by John Mead
‘What about the woman in the headscarf or hijab the young male witness mentions in his statement?’ Rosen asked, looking up from the copious notes he was taking. It was exactly the detail Swift expected Rosen to notice and he also took in Merry’s nod of approval at the question.
‘The only sign of her is a shadow at the corner of the main gate, other than that she doesn’t seem to have gone in or out. There is deep shadow from the trees and bushes along that side of the short approach road so she could have walked up to the entrance then turned back without showing up on the cameras. And, there are cars parked near the gate so alternatively she could have gotten into one of them,’ Lukula shrugged. ‘So far there’s no sign of her going in from any other entrance which suggests she wasn’t leaving. But, we still can’t work out exactly what she was doing.’
‘Statistically, muslim females committing violent crimes is a very low number,’ Swift commented, signalling that it wasn’t an issue of any consequence and they should move on. Lukula nodded, Rosen scowled and Merry simply looked on, his expression neutral, though he wondered if they were missing out on a witness, perhaps one dithering at the gate and not wanting to be involved. ‘OK, so what is next?’
‘We are off to her school to see if we can track down anything on the prior history of bullying. It was a few years ago but currently we can’t find any reason why someone would want her dead,’ Merry stated, not sounding overly enthusiastic about their chances.
‘Why should there be?’ Swift scowled, he would like to have pointed them to another option but they seemed to be doing a thorough job. ‘A young girl like that, you need to have lived longer to put hatred into another person’s heart. Ray, anything to add? Your team up and running?’
‘Yes, sir, we’ve been allocated a constable from the local team, she is a probationer but was at the crime scene yesterday,’ Rosen stated matter-of-factly, though still obviously annoyed that his comment on the missing witness in the headscarf had been too quickly dismissed. ‘I’ve sent her to help with the CCTV evidence. I hope that was OK?’ Merry and Swift nodded in response, ‘The DI from the local CID is co-ordinating the house to house canvassing, given how little of the area is actually overlooked he was wondering how much of the tower blocks we want done.’
‘Anything that overlooks the streets approaching any of the park entrances, so both tower blocks, surrounding houses and shops,’ Merry stated, not deferring to Swift, he could correct him if he wanted more. ‘And, have officers at the gates questioning people who use the park, anyone stopping to ask questions or acting suspiciously. We also have officers following up on what information we are getting from the public appeal, but could do with a couple more if they can be spared. I know it’s a lot, but we have so little to go on any lead could help.’
‘Right, well done so far,’ Swift meant it but they all knew the case was fast petering out, ‘keep me informed. Matthew,’ – he’d never learned to call him Mat – ‘can I have a word?’ The others took their cue and left the briefing room, giving Lukula a chance to map the route to Lynsey’s school, so as to take in a sandwich stop at some point, as Rosen muttered something to her about headscarves as he passed her.
‘I am going to have to keep you on the case for a few days,’ Swift dove straight in with the bad news, it wasn’t that awful that it needed sugar-coating. ‘I’ve checked with the chief and she is happy for a delay in your reassignment.’
‘Sure,’ Matthew gave a half-hearted smile, it didn’t bother him one way or the other. ‘Though in all fairness to Julie she hardly needs me to hold her hand.’
‘If I were you I wouldn’t try,’ Swift gave a broad grin, which faded under Merry’s unresponsive stare, ‘but your recommendation is understood. Although I’m more than aware of her abilities but, what with the local press coverage and everything else that is going on, we don’t want it to look as if this death is low priority, so you are leading the inquiry.’
‘No problem, sir,’ Merry got up to leave, then thought he should add, ‘I hope you don’t think I don’t like it here, I’ve learnt a great deal from the team and you.’
‘Good of you to say, we’ll expect a drink you know,’ Swift smiled, already out the door and glad to be out of the musty room. ‘Though it’s understandable that you need to use your talents where they will have the best effect.’
