by Linda Regan
“Banham wants in on the interview,” she told him.
Crowther spooned three sugars into the mug and poured a coffee for her.
“He is our senior officer,” she reminded him.
He sipped his coffee and shrugged. “He’s still too emotionally involved. There’s a lot resting on this. If he threatens the CO19 op once more, I’m going over his head to get him taken off the case.”
“It’s your career you’re risking.”
But in all conscience she couldn’t disagree with him.
Time to build some bridges, though. She headed out of the squad room and down the corridor to Banham’s office.
She knocked; there was no reply. She waited a few seconds, then opened the door. He was sitting at his desk, elbows propped and chin resting on his hands.
She stood in the open doorway, unsure of her welcome. “I came to say I’m sorry,” she said. “About the way things are between us.”
“No need. Come on in.”
She closed the door behind her. “But I’m not sorry about what I said last night.”
He fixed his blue eyes on her, as if he was trying to work her out. She took a deep breath. “Nor am I sorry that I slept with you. I care for you very much.” She swallowed hard. “I’m in an impossible position. I understand exactly how you feel about Otis Gladman – in your position we’d all react the same way. But it is my case, after all. So I’d like you to leave the interview to me and Crowther.”
His unblinking blue gaze seemed to penetrate her soul. He was angry, but she was determined to stand her ground.
“Yes, DI Grainger, it’s your case. But I’m your superior officer.” He laid his forearms on the table and linked his fingers without taking his eyes off her. “And as your superior officer, I would remind you that your priority is finding Ray Adams. His DNA is on three of the murder victims. I want him found and brought in.”
“We’ve got uniform out all over that estate looking for him.”
“Good. Keep me informed. I visited Mrs Pelegino this morning and took some hair from her cat for comparison with the fibres found on Lily Palmer and Sadie Morgan. It’s with Forensics. Would you let me know when those results come through?”
“Sir.” She stood up straight. If he wanted to play this by the book, that was fine by her. As long as...
“I’ll be in the interview room with Crowther and Otis Gladman.”
The note was on the table in front of Otis.
Johnny Gladman was there as an appropriate adult, but he looked almost as scared as his brother.
“This was sent to my nine-year-old nephew,” Banham said.
Even Crowther felt edgy when he spoke in that tone. This was a copper you didn’t want to get nicked by.
“Did you send it?” Banham asked, jabbing the air in front of the teenager.
Otis looked at Johnny as if he had the answer.
“He’s talking to you,” Crowther snapped at Otis. “Answer the question. “Did you send that note?”
Otis was a tall, well-built boy with long dreadlocks like his brother, but right now his brown eyes were wide and bulging with terror.
“Not quite so cocky without your mates to back you up, are you?” Crowther pushed.
“It’s my writing,” Johnny said. “Not his.”
Banham swung round to look at Johnny. “Go on.”
The beads at the ends of Johnny’s dreadlocks scraped on the metal table. The clatter almost drowned out his voice. “Mr Chang doesn’t like his staff talking to the girls when they audition, so I write a note. It says You’re Next, or Your Turn Now.”
“This one says If you squeal as well,” Banham said. “Who wrote that?”
Johnny and Otis spoke in unison. “I did.” Johnny added quietly, “Eddie Chang frightened him into doing it.”
Banham stared at Otis. “Well, you need to be a lot more frightened of me than of Eddie Chang,” he said.
Otis’s eyes widened even further.
“Where do you live?” Crowther asked him.
Otis looked at his brother, who was wiping perspiration from his upper lip.
“He asked you a question,” Banham snapped.
“He lives with me,” Johnny said. “We have a flat on the Bay Estate. I work as caretaker the club, and sometimes I have to stay over in the cottage. Mr Chang won’t let Otis stay there with me.” His forehead furrowed and he seemed to be having trouble getting the words out. “Our mother was killed last year, so I’m responsible for Otis.”
“You leave him on his own on the Bay Estate?” Crowther exclaimed. “For godsake, he’s only fifteen. I’m amazed no one’s told Social Services.”
