by Luke Delaney
‘Is there something wrong?’ King asked, not wanting to spend any more time with Johnston than necessary.
‘More good arrests for the Unit, I hear.’ She seemed to ignore his question.
‘Then there’s no problem?’ he asked in hope more than belief.
‘No problems,’ she answered as they walked fast along the corridor. ‘But as the Unit’s overall supervising officer, it’s necessary for me to check everything is as it should be. You understand?’
‘Of course,’ King told her – swallowing his irritation at being checked up on. ‘And I can tell you everything is as it should be.’
‘Good,’ Johnston replied without looking at him as they burst through the door that led to the small car park just as a patrol car screamed from it with its siren blaring and lights flashing, momentarily silencing even Johnston until its wail faded as it disappeared into the street outside. ‘You’re all young and keen, I realize that,’ Johnston told him. ‘All wanting to do the right thing and get the results that’ll reflect well on the Unit.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he agreed, still unsure where she was going.
‘And the results have been very good so far.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And as much as I would like to spend more time with you and the others,’ she lied, ‘my other responsibilities make that very difficult.’
‘I understand,’ he assured her.
‘Which leaves you all, especially you, Jack, with a great amount of responsibility, hidden away over there on the estate. Out-of-sight, out-of-mind, eh?’
‘Yes ma’am,’ he answered for the lack of being able to think of anything else to say.
‘Only you’re not, Jack,’ she told him as she reached her car and came to a stop. ‘Or at least not out of mind. Not my mind anyway. That warrant card you probably keep in your back pocket gives you a lot of power, Jack. The power to use force to detain and imprison anyone you merely suspect has committed a crime. Not even the Prime Minister has that power. Being a truly good cop is knowing how to wield that power. In the wrong hands it could be a very dangerous thing.’
‘Is this about the aggravated burglary job?’ he asked. ‘With respect, ma’am, I already told you that arrest was clean. CPS screwed up.’
‘And yet the arrests keep coming, don’t they, Jack?’ she told him, searching in his eyes for any sign of weakness.
‘The arrests keep coming because we’re working our arses off to keep them coming,’ he argued before Johnston raised her hand to stop him.
‘I’m just telling you the way of the world,’ she warned him. ‘You’re a big boy, Jack. A big boy on accelerated promotion – which means you need to get used to playing by big-boy rules.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning so long as the results keep coming, everyone will be happy. They may not even look too closely at how they’re being achieved. But know this, Jack – if you ever go too far, get a reputation for flying a little too close to the sun, even if it’s just to take out the local thieves and thugs, you’ll be on your own. No one’s going to flush their careers down the drain to save yours. Including me. Understand?’
He nodded his head knowingly before speaking again. ‘Success has many parents, but failure is always an orphan?’
‘Exactly,’ Johnston replied. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ she told him, heaving the car door open and ducking inside before he could answer. She pulled the door shut and within seconds was driving away, leaving King standing in the yard alone with his thoughts.
‘Christ,’ he finally whispered. ‘Where the hell did they find her?’
10
Renita patrolled the walkways of the estate alone – more nervous than she would have been during the daytime. It was approaching the end of her shift – almost one am now – but she still had another hour to go. She should have been with Brown, but he’d received a court warning for the morning and had headed off at midnight – encouraging her to spend the rest of her shift doing paperwork and stay off the estate. But she wasn’t about to show any fear or weakness to her male colleagues and had stayed on patrol even after Brown had left. But still, the estate was a more intimidating and menacing place in the hours of darkness, the heavy silence punctuated by the occasional shout or scream, the barking of dogs or sound of breaking glass. She held her heavy Maglite torch in her hand, more for protection than illumination. It made for a very effective truncheon if it came to it. If someone leapt from the dark at her it would be easy to justify reactively striking them in the head with a torch. She could have drawn her extendable metal truncheon, known as an ASP, in readiness, but she preferred to keep her free hand close to her radio in case she needed to call for assistance and the big torch was arguably the better weapon too. Tricks of the trade passed from one generation of cops to the next and so forth, but all the same, there was something intangible in the atmosphere that made her even more nervous as she patrolled – something that was undeniably and increasingly spooking her. Maybe Brown was right, she decided. Now would be a good time to catch up on some paperwork in the safety and comfort of the office.
She was about to turn for home when the unfamiliar sound of soft laughter mixed with the scampering of soft-soled shoes drifted up along the walkway from somewhere ahead of her. She clicked on the torch and shone it in the direction of the disturbance, but saw nothing. Investigate or head back to the nick? She couldn’t help herself, moving forwards with the dangerous curiosity of a cat. When she reached the place she was sure the sounds had come from she heard them again – only now they were coming from the rear of the block, close to the stairwell.
‘Shit,’ she cursed and took a deep breath to steady herself before heading to the back of the building – the beam of her torch assisting the weak overhead and wall lights as she hugged the edge of the building, trying not to expose herself to danger from all sides, moving closer to the source of the unusual disturbance. Again, as she thought she must be drawing close, she heard the sounds of mischievous, unpleasant laughter mixed with the sounds of light feet taking flight – like small mythical creatures come to torment and trick her.
