by Rashad Salim
She greeted me without a hug and I never leaned in for one.
I looked her over. She wore a colourful dress that stopped at the knees. I had to tell myself not to get distracted.
“We need to talk,” I said.
She opened her door wide and I stepped in following her inside to the living room. She sat on a sofa and leaned back. I walked up to the photo of her with Thom and stopped to study it.
“What do you wanna talk about?” she asked.
I was stalling and I wondered if she knew it. On the way here I had gone over it in my mind over and over again. There was no confusion. Just absolute disappointment. Maybe resentment too, but that would reveal itself later, I realised.
I took a seat in the armchair opposite her with my hands on my knees.
“...Well?”
I was scared to take my eyes off my hands in case I saw the look of guilt in her eyes.
“Did you hear about Anil?” I asked.
“...Yeah ...what about it?”
I took a deep breath and looked at her carefully. I wasn’t going to get a second chance at this.
“You had him killed, didn’t you?”
She didn’t react. There was no frowning or feigned confusion. She was as calm as she’d been when greeting me at the front door.
“What makes you say that?” she asked.
I noticed then that something was different now. There was no denial. Only curiosity.
“I never thought you could do something like that.”
“I didn’t kill Anil.”
“No, you didn’t. You had Tyrone do it for you.”
“How do you know it was him?”
“At first I thought it might have been Joe and the Lion Crew looking to get revenge for Carl and Marcus but it couldn’t have been them.”
“Why not?”
“Because only three of us knew about Anil that night by the warehouse and neither Sajid or I told Joe about him. And I knew there was no way you’d have reached out to him. You were too close to Joe’s biggest rivals. No, it wasn’t him you reached out to – it was Tyrone, wasn’t it?”
“Why would I have done that?”
“For revenge, obviously. You wanted revenge for Thom. So you told Tyrone all about Anil.”
“Tyrone wouldn’t have done all that for Thom,” she said.
I nodded. “No, he wouldn’t have. He didn’t really care about Thom from what I gathered.”
“Exactly.”
“No, Chantelle. He did it for you, didn’t he?” I felt disgusted with her.
She leaned forward. “That’s just jealousy getting the better of you.”
“No, babe. It ain’t. You told him what you heard me telling Sajid that night in the car. About Tyrone and me being shot at. I remember how shook up Tyrone was about it. How he was keeping a low profile after that. He had no clue who shot at him. Not until you told him. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the target. Once he learnt who the shooters were there was no way he could live it down by not doing anything about it. He had to deal with it the way a gangster would.”
She had been quietly nodding while I talked. Now she was leaning to one side with her elbow propped up on the sofa side and her head leaning against one hand. No longer so confident in herself.
“And maybe you offered him something to seal the deal, okay?” She tried to say something, some kind of attack, but I barrelled through. “But I don’t care about that, Chantelle.” I shook my head. “None of that matters. Not anymore. You used me, Chantelle. You preyed on my desperation for answers. You promised me closure! And then you went and fucking took me for a ride. You needed someone to check out the warehouse but Tyrone’s boys weren’t willing to take that risk. So you had me take it! What does that make you?”
Neither of us spoke for a long time. She hadn’t moved from her position. When she did speak I realised she had been suppressing the urge to cry.
“He did what you should’ve!”
I jumped up. “You wanted me to fucking kill Anil?”
She jumped up too.
“Is that what you wanted me to do?” I asked, jabbing a finger at her.
“Anil killed my brother, you bastard!” she was sobbing now.
I let her recover. She wiped a tear from her eye and glared at me.
“He killed my friend too,” I said.
“So why are you so pissed off?”
“Because I wanted Anil to pay for his crimes. I wanted him humiliated. And that ain’t gonna happen now. The worst thing about it is no one fucking knows what he did!” I darted towards her and grabbed her with both hands and shook her. “Can’t you see what you’ve done?”
I shoved her back. She fell on the sofa and sat there slumped.
“There’s no way the police will know about Carl and Marcus raping the girl or about Thom being blackmailed into killing those bastards because you didn’t tell them! And you were the only one who fucking could’ve!”
She covered her face with a hand and sobbed.
“It’s not like I can do anything with what I know, is there? Not without the girl who got raped or Thom’s boyfriend.”
I looked at her in disgust. The damage she had done was irreversible.
“I loved you so much, Chantelle. You had me thinking we could get back what we lost. I was such a fool. You were taking me for a chump all this time.”
She looked up at me with moist eyes. “So now you’re gonna turn me in...? Is that it?”
I almost felt sorry for her. She hadn’t been thinking straight. She was distraught.
Then the image of Anil and Rishi roasting alive in their vehicle flashed through my mind.
I took a deep breath and headed for the hallway.
“I thought I knew you,” she called out when I reached the front door.
I stopped. I couldn’t bear to look at her so I didn’t.
