Friendless Lane

by Helen Black

  The tea smelled of ginger, cloves and cinnamon. Cross breathed it in gratefully.

  ‘Chai,’ said Mrs Hussain.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Cross.

  When the cups were handed round, Cross noticed that Rockwell only put his to his lips but didn’t take even a sip.

  ‘The girl, Velvet Blythe, has gone missing,’ he said.

  Hussain and his mother shared a glance.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Hussain.

  ‘Her mother said you might know where she is,’ said Rockwell.

  ‘How could I?’ asked Hussain.

  Cross tasted her tea. It was delicious; like Christmas in a cup.

  ‘Is that what she was asking you about?’

  ‘What?’ Hussain frowned at Cross.

  ‘One of the witnesses told us that Velvet’s mother was asking you something in the classroom,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a bit of a blur,’ said Hussain.

  ‘The witness said you answered.’ Cross took out her notebook and flicked the pages ostentatiously. ‘Apparently you said, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.”’

  ‘Frankly, I might have said anything.’ Hussain gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘She had a very big knife.’

  Rockwell put his cup back on to the tea tray, a code between police that it was time to wrap things up. But Cross wasn’t finished.

  ‘Where’s your car, Mr Hussain?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You car?’ She went back to her notebook. ‘A black BMW, I believe.’

  ‘Has Jack McNally sent you?’ asked Hussain.

  ‘No,’ Cross answered.

  Hussain narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at her. ‘Yes he has.’

  ‘I can assure you that we haven’t spoken to Officer McNally at all,’ said Cross. ‘He has no idea we’re even here.’

  Hussain shook his head. ‘Well I suggest you go back and speak to him then. No doubt he’ll fill you in about why you’re not allowed to ask me about my car.’

  ‘Mr Hussain, the whereabouts of your car is pertinent to this case,’ said Cross. ‘You need to tell us where it is.’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you anything.’ He banged his cup down on to the tray with a clang. ‘Now get out of my house.’

  Rockwell jumped up, but Cross stayed right where she was. ‘Mr Hussain, you’re a witness in a criminal case and we need information from you.’

  ‘No comment,’ he said.

  Now she had him. She had to fight to keep the smile from her face.

  ‘I’m afraid the right to silence only applies if you’re a suspect,’ she said. ‘Or if you wish to protect yourself from incrimination.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I’ve just explained why that doesn’t apply, Mr Hussain.’ Cross stood slowly, pulling herself up to her full height. ‘If you refuse to give me this information, then I’m afraid I’ll have to arrest you for obstruction.’

  Mrs Hussain put her face in her hands and began muttering. She might have been praying; it was difficult to tell. Her son snarled at her in Urdu, but she kept on.

  ‘If you don’t give me the information we require, I’ll have no option but to arrest you,’ Cross repeated.

  Mrs Hussain had started crying now and Hussain himself looked wide-eyed. He stepped towards Cross and she instinctively placed her hand on her baton. Another WPC had been killed today and she was taking no chances.

  He lunged at her and slapped the cup out of her hand, sending tea over Rockwell and the cup itself against the wall, where it smashed. Mrs Hussain screamed and Rockwell let out a shout, but Cross was completely calm. She pulled out the baton, brought it crashing down on Hussain’s still outstretched arm, then, just as she’d been shown in training, whipped it around the back of his knees, bringing him down on top of the tray and sideways on to the floor.

  Before he had a chance to recover, she was on top of him, dragging his hands behind his back, getting the restraints on him. Rockwell joined her and began cautioning him.

  ‘Where’s the car, Mr Hussain?’ Cross leant over him and hissed into his ear.

  ‘Let me go.’ Hussain was writhing now, Cross’s knee in the small of his back. ‘Please just let me go.’

  ‘Tell us about the car.’ She spoke through gritted teeth.

  ‘I haven’t had the car for months,’ said Hussain, crying into the carpet.

  His mother flapped a hand to her mouth and made a shushing sound, but Hussain ignored her.

  ‘It’s not mine any more,’ he said.

  ‘Who’s using it?’ Cross asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Hussain sobbed.