Now the sounds drifted up from below. She shone her torch into the gloom, but saw nothing but shadows flickering on the walls as someone – something – moved quickly about the basement area where Renita knew the underground garages were. Few people used them any more, the darkness and the danger overriding their convenience. They’d long ago been taken over by the young criminals and drug users for their various vices, until the Unit had arrived and chased them away – at least, until now.
Renita decided it was time to call into Control using her PR. She pressed transmit and spoke, trying to sound as calm and precise as possible. Last thing she wanted was the reputation of being a flapper. ‘Control, Control,’ she called in before adding her shoulder number for identification, ‘274.’ There was only a second’s delay before she was answered.
‘Control receiving – go ahead, 274.’
‘I think some youths must have got into the underground garages underneath Tabard House,’ she explained. ‘I’m gonna go chuck ’em out before they start a fire and burn the whole block down.’
‘All received, 274. Do you want some back-up before entering?’
She hesitated before answering. ‘No,’ she assured them. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You sure?’ Control asked.
‘I’m sure,’ she repeated, rolling her eyes at her own stubbornness.
‘OK. We’ll keep checking in with you. If you need assistance come straight back to us.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied and released the transmit button, returning the daunting, eerie silence. ‘Some job this is,’ she said out loud, trying to bolster her courage as she began to descend into the blue-black darkness below – the light from her torch a cone of comfort as she swept the stairs beneath her, heading lower and lower until she took the final step into the underground cavern.
She walked int
o the middle of what used to be the access road and turned a full circle as she took in her surroundings. Broken garage doors hanging on their hinges. A few burnt-out shells of long-ago abandoned stolen cars. Piles of rubbish in every unused slot and the remains of dozens of small fires quickly extinguished and left by the local fire brigade, bored of being dragged back and forth to the estate. The clawing stench of the rotting waste and old smoke mixed putridly with urine and human faeces left by bowels loosened by heroin and crack cocaine. She momentarily covered her mouth and nose against the stench before the familiar sound of a harpy’s laugh snapped her head around to try and catch sight of whatever had led her into the bleak cave.
‘Who’s there?’ she called out, trying to sound in control, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her and drew another laugh from the thing in the darkness. She shone her torch straight ahead and caught the flash of movement as something disappeared into one of the many garages. ‘I’m a police officer,’ she said loudly, managing to sound stronger as she headed towards the hiding figure. ‘What you doing down here? Come on – come out.’ But her commands were only met with more giggling. ‘Kids,’ she said to herself, feeling more relaxed now she suspected she knew what she was dealing with.
She moved quickly and confidently now, her footsteps making audible splashes in the water that seemed to cover the entire floor, until she reached the garage housing the bait that had drawn her in and shone her torch inside.
‘I think we’d better have …’ was all she managed to say before she saw who she was looking at. Lucas Dyson and Robbie Jones. Two of the estate’s most loathsome and feared teenagers. Too late she realized it was a trap and tried to spin away, but Ronnie Butler was already on her from behind, covering her mouth with a strong hand as his other arm wrapped around her chest and pulled her close and tight. Dyson and Jones inched towards them like hyenas moving in on a lion’s kill – their teeth glistening in the light of her dropped torch. Within seconds they all had hold of her – ripping away her radio and utility belt before Butler tore her blouse open, exposing her chest that heaved in and out as she failed to control her fear and her breathing – the distorted faces in the semi-darkness growing increasingly lascivious and wild-eyed at the prospect of what was to come. Butler began to yank at her bra as he spoke into her ear – his breath made foul by stale cigarettes and cheap booze.
‘You think you run this estate,’ he hissed at her as the others grinned and giggled insanely, their excitement almost out of control. ‘I’ll show you who runs this estate, you pig bitch. Time to have some fun. You ready to have some fun, pig? You want to have some fun, you slag bitch?’ Butler paused for a second as he looked at his two demonic partners – their frenzy encouraging him to do whatever his evil, twisted imagination could think of. ‘Yeah, course you do,’ he whispered. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’
The young girl stood alone in the middle of the completely white room as long bleached curtains blew wildly towards her – the only colour provided by the wooden floor and the crimson that spread across her white lace dress like ink on blotting paper – only faster. King stood rooted in the corner, unable to move forward or to flee as she stared at him with startling blue eyes – like crystals in the rain. They watched each other for what seemed like forever until finally she raised an arm and pointed towards him. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
He found strength in places deep inside his soul and slowly, as if he was moving through drying cement, began to cross the room towards her, falling on his knees once he eventually reached her, trying to hear what she was saying, but it was no good. He pressed his hands onto her chest and belly to try and stop the flow of the crimson, but it just leaked between his fingers and ran down his forearms. He began to sob, pleading with her for forgiveness as he did so.
‘I’m sorry,’ he begged her. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She looked down on him and smiled a childish smile – warm, sympathetic and forgiving as she cradled his head in her arms and held him pressed against her abdomen, her blood smearing his face and mixing with his tears as the sound of the breeze from the windows was suddenly, startlingly, replaced by a scream that couldn’t have been made by anything from this earth.
