by Linda Regan
‘I don’t think my client meant to lie,’ Alan Oakwood butted in. ‘You’re making him nervous. He forgot, that’s all.’
She ignored him and sat back. Stephanie took over, her tone gentler. ‘Tell us about having sex with Haley. How did it come about?’
His face broke into a wide grin. ‘She couldn’t wait. Our tribe were having a good time in the derelicts. Some of the guys were doing music and some smoke down there. She came in, gasping for it, and we all had a turn.’
‘Where did you do it?’
‘Come again?’
‘In the derelicts or outside?’
His eyebrows moved again. ‘Both,’ he said after a moment. ‘Inside and out.’
‘What time was this?’ Georgia asked.
‘Around ten, I’d say.’
‘Then what did you do?’
‘I went and had a smoke, then I went home, innit.’
‘What time was this?’
He became thoughtful and cautious, and his gaze flicked around the room. ‘Well now, that’s a bit hard to say,’ he said casually. ‘The weed chills me, do you hear what I’m saying? I lose track of time.’
‘And of what you’re doing?’ Georgia suggested.
He raised his hands. ‘I ain’t done no knife, you hear me now. Ain’t no knife nowhere says I held it and dug her.’ He blew out a breath. ‘You ain’t pinning that on me. I ain’t stabbed no one, you hear what I’m saying?’
He laid his hands on the table and glared at her. Georgia sat back and folded her arms. For a few seconds there was silence, then Stephanie said softly, ‘Brotherhood of Blades.’ There was admiration in her voice. ‘They don’t call you that for nothing.’
Delahaye was still tense. ‘You taking the piss or something, lady?’
‘Why did Haley Gulati get stabbed?’ Stephanie asked gently. ‘What did she do?’
He slammed the table with the flat of his hand. ‘I didn’t dig her.’
‘Then who did?’
‘How would I know? Just cos I know how to use a blade, don’t mean I ain’t never killed no one.’
‘You did rape her, though.’
Alan Oakwood motioned to Mince to keep quiet. ‘My client has already told you he did not rape the victim.’
‘But he hasn’t told us which one of his tribe stabbed her,’ Georgia snapped. She turned back to Delahaye. ‘You say you’re a family, and you share things. Does that include blame? You can all go down for murder if you like.’
‘We came here because we didn’t dig her. You said you could eliminate us.’
‘Not me, sunshine. OK, let’s try something else. Why did you shoot Sally Young? She’s got a big mouth, was that it?’
‘Nothing to do with us.’
‘But Chantelle Gulati was to do with you. You all work for Yo-Yo Reilly, don’t you?’
‘We’re his tribe.’
‘Chantelle was beaten so badly she’s fighting for her life,’ Georgia pushed. ‘Her friends say it was because she talked to us. Did you do that?’
‘She’s a slag. Anyone could have done her. Haley lost something Chantelle was looking after. Chantelle should have been more careful.’
Georgia and Stephanie exchanged a glance. Now they were getting somewhere. ‘Haley lost Reilly’s drugs, and Chantelle was punished?’
‘I didn’t say that, man. She was fine when we left her.’ He turned to Alan Oakwood. ‘Can they do this to me? I told them I didn’t do it, you hear me now.’
‘No, they can’t.’ Oakwood sat up and leaned across the table. ‘My client has come here of his own accord. He has admitted having consensual sex with the murder victim shortly before her death. He has told you he knows nothing about the stabbing, or any of these other accusations you’ve been throwing at him. If you have no evidence to prove otherwise, I’m going to insist that you to release him.’
‘Interview terminated three oh five p.m.’ Georgia clicked off the tape.
David Dawes sat in the CO19 van with Jim Blake, the commanding officer. They were following the team’s progress on the monitor. The CO19 armed police had moved in and surrounded the shed the phone trace had pinpointed. The occupants of the flats near the shed had been evacuated in case of gunfire.
Hank Peacock was outside under the trees alongside the pathway. Another dozen armed officers were ready to move in as back-up if Young started firing.
Dawes’s phone rang. Young had just made another call.
