by Luke Delaney
‘We’ve been hanging around down here for ages,’ Brown continued to argue before Williams changed the subject.
‘What’s in the bag?’ he asked cautiously.
King grinned and bent to unzip it, silently pulling a sinister-looking mixture of items from inside and laying them on the floor in front of them: miniature baseball bats, ski masks, gloves and boiler suits.
‘What the fuck is all this for?’ Brown demanded, looking on in horror.
‘Get dressed,’ King explained. ‘We got a job to do.’
‘I’m not up for ripping off any more dealers,’ Williams insisted, shaking his head. ‘Especially not like this.’
‘Same here,’ Brown backed him up. ‘I’m out.’
‘We didn’t rip Astill off,’ King snapped at them, ‘or Mooney. It was a means to an end to bring drug dealing on this estate under control. Anyway – this isn’t for any dealer.’
‘Then what the hell is it for?’ Williams asked.
‘Another young girl on the estate’s been attacked,’ he told them matter-of-factly. ‘Sexually assaulted – just like the others.’
‘Jesus,’ Brown shook his head. ‘Then let’s hand it over to CID and let them deal with it.’
‘That’s not what the mother of the girl wants,’ King explained. ‘She doesn’t want SOITs and psychiatrists. She doesn’t want to fuck around with courts. Even if we could get a conviction he’d only appeal – put all the kids he’s abused through giving evidence all over again. She wants justice and she wants it now.’
‘Fuck what she wants,’ Brown argued. ‘The people on this estate live like animals. They don’t care about the law or justice – just revenge and brutality. Butler was bad enough, but at least I can convince myself he had it coming to him for what he did to Ren. But this … I want no part of it.’
‘And a paedophile who attacks a young girl doesn’t?’ King demanded.
‘Wait,’ Williams jumped in. ‘We don’t even know who attacked her.’
‘Yeah we do,’ King corrected him. ‘Alan Swinton.’
‘She told you that?’ Williams checked.
‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but the mother did.’
‘The mother?’ Brown asked. ‘And the girl told the mother, right?’
‘Not exactly,’ King answered without looking at them as he began to pull on one of the boiler suits.
‘Then how d’you know it’s Swinton?’ Williams said what Brown was thinking.
‘Because the mother just knows it was,’ King replied impatiently, ‘and so do I. Who the fuck else could it be? Swinton’s a paedophile and deserves to be punished. I even caught him myself hanging out with a bunch of kids when I was with Renita. He’s a filthy child molester and needs to be taught a lesson.’
‘No,’ Brown wouldn’t give in. ‘I’m not doing this. I know what people think about Swinton, but nothing’s ever been proved.’
‘Me too,’ Williams supported him. ‘This is too much for me.’
‘Get dressed,’ King ordered, throwing the boiler suit into Brown’s chest who caught it but then let it fall to the floor.
‘No,’ Brown repeated.
‘You think this is some sort of game?’ King asked calmly. ‘We’re in this now. This is how things get done now. We don’t do this we’ll lose the respect of everyone on the estate. They’re all watching us – waiting to see if we’ve got the balls to deal with Swinton. Do this or everything we have done will all be for nothing.’
‘To tell you the truth,’ Williams explained, ‘I don’t really give a shit and I sure as hell don’t give a damn about what anyone in this shithole thinks about me. Butler. Astill. It’s all gone too far.’
‘Still don’t get it, do you?’ King shook his head. ‘People on this estate know what’s been happening – understand? If we don’t do this, the girl’s mother is gonna march down to the nick and start telling anyone who’ll listen about what’s been going on. Do you really want that? You think we’d survive that?’
‘You’re forgetting one thing,’ Brown reminded him. ‘There’s no evidence. Astill won’t talk to Old Bill and you made sure we got rid of anything that could link us to Butler.’
‘Yeah,’ Williams joined in, sounding slightly panicked. ‘You took our shirts. You burnt them.’
‘Did I?’ King silenced them. ‘Sure about that, are you?’
‘You fucking bastard,’ Brown cursed and jumped forward, fist clenched and arm pulled back, but Williams stepped across him and intercepted him before he could land a blow. ‘You set us up. You were never gonna burn the shirts.’
