by Chris Ould
For a moment Ryan hesitated. Then he started out of the precinct with Alford beside him: two hooded figures, almost indistinguishable from each other.
34.
CUSTODY SUITE
MORNINGSTAR RD STATION
19:17 HRS
Behind the custody desk Sergeant Stafford read from the form in his hand. In front of him Colin Booth stood with his head bowed and his solicitor beside him.
“Colin Ian Booth, you are charged that on February 3rd this year at Sandmile Lane you did engage in sexual activity with Ashleigh Jane Jarvis, namely full sexual intercourse, contrary to Section 9 of the Sexual Offences Act 2003. I have considered bail in this case and have decided that it will not be granted because other offences of a similar nature are still being investigated against you. You will appear before Weston Magistrates Court tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. Do you have anything you wish to say?”
Colin Booth shook his head.
“Seen enough?” Woods asked. They were some distance away: the DS, Danny Simmons and Holly.
She nodded. “Thanks, Sarge.”
They turned away from the charge desk and headed for the doors into the rest of the nick. Somewhere out of sight there was the sound of a rowdy drunk protesting his innocence.
“So is that it then?” Holly asked. “I mean, do I need to do anything else?”
“No. Go home,” Woods said. “You’re off tomorrow, right?”
“Till Wednesday.”
“Good. Stick your head into CID then – I’ll tell you if we need anything else on your statements.”
“Course, by rights you should be buying drinks now,” Danny said. “First time you bang someone up on a charge carrying more than a year inside you buy a round for everyone involved.”
“Pity I can’t then,” Holly said. “Least, not legally.”
“No. And you’d never try and pass for older than you are, right?” Woods said.
“Me? Never,” Holly told him. “So does that mean you’re not pretending I’m twenty-six any more?”
Woods glanced back at Booth, then pushed the door open. “Yeah, I reckon we’ll drop that now,” he said.
Holly saw his sober expression and nodded. “Okay,” she said.
They moved into the corridor and Woods paused when they reached the turning to CID.
“You got a good one,” he told Holly. “It didn’t go unnoticed, okay?”
And with that, he was moving on.
Danny Simmons stayed a moment longer. “He means it,” he said. “Just so you know.”
Holly nodded. “Thanks.”
For a second she was about to say something else, but then had the sense not to. Danny gave her a smile and headed off after Woods.
35
Ryan sat on the bed next to Charlie. The sound of the TV in the sitting room was audible through the wall.
“They’ll leave you alone, but stay out of their way, okay?”
“What did you do?” Charlie said, even though he was afraid of what the answer would be.
Ryan shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. Then he saw Charlie’s expression. “Listen, don’t worry about it, okay? Nothing’s going to happen. I saw Drew. I sorted it.”
“You sure?” Charlie’s face made it clear how much he wanted to believe it was true.
“Sure,” Ryan said. “It’s all over. Forget it, okay?”
Charlie hesitated, then finally nodded. “Thanks, Ry,” he said.
“Nah,” Ryan said, then he rubbed Charlie’s head and gave him an easy-going shove as he stood up to leave the room.
And because he had turned away, Charlie couldn’t see that Ryan’s expression didn’t match the lightness and certainty of his words. It couldn’t – not now that he’d agreed to let Drew Alford come and go as he liked in Cloudsley House – and not now that he was tied in with the Kaddy Boys and whatever they did.
36.
FEMALE LOCKER ROOM
MORNINGSTAR RD STATION
19:32 HRS
Shift change had been and gone and in the locker room Holly was alone. There was only a faint hint of condensation and deodorant left in the air.
She knew she should be pleased – celebrating even – because Colin Booth was going to go down. But the satisfaction was tempered by knowing what the effects were going to be – on Lauren Booth, her mother, and on Ashleigh Jarvis. Somehow it didn’t seem right to be pleased by the fact that all their lives had just been blown apart.
Back in the corridor Holly fastened her coat as she headed for the station’s exit.
“Hol! Hang on.”
Holly looked back, then stopped.
“I thought you’d be off by now,” she said when Sam caught up with her. He was in civvies as well.
“I’ve been down at the hospital with Oz. One of the Kaddy Boys was stabbed.”
“Drew Alford?”
Sam shook his head. “Tyler Smith.”
“Pity,” Holly said, and Sam could tell that she meant it.
He pushed the door open and they stepped outside. The wind had dropped and left a clear, cold night with a promise of frost.
“You got that guy Booth for underage sex though – right?”
“Yeah.”
“So? Come on,” Sam said, cajoling. “First major arrest. Bloody hell. If it was me… Hey, I did hack the phone though.”
“Yeah, yeah, you were a vital part of the investigation,” Holly said, finally lightening up.
“‘Vital’? Excellent!”
Holly laughed. “I suppose it wasn’t bad for a Sunday,” she said.
LATER
On Monday 7th February the Crown Prosecution Service reviewed the case against Drew Alford for the attempted rape of Ashleigh Jarvis. It decided there was insufficient evidence to bring a charge with a realistic prospect of conviction. Drew Alford was not arrested or interviewed again about the incident.