He looked up at the girl, expecting to see her mouth wide open as she emitted the terrible noise, but her lips were sealed, although her hand was now raised, pointing at a door behind them he’d not noticed before – the sound of heavy, fast footsteps approaching, bringing danger. He fumbled at his utility belt, but found all his equipment missing. He spun to face the door regardless, ready to defend the girl with his hands, feet – teeth if he had to – but as the door exploded and splintered into a million pieces he realized it was hopeless. A huge creature, part man, part serpent, part dragon, extended to its full height in front of him – baring its rows of long, razor-sharp teeth as it grinned and advanced towards them. King stood in front of the girl and spread his arms wide in a token offer of protection as he stared into the face of the advancing beast, his eyes squinting as slowly, surely, he began to recognize the distorted face of the monstrous being – the girl’s father, come to tear them both apart.
As the beast was almost upon them King turned and snatched up the girl, holding her tight in his arms. ‘Close your eyes,’ he told her. ‘Don’t look and everything will be all right,’ he lied.
He waited until he was sure her eyes were squeezed shut before looking once more into her father’s demonic eyes as he opened his terrible jaws and lurched towards them. King now closed his own eyes, relieved it was almost over, and prepared to be ripped limb from limb … but the dreadful pain never came, instead just a far and distant sound – an electric sound imitating music. Slowly his eyes blinked open as he squinted, preparing to protect himself from the brightness of the room and the great man-serpent, but he found nothing but darkness and the distant noise growing ever closer and louder.
‘Fuck,’ he cursed as he tried to chase the last lingering traces of the nightmare away – patting his bedside cabinet in search of his mobile phone that chirped somewhere in the darkness. Finding it, he slid his finger across the screen to answer. ‘Hello,’ he said, sounding alert and awake – shocked into consciousness by the awfulness of the nightmare and the shrill of the mobile.
‘Sergeant King?’ the formal-sounding voice asked – the unmistakable noises of a police control room in the background.
King’s mind raced as he tried to work out what the hell was going on. ‘Yeah. This is Jack King.’
‘It’s Inspector Dhawan,’ the voice told him. ‘Night Duty Officer. I have some bad news about one of your team, I’m afraid.’
King still struggled to clear his mind. ‘Go on.’
‘PC Renita Mahajan was seriously injured on the Grove Park Estate tonight,’ Dhawan told him.
King’s heart momentarily stopped, bringing a deafening silence inside his head. ‘How bad?’ he managed to ask.
‘She’s been taken to the Royal London Hospital, Whitechapel,’ Dhawan explained. ‘She’s still in critical care in A&E. Her injuries are very serious, but hopefully not life-threatening.’
‘What happened?’
‘Not completely sure yet,’ Dhawan admitted. ‘We know she was attacked in the garages under Tabard House. We already have two in custody.’
‘Who?’ King demanded, wide awake now.
‘Probably best you liaise with CID for those sorts of details,’ Dhawan advised. ‘Why don’t you catch up with them first thing in the morning?’
‘No,’ King insisted, already out of bed and searching for his clothes. ‘I’m on my way to the hospital now.’ He hung up before Dhawan could speak again. As he hurriedly pulled his jeans on he suddenly stopped and sat back on the bed taking a moment to think. ‘Shit, Renita,’ he whispered. ‘What the fuck did you get yourself involved in? What the fuck?’
‘What’s going on?’ he heard a voice on the other side of the bed ask. Sara was awake.
‘Nothing,’ he lied. ‘I ne
ed to go into work. I’ll explain tomorrow. Go back to sleep.’
King arrived at the Royal London Hospital’s A&E just as the first sign of morning summer sun was rising over the city. He flashed his warrant card to anyone who looked like they were about to challenge him as he searched for Renita’s cubicle without asking for help. He recognized two young uniformed constables from Newham Police Station and correctly assumed the curtained cubicle they were guarding contained Renita. He was sure they knew him, but they stepped in front of him to bar his entry anyway – although they looked sheepish in doing so.
‘I’m PC Mahajan’s supervising officer,’ he told them. ‘I need to see her.’
‘She’s with the CID at the moment,’ the male officer tried to explain. ‘Perhaps it’s best you give it a few minutes.’
King was about to tear a strip off him when he heard a familiar voice from behind the curtain speak. ‘It’s all right,’ Marino called out. ‘Let him in.’ They stepped aside and let him past – King’s threatening eyes never leaving the young constables.
Once inside he looked straight past Marino to Renita lying unconscious on the bed, oxygen tubes snaking into her nose and an intravenous drip feeding fluids and drugs into her arm. Her facial injuries alone both shocked and repulsed him. Her lips were severely split in several places; her nose and at least one cheekbone broken and both eyes were already swollen shut and turning purple. The rest of her face was covered in small cuts and bruises and he could tell parts of her hair were still matted with blood.
‘Fuck,’ he cursed as he stepped closer, the anger and fury swelling with each second that passed. Once he was close enough to touch her he could see the beginnings of bruising around her neck where she’d been held in a stranglehold. He reached out to stroke her shoulder before Marino stopped him. ‘Try not to touch her,’ he told him. ‘She’s not been forensically examined yet.’