Brotherhood of Blades

by Linda Regan

  ‘Stay off our patch,’ Boot warned him.

  Jason bowed his head in a limp salute. It took all his willpower not to pull the knife and slice the bastard there and then.

  ‘Can I pass?’ he asked.

  For a single second they all held eye contact, then Boot and Mince pulled at the dog and walked on by.

  Jason gave himself a few seconds to let the tension flow out of his body, then he made his way into the alleyway leading to the Romney. He punched Luanne’s number into his mobile. She picked up. She was waiting at the hospital, and couldn’t talk for long.

  ‘Have you seen Alysha?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m looking. I’ll call you when I hear something. How’s Chantelle?’

  There was silence for a few seconds, and something cold clutched at Jason’s chest. Then Luanne said, ‘She’s with the doctors. There are Feds all over. Jason, you’d better not come here. I think they’re looking for you. They’re going to fit you up for Haley’s murder.’

  Somehow that wasn’t important. All that mattered was that Chantelle was still alive. He asked Luanne about the gun. It was waiting where they’d agreed, she said: in a bag in the bin by the shed, and she’d put poppers in the shed.

  ‘You want to hurry up and get the hell out of there,’ she told him. ‘Don’t worry about Chantelle; I’ll look out for her. Call me if you find Alysha, yeah? And keep her away from the shooting.’ She didn’t need to mention Yo-Yo and the rest of the Brotherhood; they both knew what she was talking about.

  He clicked his phone shut and kicked a lamppost, nearly breaking his toe. Why didn’t he take Chantelle with him last night when he had a chance? He couldn’t even go and see her now. He pulled himself together; too much to do to waste time on might-have-beens. He’d lose his scholarship, and any chance of a life away from here, but nothing, nothing meant more to him than Chantelle.

  It was true what they said, he thought wryly; estate boys never got away. They died from drugs or guns, or rotted in prison. Right now he was too angry to care.

  A police car drew up at the edge of the estate. He moved back, pulled his cap down and his hood up and pressed his body against the broad tree trunk at the end of the alley.

  He stayed there a couple of minutes, keeping perfectly still. When he looked up the car was parked, and the two Feds sat talking to each other. Neither of them was looking in his direction. He seized his chance and sauntered casually towards the shed.

  Georgia and Stephanie had joined Dawes and Peacock at Luanne’s flat on the thirteenth floor of the Aviary. Uniformed officers were out in force, knocking on doors and asking neighbours for a description of anyone they’d seen earlier. No one had seen anything. All they had gathered so far was a lot of abuse.

  Forensic officers were busy scraping scattered particles of dried blood and skin that were stuck to the door and hallway. Hairs and bloodstained mud from inside and outside the flat went into labelled phials, which were pocketed in evidence bags ready for the lab.

  ‘This is my fault,’ Stephanie said. ‘I told uniform to search for the weapon that killed Haley Gulati. That left the girls vulnerable.’

  Georgia felt just as responsible. ‘If we find the weapon, it will help us send Jason Young back to prison,’ she pointed out.

  ‘There are more weapons to look for now.’ Dawes was tight-lipped with anger. ‘I saw the damage. It looked as if Chantelle had been attacked with a bat or a hammer. Her head was broken open.’

  Georgia and Stephanie exchanged a glance, but before Dawes could make them feel any worse, Stephanie’s phone bleeped into life. As she pulled it from her pocket, sweet papers and a chewed biro top came with it.

  ‘TIU,’ she mouthed to Georgia. ‘They’ve picked up another signal.’ She gave a thumbs-up. ‘Yesss! Jason Young’s just used his phone again. He’s moved from the Elephant. He’s around here!’

  ELEVEN

  Sally’s legs felt as if they were made of lead as she trudged slowly up the three flights of stairs. It had been a long night and an even longer morning, and her head was thumping like a set of bongo drums. She wanted nothing more than to put her feet up and have a nice cup of tea. Still, she consoled herself, after this all died down she could take a few days off the market without having to worry; at least they were paying up for what they’d done to her crockery. She’d still go to the station and tell on the Brotherhood though. It would distract the police’s attention from Jason, and give him time to get well away. She only hoped the blood on that sweatshirt was too faint to point the finger. She wasn’t going to let that gang of bullying crooks get one over her; she was going to stand up to them and get them locked away. And when she’d done that, the police would drive her home, she’d make a whole pot of tea, drink the lot, then go to bed for that hard-earned rest.

