Guts for Garters

by Linda Regan

  She ended the call and looked at Stephanie.

  ‘Now to phone that news in to the DCI,’ she said.

  Stephanie shook her head. ‘Something’s not right,’ she offered. ‘He got wind of this, I’ll lay money on it.’ She stabbed Banham’s number into her phone and handed it to Georgia. ‘

  ‘Alysha Achter has never given us wrong information before,’ Georgia said as she waited for Banham to pick up. ‘You can go and find Melek Yismaz,’ she told Stephanie handing her the phone number. ‘We need to talk to her pronto, and I’ve heard nothing from Alysha, as yet. I’ll have to stay here a bit longer and make sure the flat is put back and secured. He’s going to really take us to task over this.’ She drew an intake of breath. ‘If Melek is his girlfriend, chances are she’ll know where the lock-up is, so we need to talk to her, trick her into thinking we know.’

  ‘Will do,’ Stephanie nodded.

  Banham picked up and Georgia gave him an update. She listened for a few minutes and then clicked the phone shut. ‘Forget finding Melek Yismaz,’ she told Stephanie. ‘Alison Grainger has already tracked her down and gone to see her. Banham just informed me. Her details were on the police computer. She has a record, for possession of cannabis and shoplifting. We could have checked that last night.’

  ‘Like we had time.’ Stephanie looked sympathetically at Georgia. ‘It’s not your fault we haven’t found the key,’ she said. ‘We took a chance, odds were in our favour, but it backfired.’

  ‘OK. Let’s call it a day,’ Georgia said to the uniformed officer leading the search. ‘Secure the flat and check for damage. We don’t want to give him an excuse to sue us.’ She turned back to Stephanie. ‘I am going to have to really face the music for all the manpower I’ve used this morning.’ She turned away, and said half to herself. ‘And the DCI will really enjoy giving me a dressing down.’

  ‘I could make a comment about that.’

  ‘No don’t.’

  ‘No I won’t. You left your sense of humour at home this morning.’

  Melek Yismaz was cooperative and polite when she took the call from Alison Grainger. She said she had heard on the news that a Muslim girl had been found killed and was concerned it might be Zana as she hadn’t heard from her. Then Alison told her that they had taken Harisha Celik in for questioning, and Melek became quiet.

  ‘We are concerned for your safety,’ Alison told her.

  ‘Oh my God. Why?’

  ‘Can I meet you and talk to you,’ Alison asked, then, ‘Where are you now?’

  Melek agreed to meet Alison but said it would have to be somewhere where no one would see them. Harisha, she said, was very strict about her talking to feds, and he wouldn’t be pleased.

  They arranged to meet in a Starbucks on the high street a little way from the Aviary Estate.

  Melek was there when Alison arrived. Her dark eyes were outlined in long, sweeping strokes of thick black eyeliner. Her face looked quite pale against the black eye make-up, which she’d complemented with dark red shiny lipstick. The top of her hair was secured onto the crown of her head, like a 1960s beehive style, heavily back-combed, with cheap scented hairspray to hold it in place. She wasn’t unlike Amy Winehouse, Alison thought, which brought to mind the many young, impressionable, and vulnerable girls that get lured on a downward spiral of drugs by ruthless men like Harisha Celik. Melek had bad skin, a sign of being a user, and a heavily concealed bruise on one side of her face. The girl was on a bad road, Alison felt sure, but with an animal like Celik for a boyfriend, what chance did any vulnerable girl have?

  ‘Look, I’ll get straight to the point,’ Alison told her placing a syrupy, toffee-flavoured drink on the table in front of Melek. ‘We have photos of Zana Ghaziani with you. Her parents have also told us that you hung about together.

  ‘She was my best friend,’ Melek told her as Alison settled into the plastic bench opposite. Alison was holding the bottle of fizzy water she had bought for herself. She started to struggle to get the top off.

  ‘When did you last see her?’ she asked.

  Melek shrugged. ‘Yesterday. We spoke every day though. I spoke to her yesterday, Sometimes it was difficult for her to get out, what with her parents and brother the way they were.’

  ‘Did she mention she was going out, yesterday?’

