by Linda Regan
He hadn’t expected his gran to be so understanding. She’d said she wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of his chance; nothing else mattered except his scholarship and his new life. She’d even given him money and told him to get the hell out here. If only it was that simple!
Sals had helped clean him up, and given him one of her dark tracksuits to wear instead of his own. He looked a sight in it, but he’d worn worse inside, and right now all that mattered was staying out of trouble. Apart from being with Chantelle of course. Last night, when he’d knocked at her place, she’d been surprised to see him but pleased all the same, at least till he told her about Haley. As soon as he laid eyes on her he knew she was on the game and doing drugs; that would have been why she stopped visiting him in Wandsworth. Somehow that wasn’t quite as bad as if she’d stopped loving him, but his heart had nearly broken in a million pieces when he saw faint track marks on the inside of her leg. It was his fault, his and Haley’s, that she had turned to drugs.
Aunt Haley had taken the place of Chantelle’s mother. She’d given Chantelle a home since her real mother died, sent her to dance classes, brought her up to be a good girl. He understood how Chantelle felt about her aunt; she had a lot to be grateful for. But Haley wasn’t what she appeared; what Chantelle didn’t know was that her aunt didn’t really want the best for her.
When he’d rung her this morning he was pleased to find she was staying at Luanne’s. Luanne was strong, and seemed happy to look after her for the time being. Chantelle warned him to get off the estate and go as far away as possible; she had told the Feds it was Yo-Yo who had been at her flat, but they could be on his tail soon as well, so he had no time to hang around. Luanne had agreed to get him another shank to keep him safe on his way up west.
The knock on the door made him jump. Chantelle’s voice came through the letterbox. ‘Jason. Open the door, quick, before anyone sees us.’
He opened the door and Luanne and Chantelle both stepped quickly inside. Chantelle’s eyes were swollen; the sight of it brought a lump to his throat, and he put his arm around her.
‘I’m so sorry about Aunt Haley,’ he said holding her close. If she was so unhappy now, she must never know what had really happened to her aunt. ‘What did Haley do to Yo-Yo?’ he asked Chantelle. ‘Why did he have her killed?’
Chantelle said nothing, but looked at Luanne.
‘He’s supplying you, ain’t he?’ Jason asked. ‘Did she find your gear, and threaten to tell the Feds?’
Chantelle hesitated. ‘Worse than that,’ she said. ‘Yo-Yo hid a lot of gear at mine. She found it, and handed it to the police.’
Jason scratched his untidy mass of dark curls and leaned against the wall. ‘Jesus. You ain’t safe either. He’ll have you punished. You should come with me right now. I need to look after you.’
‘Don’t do this,’ Luanne argued. ‘We’re scared enough already.’
‘Then both of you come with me.’
Luanne shook her head. ‘I have Alysha to think of.’
Jason sucked air through his teeth. ‘Bring Alysha too. We’ll all start fresh. It’s not safe for you here. You’re all in his debt big time.’
Luanne shook her head again. ‘I can’t, Jason. How can I leave that useless lump of a father of mine? We’ll be OK, all of us together. Alysha and I will take care of Chantelle for you. By the time everything’s sorted with Haley, you’ll be up west and you’ll be set up. Chantelle will join you then.’
Jason’s eyes pierced into Luanne’s. ‘I’m relying on you. Don’t let her out of your sight.’
‘I’ll look after her.’
‘They won’t release the body for a while,’ he told Chantelle. ‘You know it takes time when it’s murder. If you change your mind, or anyone frightens you, ring me and I’ll be there.’ He turned back to Luanne. ‘Did you get me a shank?’
Chantelle opened her bag and took out a supermarket carrier. ‘There’s some money in there too.’
‘I’ve got money.’
‘Take it. You can use it to set us up somewhere when I join you.’
Jason pulled the wad Sals had given him from his pocket and waved it at her. ‘I said I’ve got money. You need this more than I do.’ He took the knife and pushed the cash back into her hand.