‘Just thought it would be wise to keep a little insurance, to ensure everyone’s loyalty to the Unit. Nothing personal. Now let’s all agree to do as I say.’
‘Fuck you,’ Brown cursed him.
‘Let’s just get on with it,’ Williams implored him. ‘But this is the last time. After this I want off the Unit.’
‘Aye,’ Brown agreed. ‘Me too.’
‘Fine,’ King told them without emotion. ‘As soon as I can find suitable replacements you can leave. But not until then.’
‘How long will that be?’ Williams asked. ‘Weeks? Months?’
‘As long as it takes,’ King tormented them before softening. ‘Maybe a couple of weeks. But once you’re gone you keep your mouths shut.’
‘Whatever,’ Williams went along with it.
‘So be it,’ Brown did the same.
‘Good,’ King nodded his head and retrieved another boiler suit from the bag.
‘Where the hell d’you get all this stuff from anyway?’ Williams asked.
‘Property store,’ King smiled.
‘Fucking property store?’ Brown threatened to explode again. ‘Are you insane?’
‘Relax,’ King waved his concerns away. ‘It’s all old evidence from dead cases – all marked for destruction. Once we’ve finished with it I’ll put it back where I found it and wait for the Commissioner to do the rest and incinerate it. It couldn’t be sweeter.’
‘You really are insane,’ Brown shook his head, but began to dress in the things King had brought all the same, as did Williams – both resigned to the inevitable – inextricably tied to King since the moment they transcended the law and tried to become it.
‘Nothing insane about planning ahead,’ King argued.
‘Speaking of which,’ Williams questioned, ‘what is the plan?’
‘We get kitted up and go to Swinton’s house,’ King explained. ‘This time in the evening he’ll be home alone watching the telly or surfing the net for child porn. We grab him from his flat and bring him back here.’
‘We drag him kicking and screaming across the estate?’ Williams queried.
‘Not screaming,’ King told him and tossed him a roll of insulating tape from the bag.
Williams stared at the roll in his hands. ‘Jesus Christ.’
‘And the kicking part?’ Brown asked, unable to even look at the tape.
‘Swinton’s a loser and coward,’ King dismissed it. ‘He won’t give us any trouble.’
‘And if someone tries to interfere, or worse, calls the police?’ Williams kept attacking the plan.
‘They won’t,’ King insisted.
‘How can you be sure?’ Brown questioned.
‘Because by now I reckon most of the estate know what’s gonna happen,’ he told them. ‘Except for Swinton, of course. They want this to happen. They’re waiting for this to happen. Nobody’s gonna get in our way.’
‘This is a fucking nightmare,’ Williams complained.
‘Aye,’ Brown agreed. ‘A living nightmare.’
‘One there’s no escape from,’ King reminded them, ‘unless we do this thing. Here,’ he continued, pulling the small clip-seal bag of cocaine he’d taken from Astill’s shirt pocket. ‘Have a hit of this – it’ll make it easier.’ He tapped a thin line of the crystalline white powder onto the back of his hand and snorted it in one go up his nose – squeezing his eyes together
against the rush of the hit. ‘Fuck,’ he cursed in approval and handed the bag to Williams who looked at it quizzically.
‘I thought you were supposed to chop it up with a playing card or something and snort it through a rolled-up banknote?’ he asked.
‘I think that’s for the TV,’ King told him. ‘Works just as well this way.’
‘Already tried it, have you?’ Brown accused him.
King ignored him as he watched Williams tap a small amount onto the back of his hand and eye it cautiously. ‘It’s only coke,’ King assured him. ‘It’ll just give you a little pick-up is all. Like being drunk without making a fool of yourself or losing control. One hit’s not gonna kill you.’
‘Bollocks to it,’ Williams relented. ‘If it helps get this over with,’ he declared before inhaling the minute white crystals, wincing against the stinging effects, shaking his head against the sensation, like hundreds of fire-ants in his nasal passage and throat, until the burning eased and the effects began to kick in. ‘Shit,’ he said and offered the bag back to King who jutted his chin in the direction of Brown. Williams understood and turned and offered it to his partner.