  As she reached her front door and put her key in the lock a shot rang through the air. Sally heard it at the same moment as the explosion inside her head. Her forehead hit her door and white stars gently bobbed around the edge of her vision. Then her body slid heavily to the floor, and she watched those same stars diminish and fade to black. She couldn’t see the blood pumping from the hole in her neck and she didn’t hear her elderly Jamaican neighbour call her name. Everything went dark and still.

  The uniformed police officers waiting in the car below jumped out as they heard the shot. One dashed up the stairs two at a time while the other radioed for back-up and an ambulance. ‘Papa Yankee Seven,’ he shouted, following his friend toward the stairs. ‘Urgent help required. Gunshots on the Romney Estate, block three.’

  The call came through the radios of the uniformed officers outside Luanne’s flat.

  ‘That’s Sally Young’s block,’ Georgia said urgently.

  By the time Stephanie and Georgia had driven round the corner to the Romney estate, uniformed officers and at least a dozen residents were swarming around Sally’s flat.

  Georgia pushed her way through, yelling at a uniformed sergeant, ‘Cordon off the whole of this floor. This is a crime scene. Clear it!’

  The elderly Jamaican neighbour who had run out to help Sally was on his knees beside her, crying.

  ‘Move away,’ Georgia shouted to him. ‘Clear the area, now.’

  ‘I can’t clear,’ he said. ‘I live here. Sals is my neighbour.’

  Georgia dropped to her haunches beside him. ‘Did you see anything?’ she asked noticing his skin was grey with shock.

  He looked nervously at her and shook his head.

  Stephanie stripped off her duffle coat and jumper and laid them on the ground, then pulled off her coffee-stained T-shirt and used it to try to stem the flow of blood. ‘She’s alive,’ she told Georgia.

  Sirens signalled the ambulance’s arrival.

  ‘Tell me exactly what you saw?’ Georgia asked the neighbour gently.

  A look of terror spread across his face, as if she had asked him to jump over the balcony. He backed away and retreated behind his own front door. Just before he closed it in Georgia’s face, he whispered, ‘Nothing. I saw nothing man.’

  Georgia sighed. ‘Are forensics on their way?’ she asked Stephanie.

  Stephanie nodded.

  Two paramedics laden with blankets, oxygen and medi-kits puffed up the stairs. Stephanie jumped up out of their way. After a brief examination they strapped Sally to the stretcher and carried her carefully to the waiting ambulance.

  Uniformed officers secured blue and white cordons across both ends of the walkways. Hank Peacock and David Dawes arrived. Peacock turned scarlet at the sight of Stephanie’s ample bosom barely covered by a scarlet double DD cup bra. Two kids, neither of them more than eight or nine, followed them and stood wide-eyed, trying to see what was going on.

  ‘Time to go home,’ Dawes told them.

  ‘Whatcha doing?’ one shouted.

  ‘Trying to help a lady who’s been hurt,’ Peacock answered. ‘Did you see anyone down there?’

  ‘Wouldn’t tell you if we did,’ one of the
children said. ‘Unless you give us a fiver.’

  ‘Then we still won’t say nothing,’ the other one added. ‘Cos we’ll get more to keep our mouths shut.’

  Dawes suddenly lost his temper. ‘Bugger off, both of you, before I throw you in a cell.’

  Stephanie caught Georgia’s eye. This was a DI from one of the toughest stations in London, seconded to them because his knowledge of South London estate gangs could win him a trophy on Mastermind – and he was letting two estate kids get to him. Something had ruffled his feathers. Georgia knew the signs; there was a personal issue here, something she needed to know more about if he was to stay on her team. But that was for later. Now she chose to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

  Stephanie was struggling to put her jumper back on and move the kids on. She ignored their jibes about her red bra and called to the uniformed officers to keep the public away. ‘This is crime scene,’ she shouted. ‘Let’s keep it clear.’

