by Luke Delaney
‘Fuck,’ he called out, almost throwing Kelly from his lap onto the sofa. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he demanded. ‘As soon as you knew it was me at the door, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I was going to,’ she pleaded – her black eyes showing a trace of fear for the first time since he’d met her, ‘but you looked so strung-out I knew that if I did you’d run off and try and find him. I wanted to straighten you out a bit first and then tell you, but you made me forget.’
‘Damn it, Kelly,’ he chastised her. ‘You can’t wait to tell me this sort of shit. I need to know straight away.’
‘What difference does it make?’ she asked. ‘Chris doesn’t live on the estate and Mum says he’s done a runner anyway. Nobody round here’s smart enough to find him … except you.’
‘I couldn’t give a fuck about O’Connell,’ he admitted. ‘Fucking witch-hunt’s done enough damage already. Swinton’s done nothing, but we almost put him in his grave. I must have been out of my mind to listen to that damn Bickley woman. She said the first name that popped into her head and I went for it. Jesus Christ, what have I done?’ He struggled to his feet and staggered across the room to the downstairs toilet, making it there just in time before he retched yellow bile from his empty stomach. Once the convulsions stopped he rinsed his mouth with water from the tap and doused his face in the same before shakily walking back to the waiting Kelly.
‘What’s so bad?’ she naïvely asked. ‘Everybody knows Swinton is a paedophile anyway. He got what he deserved.’
‘He was the wrong man,’ King tried in vain to explain. ‘Don’t you understand that? The people on this estate with their rumours and suspicions. They know nothing, but think they know everything. Taking out the right people’s what separates me from them. Now I’m no better than they are,’ he told her and headed to the kitchen to find a drink.
‘You mean no better than I am?’ Kelly questioned as she gathered her discarded clothes from the floor and clutched them to her chest.
‘No,’ he told her as he poured himself a large vodka and took a long gulp. ‘You know that’s not what I meant. You’re different. Different from anyone I’ve ever met. Fuck,’ he suddenly swore, as if too late he’d remembered something important. ‘Your mum must be coming back here. I need to go.’
‘Relax,’ she told him. ‘Mum’s gone to my gran’s in Essex. She won’t be back until everything dies down.’
‘She needs to get your brother and sister checked out too,’ he advised her, thinking like a cop again for a few seconds. ‘If O’Connell likes children it could be what drew him to your mum in the first place.’
‘That’s fucking sick,’ Kelly replied, shaking her head.
‘Maybe,’ he agreed. ‘It also happens to be true.’ He looked her up and down in silence for a few seconds trying to imagine how much younger she would have had to be before she looked like a girl and not a woman. ‘What about you? Did he ever … touch you?’
‘Mum’s only been with him about a year,’ she explained. ‘It’s been a lot longer than that since I was a child.’
He nodded his understanding and drained his glass before quickly refilling it. ‘Do you know if the Bickley woman reported any of this to the police?’ he asked. ‘She hasn’t come to me to sort it out.’
Kelly took a breath before answering. ‘From what I heard she did. Chris don’t live on the estate so she thought he was out of anyone’s reach – except the real police.’
‘The real police?’ he asked.
‘You know what I mean,’ she said apologetically.
‘Whatever,’ he let it go. ‘I need to get back to the station and see what I can do. If people start talking to CID this could all lead straight to my door. Fuck.’
Kelly looked at him – naked, strung-out and drinking neat vodka on top of cocaine and cannabis. ‘You can’t go anywhere,’ she insisted.
‘I don’t have a choice,’ he argued. ‘I need to put this fire out before it takes hold.’
‘What can you do,’ she asked, ‘if it’s already been reported?’
‘I don’t know,’ he thought out loud. ‘Maybe I can find a way to delete the report or mark it “no crime” and bury it where no one will look. I don’t know, but I have to do something.’
‘Fine,’ she agreed sympathetically, ‘but not now and not looking like you do. Stay the night. Get some rest and get cleaned up then go in first thing. Is anyone gonna be turning up stones during the night investigating what happened to Rosie?’
