Friendless Lane

by Helen Black

  ‘Yes,’ she hissed into the darkness.

  She watched them cross the road towards a row of parked cars. Which one was theirs? She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.

  Suddenly a man raced out of the club after them, pulling his collar up against the rain. He held out a car key in front of him and the lights of one of the parked cars flashed.

  ‘Gotcha,’ said Lilly, and scribbled down the registration number.

  She was feeling extremely pleased with herself when the runner leant in to speak to the man in the navy coat and gestured towards her car. Shit. The man in the navy coat walked towards her. Double shit.

  Before she had a chance to decide what to do, he was tapping on her window with his knuckles. She wound it down.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Just wondering if you’re lost,’ said the man.

  He held the top of the window with both hands and the cigarette between his fingers filled the car with smoke.

  ‘What? No.’ Lilly forced herself to laugh. ‘Had to take a call, so I pulled over.’

  His skin was very smooth and even-toned. The colour of his lips was only ever so slightly darker than the rest of his face.

  ‘Well now you’ve finished,’ he nodded at the mobile lying on the passenger seat, ‘I’d get out of here if I were you. This ain’t a very nice area.’

  Lilly gulped. ‘Right.’

  She flicked on her indicator and the man released the window, taking a step into the road.

  ‘A lot of nasty people around here,’ he said. ‘If you get my drift.’

  Lilly smiled weakly and pulled out. When she checked in her rear-view mirror, he was still in the road, watching her, his cigarette glowing in his hand.

  [#]

  Jack didn’t ring the bell, thinking Sam might be in bed, but when he got inside the cottage, Sam was sitting on the living-room floor, naked except for a pair of boxers, surrounded by textbooks.

  When he saw Jack, his face darkened.

  ‘Mum’s not here,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ Jack replied. ‘I thought I’d come over and see that you’re all right.’

  ‘You don’t trust me?’

  ‘Don’t be soft.’ Jack rubbed his daughter’s cheek, making her chuckle. ‘Your mum was just a bit worried, what with your exams coming up.’

  Sam stayed where he was, still flicking absently through one of the books.

  ‘I remember how hard it was,’ said Jack.

  ‘Yeah?’

  In fact Jack didn’t recall the run-up to his O levels as different to any other time in his childhood. Maybe that was why he’d got straight Cs. And a D in French.

  Reluctantly Sam got to his feet and slouched to the door. At the sight of his bare back, Jack felt sad. He’d always tried to make things work with Sam. Never tried to act like a father; Sam had one of his own. Jack didn’t reckon much to the stuck-up twat, but that was beside the point.

  ‘What happened, Sam?’ he blurted out.

  Sam turned, resentment oozing from every pore.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘We used to be pals.’

  Sam grunted. ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘All right then.’ Sam stood tall. He was a big lad now. Almost a man. ‘You’ve pissed me off with the way you’ve treated Mum.’

  ‘That was never my plan.’

  Sam snorted. ‘No, your plan was to get Mum pregnant and then leave her for mental Kate.’

  ‘It didn’t happen that way,’ said Jack. ‘Your mum and I finished before I met Kate, though you have to believe that I wish I had never set eyes on her.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘To be honest, I don’t even care. I was glad when you had Kate, then at least you left us alone.’

  Jack was stung. Had Sam wanted rid of him that badly?

  ‘When you and Mum weren’t talking and Dad came to stay, everything was much better,’ said Sam. ‘We were happy again.’

  Ah. So that was it.

  ‘But as soon as you could see they were getting on, you couldn’t stand it, could you?’ Sam’s eyes were blazing. ‘You had to worm your way back in here.’

  ‘I come round to see Alice,’ said Jack.

  ‘That’s what you say,’ Sam replied. ‘But I know you think you’re going to get back with Mum.’

  ‘Does she say that?’

  Sam laughed. ‘No. She says that you are never, ever getting back together.’

  Jack ignored the stab of disappointment deep within his gut.

