
Zoe turned around; her pale face going even paler, if that was possible. Her red hair blew in the harsh wind, and her freckles seemed more pronounced than yesterday. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she instantly began to look uncomfortable.
“What d’you want?” she asked, “I ain’t done nothing wrong!”
“I know you haven’t Zoe,” Serena said soothingly. “But maybe somebody you know has.”
“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Zoe responded. She was trying to sound forceful, but they both knew it was a poor attempt. “Honestly,” she added lamely.
“So you’re saying you don’t k
now who stabbed Shaniqua Curtis?” Serena asked bluntly.
It had the affect she’d hoped for. Zoe looked weary, scared even. Perhaps she’d been threatened by somebody. With a baby on the way, that could be enough to stop her confessing what she knew. Then again, Serena had seen her smoking yesterday, and she suspected she’d been drinking last night, so it wasn’t as if the girl had developed a strong maternal instinct for the child.
“No,” Zoe eventually managed.
“So you don’t know who was there when she died?”
“No.”
“You don’t know anything about the murder?”
“No, of course not,” Zoe said, attempting to sound insulting, but failing.
“So you weren’t there then?” Serena asked. This was her only lead, and this girl could make or break her case.
“Look, what are all these questions?” Zoe countered, “You don’t know nothing about anything. You’re pathetic, of course I don’t know who done that girl in, of course I don’t. If I did, I wouldn’t be hanging round here, would I?”
“Where would you be hanging around then?” Serena asked, treading carefully now that she’d managed to trigger a reaction in her, “That is, if you did know who killed Shaniqua Curtis?”
“I’d be long gone, mate,” she replied, wiping a bead of sweat off her forehead, “I’d have gone up to Manchester or somewhere like that. Beats hanging round here, waiting to get nicked, don’t it?”
“I guess so, but Manchester isn’t much better. Some parts are, but some parts are just the same as here. Some parts are worse.”
“Really?” Zoe asked, surprised. She’d always thought Manchester was a nice place. Then again, maybe that’s because her mother was from there, and she’d been brought up with her mum’s constant talk of Manchester and its greatness, and her rants against London, in particular, the Goldsworth. Not that she needed to listen to the rants; she only had to look out the window to see how bad things were.
“Yeah, really,” Serena replied, “And what makes you think you’d be arrested if you knew who killed Shaniqua?”
Zoe was beginning to open up to her, in a way, and probably as much as she would, so it was important she made her move now. Serena knew all about interrogation, and although Casey and Jenkins would never have agreed with her, the best way to get information was through trust. Mutual trust.
“Well, they would, wouldn’t they? If you seen someone got done in, then you’re going to prison.”
“Not necessarily, Zoe.”
“What do you mean?” Zoe asked, trying to sound uninterested, but Serena knew she was on edge waiting for her response, “You wouldn’t have to go to prison or nothing?”
“The person wouldn’t have to go to prison if they gave the police evidence that might lead to an arrest,” Serena answered her, “As long as the person hadn’t committed another illegal act.”
“And what if the person said nothing?”
“If the person refused to help the police, Zoe, they would go to prison for accessory to murder.”
That was a bit of an exaggeration, but Serena wasn’t worried. She didn’t think Zoe was very clued-up on the legal system.
Zoe was quiet for a few moments, and she busied herself wiping a stray red hair off her face. Was she about to say something? A noise in the distance made them both jump. It was a group of boys on bikes, leaving the estate and probably heading for the park. Zoe watched them go, her eyes wide and alert now. She looked flustered, anxious to leave.
When she finally spoke, Serena was on tenterhooks, waiting for her next words.
“Well, anyways, I’ve got to be off,” Zoe said, looking anxious, “I’ve got to get in. My doctor said I shouldn’t be out in the cold too long, not with the baby.”
“If you need to talk to someone –”
“I don’t,” Zoe interrupted, “I don’t know nothing about no stabbings, only what I heard on the news. So leave me alone, I don’t need this trouble.”
“Take my card, at least,” Serena said, exasperated, but not entirely surprised.
“I dunno.” Zoe was hesitating.
Serena took a card out of her pocket and pressed it into Zoe’s hand. Zoe looked down at it and then their eyes locked for a few seconds. Serena could see the unadulterated fear in her eyes. Then, Zoe was gone, half-waddling, and half-jogging down the concrete pavement.
Serena watched her go, and then retreated to her car. She needed a coffee and a nice long bath, she thought. Time to go back to the hotel. It was times like this she wished she was at home, back in Cornwall. At least, she reminded herself, she’d made a break in the case, however small. Zoe Taylor hadn’t told her anything directly, no, but indirectly, she might as well have confessed her sins. All she needed now was a name, Jackson or Banks. And she was sure Zoe Taylor would be the one to tell her.