‘We’re on,’ Dawes told Jim Blake.
The CO19 commander opened the van door, put his loudhailer to his mouth and spoke slowly and clearly. ‘Drop your weapons. Put your hands in the air and walk out slowly. You are surrounded. I repeat, drop your weapons, and walk out with your hands in the air.’
A tense silence lasted a few seconds, but there was no sound from inside the shed.
Jim Blake spoke again. ‘You have ten seconds to give yourself up and come out, or we are coming in. Ten. Nine.’
David Dawes picked up a second loudhailer and stepped out of the van.
‘Eight. Seven. Six.’
Dawes took over. ‘You’ve less than five seconds. We are coming in. Throw the gun down and come out.’
‘Four. Three.’
A scream ripped through the air. Luanne was a hundred yards away, hurrying towards them, her bandaged arm bobbing up and down against her body. ‘My sister! My little sister’s in there,’ she screamed.
‘Hold it! Hold it!’ Dawes shouted urgently throwing his hand in the air to halt the team.
Luanne was still yelling. ‘She’s only twelve! Alysha! Alysha, it’s OK. I’m here, babe.’
Dawes hurried over to her, wincing as he saw her bruised face. He loathed the thought of these young girls being used and knocked about.
‘Jason Young’s in there,’ Dawes told her. ‘We believe he’s armed.’
‘No, he’s not! Alysha is. She’s just rung me. She’s on her own.’ She pushed him aside and hurried toward the shed.
Hank Peacock quickly moved in to stop her, but Dawes motioned him to stand back.
As Luanne approached, the shed door opened an inch, then another, then Alysha’s terrified face peeped out. In her raised hand she was holding a phone.
THIRTEEN
‘Hold fire!’ David Dawes and Jim Blake shouted in unison.
‘That’s my sister,’ Luanne screamed. ‘You nearly shot my sister.’
Dawes ran towards the terrified girl, put a protective arm around her and kicked the shed door open. Blake gave his men the signal, and they moved into the shed calling, ‘Police! Throw down your weapon.’
A woman constable restrained Luanne, who was still yelling. Dawes looked down at Alysha, still cradled in his arm. ‘Where did you find that phone?’
‘Jason gave it to me,’ she told him. ‘I ran away when Luanne and Chantelle got a beating. I met Jason and told him what happened. He gave me his phone and told me to ring Luanne and tell her where I was.’
‘When was this?’
‘Not long ago. Maybe an hour? I’ve been hiding. I don’t know how much time has passed.’
‘Do you know where Jason is?’
‘He’s not in there,’ she said. ‘He’s gone.’
Luanne was still shrieking her sister’s name.
‘Let her through,’ Dawes said to Blake, releasing his hold on Alysha.
Luanne ran towards Alysha and pulled her into a tight hug with her good arm. ‘Thank God you’re safe, darlin’. No one’s gonna shoot you, I won’t let them . . .’
‘He didn’t hurt you?’ Dawes asked Alysha.
‘Of course not. Jason wouldn’t hurt us,’ said Luanne.
‘Or hold you against your will?’
‘He wouldn’t do that. Not to us.’
‘Do you know where he’s gone?’
Alysha looked at Luanne, her large brown eyes bulbous with fear.
‘It’s all right, babe, you ain’t in any trouble. Go ahead and tell them,’ Luanne urged.
Dawes dragged his fingers through his hair. ‘Any idea where he was heading?’
Alysha looked at Luanne again.
‘It’s OK, babe. If you know, tell them.’
‘He’s gone over to the Aviary. Said he’s going to kill . . .’
Dawes didn’t wait for her to finish. ‘Peacock! Back-up to the Aviary, now.’
Jim Blake was barking orders to his team. ‘All units – Aviary estate. Armed gunman in the Aviary estate.’
A small crowd had gathered just outside the police cordon, determined to find out what was going on. As the police vehicles drew away, David Dawes spoke to the onlookers through the loudhailer.
‘There is an armed gunman on the loose,’ he told them. ‘He is extremely dangerous, and must not be approached. If you think you spot him, please call 999. We have armed police units in the area. For your own safety, please, all of you, go home.’