  ‘Yes,’ Melek lifted her eyebrows and nodded. ‘She said she was meeting someone, and she’s tell me about it, after.’ She paused and placed her drink back on the table, as if she no longer fancied it. ‘When I heard a girl had been set on fire, I thought, but prayed, it wasn’t her.’

  ‘Who told you?’

  She shrugged. ‘Everyone’s talking ’bout it. Word spreads quick round here.’

  ‘How did you know her?’

  ‘We were at school together. I knew her for years.’ She reached her hand across to Alison, who was still struggling with the bottle. ‘Do you want help with that top?’ she said taking it and starting to loosen it. ‘I left school a year early, to get work, but Zana stayed on.’ She released the cap and handed it back to Alison.

  Alison was grateful. The smell of the toffee syrup was making a merry-go-round spin in her stomach, and she was praying she wouldn’t vomit and show herself up yet again. ‘Go on,’ she urged Melek.

  ‘Zana wanted to take her exams and have a career, very against her parents’ wishes, I would add. They wanted her to work in that bloody horrid dry cleaners of theirs, marry a nice Muslim boy.’

  ‘So they’re very strict?’

  Melek nodded. ‘They used to send Wajdi to follow us when we went out.’ She hesitated. ‘He’s a pig. He beats her if he catches her with me, or not wearing her hijab. She’s got … she had,’ she took a breath, ‘beautiful hair.’ Melek shook her head and raised her thick eyebrows as she bit into her lip to stop herself crying. ‘They resent me because I don’t have a job, and I wear make-up and have a boyfriend.’

  ‘Do you know her brother well?’

  ‘Well enough to know he was bully, and she was scared of him.’

  Alison put the water on the plastic table. ‘Have you witnessed him hurting her?’

  ‘Yes. But I always thought it was just …’ She stopped speaking and looked at Alison. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Talking to you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It won’t bring her back, will it, and it might get me into serious trouble.’

  ‘With who?’

  ‘Harisha, who do you think?’

  ‘Do you want to help us find Zana’s killer?’

  ‘Yes, very much.’

  ‘I need to build up a picture of Zana’s life, and you can help me.’

  ‘We hung out a lot together, Wajdi followed us, we used to dodge him when we could. I think he only did it because the parents told him to.’

  ‘You say Zana had a boyfriend?’

  Melek looked nervous. ‘Yes. She had a few. I think she liked Burak best.’

  ‘Burak Kaya?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did her family know this?’

  Again Melek looked nervous.

  ‘Please Melek, for Zana, answer my questions. You said you want us to catch Zana’s killer? ‘

  Melek said nothing.

  ‘She died a very painful death. If it was my friend, I would want to help.’

  ‘Look, I do. I really do, but, it’s very complicated.’

  ‘Because of Harisha Celik?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But he isn’t here. No one knows you are here. So talk to me.’

  ‘I could have been followed.’ She stood up. ‘And if he hears that I talked to you, he’ll be angry. He’s very possessive. But, yes, I want to help Zana. ’

  ‘OK. Then I’ll drive you to the station, in my car. You can talk to me, and another detective, in private.’

  Melek looked at Alison, but said nothing.

  Alison stood up. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’ />
  Melek looked around her, then she stood up. She looked around again, then followed Alison. When they got into the street she kept looking around.

  ‘This is just an ordinary car, not a police car,’ Alison told her. ‘No one will question you being in it.’

  She opened the passenger door and Melek got in.

  Eight

  Harisha Celik sat in Interview Room C. Beside him was his solicitor, a small man named Simon Prezzioni who wore thick-rimmed glasses and sat with his head bent, reading Celik’s notes, but paying no attention to his client, who was tapping his beautifully manicured fingers on the table with impatience.

  Georgia and Stephanie were in the viewing room watching. Georgia had purposely left Celik for a full hour to let him cool his heels. She had nothing, as yet, to charge him with. She had to now hope she could trip him into incriminating himself, but knew she was treading very thin ice; Harisha was astute.

  ‘We have to pull something out of this interview, after this morning’s shambles,’ she said turning to Stephanie.

