The Rule of Fear

by Luke Delaney

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Rosie.’

  ‘And how old is Rosie?’

  ‘Ten,’ she answered, dabbing away her tears with the sleeve of her top.

  ‘Was she with anyone when this happened?’ he tried to find out.

  ‘No,’ she told him before looking confused, ‘but why you asking all these questions? Just sort it out.’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to do,’ he assured her.

  ‘No,’ she told him. ‘I mean properly sort it out.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he told her truthfully.

  ‘Yeah,’ she nodded rapidly. ‘Properly sort it out. And if you don’t, I know someone who will. Paedophiles don’t deserve prison. That’s too good for the likes of them.’

  ‘I think you should calm down,’ he insisted, beginning to understand what she wanted him to do, ‘and tell me what happened. What did Rosie say?’

  ‘She told me enough,’ Bickley answered, less frantic now.

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘She was playing with some of her friends over on the wasteground by the old railway arches, but got bored and wanted to come home,’ she explained. ‘She said she was walking back on her own when a man came up to her and started talking. She don’t remember what happened next, just that he took her behind some bushes and …’ She started hyperventilating – patting her own chest with a fluttering hand as if fending off an impending heart attack.

  ‘Just take your time,’ King encouraged her.

  She calmed down enough to continue. ‘He …’ she struggled to say the words. ‘He made her take off her trousers and … and he … he pulled down her knickers and … he touched her … with his fingers.’ She covered her mouth with her hand, unable to describe any more.

  ‘Did he …’ King pushed ‘… did he do anything else? Did he make her do anything to him?’

  ‘Isn’t touching her enough?’ Bickley almost shouted. ‘So what you going to do about it?’

  ‘You say this happened over by the wasteground near the arches?’ he ignored her.

  ‘Yeah,’ she answered, unsure of its relevance. ‘Why does it matter?’

  ‘Did Rosie say who did this to her?’ he asked. His mind was already turning to the last time he’d been on the wasteground and his encounter with Alan Swinton.

  ‘No,’ Bickley answered, hate and vengeance suddenly filling her eyes and chasing the sadness away. ‘She’s gone into some sort of lock-down. Won’t talk to me. Won’t say nothing. But we all know who done it. There’s only one pervert who’d do this to a kid on this estate.’

  ‘Really?’ King checked they had the same suspicions. ‘And who would that be?’

  ‘You fucking know,’ she accused him. ‘That sick bastard Swinton. Only you ain’t never done anything about it, have ya?’

  ‘I need evidence,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Evidence?’ she questioned. ‘You mean the same sort of evidence you had against Ronnie Butler?’

  King froze for a second before being able to answer. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Not what I heard,’ she almost threatened him. ‘Not what everyone on the estate’s saying.’

  ‘Look,’ he tried to move on, ‘I need to get Rosie interviewed by a specially trained SOIT officer who’ll know how to find out exactly what happened to her.’

  ‘A what?’ she asked through her anger.

  ‘A SOIT officer,’ he repeated. ‘It stands for Sexual Offences Interview Technique. It’s especially important in the case of a child victim.’

  ‘I ain’t having Rosie interviewed by no … whatever you said,’ Bickley told him. ‘I ain’t having her messed with by shrinks and doctors – cross-examined in court by some pervert or his smart-arsed barrister. I want this piece of scum punished properly. I want him taught a lesson – like Butler was. I want justice.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about Butler,’ he bluffed, ‘except he got turned over by a rival gang.’

  ‘Say what you like,’ she told him, ‘but what you did to that slag Butler was the right thing to do. If you want the people round here to keep on respecting you – if you don’t want people talking to your bosses – you have to do the right thing here. Swinton has to be punished according to our laws.’

  ‘Your laws,’ he looked at her with disgust. ‘What do you know about the law?’

  ‘I know enough to know something has to be done about Swinton,’ she demanded.

  His radio breaking into life interrupted him before he could argue with her any more.

  ‘PS 42 from Control,’ the same female voice as before asked. ‘You receiving, Sarge?’

  ‘Yeah, go ahead,’ he acknowledged.