“I n... need my job,” Johnny stammered.
“I do fine on my own,” Otis said defiantly.
“Hanging out with youths with knives? That’s your way of doing fine, is it?” Crowther held up his hand, still wrapped in his handkerchief. “You’re lucky I haven’t nicked you for this. Yet.”
Otis’s eyes opened like saucers.
“Why won’t Chang let you live with him?” Banham asked Johnny.
“There are women there sometimes.”
“Women – or girls?” Banham pushed.
Johnny shrugged.
“For the disc,” Banham said.
Johnny raised his hands.
“OK, if you like. Girls.”
“If I like?” Banham snarled. “If I like illegal immigrant girls, not much older than children, being used for prostitution?” He slapped the table. “Is that what you meant?”
Johnny nodded reluctantly.
“For the disc,” Crowther said. “Johnny Gladman is nodding.”
“He’ll kill me,” Johnny said quietly.
Banham ignored the comment. “Where is the next batch of these women – girls – coming in?”
“They’re here.” He drew a sharp breath, realising he had told them something they didn’t know. He shrugged. “We picked them up from Dover last week.”
Crowther and Banham exchanged looks.
“OK, moving on.” Crowther leaned across the table, pushing his face into Otis’s. “The gun that we found in Sadie Morgan’s bag, with your fingerprints on. Where did you get it?”
Otis looked at his brother. Johnny nodded. “I stole it,” Otis said. “From the cottage.”
“The cottage?” Crowther questioned urgently. Adams had said it came from the club cellar. “So there are the guns in the cottage? Where?”
“There’s a secret panel,” Otis said.
“Which room?” Crowther barked.
“The back bedroom. Where the fireplace used to be.”
“It’s a big space,” Johnny told them. “You can climb in there, and there’s a way out, up on to the roof. That’s where the girls hide when there’s a raid.”
“And there are guns there now?”
Johnny nodded. “A consignment of Mac 10 sub-machine guns. Mr Chang’s shipping them out tomorrow. He’s got a buyer.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Mr Banham, you got to promise you’ll protect Otis.”
A fat tear rolled down Otis’s cheek. Banham ignored it. “Who is Chang’s buyer?”
“Mr Chang told me if I tell the police anything, he’ll kill Otis.” Silence pulled taut between them. “How would you feel if someone threatened to kill one of yours?”
Banham stared at him in disbelief. Johnny’s gaze dropped.
“I’m sorry, man,” he said. “You got to believe I would never have hurt your Bobby. Chang was going to hurt my kid brother. What was I supposed to do?”
“Help us to put Chang away,” Banham said quietly. “Do that and all your problems are over.”
“He’s cleverer than you.”
“He told you that, did he?” Crowther crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Your brother is in a lot of trouble, Johnny. He needs a guiding hand. Help us to put Chang away, then you can do your duty and keep him out of trouble.”
; After a few seconds Johnny nodded. “It started when our mother was shot.”
“Shot?” Banham asked.
“In the High Street last year. She was gunned down in broad daylight.”
“I remember,” Banham said. “What was that all about?”
“She owed Mr Chang a lot of money for drugs. He’d had given her a job as a Tina Turner lookalike, then he fed her drugs. He does it to all the girls who aren’t strong enough to say no to him. As soon as Mum had a habit, he made her turn tricks. Then when she got out of control, he had her shot.”
Tears were pouring down Otis’s face.
“How did you come to work for him?” Banham asked Johnny.
“He came to see me, told me how sorry he was, how much Mum meant to him. He said he’d look after me and Otis, and offered me a job at the club. I was stacking shelves in the local supermarket and he told me he would pay me double so I could take care of Otis. I told him I didn’t want to get into anything to do with guns or drugs.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
He’s not much more than a lad himself, Banham thought.
“He agreed, and I started at the club. Within a week there was a raid, and I got taken in. He’d planted the drugs on me. Mr Banham, that’s God’s own truth. But I got done for it, and now I’ve got a record.”