* * *
Clint was in his bedroom, spraying deodorant over the top of his favourite tracksuit. It was silver and black, and his mother had saved up for a whole month to buy it for his sixteenth birthday. It was one of his most prized possessions now. He glanced out of the window, and worried that he’d be late. It was getting dark, and he didn’t want to miss the start of the party. His mother was still in the kitchen, making dinner for Kojo, and there’d been no sign of his father since he’d done the disappearing act. Good riddance, Clint thought to himself, and hoped that his father never came back. All he did was cause trouble. Just thinking about him made him angry.
He suddenly wished Aurora could come with him, but he knew it wasn’t possible. He’d asked Troy last night if he could bring a guest. Troy had surprised him by asking if he wanted to bring Aurora, and although Clint had tried to deny it, Troy had seen through him. And then Troy had point-blank refused to let her come. He’d told Clint that it was a mistake getting involved with her, especially after what had happened to her sister. Or more to the point, what they’d done to her sister. And Clint knew it wasn’t the perfect situation, but he wanted her more than anything, and Troy’s rejection of her had affected him more deeply than he’d shown. But it was Troy’s party, and he could invite who he wanted and turn down invitations to anyone he didn’t want there.
There was a quiet knock on the door, and Femi, his mother, poked her head in.
“Are you decent?” She asked.
“Yeah mum, come in.”
Femi opened the door wider and walked in, her bulky frame filling the small room.
“You be good tonight,” she said, smiling at him and taking his face in her hands, “I worry for you.”
“Why, ma?”
“I’ve seen the news, that girl being killed last week,” Femi said solemnly, “I’ve prayed for her soul every night since I heard. And I pray for you too. And your friend Aurora. I don’t want you getting hurt or into any trouble here.”
“I won’t, ma,” Clint said, and wished it was the truth. It would break his mother’s heart if she ever found out about his involvement in Shaniqua’s death.
“I know, son, you’re a good boy.”
She kissed him on the cheek, and made her way to the bedroom door. “And a handsome boy, too.”
Clint laughed and waved her away, and she closed the door, her laughter resounding down the small corridor. Clint knew he was handsome, but it meant a lot to be told so. Even if it was by his own mother.
His cell phone rang and Clint looked down at the caller ID. It was Troy. He must be late, Clint thought. He grabbed a pack of fags off his bed, checked himself out in the mirror for the final time, and left the flat.
* * *
At Troy’s flat, the celebrations were well underway by half past eight. Keskia had done what she always did when her sons wanted to throw a party; she’d made her excuses and headed off for bingo at the local community centre. As soon as she’d gone, Tyrese and Trent had turned on the loudspeakers, and music bellowed around the flat and down the landing. One neighbour had already complained about the noise, but faced with Tyrese and Tr
ent, by now half-drunk and feeling in the party-mood, they’d soon decided that complaining was futile.
Troy, who had been in high-spirits since last night, had spent the day in bed. Brandy had come round first thing in the morning, and given him a very pleasant, very satisfying, present. They had then lain together for hours, discussing what life would be like for them once the money started rolling in and once Troy was a fully blown gang member.
Now, with the party underway, they were seated, arm-in-arm, on the largest of the sofas, both with drinks in their hands. Clint had arrived late, to Troy’s frustration, but Clint had apologized and Troy had quickly accepted the apology. He wanted to celebrate, not fall out over petty things like that. Tamar and Amal had also been late, although for good reason. Amal’s older brother Sanjay had been arrested, and Amal had only just persuaded his heavyset, over-religious mother to let him out of the house. Tamar, whose mother was, to all intents and purposes, working as a prostitute at the moment, had only been late because he’d been so drunk last night that he’d forgotten all about the party until Amal had reminded him on his way over. Troy had laughed along with Brandy and Clint at Tamar’s forgetfulness, until Tamar had gotten angry and they’d stopped laughing, at least in front of him.
Zoe was at the party as well, sitting on Brandy’s other side, wearing a tight miniskirt and sleeveless top, despite the large baby bulge on her stomach. Trent, who’d been drinking for the better part of the whole day, had eyed her with interest. He’d seen her a few times before, and he’d always thought she was alright to look at. Not exactly pretty, he’d thought to himself, but close enough. And with looks like Trent’s, he could pull any girl he wanted. So pulling her shouldn’t be a problem, he thought to himself, and sat down beside her, handing her another vodka and coke. She’d already had three, and before long, he fully expected her to be on her knees in front of him.
The Goldsworth Series Box Set Page 10