“I thought I knew you too, babe.”
I opened the door and walked out of her life.
49
When I left Chantelle’s flat Sajid was parked across the street waiting for me.
I got in and he drove off towards the train station.
“How did it go?”
“Like I got my heart ripped out-”
“And petrol bombed?”
I gave him a stern look.
“Sorry, bre,” Sajid said. “Just trying to cheer you up.”
I looked out of the window at all the shops we passed and that got me thinking. “Go down this road,” I said, pointing at the first left.
“That’s the long way,” he said.
“Just go.”
He did.
We were now approaching Binford Lane.
“You sure you wanna see this?” he asked.
I nodded.
We turned onto Binford Lane and within seconds were right near the boarded up Bestco store. He killed the engine and we got out.
I leaned against his car and stared at the building. It was early evening and the crowds were full of shoppers rushing around. No one paid us or the building any attention.
“So this is what it was all about, eh?” Sajid asked, leaning beside me.
“Seema said Anil’s dad had no clue what his psycho son had been plotting.”
“He would say that though, wouldn’t he?”
“Doesn’t matter now,” I said. “Anil played with fire and got burnt.”
Sajid burst out laughing.
“He saw the store as a threat but that wasn’t all. According to Seema he wanted to buy this building on the cheap once it was destroyed. She asked that skinny piece of shit Vinod all about the arson. He told her everything he knew. Anil never knew there were workers inside that time of night. Anil never wanted anyone to die. He’d been shitting himself over it in case his dad found out.”
“He wanted you to die. Fucking tried to shoot you.”
I thought it over.
“I did tell Seema that and pointed out all the deaths afterwards.”
“What she say?”
“Anil was just tying loose ends, according to Vinod.”
“Speaking of the cunt, where the fuck is he? Let’s go burn his nuts off.”
I sighed. “He panicked after Anil and Rishi got roasted. He went back to India after Seema grilled him.”
“Typical.”
It bothered me Vinod had got away – no doubt he had been involved in the arson and whatever else Anil had plotted – but the only way Seema could get the truth out of him was by bribing him.
“The cops been on your case again recently?” Sajid asked.
“Fuck no,” I said, thinking of DC Barker and DI Martin. “Anyway, I’m done with this town. I don’t care if it all burns down and all the gangs kill each other. I’ve had it.”
“What about your parents?”
“They’ve been planning to move out for years.” My mother already had her sights on a house a few towns away. “When my dad gets back from Pakistan they’re gonna sell the house.”
We watched the former Bestco store in silence for a while.
“Come on,” Sajid said. “Let’s go. You got that train to catch.”
We got into the car and drove to the station. When we arrived Sajid got out and walked with me to my train platform. The barriers were down so he didn’t need a ticket.
There only a few people waiting on my platform.
“Sorry about Chantelle,” Sajid said.
“It’s fine. No real loss really. You were right about her.”
He sniggered. “I’m always right.”
His mood lifted mine and I couldn’t help but smile.
The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. I couldn’t wait to get back to West London and get on with my life.
“Thanks for everything, bre,” I said. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
He waved me off. “Don’t mention it. It was fun,” he joked. “Listen, I know Mark’s gone but you still got me.”
I nodded. I suddenly felt self conscious and vulnerable at him mentioning Mark.
I was still grieving about Mark and knew it would take years to deal with the loss. Only now I could really believe it would get easier.
“So don’t be a puss,” he said. “Stay in touch.” He punched me in the arm. “You fucking owe me.”
My train arrived, taking its time to stop.
We shook hands and hugged.
“Come out to see me,” I said.
“Alright.”
“Just leave your gun at home I don’t want it going off in my house.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It wasn’t ever loaded.”
I looked at him stunned.
“It’s not even a real gun.” He slapped my shoulder and winked.
I thought about how much stress his ‘gun’ had caused me and laughed.
“Take care,” he said.
I said bye and boarded my train.
When I sat down I felt like a burden had been lifted. I had accepted my heavy losses without realising it.
The train moved out and I moved on.
Book Description
A gritty urban mystery thriller.
Nottingham transplant, Chris Smith has only been teaching at Binford Sixth Form for several months when he and his fellow teacher are ambushed by masked men at the college entrance and Chris’ colleague is killed during the attack.
Chris survives, but despite every instinct telling him to flee the crooked East London town, he cannot find any peace until those who tried to kill him are brought to justice.
There’s a long list of suspects, but the police investigation seems to be going nowhere, so Chris journey’s into the dark and dangerous underbelly of Binford, aided by an unexpected ally with his own agenda, facing danger with every move, to discover who wants him dead - before the killers strike again.
For fans of Simon Kernick, Harlan Coben, Jason Starr and Mark Billingham.