Banham was still and listening.
Johnny was in his stride now. “The Social could have taken my brother into care. I told him that was it, I was having no more to do with him. Next thing, Otis’s mate Felix gets stabbed. Otis found the knife in his schoolbag, still covered in blood. I was pretty sure Mr Chang put it there, so I tackled him, showed it to him. He put on a pair of gloves, took the knife from me, and said if I tried to leave him, he’d have Otis done for attempted murder. Otis’s prints were on the knife, see.”
Otis sat up a little straighter. “Like the gun I nicked out of the back of the fireplace. Mr Chang took that too.”
Johnny was fighting back tears. “I told Sadie what had happened,” he said thickly. “She knew Mr Chang kept all kinds of stuff in the cellar, so she went down there to look. She found the knife and hid it at her place, and I stole the gun back and gave it to her as well. I gave her a key too, to the lock-up where he keeps the crystal meth. That’s what you saw me giving her last Friday. It wasn’t grass at all. She was going to bring everything to you, tell you the truth and ask for help. But he had her killed.” He shook his head violently. “And it’s all my fault.”
Banham flicked a glance at Crowther.
“Who else could have known that Sadie had taken the gun and the knife from Otis?” Crowther asked.
“Dunno. Must have been someone she thought she could trust.”
“Why won’t Felix Greene talk about his attack?” Banham asked Otis. But he knew the answer before the lad spoke.
“Mr Chang said he’d finish the job if he says anything.”
“So why did you write that note to my nephew?”
“He said if I did that for him, I could come back and live in the cottage.”
“He’s been fending for himself and hanging around with the estate gangs. He was heading for trouble,” Johnny said. “I’m sorry, man. We wouldn’t have hurt the kid, it was only meant to scare him.”
“You did that all right!”
“OK, it was stupid. I was just looking out for my brother.”
“What about the other two Marilyns?” Crowther asked. “Lily Palmer and Amy Bailey? Why did he have them killed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who killed Sadie Morgan?”
“Honest, man, I don’t know.”
“Ray Adams?”
“I don’t know much about him, except he works at the club.”
“He lives in the same block of flats as you, on the Bay Estate.”
“I run errands for him sometimes?” Otis said sheepishly.
“What?” Johnny grabbed his brother’s arm. “Tell me you weren’t delivering drugs.”
Otis shrugged. “Guy’s got to eat.”
Johnny slapped the side of his head. “This is all my fault. I have been trying to take care of him.”
Banham and Crowther looked at each other.
“You said you gave Sadie Morgan a key,” Banham said, pushing an evidence bag across the table. “Is this it?”
Otis nodded. “It’s for Ray Adams’s lock-up garage next to our flats,” said Otis. “H14 – number fourteen, Heather block.”
“OK.” Banham tilted his chair back. “You’ve both been very helpful – at last. We’ll call that a wrap for today.” He switched the recording machine off. “Just wait here a minute.”
He stood up and Crowther followed him out of the room. Alison had been watching the interview through a two-way screen. She joined them in the corridor.
“Do you think they are telling the truth?” she asked.
“Yes, I do,” Banham said. “You’d better get over to that lockup, but don’t go on your own. Take Crowther with you. The estate is surrounded by police and the residents are spoiling for a fight.”
“I think we should keep them both here,” Crowther said. “For their own safety.”
“Isabelle is at Doubles tonight, isn’t she?” Banham asked.
“With Millie and Andrew,” Alison agreed.
“She really needs to try to get into the cottage and confirm if the girls and guns are there,” Crowther said. “If Gladman is telling the truth, the raid’s a bust – they’ll have been shipped out by Wednesday. I’ll get on to CO19, suggest we bring the raid forward to tonight. We could have Chang banged up this time tomorrow.”
“I’ll get the FME to take a sample of their hair,” said Alison. “We can use that as a way to keep them here.”