  ‘So you may as well get that out of your thick Paddy skull,’ said Sam, turning and slamming the door behind him.

  Jack turned to Alice. ‘I don’t know about you, but I thought that went rather well.’

  [#]

  Alice was asleep in Jack’s arms when Lilly arrived home. They looked so cosy in their huddle on the sofa. Like puppies.

  Jack’s eyelids flickered open.

  ‘Hi,’ Lilly whispered.

  Carefully Jack extracted himself from Alice and she snuggled down into the cushion.

  ‘I come bearing gifts,’ said Lilly, brandishing the piece of paper on which she’d written the registration number.

  Jack took it from her and read it.

  ‘You shouldn’t have gone,’ he said. ‘I’m assuming there were no problems.’

  ‘Absolutely none.’ Lilly’s words came out in a burst and she headed to the kitchen. ‘Do you want anything to eat? I’m starving.’

  ‘Bit late,’ Jack replied.

  Lilly slid two slices of bread into the toaster. The Holy Ghost would have to do.

  ‘You can sleep over if you like,’ she said. ‘You can take madam’s bed or the sofa.’

  ‘I think it’s best if Sam doesn’t find me here in the morning.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Lilly yawned and scratched her head. ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘Can I get that in writing?’

  Lilly laughed and took out a plate.

  ‘I’ll say good night, then,’ said Jack.

  She nodded and he turned for the door, but stopped as if he had something to say.

  ‘Everything okay, Jack?’ she asked.

  He paused, sifting through hundreds of words for the right one.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’ll catch you tomorrow.’

  [#]

  I know everything there is to know about schizophrenia.

  Most people think it’s about split personalities, but that’s hogwash.

  Basically, schizophrenia is a psychotic illness that causes hallucinations, delusions and changes in behaviour. Most schizophrenics aren’t even violent, they’re just scared, and, like dogs, when they’re scared they might bite.

  The exact cause is unknown, but the medical profession believes that the onset of symptoms is often triggered by drugs or stress. Since our little Jen-Jen has admitted to smoking lots of skunk while she was in care, that’s what Alerdice and her posse have latched on to.

  If they bothered to speak to her properly, they’d discover a bit more, wouldn’t they? If Alerdice could get her head from out of her backside, if she could just actually listen, instead of trying to show off, she might learn that one of Jenny’s foster carers used to keep her locked up in an aviary. That he used to keep her in there for days at a time, with nothing to eat but bird seed. That the birds’ wings flapped against her as they tried desperately to fly away.

  Honestly, doctors really are rather rubbish.

  Jenny’s currently in Rowntree because things went a bit pear-shaped during her last acute episode. A thrush had told her she was in grave danger, so you can hardly blame her for caving in the skull of one of the critical resolution team. Poor chap.

  We sit together and Jenny holds my hand. She doesn’t want me to be frightened of the birds or their messages. She wants to be a good friend and guide.

  You see, it’s essential to develop close and supportive relationships with those suffering from schizophrenia. And that’
s all I’ve done with Jen-Jen.

  ‘Do you think you can tell me what the bird said in your dream?’ she asks me.

  I bury my face in her shoulder.

  ‘I know.’ She pats my head. ‘I know it’s horrible.’

  ‘I don’t want to make a mistake,’ I say.

  ‘You won’t.’ She sounds very certain. ‘He chose you for a reason. They always do.’

  I nod, sit up and wipe my eyes. We’re sitting on the cold bathroom floor in the darkness. We meet here each night. You’re probably wondering how that’s possible, but actually it’s easy. As soon as the night duty nurse has handed round the liquid kosh, he takes a Valium and falls asleep, having set the alarm on his mobile to wake him half an hour before the next shift arrives.

  Once he’s unconscious, we’re free to leave our wards.

  We don’t even need to meet here on the hard white tiles, but it lends a certain ambience, I think.

  ‘In my dream, he didn’t actually speak to me,’ I say.

  Jenny’s face falls in disappointment.