‘Do you really need a shank?’ Chantelle asked. ‘If you’re caught carrying you’ll go straight back inside.’
He smiled. She did still care, then. He balanced the knife in his hand. Good size, easy to conceal. Luanne had chosen well. ‘The Feds don’t understand. They don’t have to cross gang territory. I’m not looking for trouble, it’s just that I’m a mixed race boy, and I can’t walk from postcode to postcode without protection. This shank is a good size.’
‘It’s Alysha’s,’ Luanne told him. ‘She’s Michael’s Younger. He gets her all sorts.’
‘You be careful,’ Chantelle said, close to tears again.
He reached for her and held her close to him. ‘I love you,’ he whispered.
Over her shoulder he saw Luanne smile and wrinkle her nose. Chantelle buried her face in his shoulder. ‘I’m not worth it.’
‘Yes. Yes, you are.’ He dropped his arms and took her face in his hands. ‘It breaks my heart to hear what’s happened, but I still love you. I’ll never stop loving you. I’m going to sort everything. But you have to get yourself off that shit, you hear me? I’m back now.’ He let go of her and slumped against the wall. ‘Is that why you never came near me this last two years?’
Chantelle pressed her lips together to stop herself crying. It didn’t work.
‘Jason, don’t . . .’ Luanne put out a hand and touched his arm.
He swung around angrily. ‘I need to know,’ he shouted. ‘Chantelle, I need to know why you never came to me.’
‘Keep your voice down, for fuck’s sake,’ Luanne urged.
He took Chantelle in his arms again and forced himself to speak gently. ‘Don’t cry. OK. It’s OK. I’m gonna sort it. As long as you still love me, nothing else matters. I’ll sort this.’
Chantelle didn’t answer.
‘I’m going to help you. Just tell me you want us to have a life together. All I need is to know you love me and want to be with me.’
‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘But you deserve better.’
He shook his head. ‘No. You’re my girl. I don’t want no one else.’
Chantelle looked away.
‘Are you still my girl?’
She looked at him. Her forehead crumpled and her lips quivered. Those large chocolate eyes had filled his thoughts while he was away.
She nodded.
‘OK,’ he whispered, stroking her hair. ‘We can do this. You don’t need drugs now. I’m here. You have to go cold turkey. It’s the only way. You can do it, baby. I’ll help you.’
She nodded again.
‘We’re gonna get there. You and me.’ He smiled sadly and dug into his pocket for the money Sals had given him out. He divided it roughly in two, and handed her half. ‘If any of the Brotherhood get on your case, give them this. I’ll get you more. You do not go back on the streets, you hear me? You’re my girl. No one touches you.’
‘You ain’t top dog round here no more, Jason Young,’ Luanne interrupted. ‘You can’t upset the Brotherhood like that. You’ll make it even harder for her. The Brotherhood run things now. They’ve already killed Haley cos she crossed them. They’re planning to kill you too, and then they’ll kill her. Is that what you want?’
Jason threw Luanne an angry look, then twitched his head sideways to tell her to get lost. She opened the door and stalked outside, slamming it behind her.
‘I’m sorry, Jase,’ Chantelle said weakly. ‘I just wanted stuff to stop me missing you.’
‘I know, baby, and I’m sorry I had to leave you alone all that time. But I’m back now, and I love you. If you love me too, that’s all that matters.’ His voice softened. ‘You’re not safe here. You’ve got to let me take care of
you. If you’ve given Yo-Yo up to the Feds, you need to get away. Come with me.’
‘I can’t leave till my aunt’s stuff is sorted. If I go they’ll come after us for the money I owe for the stuff Haley gave to the Feds. If I pay Yo-Yo, they’ll leave us alone.’
‘I’ll get you money to pay Yo-Yo.’
‘No. I’ll sort it. Then I’ll follow you.’