4
Leanne didn’t know what else to say, other than to apologise for being late, as far as she could tell she had lost the entire morning but had phoned in as soon as she was able. She had explained her medical condition when interviewed and although the branch manager had been part of that, he had seemingly forgotten all about it.
‘I have no control over it,’ she said, once again, as he berated her tardiness.
‘Then you should take medicine or see your doctor,’ the young man, of Chinese descent, told her in no uncertain terms, his normally impeccable diction slipping as he got angrier, revealing his East End origins.
‘My condition can’t be medicated for, not as such, and I regularly see a specialist…’ she tried not to plead, she thought she had been doing so well, things had been relatively settled for the last few months.
‘You’ve been warned before,’ he interrupted, despite what HR said he knew the important thing for a manager was the ‘bottom line’, his uncle always went on about this and the need for him to show the workers he was the boss, ‘I should sack you now but I give you one more chance, only one and a written warning.’ Leanne seemed to have collapsed in on herself, her head having fallen onto her chest, her body trembled slightly. ‘It’s no use crying,’ he told her sharply. ‘It’s actions I want to see, your tears carry no weight with me, next time you’re late you are…’
‘What?’ Leanne suddenly sat up, then leaned back, taking a deep breath and fixing her manager with a defiant stare. ‘You’ll what? What will you fucking do the next time I’m late?’ The manager’s mouth opened then shut, Leanne’s stare as much as her words, so unexpected and harshly spoken in a Scottish accent, completely threw him. ‘Well?’ the normally meek Leanne demanded, shifting herself forward in the chair. ‘I’ll tell you what you’ll do is nothing. Understand, shit for brains, you’ll do nothing.’
‘You get out now or I’ll…’ the manager quickly got over his shock and decided enough was enough.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ Leanne laughed, sitting back, ‘or I’ll call your boss, ever heard of discrimination, shit face. Then there’s bullying, harassment and with my illness you are going to look a bigger idiot than you are. It won’t be me that’ll get kicked out.’
‘I… That is…’ the manager was lost for words, staring, goggle-eyed at the transformed shelf-filler sat before him.
‘You’ll do nothing, except be supportive of my condition,’ Leanne stood, still grinning and leaned over the desk, to hiss, ‘and, if you don’t I’ll be back to kick the shit outa, yer. So leave us alone.’
It was a very confused and uncertain young manager that emerged from his office a few minutes later to look for the unexpectedly aggressive Leanne.
‘I’ll get the delivery out on the shelves, shall I, sir?’ Leanne asked him, her eyes wide and innocent, her voice once again soft and her accent evocative of the estuary, ‘I’m really sorry I was late but I promise to make it up.’ She smiled her usual meek, ingratiating smile.
Thinking she was mocking him he drew in his breath ready to shout at her, to order her off the site, when he noticed a customer approaching and glancing back at Leanne her innocent stare unnerved him. ‘Yes, do that,’ he agreed, his voice uncertain, thoughts of what HR might say starting to override his anger, ‘however, you must be on time in future.’ Leanne nodded as if that was a given and turned away, leaving him to deal with the customer.
The headmistress’ office was suitably imposing: large desk with family photos, framed certificates showing her academic and teaching qualific
ations, pictures of her at school events with local dignitaries, coffee maker in the corner with cups and biscuits, two grey filing cabinets and, dominating the room, a conference table for the many meetings she conducted throughout the day. Merry and Lukula had received a well rehearsed speech as they followed the headmistress from reception up to her room, giving them a brief history of the school under her headship: its successes to date and an outline of how she intended to keep the momentum of improvement and growing success rates going. It reminded Merry of his wife when she was in ‘Ofsted mode’, no doubt headteachers couldn’t afford to turn it off. Lukula had quickly tuned out and peeked suspiciously into each classroom they passed. School was something she had fought against and found the rooms full of eager youngsters, happily and purposefully working, somewhat at odds with her own memories.
Matthew had expected the school to be more cautious about helping the police with their inquiries, especially about the previous bullying, but they turned out to be very helpful. The current form teacher was present, full of praise for Lynsey Hensley and how she had been expected to do brilliantly in her A level exams, one such exam she should have been sitting that day.