(Author's note: This is a 50,000 word novel, with strong language)
Part I
1
“Think you’ve finally got the hang of Binford yet?” Chris asked.
Tom shrugged. “I dunno. It’s been six months but it just flew by.”
He was packing up and preparing to leave the classroom now that his after-school revision class had ended. Chris had ended his own revision class earlier and popped in for a quick chat.
“I’ve gotta hand it to you though,” Chris said. “Head of Year’s quite a leap for a newbie.”
Tom smiled. “You know I couldn’t have done it without you showing me the ropes.”
The offer had been made to Tom a week earlier and he had been reluctant to accept it. He had assumed the school board would’ve elected someone with more experience at the school than he had. Someone like Chris. Or Nigel Holmes.
“You gotta admit it’s a pretty good consolation for having to leave Nottingham.”
Tom hadn’t thought of it like that. Sure, he hadn’t wanted to leave Nottingham after just two years of teaching. But he saw the decision to move to London as career advancement and working at Binford School was just a stepping stone.
He was aware of the school’s rough reputation before he had accepted the History teacher position but had felt it was a necessary compromise.
“I spent my whole life up there so I’m not really missing it that much.”
Tom hadn’t known anyone in London before he moved and feared he would end up feeling lonely all the time. He had left all his friends back in Nottingham and worried he wouldn’t click with the southerners he was now surrounded by. But these worries were unfounded and he soon struck up a close friendship with Chris, his fellow History teacher and Kate, another History teacher who had become more than just a friend.
“Take it from me,” Chris said, “I’d gladly switch places with someone at your old school!”
Tom smiled. “You’ve said that a million times now.”
“I know. And I meant it every time. I don’t know how much longer I can take it around here. Doesn’t it bother you? All these problem kids? Sometimes I feel like we’re running a prison than a school.”
Tom nodded.
Binford was the roughest school he had heard of and it did test his patience many times over the five months he had been there so far. The only way he had managed to survive all that time was because he had been telling himself he wouldn’t be at the school for more than another year.
It was one reason why he was reluctant to accept the promotion of becoming the Head of Year for the new Year 7 students in September.
Tom had the feeling Chris had felt the same about staying on. He never asked Chris if he had considered applying for the Head of Year position himself.
Tom didn’t have to. The answer was obvious in all Chris’ comments now.
It was only January now. Not even half way through the school year. But the time would fly by and before he knew it he’d be saddled with much bigger responsibilities than marking homework and lunchtime school yard duties.
A female student showed up at the doorway. “Mr Jones?”
Chris gestured for her to enter.
She began discussing her coursework with him. Tom waved bye to Chris as he walked out.
Tom was walking down the corridor when one of the sixth form boys, Atif, caught up and fell into step with him.
“Mr Smith, I wanted to ask you about that last bit you were talking about – the end of the Second World War.”
Tom smiled. “Maybe if you paid more attention in class and less on chatting up Heena, you’d understand it.”
Atif blushed and laughed. He didn’t try to deny it. “Sorry, sir. You got me.”
They discussed the subject and headed outdoors where a few other boys and girls, including Atif’s girlfriend Heena, were loitering about.
Outside it was a typical dark January evening and the cold air froze Tom’s face the second he stepped out.
Tom and Atif walked through the
car park. Tom was almost finished clarifying the subject by the time they reached the wide entrance to the car park.
Tom heard someone call out his name from behind. He turned to see Chris jogging towards him while waving something in the air.
Tom saw Chris was waving his glasses case and realised he had forgotten them behind when he had walked out. He was thankful Chris had noticed them on the desk.
“Thanks for that, Mr Smith,” Atif said. “It’s just a lot take in.”
Tom turned to Atif. “You just need to pay more attention, that’s all.”
Atif was about to say something when his happy expression transformed into one of shock and horror.
Tom was about to ask him what was wrong but instead turned to the side, following Atif’s gaze and saw what had alarmed the boy.
He felt the shock paralyse him and struggled to comprehend what was happening.
Three men armed with huge knives and their faces covered with bandanas had emerged out of nowhere. They were less than twenty feet away and coming towards Tom and Atif.
Tom held out his hand in a halting motion. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”
The men got closer and Tom got the impression they were young, possibly teenagers. He was six feet tall and all three of them were several inches shorter and slimmer than him. Not that any of this made them any less threatening.
Chris caught up with Tom and Atif. “Don’t come any closer! I’m warning you,” he said to the armed men.
What happened next happened so fast Tom barely understood what was happening.
One of the armed men darted forward and jabbed his huge knife – the blade over eight inches in length – at Tom but Chris stepped in front. The knife plunged into Chris’ chest.
The attacker pulled his knife back and Tom watched as Chris collapsed on the ground.
Tom looked at the attacker, totally stunned by what just happened.
“Let’s fucking go!” One of the other armed men said. It was a teenager’s voice.