  David Dawes seemed not to have noticed that Stephanie was half-undressed. There was a flash of M & S lacy knickers as she unzipped her jeans to tuck in her jumper, but he didn’t seem to clock that either.

  ‘We’ll take a drive around the estate,’ Georgia said. ‘When you’ve finished getting your clothes back on, that is.’

  The place was crawling with Feds. Jason needed to be careful, though he knew the Romney estate better than any of them. He moved slowly until he got to the shed, then opened the door and crawled in on all fours. There was a large waste bin in the corner; he shuffled across the floor and sat behind it, holding the gun tightly. He had to bide his time now until it was safe to come out. He knew all the shed’s hidden corners; if he heard anyone approaching, he could be in the roof space in a couple of seconds, and no one who looked inside would see him.

  His plan was to wait until it all calmed down out there, then back to the Aviary to finish his business. After that he didn’t care a toss what happened to him. The bastards who did Chantelle over deserved to pay; and they would; that was the law of the street.

  It could all have been so different if Chantelle had left with him last night. They could be having an adventure together by now, sleeping under the bridge. His mind briefly replayed their tender lovemaking: the way she gazed into his eyes as he touched her; the gentle way she moved with him, almost as if they were dancing; the way she told him over and over that she loved him and always would. No one else had ever told him they loved him.

  Life was a bitch. He blinked away tears, and told himself to concentrate on what had to be done. He needed to find Alysha. She was a clever kid, sharp and resourceful; no doubt she was hiding out somewhere until this was over. When it was, she would have Luanne, and they’d take care of each other. Luanne was going to look after Chantelle too, while Jason was in hiding, but it would all be settled one day, and then maybe they could all move on together, like a family. Chantelle had to be OK.

  He stared down at the gun. It was only yesterday that he had turned his back on all this, but some things couldn’t be ignored. A lot of his Buzzard pack had been shot standing up for people they cared about. That was what a pack did. Those girls were his pack now, and he would look after them. You had to help each other to survive, and you made your own family.

  The door creaked slowly open and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He rose to his feet and leaned against the pillar by the empty bin, flicking a glance at the beamed roof space. He could be up there in two seconds, and the doorway would be right in his line of fire. If this was one of those Brotherhood bastards, he could get ready to take his last breath.

  But the terrified face that peeped around the door frame was Alysha’s.

  ‘Hey!’ he called to her, quickly dropping his arm so she didn’t see the gun. ‘It’s Jason. Come in, sweetheart, quickly, and close the door. Check no one can see you first.’

  She was shaking.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said.

  ‘I did, but when I heard what happened I came back to help you.’ He moved closer to her and put his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘I’m running from the Brotherhood,’ she said. ‘They came round and beat up Luanne and Chantelle. I just ran. I came over here, but now this estate is crawling with Feds too. Someone’s been shot.’

  He edged the gun round behind him, hoping she wouldn’t see it. ‘I heard,’ he said. ‘Luanne belled me, she told me what happened. She’s OK – just a bad arm and a smacked face. Are you hurt?’

  Alysha shook her head.

  ‘Luanne went to the hospital to get patched up. Chantelle’s there too. She’s worrying about you.’ He handed her his mobile. ‘Call her and tell her where you are. She needs to know you’re OK.’

  Alysha’s lip curled. ‘They were hurting Chantelle and they twisted Luanne’s arm and hit her in the face. She was screaming, they hurt her so bad. I was scared, so I ran.’

  Jason nodded. ‘You did the right thing, babe. Chantelle’s in a bad way.’

  Alysha slid to the ground next to him, her eyes dark with fear. He joined her on the shed floor and slipped his arm around her. ‘It’s OK, darling. I’m gonna take care of it. They won’t hurt any of you again. I promise. Who was it hurt Chantelle and Luanne? I need to know. Was it Boot?’

  ‘You got a gun there?’ she asked him.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you just shoot someone? Someone got shot, that’s why the Feds came.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not me.’

  ‘Are you going to kill those Brotherhood scum?’

