They cut across the wasteland towards the grim outline etched against the sky. It was a moonless night, but Princess picked her way with ease through the abandoned detritus of wire, rubble and old car bodies.
The foxes paused to watch them.
83
On his way to the clinic in Whitechapel, Snowe called the Walthamstow police station from the car. He was eventually put through to one of the uniforms who had delivered the bad news to Kennedy’s family.
‘Was a child there?’ he asked.
‘The detective’s little boy. He’s very ill,’ came the reply.
‘No. A fair girl with spiky hair?’ said Snowe.
‘He was playing with a girl from down the road. I suppose you would say she had sort of spiky hair. Her mum came and collected her.’
Snowe hung up and smacked the steering wheel. He was a bloody fool.
His BlackBerry pinged.
It was the forensic report from Sonja’s place. He opened the attachment and scanned the document as he drove. Everything came into focus. He was an even bigger fool than he’d thought.
He did a sharp U-turn and called for backup. There would be no mistakes this time.
Berlin felt the heat of the day radiating from the giant steel boxes. There were myriad possible hiding places among the stacks of ruined containers.
Princess led the way. The stultifying, narrow passage opened onto the smoky space where the drifting, displaced inhabitants lived out of time and place. Everywhere and nowhere.
A drunk paused in his song as they passed.
Berlin hadn’t exchanged a word with Princess since they entered the yard. The mute understanding between them frightened and comforted her. The child she was supposed to save was about to rescue her. It was a yearning that Princess was old enough to understand, but too young to judge.
Within the confines of Love Motel, Berlin felt her resolution to get clean evaporate. It belonged outside, to that other world where standards were set and failure was measured in sentences served, fines paid, benefits lost. In here, blame did not attach. Your downfall may have been chosen, or not; it didn’t matter.
Disgrace was a great leveller.
Princess squatted in front of the container that had been Snowe’s lair, peering at the sheet of purple plastic that protected her own. It seemed untouched.
Berlin stood a few feet off. She watched as Princess shifted her backpack to hang in front of her and unzipped it. She glanced left and right, then darted over to the container and reached underneath it, between the floor and the ground.
Berlin heard the chink of metal on metal as Princess extracted another sharpened tent peg and slipped it into the back of her jeans. Her last line of defence.
When she reached in again she brought out an old cake tin. She put it in her pack, stood up and walked back to Berlin.
‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
Berlin caught a movement, nothing more than a fluctuation of the darkness between the walls of containers. She put a hand on Princess’s shoulder.
Diamond stepped out of the shadows.
His pouting ruby lips contorted into a sneer as he addressed Princess.
‘Come ’ere,’ he demanded with his wide mouth and slack jaw. A slavering beast.
Princess shrank back against Berlin. ‘Fuck off, Terry,’ said Princess.
Berlin didn’t understand. Diamond’s acquaintance with Princess was clearly more than just fleeting. And his timing wasn’t just good – it was perfect.
She felt a jolt of uncertainty. How long had he been following her? Had he been there from the get-go, when she began her search for Princess? Or even before then?
From the moment Sonja knocked on her door.
The implications made her dizzy.
Diamond moved closer. Berlin could feel Princess tremble. ‘Hand it over,’ he shouted. He didn’t even look at Berlin.
Berlin thought about Kylie that night. She thought about the dog.
One thing was certain. The dog was not the only connection between Princess and Diamond. It had to be Sonja.
‘Give me the tin,’ said Berlin.
Princess looked up at her. Berlin could see the doubt in her eyes.
‘It will be bad for her if you do,’ bellowed Diamond, addressing Princess. He shifted his gaze slightly to take in Berlin. His arms hung loose at his sides. There was a soft click. A switchblade glinted in his right hand.
Princess took the tin out of her pack.
‘We should give it to him,’ she whispered to Berlin. ‘He’s mental.’
Berlin crouched down beside Princess and put a protective arm around her waist.
Princess offered Diamond the tin.
As he stepped forwards, Berlin snatched it from her and sprang upright, brandishing the spike she had yanked from the kid’s waistband.
‘Go home,’ she shouted at Princess. ‘Run!’
Princess bolted.
Snowe was stuck behind a truck that was trying to negotiate a narrow street built to accommodate a horse and cart. ‘For Christ’s sake,’ he fumed. He had a unit on stand-by in Silvertown ready to go as soon as he arrived.
He snatched his blue light from the floor, smacked it on the roof and switched on the siren. The truck driver leant out of his cab.
‘What do you want me to do, mate, fly over it?’ he said.
84
It wasn’t a knock or a call; it was a tap at the window.
Sonja took a deep breath, rose from the table and gathered herself to confront her tormentor. But the pale face that gazed at her from beyond the glass displayed a fear greater than her own.
She opened the window and reached out to Princess.
When Snowe’s phone rang he thought it would be his backup, wanting to know how much longer they should sit on their thumbs. He was hurtling down the East India Dock Road.
‘I’m on my way,’ he said.
There was silence. He thought for a moment he’d driven into a black spot. Then there was a noise like a moan.
‘It’s me.’
It was the last voice he’d expected to hear.