‘How?’
‘He won’t hurt me if I keep making money for him.’
Jason took a sharp breath. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to kill Yo-Yo Reilly for touching his girl. He said nothing, but made a silent promise to himself. When he spoke again he made an effort to keep his voice even. ‘Baby, if you think whoring for him will keep you alive, you ain’t got nothing up here.’ He stabbed at his temple, fighting his temper down.
Chantelle didn’t reply.
‘You really ain’t safe, baby, you gotta believe it. He’s doing you to get at me.’
She stared at him dumbly. Her eyes looked bigger and sadder than he’d ever seen them. ‘Are you not listening to me?’
She gave herself a little shake. ‘I will come and join you. But I can look out for myself.’
‘I don’t think you can, not against Yo-Yo. Come with me, let me care for you. Please.’
She didn’t answer.
He gave her shoulders a little shake. ‘Do you still want to dance?’
She nodded.
‘It’s our dream, right? I’m going to make our dream happen.’ He kissed the red cocaine scars at the edges of her nose. ‘We said we’d dance and now we’ve got the chance. Let’s get out of here and start again.’
‘Yes, I will, but not today. Please, Jason! Don’t ask me again.’
He dropped his hands to his sides. He’d been shot and stabbed, spent years locked in institutions and been hungry on the streets. The pain that he felt at that moment was worse than all of those put together. He bent to fix Alysha’s knife inside his sock, using the time to regain control over his temper.
‘OK.’ He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Stay. Do what you have to do. But keep my number with you all the time.’
He tried to read her face, but those beautiful, gold-flecked eyes couldn’t look back at him.
SEVEN
It was seven o’clock on Saturday morning and Georgia Johnson was on tenterhooks. She had slept for less than an hour before getting up and making her way into the shower for the second time that morning. She allowed the hot water to stream over her taut body as she scrubbed it all over with soap again and again.
She dressed quickly in a freshly laundered white T-shirt, black sweatshirt and expensive ice-blue jeans, then pulled comfortable white socks over her feet and slipped them into pristine black trainers. As she grabbed her short black leather jacket, her heart sank. Her keys were still in the pocket of the coat she’d thrown out last night. She would have to go through the process of putting on the thick, black elbow-length plastic gloves and tipping up the bin liner containing the ruined clothing. Then she’d have to push her hand inside the coat pocket to retrieve the keys. She took a deep breath and headed for the door.
When she came back into the flat she dumped the gloves in the pail, stripped off her jacket and sweatshirt and ran her hands and arms under hot running water before lathering them with soap. The rinsing water was so hot it turned her skin bright pink, and the towel seemed to scour off a couple of layers.
Before she left the flat she smeared Vaseline over her mouth and dropped two eye drops in each eye, then flicked a mascara wand over her dark lashes and blinked herself awake.
When she arrived at the station, the forensics on the blood spatters on Haley Gulati’s door and hallway hadn’t come back. That was only to be expected. It could take at least forty-eight hours to get those results; the problem was they couldn’t hold Reilly all that time without charging him or getting an extension. Applying for an extension would mean committing to paper the first-hand evidence Chantelle Gulati had given regarding the visit Reilly had paid her after her aunt’s murder. Georgia didn’t want to jeopardize Chantelle’s safety by making that information public. Reilly was one of the most powerful gang leaders in South London; he had ways of putting Chantelle’s life in grave danger, even from a police cell.
Right now they were closer to nailing Reilly than ever before. Previously he’d always slipped through their fingers; well, not this time, Georgia vowed. But first she had to get his statement, and also make sure he was refused bail. Even if he claimed he knew nothing about the murdered woman, the forensics would prove different; it might take a few days, but that test would put Reilly’s DNA in Haley’s blood on Chantelle’s door. Then she had the bastard for first degree murder, and no bent solicitor would get him off. But she needed time, and right now without naming Chantelle she had no sound evidence to hold him. She could charge him for breeding illegal pit bulls; that could mean a custodial sentence, but it wasn’t cut and dried. First they had to prove the pit bulls were pit bulls, and when they’d tried it before his crook of a solicitor had found someone to swear they were crossbreeds and therefore perfectly legal.