‘Such a waste,’ the head muttered, seemingly genuinely upset. ‘She had made such strides forward in such a short time, such potential gone.’
‘Yes, though it wasn’t always like that,’ Lukula pointed out, hearing about the dead girl’s academic prowess and how well liked she had been wasn’t really why they were here, ‘she had problems in the past, traumatic bullying, had any of that carried over to the present? Is there any suggestion of her still having problems?’
‘It was never officially bullying,’ her former tutor, from when Lynsey had stopped attending, spoke up for the first time. She was a rather mousey looking woman in her late fifties but the strength and determination in her voice surprised the two police officers. ‘I visited her a number of times and never once would she say what had happened to her was anything other than an accident. Although I knew it was those girls, I’m certain of it.’
‘Girls?’ Merry asked, he’d assumed the bullies to be boys.
The teacher glanced at the head before continuing, ‘I have no proof of course, but there was a group of three girls and five boys who pretty well ran the place before Mrs Chillcott was appointed, she couldn’t undo what was done but she did act decisively in rooting out the bad apples from day one.’
‘My appointment was as headteacher of the newly constituted academy school,’ Mrs Chillcott elaborated, smiling in acknowledgment at the form teacher’s praise, though she was not certain about the analogy of rooting for apples, which rather cast her in the role of a pig. ‘As such I was able to act without the interference of the Local Authority. The five boys continued to break the school rules and were quickly expelled. Unfortunately the three girls were a little more astute in outwardly complying, though in the end they were also expelled.’
‘What were the grounds for expelling them?’ Merry wanted to know.
‘For the boys it was straightforward enough, it was the weight of evidence rather than the gravity of the offences that was sufficient,’ the head explained, the expulsions had won her a lot of support amongst staff, parents and governors; a new broom they could all agree with. ‘For the girls it was actually more serious: harassment and bullying through the misuse of social media. Some of it was aimed at staff, myself included, as well as pupils.’
‘That must have been difficult to prove,’ Lukula commented, well aware of the invidiousness of trolling.
‘At first we were suspicious but had little evidence, as they used various accounts, but our local police liaison officer was very helpful, unfortuately he has been moved on since and has yet to be replaced,’ she looked pointedly at Merry, as if he controlled police staffing allocations. ‘Then our IT technician discovered they had used school equipment to send some of the messages and things quickly fell into place.’
‘They were quite bright girls,’ the former tutor stated, ‘for the boys it was simply a case of proving themselves as “alpha dogs”, to push others around, but for the girls it was something more nasty. I think they just liked hurting people, some staff even left the school because of them.’
‘What happened to them? The girls, are they still in the area?’ Merry asked, wondering how things could get to the point where children could exert such power, but then many gang members are fourteen to sixteen or younger.
‘They would have gone to the local behaviour unit,’ the head explained, offering more coffee as she did, ‘I didn’t follow up as there was no chance of their returning here. However, I can let you have their details if you require them. Although I have to be clear we have absolutely no proof,’ she glanced at the mousey looking teacher, who clamped her mouth closed in a smile, ‘to believe them involved in bullying or attacking Lynsey, either previously or now.’
‘Well, any luck?’ Matthew asked Julie, as he placed ham and cheese sandwiches and mugs of tea from the tray onto the table in front of her.
‘Was this all they had?’ Lukula asked, she had wanted a tuna baguette, barely glancing up from her phone but getting no response from Merry who had simply ordered two of what he’d wanted. ‘My contact in Gangs, has some background on a few of them, including two of the girls, and the office has checked out their records.’
‘And?’ Merry asked with a mouthful of ham and cheese.
‘Of the five boys, two have dropped off the radar, though one of them is thought to be working at a garage in Essex, the other moved north. The other three are known to be members of the Towers Crew. What?’ Lukula looked up certain Merry had muttered an obscenity. She noticed he chewed with his mouth open, his manners were rather crass when he was off his guard and it made her wonder about his upbringing; her own mother would certainly not have approved. But Merry shook his head, drinking his tea to wash another mouthful of ham and cheese down. ‘Of the girls one is off the radar,’ Lukula continued, scowling at her phone, ‘the other two are both subjects of interest.’