‘No,’ King admitted. ‘I guess not.’
‘Then stay,’ she told him, letting the clothes she was holding fall to the floor.
‘Fine,’ he agreed, drinking the vodka in one go and sliding the glass away from him over the work surface. ‘I’ll stay.’
16
King entered the small CID office in Canning Town Police Station first thing in the morning confident that only the cleaners and the early shift uniform team would have beaten him in. If there was any CID there at all it should only be the remnants of the night shift, unless something major like a murder or rape had occurred during the hours of darkness, and if that was the case the chances were that any detectives involved would have headed over to the main CID office at Newham Police Station – the Borough HQ.
His heart sank a little when he saw DC Paul Morris sitting at his desk, head down, typing away. But at least there was no one else around and, most importantly, there was no sign of Marino. He made his way across the office to the old-fashioned ringbinder that was still used as the ‘Overnight CID Occurrence Book’ or ‘Night Duty CID OB’, as it was known by all. He could have found a copy of the previous night’s events by logging on to the borough’s computerized Aware system, but that would leave an indestructible footprint that he’d been looking. This way no one could prove anything.
He searched through the record of the night’s events and soon came across a brief mention of the indecent assault on Rosie Bickley by a named suspect – Chris O’Connell. He felt sick to his stomach as the blood seemed to rage in torrents around his head. What he’d thought he’d contained on the estate was now out in the open for any and all police eyes to see. Marino may have kept quiet out of some sort of twisted sense of loyalty before, but now the allegation had become official, it was impossible to tell what he’d do next. He unclipped the bindings and slipped the page containing details of the indecent assault from the OB then quietly folded it and pushed it into his pocket while he kept an eye on Morris to make sure he wasn’t being watched. He knew it was probably a futile gesture as Marino was the sort of diligent detective who nearly always checked the OB on the Aware system, but he was prepared to try everything and anything to protect himself.
With the crime concealed in his pocket he approached Morris and stood over him while he typed – Morris seemingly oblivious to his presence as he hurried to finish the paperwork and get home before the morning rush-hour traffic built.
‘You the Night Duty CID?’ King asked to get his attention.
Morris glanced up but never stopped typing. ‘For my sins.’
‘I hear there was an indecent assault reported last night on my estate,’ King said, trying to sound casual. ‘Happened a few days ago, but only just got reported.’
Morris’ brow wrinkled as he tried to recall one allegation from dozens. ‘Oh yeah,’ he eventually said without interest. ‘Some young girl who was able to name her attacker.’
‘Yeah,’ King imitated his disinterest. ‘Rosie Bickley. I know the family. Any allegations they make aren’t to be taken too seriously. Said Chris O’Connell’s the suspect?’
‘That’s the fella,’ replied Morris.
‘I’ve nicked him for domestic violence,’ King told him. ‘Didn’t seem the type to be preying on kids.’
‘You never can tell, eh?’ Morris answered in a tone that made it clear he wanted to be left alone to finish the last of his dawn reports.
‘I’ll take this one,’ King said c
asually, ‘have a word with the mum and see if I can’t get her to withdraw the allegation. Save the CID a bit of work. You can assign it to me on CRIS.’
‘Too late,’ Morris told him. ‘Someone’s already taken it.’
King had to clear his constricting throat before speaking. ‘Who?’
‘Frank,’ Morris broke the news.
‘DS Marino?’ King asked, trying not to choke.
‘Yeah,’ Morris replied, sounding increasingly irritated at being disturbed. ‘He was in really early today. Took the investigation as soon as he saw it.’
‘Did he say why he was so keen to take it?’
‘No,’ Morris shrugged. ‘Looks like a load of grief to me. If he wants it, he’s welcome to it.’ He turned from his computer and looked King up and down. ‘You all right? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I’m fine,’ King lied, his mind racing with possible scenarios, all of which led Professional Ethics and Standards straight to his door. ‘Shouldn’t this one have gone to Sapphire or even the Child Protection Team?’