  ‘Have you got an update for the distressed female calling from 214 Millander Walk? I need to update the CAD.’

  He stared at Bickley in silence for a long time – knowing which way he had to go, but not wanting to hurry the moment when he finally jumped.

  ‘PS 42 – you still there, over?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, knowing the time had come.

  ‘Any update?’ the voice asked, sounding quizzical. ‘Millander Walk?’

  ‘Yes,’ he finally told her. ‘The occupant’s ten-year-old daughter was missing for a while, but she’s home safe and sound now. Mother just got a little over-anxious. No allegations made. No offences disclosed. Words of advice given to the mother about calling 999 so fast.’

  ‘Thanks, 42,’ the voice accepted his account. ‘I’ll update the CAD.’

  ‘Well?’ Bickley demanded. ‘What you gonna do about it?’

  ‘Just leave it with me,’ he assured her as he stared out of the window across the sprawling Grove Wood Estate stretching out in front of him – ugly with a rotting heart, like a cancer that devoured and transformed everything good around it, ultimately destroying itself. He and the estate deserved each other – increasingly belonged to each other and neither could ever go back now. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  Brown and Williams walked together in a different part of the estate – as far away from Millander Walk as they could get, knowing King was there dealing with the call. The unnatural quietness of the estate was not lost on either of them – the occasional person they did see scurried past them avoiding eye contact.

  ‘Don’t feel like a cop when I’m here any more,’ Williams complained. ‘People are scared of us. I feel more like some sort of gangster than Old Bill.’

  ‘Aye,’ Brown sadly agreed. ‘Not much we can do about it now except be careful. While King’s around we’re all in this together.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Williams told him, his nervousness tangible. ‘What if he does something else that involves us?’

  ‘Try and talk him out of it,’ Brown answered. ‘If we can’t …’ He gave an unconvincing shrug.

  ‘He’s got us by the bollocks, hasn’t he?’

  ‘We’ve all got each other by the bollocks,’ Brown reminded him. ‘King’s right about one thing – we all stand or fall together.’

  ‘Should have never taken that money,’ Williams lamented his decision. ‘As soon as we did that we were fucked.’

  ‘Nah,’ Brown disagreed. ‘We tied ourselves to King before that. The thing with Butler made sure of that. We should have just nicked him. Handed him over to CID and taken the pats on the back. Jesus, what were we thinking?’

  ‘I reckon Butler had it coming,’ Williams argued. ‘What he did to Renita. What he would have done to her. I’m not about to lose too much sleep over a piece of shit like him, but taking the money felt … felt dirty.’

  ‘Aye,’ Brown agreed. ‘You spent any of it yet?’

  Williams smiled. ‘I bought a bottle of very expensive scotch and gave the rest to a beggar.’

  ‘You what?’ Brown laughed.

  ‘Seriously. I gave it to some beggar outside the shop I bought the scotch in. Should have seen his fucking face. Figured I didn’t want it so might as well try and do someth
ing good with it.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Brown laughed. ‘I didn’t think of doing something like that.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘Burnt the fucking lot,’ he admitted. ‘Made me feel like shit just knowing it was there.’

  ‘Burnt it though?’ Williams shook his head.

  ‘Aye,’ Brown smiled. ‘So paranoid about forensics I thought burning it would be best.’

  ‘Forensics?’ Williams laughed at him. ‘Now that is paranoid.’

  ‘Aye, well,’ Brown agreed. ‘Wish I’d done what you did though or just stuffed it in some charity box somewhere. Oh well, fuck it. Too late now.’

  They walked in silence for a few steps until Williams spoke again. ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘Way I see it is we just play it out until the Unit’s disbanded or King’s moved on somewhere else,’ Brown explained. ‘Then we can get back to normal policing and try and forget about what happened here. The more time we put between ourselves and this place the better it’ll be.’

  ‘And the more distance we put between us and King,’ Williams added.

  ‘Aye,’ Brown nodded. ‘I’ll fucking buy you a drink when that happens.’