  ‘But he kept flying around my room,’ I tell her. ‘It was the bedroom of my childhood house and on my wall was a huge poster with all the letters of the alphabet.’ I pause and open my eyes wide, hoping she’s getting the subtext here. ‘He stopped in front of it and tapped with his little beak on the letter K.’ I tap the top of Jenny’s arm with my nail. ‘Then he flew around the room and returned to the poster, still hovering in the air, and tapped again.’

  ‘Which letter?’

  ‘K.’

  I look down into my lap. KK. KK. KK.

  ‘It’s you, Kate,’ says Jenny.

  I nod and hang my head. ‘The message is that I’m the one who’s going to get hurt and there’s nothing I can do about it.’

  ‘No.’ Jenny shakes her head. ‘It’s a warning. There’s always something you can do.’

  [#]

  Jack felt wounded. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Sam had been so angry and resentful, but even that wasn’t it. The kid was a teenager; being a pent-up ball of fury was part of the job description.

  No, what was really nettling him was the fact that Lilly had said they were never getting back together. Was he surprised by this? No. He’d had his chance and blown it. He knew that. Still, there was always that glimmer of hope at the back of his mind. Every time she cooked him dinner or let him sleep on the couch, a part of him was hoping …

  He had to stop feeling sorry for himself. There was too much to do. For God’s sake, he had a murder case to crack open.

  His desk was already littered with sheaves of paper and Post-it notes. There was a yellow sticky dead centre on his computer screen: Chief Superintendent wants a word!!!!!!! Jack didn’t know if the exclamation marks were to convey the Chief Super’s tone of voice or the message-taker’s feelings on the matter. He removed it and stuck it against his top drawer. The Chief Super would have to wait. Right now, Jack only had eyes for his inbox.

  Last night, on his way home from Lilly’s, he had left a message requesting a PNC check on the registration number Lilly had noted down. It had been late, and he’d been knackered, but he’d tried to make the urgency understood.

  He clicked his mouse and scanned his emails. Already there were at least thirty. He noticed one from the Chief Super, no doubt chasing down the Post-it note. At last he found what he was looking for.

  [start email]

  From: Maria Maynard

  To: Jack McNally, MCU

  Subject: PNC check

  Report

  Car: Black BMW 5 series

  Registered owner: Khalid Hussain

  DOB: 28.6.1985

  Address: 62 Mayfield Avenue, Bury Park, Luton

  [end email]

  ‘That’s my boy,’ said Jack.

  He had his man. Now all he had to do was convince the Chief Super.

  Excitedly he tapped the details into the police record database. No match. He entered it again to be sure. Still nothing. Your man Hussain had never been convicted or even arrested for a criminal offence. So squeaky clean was he, there weren’t even any points on his driving licence.

  Jack came out of the database and into Google. No one could avoid the mighty Google.

  Naturally, there were several pages of entries. The first was a professor of economics at Harvard. Unlikely to be Jack’s suspect. The second looked more promising: a rap artist who went by the name of NDayZ. Unfortunately, he’d died in a hit-and-run accident in 2008.

  On and on Jack ploughed, each entry a red herring, until he reached page two and found something promising. A Khalid Hussain at Field High School, Luton. He went into the link and there was his man smiling back, his arm around a teenage girl who, according to the text, had just won a place at Oxford. Hussain was a teacher? No way.

  Quick as a flash, Jack went back into his email and checked the attachment from Maria Maynard. There was the photograph from the driving licence. He switched back to the picture of the teacher. Bingo.

  Even the Chief Super couldn’t argue with this.

  [#]

  ‘You cannot be serious.’ The Chief Super looked more agitated than Jack had ever seen him, eyes bulging, lips so tight they were almost invisible.

  ‘Deadly serious,’ Jack replied.

  ‘You want to go to a local secondary school and arrest a teacher for being part of a grooming gang?’ The Chief Super leaned forward. ‘A teacher with absolutely no previous police record, and a Muslim to boot?’

  ‘I want to arrest him for murder, sir,’ Jack replied. ‘The murder of a young girl.’