  Cross applied a little more pressure with her knee, and Hussain screamed.

  ‘My cousin, I gave it to my cousin.’

  Chapter 12

  You are so stupid.

  It doesn’t matter how many times Mum tries to ban that word, you know that’s what you are. You’ve always known.

  Not as stupid as Precious Forest, whose face doesn’t even look normal, but in a way that would be better, because she’s so stupid she doesn’t even know she’s stupid. She’s just happy.

  One time, one of the kids at St Margaret’s had a bowling party and you got all stressed because you couldn’t work out the scoring system. Not Precious, though, she just screamed with excitement every time she bowled, even if it went into the side tray before it got to the end.

  You were so upset that you sat next to Henry Iverson, who never joined in anything. He asked you why you were crying, but you didn’t think he really cared so you asked why he never joined in anything and he said he was too busy.

  ‘Too busy doing what?’ you asked.

  ‘Working things out.’

  ‘What things?’ you asked.

  ‘Well right now I’m working out the probability of each bowler getting a strike,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ you asked.

  ‘Because I can,’ he replied.

  Turned out Henry wasn’t stupid at all. You wish it was that way with you, but it’s not. How else can you explain the mess you’re in?

  You want to cry and scream and smash things up, but you’ve got to clean the house for tonight’s party.

  Even Leah didn’t argue when Raz said he had some mates coming from Birmingham and that while he was out getting supplies you should sort things out here. She’s still drinking from her pint of vodka and orange, but in between sips she’s sweeping the kitchen floor.

  ‘Wash them plates up,’ she tells you, pointing to a stack of plates that have been on the side for ever.

  You run the tap over your finger. ‘There’s no hot water.’

  ‘Then use cold,’ she says.

  ‘They won’t come clean with cold water,’ you say.

  Leah lets the brush drop to the floor and stares at you. Her eyes are cold and black.

  ‘Just stop whingeing and get on with it.’

  You put the first plate under the stream of cold water and try to scratch off the brown crust with your nail. What even is that? Soy sauce?

  You don’t know why you’re meant to roll out the red carpet for Raz’s mates anyway. If they’re anything like Cal, they’ll just fuck you and hurt you. Why do you need to tidy up for that?

  ‘Look,’ says Leah. ‘These blokes from Birmingham are …’

  She doesn’t say what they are. You’ve got your back to her, but you hear the swoosh of the broom, so she must have picked it up.

  ‘There was this girl,’ she says. ‘Worked in a club over in Luton or something. Raz brought her here when that lot from Birmingham came to stay.’ The swooshing stops. You hear Leah gulp down her drink. ‘I got talking to her and she was all right, you know? She told me that she weren’t here for the good of her health, that Raz was going to pay her a ton.’

  You don’t know what a ton is, but you don’t want to interrupt.

  ‘She was enjoying herself, having a drink and a smoke, when Raz asks her to dance and she does it. I
mean, she was proper good, like Beyoncé or something. Then one of them blokes from Birmingham tells her to go upstairs with him and she says she wants the money first but he just laughs.’

  You rub and rub at the brown crust, but without washing-up liquid and hot water, you’re getting nowhere.

  ‘And this girl says if she don’t see the dough she’s going home, and she starts putting her clothes back on.’

  You imagine this girl, whoever she was, standing up to them. In your head you’re cheering her on.

  ‘Then bang, the bloke punches her in the face and it lays her out cold. And we all just look at her, you know? She’s unconscious and I’m wondering what will happen next. Then the bloke what hit her just laughs and tells Raz to carry her upstairs.’

  You put the plate down. There’s no point carrying on.

  ‘They kept her up there for days, maybe a week. Sometimes I could hear her.’ Leah starts to cry. ‘Then one day, I couldn’t hear her no more.’

  You think of Raz calling you stupid, of Cal punching you in the face, of the photos on your phone, of the bloodstained clothes in the washing basket, and you turn around.

  ‘Leah,’ you say. ‘We have to get out of here.’

  [#]

  Jack sat in the corner of the canteen, head in his hands.