  ‘If we survive that long,’ Williams added gloomily. ‘If we’re not already banged up.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Brown warned him. ‘Don’t even say things like that. You know what happens to Old Bill in prison.’

  ‘But King bothers me, man,’ said Williams. ‘He’s not the same person. He’s got that fucked-up look in his eyes. Like he’s enjoying this shit. Like he’s capable of anything. I don’t know what happened, but he’s changed, man. He could drag us all down.’

  ‘I hear you,’ Brown agreed, ‘but you better not let him hear you saying that. Fuck knows what he might do.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Williams shook his head. ‘Don’t know how much more of this shit I can take. Turning me into a nervous wreck. I feel sick all day and that Marino bothers me. And what’s with King and how long we’ve been on the estate for? Every time I mention we’ve been here too long he looks at me as if I’ve gone mad. Like he’s losing track of time or something – I don’t know. Freaks me out.’

  ‘I know,’ Brown shook his head. ‘He’s fucking losing it, I tell you.’

  ‘Listen,’ Williams almost whispered. ‘I got to tell you, I’m thinking about just bailing.’

  ‘You can’t,’ Brown warned him. ‘We can’t do anything that could draw attention to the Unit. We can’t afford to have people asking questions about why people are bailing from it. Also you’ll probably be replaced. Then what happens if King tries to turn them too – tells them a little about what we’ve been doing – tries to give them a taste for it? Only maybe they’re not interested and go running to Johnston blabbing their mouth off about what they’ve found out. That’d be you and me fucked along with King. No. We don’t have a choice here. We have to keep our heads down, our mouths shut and see it out to the end. No matter how bitter. We got no choice, Danny. We just got no choice.’

  King sat on a couple of crates he’d put on top of each other, creating a makeshift seat in the middle of the wasteground where he’d first encountered Alan Swinton, although there was no sign of him now. Being back on the patch of desolate land, littered with bricks, rubbish and thrown-out furniture, reminded him of Renita. He hadn’t thought of her as much as he should have lately or even been to see her in hospital. He wondered whether she’d heard about what happened to Butler and if she’d worked out who did it. He figured she probably had, but couldn’t even guess how she felt about it. He had a terrible feeling she wouldn’t approve, although he was sure she wouldn’t say anything to anyone. She’d want to speak to him face to face, though. Perhaps that was why he’d avoided going to see her – because he couldn’t bear the look of disappointment and disgust he imagined she’d wear. Sounds of someone approaching snapped him from his self-grappling and made him stand to see who was fighting their way through the coarse grass and debris towards him. Finally Dougie O’Neil stumbled into view.

  ‘Fuck,’ O’Neil immediately exclaimed. ‘Why the fuck we gotta meet here?’

  ‘Didn’t think it would be wise coming to your flat again,’ King explained. ‘Not so soon after Astill’s arrest.’

  ‘Why couldn’t we just talk about whatever it is you want to talk about over the phone?’ O’Neil questioned.

  ‘No,’ King insisted. ‘This is not something I want to discuss over a mobile phone and from now on you remember that. You can use the phone to arrange meetings, but never use it to discuss business and never say my name. Understand?’

  ‘Business?’ O’Neil picked up on King’s own word. ‘What business?’

  ‘Our business,’ King told him. He pulled the crack he’d kept from the raid on Astill’s flat from his pocket and tossed it to O’Neil who caught it in one hand and stood staring at the windfall. ‘Thirty-one rocks there – I’ve counted them, so don’t try and fuck me over,’ King made it clear. From a shirt pocket hidden under his body armour he pulled a wad of notes adding up to several hundred pounds and held them out for O’Neil to see. ‘Take it,’ he encouraged, as if trying to hand-feed a sparrow. Finally O’Neil stepped forward and plucked the cash from his hand – looking down at it as if it was the greatest fortune ever discovered before confusion spread across his face.

  ‘What d’you want me to do with this?’ he asked.

  ‘Not smoke it for one thing,’ King warned him. ‘You want the occasional rock, that’s fine, but you pay, just like everyone else’s going to pay.’

  ‘You want me to sell it?’ O’Neil checked, barely able to believe what he was hearing.