On June 9th at Weston Crown Court, Colin Booth pleaded guilty to three counts of sexual activity with a child. Six other counts were taken into consideration. He also pleaded guilty to two separate counts of grooming a young person for the purposes of sexual activity. He was sentenced to a total of twelve years’ imprisonment and told that on release he would be required to sign the Sex Offenders Register indefinitely.
Anna and Lauren Booth left Weston a month after Colin Booth was arrested. Anna Booth was granted a divorce from her husband on the grounds of unreasonable behaviour. She and Lauren now live in the Midlands.
Ashleigh Jarvis made a full recovery from her head injury. She and her mother still live at the same address but Ashleigh now attends a different school.
Tyler Smith also made a full recovery and continues to live on the Cadogan Estate.
Acknowledgements
I have been writing about the police and criminals for quite a while and over that time I’ve been helped by numerous people – including many serving and retired police officers. They have all been exceptionally generous with their time and expertise, but I must give a special mention to Clive Blake, Keith Gausden, Malcolm Haddow, Trevor Hermes and Jackie Malton – most of what I know about coppers is down to them.
For this book I owe particular thanks to Dr Iain Beardsell for medical guidance, and to Keith Gausden for police advice. The credit for accuracy is theirs, the responsibility for errors and dramatic licence is mine.
I would also like to thank Jasmin Kilby for reading the early draft; my agent, Stephanie Thwaites, for her exceptional patience and faith, and – of course – the wonderful team at Usborne Publishing.
Chris Ould
Don’t miss the second, compulsive instalment of Street Duty:
THE KILLING STREET
Read on for a sneak preview
Friday
“Why don’t you just go then? Go on – you’re old enough, you know everything. Just go! Give us all some bloody peace and quiet for a change!”
So that’s what she’d done, a couple of weeks after her sixteenth birthday
– packed a bag and left.
She was sick of the rows anyway – on and on and on. Every time they were in a room together he was just looking for some reason to have a go at her. And her mum just let it happen, as useless and pathetic as ever. It was like he’d wanted her to leave, and now that she had she wouldn’t go back – it would just be one more thing he’d use to rubbish her. He’d like that.
Dean was different though – the way he looked after her, right from that first time they’d met in the park. He’d asked if she was okay and she’d said that she was, even though she knew she probably didn’t look it. She’d been sleeping rough for a few days by then, wearing the same clothes, wanting a shower.
Gemma knew enough to be wary when a bloke came up to her like that, but Dean wasn’t creepy. He acted like he was genuine and he was decent-looking too – about thirty – so Gemma reckoned he’d probably got a girlfriend or a wife. He was just asking if she was okay, so she smiled at him and said Thanks for asking and that was how they got chatting – sitting on the steps of the bandstand in the park in the August sunshine.
Even after she went to stay with him at the flat she liked to go back to the park when the weather was nice. They’d just stroll together in the sun, holding hands, talking, making plans. When it was really hot they’d sunbathe on the grass and she’d lean her head on his chest, like a pillow. They’d share a can of lager, exchanging beery kisses, or get sticky from melting ice creams, bought from the kiosk by the gates.
Whatever they did, Dean made Gemma feel like she was special. He never treated her like she was only sixteen, but always like she was more his own age. He didn’t make her feel like an idiot either, and he was always honest with her. Like when he told her that he’d had a girlfriend for three years, but she’d left him six months ago and it had taken him this long to get over it. He said Gemma was the first person he’d met in a long time who he knew he could trust. That was why he was telling her this. He could trust her, couldn’t he? She was different.
And because of the look on his face and the need in his eyes, Gemma held him close then and said Yes! – meaning it and knowing, for the first time, that she was in love with him.
Of course, he wasn’t perfect, she knew that. She knew the stuff he kept in the spare bedroom was nicked, but so what? It was like he said: he didn’t nick it, he just sold it to people round the estates who couldn’t afford to pay supermarket prices for vodka or fags.
And sometimes he did have a temper, but not often. And if he did lose it he always said sorry afterwards, making it up to her with kisses and presents. That was more than Gemma had ever seen her dad do with her mum, so this had to be better. It had only been a few weeks, but she knew that she loved Dean and that he loved her too.
She looked at him now, across the busy pub lounge, waiting for him to come back to the table. He was chatting with a guy in a denim jacket by the fruit machine, but every now and then he glanced over to her and smiled and she smiled back.
She didn’t mind waiting. She knew he was probably talking business, doing a deal. It didn’t matter. She always felt good when she went out with him like this. She liked it when he watched her get dressed up before they left the flat, like he was proud to be taking her out, like they were properly together: Gemma and Dean; Dean and Gemma – a real couple.
She was still thinking about that when she felt him sit down next to her again and put a hand on her arm. She hadn’t realised that she’d gone off in a dream, staring blurrily at the tabletop and the glasses. She jerked her head up to look at him and smile, but it took her a few seconds to focus on his face. Maybe it was because of the rum and Cokes she’d been drinking, or the half an E from earlier. But it didn’t usually make her feel this way. Could it have been something else…?
“All right, babe?”