‘What does that mean?’ Merry demanded, ceasing to chew.
‘Ongoing investigation,’ Lukula smiled, her friend, a rather tall brunette with whom she had flirted once or twice, was rather prone to using phrases from American cop shows, ‘into extortion and assault.’
‘Sounds a possible lead,’ Merry was trying not to put two and two together at this early stage but it was tempting.
‘Yes, but we can’t go blundering in on another investigation, we will need to go through channels first,’ nor did Lukula want to upset her friend as she still had hopes the flirtation might become something more.
‘That doesn’t stop us from speaking with the three lads first, does it,’ Merry stated getting up. Then, noticing that Julie had yet to touch her sandwich and tea, added, ‘Get those to go, you know the govenor always eats on the run, if you want to get into his good books you’ll need to get with the programme.’ Lukula was too busy collecting her lunch to decide whether the normally humourless inspector was joking and refrained from making any response.
Key’s Gym is located in a back street off the Commercial Road and the owner, Donald Key, being an old friend of Ricky Towers, tolerated gang members hanging out there. However, any dealing was done at the Albion pub on the corner, although most drugs were simply pushed on the estates and street corners near schools.
‘Hello Donald,’ Merry was almost cheery in his greeting as he walked into the small office next to the entrance, ‘long time.’
The huge man behind the desk looked up from the paper he was laboriously reading, slowly smiled and in a deep, bass voice, replied, ‘Sergeant Merry, you’ve put on weight.’
‘It’s inspector now,’ Merry laughed, glancing down at his waistline, he had to admit he was getting a bit portly. ‘You still have the same trim figure I see. This is Detective Sergeant Lukula.’
Dona
ld stood, still broadly grinning, and offered his hand to the sergeant, ‘Donald Key, owner and proprietor of this establishment, Sergeant Lulu.’
‘Lukula,’ Julie corrected, stunned by the size of the man, he would have to stoop and turn sideways to get through a normal doorway, her hand was like a small child’s in his.
‘We are here to talk to a couple of your patrons,’ Merry informed him.
‘There ain’t nothing new in that,’ Donald responded, slowly edging his way from behind the desk, like an adult carefully negotiating his way around play furniture. ‘Who is it this time?’
‘They go by the street names of PeeWee, Dabs and Tobes,’ Lukula stated, taking her cue from Merry’s glance.
‘Dumb nicknames kids have these days,’ Donald informed her, suggesting such a polite young woman as she wouldn’t be aware of such things.
‘I know,’ she smiled, still mesmerised by the size of the man, much of his bulk was muscle, ‘I’ve a step-brother, nearly forty and an estate agent, and his mates still call him Whizzy because he liked cheese whizz when he was a kid.’
‘At least it isn’t after Sooty,’ Donald pointed out half seriously, as his visitors backed out of the office so he could follow them out. ‘Do you remember the TV puppet show, Sooty and Sweep? Izzy, wizzy, lets get busy?’
‘Used to sit on my Gran’s knee and watch it when I was little,’ Lukula, for all of the giant’s pleasant manner, noticed Merry’s mild amusement at the exchange and wondered if she wasn’t having her leg pulled, but she smiled in any case as the owner was readily cooperating.
‘That’s the three you want, working out on the weights in the corner, Tobes is the one on the bench, he’s who you should talk to,’ Donald pointed to three muscular and tattooed youngsters, one of whom was bench pressing as the other two stood at either end of the barbell watching. It was a scene that reminded Lukula of her army days, the young men bare chested, egging each other on to ‘go one more lift’, two of them even wore light, baggy camouflage trousers, while the third wore tight gym shorts, emphasising muscular legs and buttocks. Such scenes always made Lukula wonder how much male rebellion and violence originated from suppressed homoerotic tendencies.