‘It should have,’ Morris sighed, turning back to his screen. ‘Told Marino that myself, but he seemed pretty determined to keep it for now. Maybe he’s trying to protect an informant or something.’
‘Yeah,’ King replied without really listening any more.
‘Anything else?’ Morris asked, trying to prompt him to leave.
‘Sorry?’ King answered, staring into space.
‘Anything else?’ Morris repeated with increased irritation.
‘No,’ King told him without looking at him. ‘Thanks,’ he managed to say before heading across the office and the exit, leaving Morris at his desk shaking his head. He never heard him mumble ‘Fucking lids,’ under his breath as he burst into the corridor and headed for his own office, hoping to be able to spend a little time alone to think. But to his surprise and disappointment both Brown and Williams were already there. They looked as surprised to see him as he was them.
‘What the fuck you two doing here?’ he blurted out.
‘The early bird gets the worm,’ Brown managed to say unconvincingly.
‘It’s barely seven am,’ King reminded them, eyeing them with suspicion. ‘Our early shift doesn’t start till ten.’
‘Thought we’d take a look at what stirs on the estate first thing,’ Williams added. ‘We’ve never seen it at this time in the morning.’
‘That’s because fuck all happens there this time in the morning,’ King told them. ‘Half of them aren’t out their beds till gone midday. Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?’
Brown and Williams looked at each other before Brown answered. ‘It’s Knight,’ he told King. ‘I don’t fucking trust him.’
‘Same goes for me,’ Williams backed him up.
‘How do we know he’s not here to spy on us?’ Brown continued.
‘You don’t,’ King answered with a slight smile, as if it was to be expected. ‘So this is why you’re both in so early – to avoid working with Knight?’
‘He’s down for the late shift,’ Williams explained. ‘We plan to be long gone by then.’
‘I see,’ King nodded, ‘but if you want to avoid him why not just send him to the other side of the estate? If he keeps coming to work to find an empty office, everyone packed up and gone home, he’ll get suspicious and then he might just start talking to someone. Someone like Inspector Johnston. Is that what you want?’
‘No,’ Brown agreed as King slumped into his chair.
‘Anyway,’ he told them. ‘We’ve got bigger problems than Knight. Either of you two early birds read the Night Duty CID OB yet?’
‘No,’ Williams admitted. ‘Why?’
‘Because if you had,’ he explained, ‘you would have seen we took out the wrong man.’
‘What the fuck you talking about?’ Brown asked, his face twisted with concern.
‘Swinton,’ King told them, trying to sound casual despite his thundering heart – trying to deceive them into believing he was still in total control. ‘He never touched the girl.’
‘What?’ Williams questioned.
‘Oh, fucking Jesus,’ Brown cursed, placing both hands behind his neck as if trying to catch his breath after exercise.
‘Hold on a second,’ Williams recovered enough to think straight. ‘You said it was in the Night Duty OB. The mother left it for us to deal with, so why is it in the OB?’
‘Looks like she lost faith in us,’ said King, spreading his arms in a gesture of disappointment. ‘Her daughter finally put a name to her attacker: Chris O’Connell. He doesn’t live on the estate so apparently the mum decided he was out of our reach and reported it.’
‘Fuck,’ Brown cursed again.
‘Relax,’ King told them. ‘So she’s reported it. Big deal. Doesn’t mean anyone’s gonna make the connection to Swinton or Swinton to us.’
‘But once Sapphire start digging around who knows what people are gonna start saying?’ Williams argued.
‘Sapphire aren’t investigating this one,’ King broke the news.
‘Why,’ Brown asked warily. ‘Why aren’t Sapphire investigating?’
King cleared his throat before speaking. ‘Because Marino’s taken it for himself.’
‘Fuck,’ Brown swore once more. ‘Fucking Marino. He’s out to do us, I swear he is.’
‘Not necessarily,’ King told him. ‘For all we know he may be trying to bury it – to protect us all.’