She tapped her papers into a neat pile. She had never needed quick DNA results more than today. Every police officer in London would raise a glass when Reilly was behind bars; she wanted the honour of putting him there, and soon. The sight of the victim had set the bee loose in her bonnet. She wanted justice.
Reilly had already made the phone call he was allowed, and brought in Alan Oakwood, solicitor to the lowest of the low in the criminal world, specializing in the rich drug barons around South London.
Oakwood was there when Georgia walked into the custody area, bending every ear that would listen: his client was innocent, they had nothing to hold him; even his dogs, which the police had wrongfully seized and locked in a pound, weren’t pit bull terriers at all, but crossbreeds. Once that was proved, he would insist that the dogs and his client be released immediately.
‘Change the record,’ Georgia said to Oakwood as she walked past. She called the custody sergeant aside. On no account, she told him, was he to listen to Oakwood’s drivel, or release anyone without her say-so. The sergeant told her the youth who had waved the knife at her had been released, with Oakwood’s help of course, and bailed to appear in court charged with carrying an offensive weapon with intent to harm a police officer.
Georgia was less than happy about that, but she had bigger fish to fry. She had to find a way of persuading the Lambeth lab to get those tests done at speed, then Alan Oakwood could shout his hairy head off about the pit bulls. Once Reilly was banged up, Georgia was confident crime in South London would calm down for a while. Of course a new gang would appear, or one of Reilly’s crew would move up to the role of chief Elder, but Georgia would face that when it happened. It was unlikely anyone else would be as big a threat as Reilly.
But they could only ignore Oakwood for thirty-six hours; after that he would be within his legal rights to demand Yo-Yo’s release. The guys in the lab at Lambeth were doing their best, but couldn’t work miracles. DNA testing took time, especially when there were two sets to look for: first Haley’s blood, then Reilly’s perspiration and skin cells in the blood.
Time was something Georgia Johnson was short of at this minute, and she hadn’t a lot of patience either. She had a sister who worked as a microbiologist, but unfortunately not in Lambeth.
A thought struck her. At yesterday’s meeting, when they were told DI David Dawes was coming in because he was well up on gang crime, someone had also mentioned that he was from an influential family. She didn’t recall what kind of influence they had, but maybe he knew someone who could pull strings and move her tests to the front of the queue.
She left the custody area and made her way to the incident room. Stephanie Green was sitting at her desk dunking shortbread biscuits in a plastic cup of vending machine tea. There were wet brown stains on the reports she was reading.
Geo
rgia refrained from commenting. ‘Have you got any background on DI Dawes?’ she asked.
‘Like what?’ Stephanie dropped the remains of a wilting biscuit into her tea.
‘Like personal details?’
Stephanie scooped the biscuity mess from the cup with her fingers and shovelled it into her mouth. ‘Word is he’s been sent over from the West End. He’s an expert on London gangs, studies them all, and he’ll be an asset to this case.’ She ran her tongue over the back of her teeth to retrieve the last few crumbs of shortbread and raised her eyebrows at Georgia. ‘Apparently he has a good reputation, and a good pedigree.’
‘Pedigree, eh?’ Georgia used a manicured nail to bend a loose hair back into her ponytail. ‘Any more on that?’
‘Unlike you to take a personal interest in a new DI, ma’am.’ Stephanie tossed the last of the tea down her throat, and squashed the plastic cup and aimed it at the bin. Her eyes twinkled at Georgia. ‘Like the look of him, do you?’
Georgia gave her a look that spoke volumes. ‘I heard he has friends in high places. I’m hoping he might have a contact in forensics. I need to get this DNA pushed through.’