  A few people came over to offer their sympathy, but the majority gave him the space they could see he needed.

  What had Lauren been doing on her own? No one in MCU seemed to have any idea what she’d been up to.

  A cup of tea was placed in front of him and he looked up to find Rose.

  ‘I couldn’t keep it down,’ he said.

  ‘Yes you could.’ She spooned in two sugars. ‘For de shock. And if I had a nip of brandy, I’d put that in too.’

  She stood over him, hands on hips, waiting for him to drink. He gave a weak smile of surrender and took a sip, only to discover that Rose had indeed added a nip of brandy.

  She gave him a wink. ‘Terrible business. Such a lovely girl.’

  ‘You knew her?’

  ‘Jack, darling, I know everyone in this station.’

  Of course she did.

  ‘I see her in here earlier, chatting wid that young fella from Traffic.’ Rose laughed at the memory. ‘Bobby Ashton they call him, always eats a cheese sandwich with some o’ de Branston Pickle.’

  They were interrupted by a tannoy announcement.

  ‘Officer McNally to the custody suite, please. We have a Khalid Hussain here.’

  Jack knew that whatever Hussain was doing here, he should ask someone else to deal with it. He had his orders from on high. He already had a complaint against him pending.

  He paused for a second, chewing the inside of his cheek, though it wasn’t necessary; he knew what he was going to do. He was a copper, and he was going to do what good coppers did best.

  [#]

  Lilly peeled and sliced some carrots, then pulled a tub of taramasalata from the fridge. She dipped the first baton into the pink sludge and sucked off the creamy sea-spray taste before crunching on the sweetness of the carrot.

  ‘Want some?’ She offered the plate to Sam.

  He shook his head and hopped about the kitchen like a demented bird.

  ‘Sam.’ Lilly plonked the plate down. ‘I’ve called Kelsey at least ten times. She’s not picking up.’

  ‘I know.’

  She snatched another carrot stick and smothered it in taramasalata.

  ‘Look, love, I know it’s hard, but this is how it is for people in Kelsey’s situation. They’re not always the most reliable, you know?’

  ‘It just seemed like she’d turned a corner,’ he replied. ‘She wanted to see her sisters and everything.’

  Lilly chewed the carrot. What Sam didn’t yet understand was that there was a gaping chasm between what drug addicts said and what they did. Kelsey did want to see her sisters, Lilly would stake her life on that fact. Would that translate into the necessary action? Perhaps not.

  ‘Why don’t you give her a try?’ she said, holding out her phone.

  Sam grabbed it from her and went into the contact list.

  ‘Who’s Gorgeous Jez?’ he asked.

  ‘None of your damn business.’

  He pressed Kelsey’s number and put the mobile to his ear. She wouldn’t answer. Probably holed up in a crack den somewhere.

  ‘Kelsey?’ He leapt into the air. ‘Kelsey, is that you?’

  Now that was a turn-up for the books.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Where is she?’ Lilly mouthed.

  Sam stretched one arm up and scratched between his shoulder blades, making his T-shirt ride up. ‘Where are you?’ He listened to her answer. ‘Bury Farm? Where’s that?’

  ‘Luton,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Whereabouts in Bury Farm? Do you have a street name?’ He listened again. ‘Right, right. Well stay there and we’ll come and get you.’

  Lilly groaned and pulled her food towards her protectively. Sam tipped his head to one side and looked at her, his eyes pleading. Lilly shoved the carrot into her mouth.

  ‘Fine.’

  [#]

  Jack looked through the hatch of the cell. Hussain must have heard, but he didn’t move. He remained seated on the bed, knees apart, arms hanging limply between them.

  Jack gestured for the sergeant to open the cell door. Usually such a request would be denied, but a WPC had been murdered and all bets were off.

  He entered the cell, shut the door behind him with his arse.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Khalid.’

  Hussain didn’t react.

  ‘You’ve not asked for a solicitor, I understand,’ said Jack

  Hussain shook his head.

  ‘Why not?’

  Hussain shrugged. ‘He’ll just tell me to say nothing.’

  ‘Might not be bad advice,’ Jack replied.