David Dawes placed Luanne and Alysha in the care of a female sergeant. ‘Make sure they get home,’ he told her, ‘and keep an eye on them till this is over.’
He hurried away towards the car where Hank Peacock was waiting. Alysha pulled free of the sergeant and scurried after him. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she shouted.
‘Lysha!’ Luanne shouted. ‘You come back here!’
Dawes turned to face Alysha. She was good at playing tough, but the truth was she was a terrified twelve-year-old child.
‘No,’ he said gently. ‘You’ve done really well, but now your sister needs you to look after her. You go home with her. I’ll send a couple of my officers to keep you safe.’
Luanne caught up with her sister. ‘We don’t want you to do that,’ she told Dawes. ‘It ain’t safe for us to have uniformed Feds guarding us.’
‘They don’t have to be in uniform. I’d like to make sure no one hurts you again.’
Luanne shook her head vigorously. ‘How many times do I have to spell it out? If you hang around us we’re even less safe. I have to look out for my sister.’
‘It’s my job to keep you safe,’ Dawes told her.
‘It doesn’t work like that round here. We look out for ourselves.’
Peacock appeared from behind the car. ‘What about Alysha? You want her to be safe?’
‘You don’t get it, do you? The best way to keep us safe is to stay away. We don’t want no Feds at our house.’
Alysha shook her hair extensions. They sounded like beaded curtains. ‘I can look out for myself,’ she said defiantly.
‘You could have been shot just now,’ Dawes told her. ‘If not by Jason Young, then by CO19.’
‘But I didn’t.’
‘No Feds at our house,’ Luanne repeated.
Dawes was aching with frustration. The girls were too afraid to accept his help and that made them more vulnerable. He turned his back on them and climbed into the car.
The drive to the edge of the Aviary Estate took only a couple of minutes. Dawes sat in silence, unable to trust himself to speak. Alysha and Luanne reminded him of his sister: not physically, but in other ways. They were all vulnerable, victims of the drug pushers who ran the estate. Alysha was still a child, and Luanne was devoted to her, but she was too afraid to accept police protection.
‘You all right, sir?’ Peacock asked him. ‘It’s those girls, isn’t it?’
This lad was growing on Dawes. He was green, and he lacked tact, but he was young and new to all this. He was also loyal, likeable, and keen, and unlike a lot of them at this South London nick, he listened. Today was a baptism of fire for a trainee detective.
‘They need someone to keep an eye on them,’ he answered.
‘They’ll have it.’ Hank winked. ‘I spoke to uniform, told them to keep a look-out, but from a distance.’
Dawes opened his mouth to tell him he had done well, but he suddenly caught sight of Alysha in the side mirror. She was running down the middle of the road, dashing in and out of the hooting traffic, beaded plaits bouncing around her face.
‘Jesus Christ. Where’s she going?’ Hank wound down the window.
Dawes put out his hand across to stop Peacock tooting the horn and shouting to her. ‘To find Jason Young, I’ll bet. She’s going to tip him off that we’re on to him.’
Hank Peacock gave a bark of laughter. ‘Like he won’t know.’ He was still laughing as Dawes picked up his radio and told all units to keep the young black girl with sequined jeans and chin-length plaits in sight. She would lead them straight to their target.
Georgia tidied the papers she had been reading back into the file and checked her wristwatch. It was five p.m. Her team had hardly slept last night, and it looked highly likely that tonight would be the same.
Stephanie clicked her phone shut. ‘DI Dawes,’ she told Georgia. ‘They think they know where Young is.’
‘Again.’
‘He’ll call us when they’re sure. Unless you want us to go over anyway.’
‘No. We’ll wait it out. If Young gets to Reilly it will save us a lot of paperwork.’
‘Isn’t that exactly what Dawes said last night. And didn’t you read him the riot act?’ Stephanie asked, amused.
‘Yes, all right, I was wrong.’ Lack of sleep was beginning to creep up on her. Stephanie emptied the change from her pocket on to her desk, ‘Black coffee?’ she said, and headed to the drinks machine without waiting for a reply.