Sonja murmured as she hugged and kissed Princess. ‘Jesus Christ, how did you get away? Where’s Berlin? I told her not to bring you here.’
Princess didn’t like it and she didn’t understand. She struggled free and caught sight of the bloodstained floorboards beside the sink.
‘You don’t want me because of that,’ she said, unable to look away.
Sonja followed her gaze to the floor. ‘Oh no, don’t think about that,’ she said, and reached for her again.
But Princess slipped away. ‘You’re still pissed off with me,’ she said.
Sonja shook her head and opened her arms. Princess shuffled about. Her skin felt too tight. She watched as tears ran down her mother’s face. She went to her.
Sonja held her close and spoke very quietly. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she said. ‘That’s not what I meant. It’s just that . . . everything will be okay. Just tell me where it is.’
Snowe stood near the gate and watched as men, women and children were dragged kicking and screaming from their containers. The black night, the unrelenting heat, the stench of fear. Some of the dispossessed filed past with quiet resignation. Spirits broken.
The key holder couldn’t be found, so they had used bolt cutters to sever the chain. As it hit the ground, the headlights of vehicles positioned around the perimeter were flicked to high beam. No one could get out without scrutiny. The cry had gone up. Raid!
The dogs and their handlers went in first, followed by a dozen officers in full riot gear. Panic swept through Love Motel.
The old drunk whose melancholy dirge had been the soundtrack to Snowe’s vigil was brought out and shoved in the back of a van. The vans were lined up, ready to transport prisoners to the station.
Snowe strode through the gate and into the midst of the containers. She’d said she would be here and could explain everything. But s
he had sounded in a bad way.
Two officers carrying powerful flashlights emerged from among the containers. They shook their heads. Nothing.
She could be anywhere, stuffed into the corner of a container, dead or dying.
‘Keep looking,’ he said. ‘For her and the kid.’
He had another call to make.
85
Berlin staggered past desolate yards patrolled by growling, panting rottweilers. She leant against the immense skips of London’s rubbish waiting for transport downriver on barges. She felt she might as well crawl into one and take the trip.
Blood oozed through her fingers as she tried to keep the two sides of the gash together. Diamond’s knife had sliced through the top of her arm. She had managed to land one blow with the spike then flee. She doubted he was in any condition to follow.
She limped towards the new estate, which offered a shortcut if she could avoid the security guards. Three blasts of the Woolwich ferry’s horn sounded a warning from the tarnished silver thread of the river. She squeezed through a fence. A train roared along the concrete ribbon that soared above her head. Engines screamed as the last planes of the night flew into City Airport, giving her enough cover to cry out in agony. Another hundred yards and she’d be there. But what she would do then, she had no idea.
Sonja was trying hard to sound relaxed.
‘Where is she?’ she pressed Princess again. ‘What happened after she took it from you?’
Princess had shut down at the first mention of the smack and Sonja knew that when she got the sulks she was impossible. Sonja reached for the backpack.
Princess ducked away from her. ‘Don’t you believe me?’ she said.
Sonja didn’t want to start anything. She knew she was handling it badly, but she was being pushed to the limit.
‘Of course I believe you. Just tell me what happened. Why did she take it? Why did you split up?’
‘That’s all you’re fucking interested in,’ shouted Princess.
‘Did you make some kind of arrangement with Berlin? Please, please talk to me Princess.’
‘Yes! But I looked after the boy in the bubble and then we were quits,’ shouted Princess. She got on her bed and crawled into the corner, drawing her knees up defensively, cradling her pack.
Sonja felt her last vestige of hope slip away.
Berlin had gone and taken the heroin with her.
Rita heard the crunch of gravel and went out to take a look. There was someone out there all right, but it wasn’t who she was expecting. She slunk back inside again, cursing, and reached for her phone. She was run off her feet tonight.
The rapping at the window brought Princess running. She flung it up and Berlin crawled in, wincing. Sonja grabbed a tea towel and wrapped it tightly around Berlin’s arm.
‘For god’s sake, what happened to you?’ said Sonja.
‘Your boy did it,’ mumbled Berlin.
‘My boy?’ echoed Sonja. She glanced at Princess. She hadn’t mentioned any boy.
‘Don’t even try that, Sonja. I’m talking about that vicious little sod you’ve had following me.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Sonja, backing away.
Berlin noticed that the room had lost its stale smell.
‘He torched the car, didn’t he? I said I was taking her somewhere safe and you wanted to stop me.’ She stumbled towards Sonja. ‘You’re a piece of work. He killed that girl.’
Choked with rage, she wrenched Sonja’s head back to look her in the eye. She was struck by the fact that Sonja’s hair felt squeaky-clean. The weird observation made her wonder how much blood she’d lost.
Princess had retreated back to her bed.
Berlin shoved Sonja away and staggered through the curtain into the bathroom. She stuck her head under the shower, turned on the cold water and retched.
She was missing something, but the thought darted away each time she approached it.
She turned off the shower and reached for a towel. It was fresh.
Wiping her face, she glanced at herself in the mirrored door of the cabinet. She opened it.