  ‘What the fuck else would you do with it?’ King mocked him. ‘With Astill out the way you’re the only crack dealer on the estate and as he was so kind as to give us our first supply free, you can sell this batch cheap. Get the customers lined up and maybe bring in a few more from further afield and then put the price back up to normal. We split the profits forty–sixty in my favour. For that you get my personal protection and the Unit’s. No one will fuck with you. Anyone else is stupid enough to set themselves up in the same business, you let me know and I’ll take care of it. I’m the police around here. Can’t get a reputation for tolerating drug dealers. Once I’ve moved on they can all come creeping back in for all I care. Everything clear?’

  ‘Yeah,’ O’Neil answered with a shrug, ‘but …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘You sure you want to do this?’ O’Neil asked.

  King hadn’t expected to be questioned – hadn’t expected O’Neil to open the doubts in his mind.

  ‘If people want to kill themselves on crack that’s their problem,’ he justified himself – the image of himself drawing long and hard on his own homemade bong invading his mind. ‘As far as I’m concerned all drugs should be legal. With me controlling the local crack trade I’m removing the criminal element. Way I see it, I’m just doing on a local scale what the government should be doing nationally and taking the likes of Astill out the equation. Keeping drugs illegal is like handing organized crime billions of pounds every year. They’re the last people who want to see drugs legalized. And unlike you, Dougie, I have bills to pay. Mortgage, credit cards, insurance – stuff you know nothing about. I’m sick of working my arse off and still only living hand-to-mouth, day-to-day. I deserve a little more and this is the best way to get it quickly. Once I’ve paid off a few bills we’ll quit, but still keep the other dealers away.’

  O’Neil didn’t believe a word King said. ‘Fair enough,’ he answered anyway. ‘When d’you want me to start?’

  ‘Now,’ King ordered, ‘and by the way – do you know anyone who can keep us supplied? But not someone from round here. I don’t want people round here knowing my business. Think of me as the silent partner.’

  ‘Yeah, no problem,’ O’Neil answered casually. ‘I know a crew in North London can do the business for us.’

  ‘Good,�
�� King replied. ‘Use them.’

  ‘How much?’ O’Neil asked.

  ‘How much what?’ King checked.

  ‘How much d’you want me to buy? How much d’you want me to sell?’

  ‘As much as you can buy – as much as you can sell,’ King told him. ‘I’ll tell you when to slow down if I think things are getting too big.’

  ‘That’s all fine,’ O’Neil cautioned him, ‘only you should know I heard a lot of rumours that Astill was getting his gear from the Campbell family. They ain’t gonna be too happy when they find out you’ve replaced one of their best earners with someone else and you’re not even using them to get your gear.’

  ‘Fuck the Campbells,’ King swore. ‘I’ve heard all about them. Bunch of wannabe gangsters. They won’t bother us.’

  ‘I ain’t so sure,’ O’Neil argued. ‘They can be dangerous.’

  ‘What they gonna do to me?’ King asked. ‘What they gonna do to the Unit? We’re the police. They can’t touch us. Just let me worry about the Campbells and you worry about shifting those rocks.’

  ‘Fine,’ O’Neil agreed. ‘We’ll do it your way.’

  ‘Yes,’ King snapped at him. ‘We’ll do it my way. Now I need to take care of something. I’ll check with you in a couple of days. Have my cut ready.’ O’Neil just nodded meekly as King turned to leave before stopping. ‘One more thing – before I forget. Couple of guys will be coming round to your flat later today to fix a grid over the front door and windows. There’s no need for you to speak to them. They know what to do and have already been paid. You just make sure you’re there to take the new keys when they’re done. And try and stay off the gear,’ he warned him as he started to walk away. ‘At least during the day. Remember – you work for me now, but if I have to replace you I will. You’re no good to me stoned.’

  By the time King reached their usual meeting place in the basement underneath the estate, Brown and Williams were already there just as he’d told them to be.

  ‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Brown snarled.

  ‘Easy, Dave,’ King told him and dropped a sports bag at their feet. ‘I had some business to take care of.’