  The tendons in the Chief Super’s neck were so taut they looked like iron pipes beneath his skin.

  ‘You have no evidence that this man was involved.’

  Jack rubbed his cheek. ‘He’s been identified as attending the club where the victim worked. A simple DNA sample will rule him in or out.’

  The Chief Super’s face went pink, as if those iron pipes were carrying molten lava upwards. He looked ready to blow.

  ‘I know it’s him,’ said Jack. ‘I can feel it.’

  The Chief Super slammed his palms down on the desk in front of him. ‘This isn’t Starsky and Hutch, Jack. We don’t proceed because of how we feel or because we have a hunch or any other sort of woo. We proceed when we have cold, hard evidence.’

  Jack sat down without being asked. ‘With all due respect, sir, we need to act now to preserve evidence. We need to get that man’s phone. We need to get his car. Most of all we need his DNA.’

  The two men stared hard at one another, but there was no way Jack was going to back down.

  ‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘If you wanted to find vulnerable girls, what better place than a school?’

  ‘So bring me the evidence.’

  ‘He was at the club,’ said Jack. ‘He was seen with the victim before she died.’

  ‘You have a statement to that effect?’ asked the Chief Super.

  Jack slumped. The only person who could testify to that had no intention of doing so. The Chief Super crossed his arms over his chest.

  ‘Let’s get this straight,’ he said. ‘The only reliable link between this man and the victim is that he went to the club?’ He paused, eyebrows raised expectantly. ‘And what about all the other customers in that bar? Are you intending to arrest them too? Maybe a multi-team swoop?’

  Jack sighed. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then this is what I suggest,’ said the Chief Super. ‘You go out there and do some police work, then you come back to me when you have something concrete.’

  [#]

  Gregor Stone’s office was a comfortable space. The corner desk was busy but uncluttered. A lush green plant stood on top of the printer, and on the wall was a pinboard covered in postcards, including a film still of Jane Fonda as Barbarella. The screen saver of his PC was a photograph of himself and two children riding an elephant.

  ‘So.’ Stone opened his palms. ‘He
re we are.’

  Lilly checked her phone. The only missed call was from Jack.

  ‘I don’t know where she can be,’ she said. ‘We arranged to be here at ten sharp.’

  ‘Sometimes people change their minds.’

  Lilly shook her head. When she’d spoken to Julia Blythe the previous evening, the poor woman had sounded desperate. Velvet was missing again and refusing to answer her phone. When Lilly had told her that the head honcho at social services had agreed to see her, Julia had burst into tears.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m blubbing again,’ she’d said.

  ‘No worries,’ Lilly had replied.

  ‘Thank you so much for this. You don’t know how much it means for someone to finally take it seriously.’

  Lilly couldn’t accept that in the space of a few hours Julia had decided not to bother turning up.

  ‘Do you mind if I call her?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Stone, but Lilly caught him glancing at his watch.

  As she slipped out of the office into the corridor, her mobile rang.

  ‘Julia?’

  ‘No, it’s Jack.’

  ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to call a client,’ she told him.

  ‘Just a sec, I need to ask you something.’

  Annoyance swept through Lilly. When would Jack ever understand that her work was every bit as important as his?

  ‘It’ll have to wait,’ she said and hung up.

  She was still irked when the lift at the end of the corridor opened and out stepped Julia, smartly dressed in a suit, her hair swept up. She gave a little wave, as if being an hour late was nothing between friends.

  However, when they were close, any vestiges of impatience deserted Lilly. Julia looked awful, her feelings etched all over her face: fear, anguish, hopelessness. She looked like she hadn’t slept all night. No, she looked like she hadn’t even been to bed.

  ‘Something terrible has happened,’ she said and began to sway.

  ‘You need to sit down.’

  Julia’s hand flew to her chest. ‘I can’t breathe.’

  Lilly pulled the other woman into Stone’s office and forced her into a chair. Julia clawed at her throat, gasping for air.