Gemma nodded, smiled again. “Yeah.”
Dean stroked her arm, then nodded away to the guy by the fruit machine.
“He fancies you.”
“Get out.”
“No, he does: he said.”
“Get out.”
Even so, she couldn’t help looking towards the guy in the denim jacket. She was still having trouble focusing though. Everything more than a metre away was a kind of hazy blur – fuzzy and weird. And now her head felt heavy – disconnected, kind of unbalanced.
While she was thinking about that she lost interest in trying to see the guy by the fruit machine and instead pulled her gaze back to the table, refocusing with a kind of blink. Then she saw that Dean had been watching her – letting her look at the other guy, like he was waiting to see what she’d say.
“So?” he asked. “What d’you think?”
She smiled at him, even if it was a bit lopsided. By now she’d forgotten the question. Had there been one? – How pissed was she?
“’Bou wha’?”
That hadn’t come out right, had it? She frowned and felt dazed.
“D’you fancy him?”
“Wha’? No! Get out!”
She tried to make a gesture so he’d know she really meant it, but her hand and arm didn’t want to cooperate. It was odd, seeing them jerk around, all uncoordinated.
“I don’ fancy nobody – nobody else – ’cept you. I love you.”
She managed to find his hand on the table, grabbed hold of it, squeezing. He stroked her fingers.
“How much?”
“Wha’?”
“How much d’you love me?”
The question confused her. It was hard to work out what he meant. She wanted him to talk about something easier.
“Mass-es,” she said. “You— Masses ’n’— massesnmasses…”
She lopsided-smiled again but then she felt her head loll downwards because she’d forgotten to keep it upright and when she tried to correct it it went too far the other way, backwards. Why was it so hard to get it to be in the right place? It wasn’t usually this hard, was it?
“I love you masses too,” he said.
She must have closed her eyes for a moment. Next thing she knew he was beside her, helping her stand, putting an arm round her waist. She giggled as she stood up. Giggled because it was funny, trying to stand when she felt all floaty and floppy and lovely and loving. She could just hug him, and she did, or at least tried to while he helped her towards the door on her uncoordinated feet.
Outside the fresh air felt good – cooler – and because it was dark she didn’t bother to try and see where they were going as he supported her across the car park. She knew he’d be taking her to the van, to go home. She thought she heard him saying something but she wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem like he was talking to her.
“You got it, right?”
Who was he talking to?
She tried to look round but her head was too heavy to lift from her chest.
“Who— Where…goin’?”
“Shh-shh,” he told her. “Not far. Just to the van. You need a lie-down, babe, that’s all.”
“Mmm… Lie down wi’ you,” she said, snuggling against him, feeling dreamy and lovey.
“Yeah, later,” he said. “In a bit.”
When they reached the van he held her up with one arm round her waist as he unlocked the doors. Through the heavy, warm cloud in her head she was vaguely aware that this was the back of the van, not the front, but it didn’t seem to matter. Dean knew what was best. He must be doing something… Could she— What?
“There you go, all cosy – look.”
Look at what? What was he showing her?
“Just climb in there. – Yeah, that’s it. That’s the way. Pull your legs in. – See? Nice and soft with that mattress, didn’t I tell you? There you go.”
Soft… It was soft. Like a bed… Like snuggling up on a bed in the back of the van. Lots of space… Dreamy, floaty space – like she was swimming…
Voices…somewhere…
“Come on then. Christ’s sake…”
“No, man – she’s out of it. I don’t do…”
…Like she was swimming – floating – just on top of the water…rocking…rocking…
“Gem? Gemma?”
Something on her cheek. Harder. Sharp. Slapping. Try to look. Move.
“There. See? She’s awake enough. Won’t make no difference anyway. Do it in her sleep. I told you.”
Rocking…rocking… She heard the van door close, tried to sit up, to see where he was. Dark – or were her eyes closed?
“Dea—?”
Then she felt him moving beside her.
“All right, sweetheart.”
“Dea-n?”
No. No, it wasn’t.
“It’s okay. He’s just outside. – Come on, turn this way…”
“Dean!”
She cried out but it was hardly a sound.
Saturday
Six months later
1.
Safe House
Linholt Road
12:23 hrs
The room still felt chilly and damp despite the hiss of the gas fire – turned up full. Holly Blades kept her hands in the pockets of her jeans and looked out through the window at the winter-yellowed grass of the back lawn, untidy and strewn with last year’s leaves.
It was March but the greyness of the sky showed no sign that spring was anywhere close yet. It was depressing, Holly thought. As depressing as the fact that Taz Powell was late – again.
In the kitchen DC Danny Simmons clattered a spoon into the sink and Holly turned away from the window. Like the rest of the house, the room was adequately furnished but empty of anything personal, anything that would have made it feel lived in – because it wasn’t. It was a safe house and only occupied at times like this, for meetings with people who didn’t want it known that they talked to the police.
“She’s got till we’ve finished these,” Danny said as he entered the room with two mugs of coffee. “Whatever the excuse, if she’s not here by then we’re leaving. She’s taking the piss now.”
“Okay,” Holly said, accepting it.