‘No. No,’ Brown insisted. ‘This is bad. This is really fucking bad.’
‘You need to calm down,’ King said almost threateningly. ‘We need to stick together.’
‘Calm down?’ Brown mocked him. ‘Stick together? It’s too late for that.’
‘Davey,’ King warned him.
‘Let me tell you something,’ Brown told him, stepping forward and pointing an accusing finger at him, ‘Knight’s not the only reason we’re in so early. He’s not the only one we don’t trust – not the only one we don’t want to work with or even be seen with. This has all gone way too far and me and Danny want out. We’re gonna put in requests to be transferred off the Unit today. We’ve had enough of your shit. We want out while we still can.’
‘No one leaves until I say they can,’ King insisted. ‘You two fucking belong to me until I say different.’
‘So that’s how it’s going to be?’ Brown nodded.
‘That’s how it’s going to be,’ King confirmed.
‘So be it,’ Brown agreed, but his eyes said otherwise.
‘And you?’ King looked at Williams.
‘Fine,’ he sighed, ‘but no more beatings. I’ve had a gutful of that shit. I won’t do it again.’
‘Agreed,’ King lied, ‘and don’t worry about the Bickley girl’s allegation or Marino. I’ll think of something. I’ll think of something and I’ll take care of it. Just leave it with me. For now just get down to the estate. Show a presence. Let everyone see we’re still in control.’
‘In control,’ Brown laughed ironically.
‘What about you?’ Williams asked. ‘Where you going?’
‘The estate,’ King answered, standing and pulling on his body armour, ‘but I need to get there quickly and I need a car. I’ll take what I can find in the yard. When I’ve done what I have to do we’ll meet up and remind a few people who’s in charge.’
‘Fair enough,’ Williams surrendered.
‘And you?’ King asked Brown who after a second simply nodded. ‘Good,’ King told him coldly as he clipped his utility belt around his waist. ‘Then I’ll see you both later.’ He spun on his heels and was gone.
King scoured the small yard at Canning Town looking for a patrol car that had been abandoned by its careless owner with the keys still in the ignition. Not an uncommon practice in a busy but secure police yard. He could have booked one out correctly from the station office, but he was in no mood to answer questions or waste time with paperwork. Better to borrow one and ignore the pl
eas over the radio from the owner for its return. When he finally brought it back he’d blame a faulty PR for not heeding the requests.
He jumped into the driver’s seat – his body armour and utility belt making his movements awkward and uncomfortable as he started the engine and sped towards the automatic barrier, ignoring the flashing light and irritating dinging sound that warned him his seat belt wasn’t on. As soon as the barrier lifted he pulled into the traffic, switching on the bar of lights attached to the roof to clear a path for his flight and driving recklessly fast towards the estate. The estate was his kingdom, his principality, his caliphate and he wasn’t about to let Marino or Caroll Bickley bring it to an end. The power he felt when he patrolled its walkways and rat-runs was as seductive as Kelly’s oil-black eyes, and he wasn’t about to let any of it go. He saw her long brown curls twirling and falling around her neck and shoulders and could have sworn he could smell their dizzyingly beautiful scent. He needed to see her soon – to get his fix. But first there was business to take care of. People to see and straighten out. Kelly and all her delights would have to wait a while longer.
King hammered on the door of Carroll Bickley’s flat and waited impatiently for it to be answered. He could hear the sounds of life inside, which only fuelled his anxiety and anger. Again he hammered on the door until he heard the protesting voice of a woman coming from inside.
‘All right. All right,’ she called out in her thick East London accent. ‘Give us a fucking chance.’
He stood back, hands on hips as he tried to roll some of the pent-up tension from his neck muscles until finally the door was opened by a disinterested-looking Carroll Bickley.
‘Oh,’ she barely acknowledged him. ‘It’s you.’
‘We need to talk,’ King told her as he barged past and into the cool dimness of the flat. ‘Shut the door,’ he demanded and headed for the lounge area, followed by Bickley.
‘What about?’ she asked as if she didn’t know.