  Hussain snorted. ‘Hasn’t exactly worked out well so far, has it? Mrs Blythe almost killed me.’

  Jack took a cautious step towards him, careful not to upset the equilibrium that had him talking.

  ‘She thought you knew where her daughter is,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t.’ Hussain looked up, his eyes those of an owl. ‘Honestly I don’t.’

  Jack nodded. ‘Tell me about the BMW, Khalid.’

  Hussain let his head roll back against his neck and screwed up his eyes. ‘It is my car.’

  ‘That much we know.’

  ‘I haven’t used it for months, though. You can ask anyone. Talk to the bus driver on the sixty-three; he picks me up most mornings.’

  ‘So who’s been using it?’

  Hussain sagged forward again as if he were a puppet whose master had released the strings.

  ‘Khalid,’ Jack dropped his voice, ‘these people are not your friends.’

  ‘No,’ Hussain agreed. ‘But they are family.’

  Jack let silence descend. What he was about to say needed room to breathe. Outside in the custody area, not a pin dropped. He knew everyone was waiting, holding their breath.

  ‘Gemma Glass is dead and Velvet Blythe is missing. Maybe you think they don’t really matter, that girls like that are asking for it, but let me tell you this, time done in prison for hurting children is not time that anyone enjoys. Do you understand?’

  The words had the desired effect. Hussain’s spine snapped upright.

  ‘Believe me when I say you do not want to take the rap for this, Khalid,’ said Jack.

  Hussain was breathing heavily. In the quiet of the cell, the sound was amplified as it rushed out to meet the concrete wall and was pushed back towards Jack.

  ‘Like I told the police who came to the house, I gave the car to my cousin,’ said Hussain.

  ‘Why?’ Jack asked.

  Hussain’s face exhibited a pain so physical it was as if his internal organs were being ripped out one by one.

  ‘No one gives away a car, Khalid,’ said Jack.

  ‘It’
s old,’ Hussain replied. ‘Falling apart really.’

  ‘So you gave it to your cousin as what? A present? Sorry, but I’m not buying that.’

  Hussain looked like those internal organs were being forced back into him via his mouth. Jack thought his prisoner might throw up.

  ‘This is hard.’ Hussain held on to the metal frame of the bed with both hands. ‘I can’t tell you.’

  Did he mean he couldn’t tell Jack how hard it was to explain, or that he couldn’t tell him full stop?

  ‘Just take your time.’

  Hussain took deep, cleansing breaths. ‘A while ago I went out with my cousin and his friends. I don’t usually socialize much but it was his birthday, you know?’

  Jack nodded.

  ‘I mean, I’m a Muslim, so I don’t drink, but they were all saying, c’mon, just this once.’ Hussain shook his head, clearly bewildered by what had taken place. ‘And then we ended up in that club.’

  ‘Orlando’s?’

  ‘Yeah. These guys knew everyone in there and the girls were crowding round us, asking for cocktails and offering private dances.’ Hussain pressed the heels of both hands into his eye sockets. ‘I should have gone home.’

  Jack knew how these places operated, how the girls parted the gullible from their hard-earned cash. He could almost feel sorry for Hussain.

  ‘But you didn’t go home,’ he said.

  Hussain removed his hands from his eyes and blinked in rapid succession. ‘Nope, I stayed until the bitter end. The next day I got a text from my cousin saying my share of the bill was five hundred pounds.’

  Jack gave a low whistle.

  ‘I’m just a teacher, I don’t earn a fortune, and my dad’s retired through ill health,’ said Hussain. ‘I keep the house running, and then there are all the people back home.’

  ‘What people?’

  ‘Uncles, aunties, nieces and nephews in Bangladesh,’ said Hussain. ‘I send back what I can, you know how it is.’

  Apart from the odd phone call to his mum and dad, Jack barely bothered with his family in Northern Ireland. When they’d been together, Lilly would thrust a pack of Christmas cards under his nose, but he never actually got around to writing them, let alone buying stamps.

  ‘I have a nephew with a kidney problem,’ said Hussain. ‘His people email all the time asking for help with medical bills.’