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. Just because we didn’t find a key to a lock-up in his flat, doesn’t mean there isn’t one,’ Stephanie assured her. ‘You said yourself that Alysha Achter’s a reliable informant. We know Celik imports drugs and weapons, and that there’s a strong possibility he killed both Burak and Zana. You were right to turn his flat upside-down. ’

  ‘The DCI has got it in for me because I spoke my mind about Alison Grainger.’

  ‘He won’t hold that against you.’ Stephanie told her. ‘He’s too professional.’

  They both turned back to watch Harisha Celik, who was now laying into the solicitor. The solicitor was saying nothing.

  Georgia picked up her notebook and headed for the door. ‘Life was better when Celik was behind bars. Let’s see if we can put him back there. We need him to incriminate himself, it’s our best chance. We’ll take it in turns, question him and lean heavily on everything he says.’

  Stephanie saluted happily. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Are you going to pay for the damage to my flat?’ Harisha Celik demanded as Georgia turned on the recorder.

  She reminded him that the interview was also being videoed. Then she added, without looking at him, ‘And yes, if anything was broken or damaged, it will be replaced, but I’m assured nothing was. So there’s just a lot of tidying up for you.’

  ‘I don’t do tidying up.’

  ‘You get your girlfriends to do that, do you?’ Stephanie chuckled. ‘Quite the little romantic, aren’t you? How many girlfriends have you got?’

  ‘Not counting Zana Ghaziani,’ Georgia said in an icy tone, ‘because she is dead. But then you knew that, didn’t you?’

  Georgia watched his dark eyes narrow. He reminded her of a cockerel. His black hair was combed away from his face and lacquered into a stiff quiff, obviously in an attempt to make himself look taller. His top lip protruded slightly. He wore his diamond earring in his left earlobe. He was well turned-out, especially considering she had called, unexpectedly, first thing that morning. His nails were beautifully manicured; he wore newly pressed jeans and an expensive black leather belt dominated by the large silver lion’s head buckle. His shirt was grey silk, with a new black leather jacket over it.

  ‘What do you know about the murder of Zana Ghaziani? Stephanie asked him.

  ‘That she was burnt,’ he said leaning back in his chair.

  ‘Who told you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Everyone.’

  ‘Everyone?’ Georgia pushed. ‘Who is “Everyone”?’

  ‘It’s been the talk of the streets since yesterday,’ he said in a condescending tone. ‘So, I can’t remember who.’ He raised his voice and glared at her. ‘Everyone.’

  She glared back.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t kill her.’

  ‘Did you know her?’

  He shrugged. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How well?’ Georgia pushed.

  ‘Not like that,’ he said, with a shake of his head and an added tut.

  ‘So how, then? How did you know her?’

  ‘She hung around a lot.’ He shrugged and shook his head in a disinterested fashion. ‘Some of my mates knew her well.’

  ‘Which mates?’

  ‘Not sure, guys around the streets. Can’t remember names.’

  ‘Convenient,’ Georgia said holding his eyes.

  ‘And her brother, do you know Wajdi Ghaziani?’ Stephanie asked.

  He shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Her parents?’

  ‘No.’ He raised his voice. ‘I said I hardly knew her, let alone her family.’

  ‘But you knew they were strict Muslims, and had forbidden her to go out with boys,’ Georgia pushed.

  ‘No. Look, why am I here? I told you, I don’t know her well. I heard she was burnt, and that’s a shame, but it’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘What about Burak Kaya? That’s to do with you,’ Georgia pushed, holding his now angry eyes.

  He raised his voice. ‘You don’t think I killed him? He’s my cousin.’

  ‘I heard your family row a lot,’ Georgia said leaning back in her chair.

  He stared angrily at her, then he looked at his solicitor and blew out air. ‘That’s an accusation. She can’t do this. Why aren’t you saying something?’

  ‘Mr Celik has already told you he knows nothing about either of the murders you are asking about,’ Prezzioni said, somewhat nervously. ‘If that is why you have brought him in, then he has answered your questions, and said he cannot help you. If you have …’

  ‘He hasn’t answered all our questions,’ Stephanie interrupted, flicking her glance to Celik. ‘We need to check out your lock-up, so could you let us have your key, so we can just take a look around.’