  ‘You don’t need to know that.’ He levered himself upright and walked to the door. ‘Stay here where you’re safe. If you hear anyone coming, climb up there, into the roof.’ He pointed to the footholds in the wall which would take her up into the rafters. ‘And listen up: don’t come out until either me or Luanne comes back for you.’

  No one on the Romney had seen or heard anything; a few admitted to hearing the shot, but shook their heads blankly and said, ‘I thought it was a just car backfiring.’

  Georgia and Stephanie were inside Sally’s flat, going through her things. As the ambulance siren shrilled its way out of the estate, Stephanie’s phone bleeped.

  It was TIU support again; they had picked up another signal. Jason Young was somewhere on the estate; they didn’t have an exact location yet but they were working on it.

  ‘Get on to CO19,’ Georgia told Stephanie. ‘We need their back-up. Jason Young is around here, probably with a gun. He stabs Haley Gulati then shoots his own grandmother,’ Georgia sighed. ‘And he’s been out of the slammer less than a week.’

  ‘I wonder if he knows Chantelle is in hospital,’ Stephanie said.

  ‘Maybe he put her there. Who knows what he’s capable of?’

  ‘Maybe he’ll go to Luanne’s?’

  ‘Good thinking, sergeant. Let’s go.’

  House-to-house enquiries had drawn a blank. Dawes and Peacock decided to get in the car and drive around the perimeter of the estate. After only a few minutes they spotted Yo-Yo Reilly walking down the road holding two ugly dogs tugging at the end of short gilt chains.

  Two boys followed close behind him: one also held a dog, and the other was very tall.

  ‘Well, whaddya know,’ Dawes said. ‘Dwayne Ripley and Michael Delahaye. Boot and Mince. And big man Reilly himself.’ He pulled up and wound down the window.

  Reilly recognized them right away. ‘Fuck me,’ he said, ‘this is starting to look like harassment. These dogs are legal . . .’

  Dawes leaned out of the window and held his hand up to silence him. One of the dogs flew at his hand, and Dawes pulled it back quickly.

  ‘Just doing its job,’ Reilly said with a grin. ‘Thought you were having a go at me.’

  Dawes looked past him at the two behind. ‘Ripley, Delahaye, I’d like you both to come to the station and answer a few questions regarding the murder of Haley Gulati.’

  ‘Nothing to do with us,’ Boot Ripley sai
d dismissively.

  ‘We have reason to believe you both had sex with her just prior to her death.’

  Dawes expected them to leg it; in fact he rather hoped they would. They wouldn’t get very far, and he might get in a punch or two if they resisted. Much to his surprise, neither moved.

  Luanne’s front door was wide open. Georgia knocked and called the girl’s name. No one answered.

  Luanne was sitting on the sofa, her arm in a clean, white sling, with only her long mauve fingernails visible. Her other hand cradled her forearm, and her mobile lay on the table in front of her.

  Georgia sat down beside her, noticing the purpled swelling below her left eye. ‘I am so sorry.’

  ‘See the damage caused by talking to you lot,’ Luanne snapped. ‘Chantelle’s in intensive care, I’m like this and my sister’s disappeared. If anything happens to Alysha, I don’t know what I’ll do.’ She dropped her head into her unbandaged hand. ‘Chantelle’s bad. She’s not even conscious. You could see inside her head as they took her away. They’re operating on her now.’ She took a deep breath. ‘What have we started here?’

  ‘Was it Reilly?’ Georgia asked.

  Luanne pressed her lips together.

  Stephanie tried. ‘If you give us a statement . . .’

  Luanne’s eyes flared. ‘I didn’t see their faces, OK?’

  ‘Just tell me how many there were?’

  She shrugged. ‘Two.’

  ‘Could it have been Jason Young? Has he got anything on you?’ Georgia asked.

  Luanne spun round. ‘Not Jason. No.’

  ‘It’s since his release that all this has kicked off,’ Georgia pointed out. ‘He’s involved somehow, and we need to find him.’

  ‘I don’t know nothing about that,’ Luanne snapped. ‘I just want Alysha safe. She’s twelve-years-old. Can you just go, please, before anyone knows I’ve talked to you again. My sister is in danger.’

  ‘Your father should be here,’ said Stephanie.

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘When is he likely to come home?’