‘You must be joking,’ Brown refused it as he continued to get dressed.
‘Feels good,’ Williams encouraged him. ‘Better than doing this sober.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Brown moaned as he snatched the bag from him and tipped more than the others had onto the back of his hand.
‘Take it easy,’ King warned him. ‘Don’t want you thinking you can fly.’
‘Fuck you,’ Brown replied and sniffed hard at the powder, wincing and shaking his head violently to chase away the burning. ‘Jesus,’ he complained. ‘Can’t believe people take this shit for fun.’
‘Give it a minute,’ King told. ‘You’ll see. Now remember, we don’t want to kill this fucker, just fuck him up badly enough so everyone knows we’ve done our job. Hit him in the face if you must, but no kicking to the head or stamping. I don’t think he could take it. Remember your self-defence training – try not to use your fists or you’ll end up with broken fingers and bruised knuckles. Let’s not give the likes of Marino cause for suspicion. Use your forearms, elbows, knees and boots. Once we’re done we’ll dump him somewhere on the estate and hope someone calls him an ambulance.’
‘And when he starts shooting his mouth off in hospital?’ Brown questioned.
‘What’s he gonna say?’ King asked. ‘“I’m a child molester and the locals gave me a kicking to teach me a lesson?” I don’t think so. He’ll tell them he fell down the stairs and crawl off to hide under a stone somewhere. He’s no threat to us.’
‘Fucking madness,’ Brown complained, but King just smiled, pulled a ski mask over his head and spread his arms wide as he turned towards them.
‘Well?’ he asked. ‘How do I look?’
Susie Ubana stood outside her flat, with the metal grid securely locked behind her as usual, smoking a cigarette, enjoying the warm night air and listening to the sounds of the estate at night – so familiar to her they now sounded strangely peaceful. But tonight the estate had that special atmosphere of fearful anticipation. The sort of atmosphere that spread like a forest fire when word got out that something serious was going to happen. It usually meant one criminal planned to kill or seriously injure another or one street gang planned to attack another while the rest of the estate collectively held its breath and waited. She sensed Kelly approaching before she heard or saw her, but still it made her jump slightly.
‘You’re out late,’ Ubana almost warned her.
‘So,’ Kelly shrugged. ‘No law against it.’
Ubana continued to smoke in silence, wishing she were still alone to stare at the stars in the clear sky above.
‘Quiet tonight, innit?’ Kelly continued.
‘I suppose so,’ Ubana agreed, slightly irritated.
‘Like …’ she pried, ‘like everyone’s waiting for something to happen.’
‘Yeah,’ Ubana softened a little. ‘Something bad in the air tonight, that’s for sure.’
‘Something’s got people scared enough to stay indoors,’ Kelly told her.
Ubana looked hard and deep into her eyes before speaking. ‘The devil’s out tonight,’ she warned her.
Kelly just smiled, unafraid. ‘I heard a whisper it’s that nonce Swinton they’re coming for.’
‘They?’ Ubana asked.
‘You know,’ Kelly shrugged. ‘The same ones who did—’
‘You shouldn’t talk about them,’ Ubana cut her off to save her from herself. ‘They hear you been spreading rumours they might come looking for you next.’
‘They don’t scare me,’ Kelly told her – her black eyes shining with confidence and fearlessness.
‘Oh?’ Ubana questioned. ‘And why’s that?’
‘They’re only men,’ Kelly explained. ‘I know how to handle men.’
‘Yeah,’ Ubana agreed, flicking her cigarette over the edge of the walkway and heading for her flat. ‘I suppose you do.’
‘I heard they might even kill him,’ Kelly added casually, stopping Ubana in her tracks.
‘This whole thing’s out of control,’ Ubana decreed. ‘It’s going too far.’
‘Reckon he deserves it,’ Kelly disagreed as she watched Ubana fumbling with the keys to the grid. ‘Nonce practically raped that little Bickley girl. Teach him and his kind a lesson. Nice to see someone around here who’s finally got the balls to do something.’