  He stared at her, and then blinked and shook his head.

  ‘If you’ve nothing to hide,’ she said in a friendly tone, ‘that will get us off your back. Just let us have the key …’ she paused then added, ‘and the location, and then you can go.’

  He threw his eyes northward and shook his head. ‘Haven’t got a clue what you are talking about. I don’t have a lock-up. I keep my Porsche in the street. No one round here would dare touch my car.’

  ‘They would be afraid of the repercussions,’ Georgia nodded. ‘What would you do to them, Harisha? What would you do if someone scratched your Porsche?’

  ‘They aren’t afraid. People like and respect me.’

  ‘Oh, please.’ She shook her head. ‘Be honest, Harisha, you terrify everyone around the neighbourhood. Your previous record speaks volumes. Two lumps inside for grievous bodily harm. You’re vicious.’ She raised her voice. ‘No one would touch your car, because they are afraid of the consequences. What do you terrify them with? Machetes, is it? Or guns, the guns and machetes that you are bringing into the country?’

  Harisha turned to his solicitor. ‘She’s trying to set me up here. Can’t you do something?’

  ‘Mr Celik’s previous record bears no connection to these current murders,’ Prezzioni said, a little weakly. ‘Mr Celik has paid the price for his crimes. They are in the past.’

  Georgia ignored him. ‘Where is your lock-up, Harisha? If you’ve nothing to hide, tell us and we’ll be off your back.’

  ‘Watch my lips,’ he said making Georgia fight to control her temper. ‘I ain’t got no lock-up, and you have wasted your time, and mine, looking for one. I do not know what you’re on about.’

  She glared at him, her mind racing faster than a greyhound after a rabbit. What was she going to say to the DCI? Her information was proving not to be right.

  Harisha then spoke again. ‘If I had anything to worry about, or hide, I’d get myself a nice top of the range lawyer, now wouldn’t I?’ The diamond in his ear was twinkling in the light, sarcastically, Georgia thought. ‘And I ain’t. All I have is him.’ He turned and looked at Prezzioni. ‘Who don’t know nothing, cos he
’s an idiot.’ He leaned further across the desk. ‘See, if I was guilty I’d have a proper representative. So you and I both know you are pissing in the wind. So can I go now?’

  ‘Where did you get the money to buy your nice top of the range car?’ Georgia asked, ignoring his remark. ‘A black Porsche, with a personalised number plate, and tinted windows.’ She shook her head and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. ‘That wouldn’t be cheap. And that is a very expensive sound system that you have in your flat.’

  ‘It’s my brother’s flat, not mine,’ he answered, leaning back in his chair, confidently.

  Georgia picked up the papers in front of her, and started reading. ‘It says here, on your form.’ She looked up and straight at him. ‘The form that you filled in, and signed, that you are self-employed. What self-employment job pays enough for you to buy a Porsche, but live in a council-owned flat with your brother?’

  He didn’t flinch. ‘I am a disc jockey.’ The condescending tone had crept back into his voice. ‘I do gigs abroad. I’m good at them, innit, so it pays well, and instead of cash they buy me sounds and motors, so I can travel and do more gigs.’

  ‘So you must have a garage then?’ Stephanie said to him. ‘For your music collection, as I didn’t see a lot of music in the flat. Where do you keep your CDs, Harisha? Your records? A good disc jockey would need a lot of music.’

  He shook his head. ‘My music is with my friend, abroad. An’ I told you, I ain’t got no garage, or no lock-up. I don’t need one. And no one round my way would touch my car.’

  Stephanie shook her head.

  ‘Too afraid of you, I’d say,’ Georgia added.

  Harisha leaned across the desk again and said, very casually, ‘See, I think you have been talking to a sly, lying bitch called Alysha Achter.’

  Georgia’s face must have given her away.

  ‘Yes,’ he grinned, pointing his forefinger at her. ‘Now why do I know that?’ He burst out laughing and tilted his head sideways, keeping his finger wiggling in his irritating fashion. ‘See, I know that, cos she tells all them porkies about everyone else around the estate. She fancies herself as a tough nut. She’s way above her station.’ He laughed, an irritating chuckle. ‘Got that right, didn’t I?’