As Stephanie fed coins into the machine a thought occurred to Georgia. ‘Are Ripley and Delahaye still in custody or have they been released?’
‘I’ll check with the duty sergeant.’
‘We’ll tail them.’ Georgia looked pleased with herself . ‘They’ll go straight to Reilly, and Young will be just a breath away.’
Steph handed her a steaming paper cup, waiting only to pick up the chocolate bars she had paid for, before heading off in the direction of the cells.
Georgia picked up her bleeping mobile. It was the crime scene manager from Sally Young’s flat. The news was good; they had found a bullet shell in the walkway close to where Sally was shot. It was on its way to ballistics, and they should get some information about both bullet and gun within hours.
She rang the uniformed sergeant on the Romney Estate to check on progress, but he had little to report. They had had no luck finding the gun, and no one had seen or heard anything; most wouldn’t even open the door. Some officers had had water poured over them; another had been hit by a used nappy, which had been tossed over the balcony.
Her next call was to the officer on standby at the hospital. Both Sally Young and Chantelle Gulati were still in intensive care. Chantelle was slipping in and out of consciousness but unable to speak. Sally was about to be operated on to remove a blockage they believed was caused by a bullet; the operation would be long and delicate, and it was touch and go if she would survive. Georgia reminded the officer that she needed the bullet if it was in there.
She swallowed the last of her coffee, slipped her arms into her leather coat and was waiting with Stephanie’s car keys when the sergeant came back into the investigation room.
‘Ripley and Delahaye are both giving the custody sergeant grief,’ Stephanie said. ‘They refused a lift in a squad car back to the estate, but he didn’t give them a choice. I told him not to put them in a car until we’re out there.’
‘Good,’ Georgia said. She shook her head. ‘No, nothing’s good. Only one thing will make three attacks in one day good. If we can get both Reilly and Young behind bars before I kill them myself.’
‘Patience,’ Stephanie said.
‘I’ve run out.’
‘KitKat helps.’ Steph handed her a stick of chocolate.
It hadn’t been easy getting into the old tunnel. Jason had crawled over to it on his belly, over the used nappies, around the dirtied needles and stale condoms, turning his head away as
rats scampered across his path. The entrance was through a half-rotted discarded door; he could tell it hadn’t been used in a while because spiders, maggots and more rats scattered around him as he pulled it open. He’d dragged himself in among them and closed the door behind him. There was no light; the large black hole felt like a rehearsal for death. But sure as hell he was going to get Reilly first.
He could hear Fed cars approaching the estate like wailing banshees. He had the upper hand; he knew the geography of the estate like his own hand, and he also knew the residents wouldn’t help the Feds. A lot of them were old enough to remember when Jason ran the estate; he was good to them, rewarded them well when they covered for him during Fed raids. He had taken the trouble to find out what they needed, and he made sure they got it: CD player, sofa, even a wide screen television, the Buzzards would provide it. Jason cared for the welfare of the estate, and they knew it. He used to think of himself as a Robin Hood.
The young kids, or tinies as they were now called, had always liked him too. Remembering his own childhood, he made sure none of them went hungry. A lot of those tinies grew up to be his Youngers. Some of them were dead already; others followed Reilly now.
Jason understood that. It was all about survival; you did what you had to, and if you joined a gang, the gang protected you. Reilly terrified everyone with his dogs, and ruled the estate by fear. The residents wouldn’t give him up to the Feds either, not because they liked him, but because they were afraid of the consequences. Reilly even stabbed his Youngers if they made mistakes. In the old Buzzard days you never hurt your own crew. You looked out for each other, like family.
Jason couldn’t wait to shoot the fat bastard and rid the estate of him, no matter what the cost to himself. Reilly was going to pay for what he did to Chantelle and Luanne, and the estate would be a better place for it.
For an estate boy there were two choices: die young, or spend your life in and out of the slammer. What a fool he had been to think he could be different. He dashed away a few tears with a dirty hand, and groped for the gun.