‘Stay away from him, Kelly,’ Ubana snapped her advice. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but I’m telling you he’s bad news that one. Bad seed. Jesus, we don’t even know it was Swinton who attacked her. I heard the little girl isn’t speaking.’
‘Course it’s him,’ Kelly casually damned him. ‘Who else could it be?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted as she slipped past the grid and into her secured maisonette. ‘Best to stay out the way and not get involved. Is your mum at home?’
‘No,’ Kelly replied. ‘She’s round at Chris’s.’
‘Then get home now,’ she told her. ‘Lock your doors and stay inside. Don’t come out for nothing. No matter what you hear. That’s what I’ll be doing. That’s what everyone’ll be doing. By morning – hopefully it’ll be all over and may God forgive us all.’
Marino sat in the small CID office in Canning Town Police Station reading through the paperwork on two street robbers uniformed officers had arrested earlier and handed over to him for investigation and processing. He drank strong coffee in anticipation of a long night ahead – his concentration broken by the sudden ringing on his mobile phone. The caller ID had been withheld, which either meant it was a call from a police line or someone was being very cautious. He sighed heavily at the unwelcome distraction but answered it anyway.
‘Frank Marino speaking.’
‘It’s me,’ the woman’s voice told him.
‘It’s late.’ He passed on the pleasantries. ‘Something wrong?’ There was a long silence, as if the person on the other end was already regretting calling him. ‘You called me,’ he reminded her, ‘so I’m assuming you’ve got something you want to tell me.’ He waited for her to regain her nerve.
‘I … I think something really bad is going to happen,’ she warned him.
‘Oh?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing with concern. ‘Like what?’
‘Someone’s about to get seriously hurt,’ she explained. ‘Maybe even killed.’
‘Who?’ he asked with urgency. ‘Where?’
‘On the Grove Wood,’ she explained. ‘Alan Swinton.’
Marino searched his mind, trying to remember why he knew the name, until finally it popped into his head. ‘I’ve heard of him,’ he said. ‘Some people think maybe he’s a danger to children.’
‘That’s your business,’ the voice answered. ‘All I know is he’s getting hit – tonight.’
‘Why?’ Marino quickly moved on. He needed fast answers. ‘Why’s he getting hit? Is it someth
ing to do with … kids?’
‘Yeah,’ the voice told him quietly. ‘Rumour is he touched up some young girl on the estate. That he’s the one attacked the other children. Her mum’s going mad about it. She wants payback.’
‘That’s weird,’ Marino replied. ‘I haven’t seen any reports of another child being attacked on the Grove Wood. If something like that happened I should have been told.’
‘No one informed the police,’ the woman explained. ‘The girl’s mother didn’t want them involved. She wants it taken care of another way.’
‘D’you know the girl’s name?’ he asked – his question met by more silence, as if by telling him the caller would be getting too close.
‘Bickley,’ she finally gave in. ‘I think it’s Rosie Bickley.’
‘Shit,’ Marino cursed. ‘I know the family. Old man’s inside for burglary. Not exactly pro-police. Can’t see her talking to us. You said this was going to go down on the Grove Wood,’ Marino changed tack. ‘Any idea who she’s got to do her dirty work for her?’
There was another long silence – more pronounced than previously. Marino could feel the caller’s fear even down the phone. ‘Hello,’ he encouraged her, but still nothing, although he could feel she was still there. ‘I know the uniformed cops who cover the estate,’ he told her, referring to the Unit. ‘Maybe I could get them to show a presence? Might put our would-be attackers off.’
The silence seemed to intensify before she spoke again, but only to end the conversation.
‘I’ve said all I can say,’ she told him. ‘Rest’s up to you.’
He heard the line go dead before he could argue – his mind suddenly racing with possibilities and fears. He snapped himself out of it, grabbed his desk phone and pressed the extension for the Unit’s office, but after more than a minute of listening to the ringing tone there was still no reply. After hanging up he scrambled around in his desk drawer until he found his rarely used personal radio, but having switched it on and prepared himself to speak he suddenly paused – some instinct telling him it would be a bad idea for him to make the call himself.
‘You got your PR there?’ he asked the DC sitting opposite.
‘Yeah,’ the DC replied a little suspiciously.