Sonja was sitting at the table, head bowed.
‘You set me up,’ said Berlin. ‘I fell for your distraught-mother routine and all that crap about wanting to get clean.’
‘It wasn’t a routine,’ said Sonja.
‘Was it her you missed or the half a kilo of smack?’
‘You don’t understand. Please.’
‘Stop it!’ shouted Princess.
The wail of sirens intervened.
They all froze.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Sonja. ‘Rita must have seen Princess and called Bertie. We have to go.’ She leapt up and ran to the double bed.
‘They’re not coming here,’ said Berlin.
But Sonja wasn’t listening. She dragged a bag out from under the bed and began to stuff clothes into it, frantic.
‘Listen to me,’ said Berlin. ‘Bertie and Kennedy are no threat to you any more.’
‘He sent a photo . . . ’ said Sonja.
‘He’s dead,’ screamed Princess. ‘He’s dead! He’s dead! He’s fucking dead!’
*
The line of flashing blue lights approaching down Silvertown Way was not that unusual. But they were slowing down. Which wasn’t right, as far as Rita was concerned. It was all wrong. She rushed out of her flat, went to the big front door, slammed it, bolted it and scuttled back down the hall. Until she heard the kid scream: He’s dead.
Tyres on gravel, the dying wail of the sirens and car doors slamming all gave the lie to Berlin’s claims. Princess had crawled off the bed and now stood close to Sonja. Sonja didn’t move. They waited for the inevitable. But when Sonja’s door flew open, it was Rita.
‘Quick,’ she said. She hurried over and tried to take Princess by the hand, but Berlin stopped her. ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ said Rita. ‘I’m doing you a favour. Come on. Both of you.’
Rita led Princess out into the hall. Berlin followed. They left Sonja standing there.
The cops were already banging on the front door and they could hear boots running to the back of the building.
‘Don’t worry,’ whispered Rita. ‘That door will hold. TNT couldn’t take it out in 1917.’
She steered Berlin and Princess through her flat, then shoved them into her bedroom and shut the door.
The banging got louder.
‘All right, all right,’ shouted Rita. ‘I’m coming.’
Snowe pushed inside as soon as Rita opened the front door. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and peered at him. He took off down the hall with three coppers in tow. One stayed with her.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind stepping back inside, madam,’ said the copper, shepherding her towards her flat.
Rita affected to grumble. The copper followed her, but stopped just inside the doorway. His wrinkled nose indicated that eau de old lady wasn’t to his taste.
‘Come in, darlin’,’ said Rita. ‘What about a nice cuppa?’
The copper shook his head.
‘Just go back to bed, madam,’ he said.
Rita sat down in her chair. From here she could see everything. She was protecting her investment.
Sonja stood her ground as Snowe strode in. She stared at him, oddly composed, as his backup filed in behind him.
‘Have you seen or heard from Catherine Berlin or your daughter?’ Snowe asked. ‘They could be hurt, in need of medical attention.’
Sonja shook her head.
‘Are you sure about that?’ asked Snowe.
‘I told her not to come here,’ said Sonja.
He knew that much was true. He gestured to one of the uniforms, who reached for his handcuffs.
‘Sonja Kvist, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Cole Mortimer,’ said Snowe.
He paused, but she didn’t react.
‘You do not have to say anything,’ he co
ntinued. ‘But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
The officer handcuffed the unresisting Sonja.
‘Take her away,’ said Snowe.
Sonja suddenly uttered an eerie yowl.
Snowe couldn’t tell if it was denial or despair.
*
In Rita’s bedroom, the spell that had held Princess wide-eyed and silent as she listened to Snowe arrest Sonja was broken by Sonja’s cry. Berlin saw her shudder, about to scream. She grabbed her and clamped her hand over the child’s mouth. Hard.
The kid fought like fury, but Berlin brought her down to the floor and wrapped herself around the flailing arms and legs. She hung on grimly as the sound of Sonja’s cry died away to be replaced by the sound of heavy footsteps leaving.
Princess went limp, and for a horrible moment Berlin thought she had passed out. She heard someone speak to Rita. It sounded like Snowe.
Then Rita’s front door slammed and the TV volume went up.
Berlin listened, straining to hear the last vehicle drive away. Only then did she release Princess. The kid was like a floppy doll in her arms. Sobbing.
‘It’s not fair. She didn’t do it, she didn’t do it,’ she kept repeating.
Eventually her sobs subsided and she lay on the floor, her face blotched and puffy, staring at the ceiling.
Berlin watched her, wondering what was going through the kid’s head.
‘She could have just said it was me,’ said Princess finally. ‘I have to save her.’
Before Berlin could respond, she heard a noise at the bedroom door.
It was the key in the lock turning.
She leapt to her feet, ran to the door and rattled the handle. Too late. What was the old bag playing at?
‘Come on, Rita. This won’t do you any good; Bertie and Kennedy are both dead. There’s nothing in it for you.’
She could hear Rita laughing and the chink of a glass.
The window was boarded up. The door was timber, not just veneer. There was no way Berlin could break through it, and anyway, she was in no state to try.
A Bitter Taste Page 23