Banham nodded his agreement. “I’m still not a hundred percent about Johnny Gladman. If he’s so afraid of what Eddie Chang might do to Otis, it’s not impossible he killed Sadie Morgan himself, to protect the lad.” He looked at Alison. “I don’t think Ray Adams killed Sadie. It was too calculated a killing. I still think we are looking for two killers.”
“I agree.”
Banham looked at her. “Do you?” was all he said.
Crowther suggested that Alison park around the corner. He didn’t want to come back and find a brick through the window, and he didn’t fancy getting into another scrap. She didn’t argue. She was very fond of her green Volkswagen Golf.
The police presence was strong and the atmosphere tense. As they walked towards the block of garages past the rusting swings in the deserted playground, shouts of “Fascist bastards” and “Sausage meat” echoed off the walls. Missiles fell from the balconies: half-bricks, chunks of wood, even a bucket full of urine.
“It’s OK telling the uniforms to avoid confrontation,” Crowther said wryly. “The council won’t even send a plumber out here. They call it the outlaw village. The fifteen-year-old with the biggest gun becomes the leader.”
“All the more reason to keep those Mac 10s from hitting the streets,” Alison said. They arrived at the dilapidated, graffiti-smeared garages and searched for H14.
“It’s down here,” Crowther said. He took out the key and pushed it into the lock. “Bastard doesn’t fit!” he exclaimed.
“So Otis Gladman was leading us a song and dance after all.”
“No. Hang on.” Crowther wiggled the key around. “It is the right key, but I think the lock is blocked up.”
Alison radioed for help. A couple of well built uniformed constables arrived with a battering ram.
The lock gave way under the weight, but the door only moved a few inches. A dozen or so flies buzzed out, shining blue in the cold air. Alison swatted at them with her shoulder bag, and Crowther slipped a hand around the door to find the problem. Suddenly he gagged and stepped back, looking down at the ground. Blood had pooled around the door.
“Break it down,” Alison ordered the uniforms. They pushed until the door opened far enough to see inside.
Ray Adams was lying on the concrete floor with a small, round bullet hole in his chest and tiny burns all over his naked body. His lower half lay in a pool of congealing blood. More blood had bubbled and dried on his face and neck, the area smelt like an abattoir. On the floor lay two lumps of flesh; Alison slipped her hands into plastic forensic gloves and pushed them with a fingertip, disturbing a swarm of hungry bluebottles.
“They cut off his penis and tongue,” she said through clenched teeth.
As Crowther called it in, and Alison walked to the back of the lock-up, where a dozen or so crates stood covered in sacks.
“No prizes for guessing what’s in here.” She sliced through the sacking with a penknife; white powder ran out on to the floor.
“There’s enough crystal meth here to kill half of England,” she said.
“What’s the betting this place is registered in Ray Adams’s name?” Crowther said. “Chang will deny all knowledge.”
***
At the lunchtime briefing a fifth victim was added to the white-board. The photo of Ray Adams, trussed up like a turkey, missing his sexual organs and tongue and his body covered in cigarette burns.
“There’s no doubt whatever that Eddie Chang is behind this killing,” Alison told the assembled squad. “The fact that Adams was tortured means he did something to upset Chang.”
“I reckon he took his penis off because he interfered with the victims sexually,” Crowther said. “I’d bet his orders were just to kill them, but he lost control. Question is, why did Chang want them killed?”
“DNA proves he murdered Lily Palmer, Amy Bailey and Joshua Timpkin,” Banham said. “But not Sadie Morgan; all traces of DNA were washed away in the duck-pond. We do know she wasn’t sexually assaulted.”
“Perhaps he did kill Sadie, and wasn’t high on drugs when he did it. Then next time he was, so the attack was more vicious.” This was PCSO Andrew Fisher.
“Good point,” Banham said. “It’s possible.”
Crowther shook his head. “No, mate. I knew him pretty well. He couldn’t cross the road without a fix. He’d never have had the bottle to kill Sadie Morgan unless he was out of his skull. That was a calculated killing. Someone followed her, smothered her, then dumped her in a way that removed all traces of DNA. Ray Adams didn’t have the brain for that.”
