by Linda Regan
“Good thinking,” Isabelle said, pointing at it.
“Never go anywhere without it.”
“We need to find a bedroom; Forensics need a pillow. Then we have to check everywhere we can for those poor girls. We haven’t got long. Can I take the torch?”
“Course. What’s the pillow for?”
“I’ll explain later. You stay by the door. We’ve got five minutes, max; we need to get back before anyone knows you’re missing. Terry King has already got a stopwatch on me. Did he see you come out?”
“I don’t think so. Andrew got him and Eddie Chang talking.”
“Let’s get a move on, then. You stay down here and look around. As soon as I’ve got the pillow and checked upstairs, we’re out of here.”
She quickly made her way up the stairs and on to the landing. There was a glint of metal in the torchlight: a brass doorknob. She opened the door, and the tiny shaft of light picked out a basin and toilet. On the floor between them was a huge box of Tampax and an even bigger box of condoms. If the girls weren’t here, they were on their way.
She shut the door and shone the light along the wall until it revealed another door. That was a bedroom; she dived in and grabbed a pillow. It smelt of lavender, and appeared to be new.
The next door she tried wouldn’t open. She pushed it again; it gave slightly in the middle, but the top and bottom didn’t move. It was bolted from the inside.
Then the bolt scraped back.
As the door creaked open a ray of light from another torch hit her in the face. She found herself facing a young girl. About a dozen more girls, all fair-haired and pale-faced, crowded behind the first one; even in the dim light the terror on their tear-stained faces was heartbreakingly evident. Isabelle swallowed the lump in her throat. They weren’t more than about twelve or thirteen. That bastard was selling someone’s children to perverts for sex.
“It’s all right,” she whispered to the terrified girl. “I’m your friend. I won’t hurt you. Shut the door, bolt it again and don’t open it to anyone except me. I’ll be back soon to help you.”
The girl looked at her wide-eyed. There was a blood-crusted cut at the side of her mouth. A hard slap from a hand wearing a ring would have done that, Isabelle thought. One of her eyes was almost closed too, and her cheek was swollen. The girl had taken a beating. She caught a whiff of faeces, and lowered her torch; the girl’s legs were streaked with dried excrement. She forced down the fury, told herself to keep her cool. Tomorrow the girls would be safe from Eddie Chang and his kind.
“Do any of you speak English?” she asked
No one answered.
This was getting more difficult by the minute.
She took her phone from her pocket and pressed the short cut to Crowther’s number. As he answered with his familiar, “Yup,” the landing flooded with light and a strong hand slid around her neck and clamped over her mouth. Her phone dropped to the floor.
As it landed she heard Crowther’s voice. “Isabelle? Izzy, what’s happening?” Then a heavy foot ground it into the floorboards. She tried to turn her head but felt something cold and hard nudge the side of her head. The hand around her mouth wrenched painfully at her face, and she found herself staring at Eddie Chang.
Alison pulled out of the side road from the police station. Banham clicked his phone shut.
“There’s essence of lavender on the pillow at Forensics,” he told her.
“Some people use it to help them sleep,” Alison said.
He gritted his teeth. Why did she have to turn to face him? Couldn’t she talk and keep her eyes on the road?
She floored on the accelerator and he grabbed the door handle and shut his eyes, feeling sorry for the instructor he had paid to give her advanced driving lessons. She simply wasn’t a natural driver.
Now she was driving straight across an amber light. He didn’t say anything. It wasn’t worth the row.
He suddenly thought he might invest in a lavender pillow to put over his face when he was in the car with her. But no; she’d only breathe in the lavender herself and fall asleep at the wheel.
“What was Chang doing with lavender pillows?” he wondered, trying to distract himself as she pulled out to overtake.
“To keep the girl prostitutes quiet,” she explained. “I suppose it’s cheaper than Valium.”
He nodded. “He gets a better price if they are completely free of drugs when they start out.”
Alison put her foot down again. “So whoever killed Sadie Morgan probably used a pillow from the cottage.”
“So did Ray Adams when he killed Lily Palmer,” Banham added.
“Hm. That was a turn-up, wasn’t it? Adams, I mean. Not like Know-all Col at all.”
“It happens,” Banham defended him. “He’s a brilliant cop, but he’s human. He’s allowed an occasional mistake.”
“Makes them all the time with women,” Alison said pointedly. “Let’s hope Millie Payne isn’t another one.”
Banham ignored that remark and continued to ponder the possibilities opened up by the new forensic result. “Ray Adams killed the two women and left his DNA over the scene. That’s what Chang would have wanted – it incriminates Adams and keeps him in the clear. But why kill Adams? Unless he found out he was working for us...”
He fell silent and allowed the thoughts to run around his brain. Sometimes if he just threw everything in, a pattern emerged.
Did Chang have Sadie killed to stop her bringing in the knife and the gun which incriminated Otis Gladman?
Did Otis or Johnny Gladman kill Sadie and fabricate the Chang story because she was planning to give them the proof that Otis did stab Felix Greene?
And what about Bruno Pelegino and his mother? Surely they were in the clear if the pillow came from the cottage.
Alison must have read his mind.
“You know, I think I believe Mrs Pelegino’s story. I think she did find the pillow with those clothes in the skip. It’s just odd that uniform missed it.”
“We all make mistakes.”
She skidded round a parked car and swore. Banham winced but didn’t comment. “Just a matter of time now,” he said. “The DNA on that pillow belongs to our killer. We just have to wait.”
Alison started reversing into a parking space large enough for a herd of elephants. Banham took a sharp breath as the car hit the kerb.
“So we’re saying the Peleginos are out of the frame? That was my mistake, wasn’t it?”
Banham decided it was best not to answer that.
“What about the Gladmans?” Alison went on, knocking the kerb for a second time. “Say Sadie found that Johnny was involved in Chang’s under-age women enterprise. Even if they really were close friends, she’d have shopped him. She was a nurse, and she’d worked with children.” She angled the car and started to reverse again. “He might have killed her to prevent that. And if Otis stabbed Felix Greene, well, blood is thicker than water. We already know Johnny will go to any lengths to protect his brother.”
“Otis is quite capable himself,” Banham pointed out. “I know he’s only a kid, but he’s mixed up with that gang on the estate. Who knows what he might have done?”
But he was far from sure he believed that; the lad had crumbled in the interview room, and Banham didn’t think he’d been faking.
There was a small crunch of metal as Alison’s bumper met the car behind.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he exclaimed. “Get out. I’ll park it for you.”
“You have got to be kidding!”
All Crowther heard when he answered his phone was a loud gasp. Isabelle’s name was on the screen. When he pressed redial, a shrill buzz sounded in his ear.
He grabbed his coat and pressed Banham’s number. “Guv, I’m on my way too. Isabelle’s in trouble.”
“We’re outside,” Banham told him. “What’s up?”
“I heard her gasp, then the phone cut off.”
“Call CO19, tell them to meet us here,�
� came the reply. “We’re going in.”
Terry King pulled Isabelle’s hands behind her back. “I got lost,” she said weakly. “I was trying to find my way back.”
“Shut up!” Eddie Chang took the gun away from her temple and relief flooded through her. Not for long, though. He cracked it hard across her face; she staggered and battled to stay upright. “You think I’m stupid?” he snarled. “You thought I didn’t know you were the Filth? No one plays me for a fool.”
The room spun around her. “My colleagues are on their way,” she said breathlessly. “Your game’s over. You may as well give it up.”
“Killing you won’t matter then, will it?” He put the gun to her head again, releasing the safety catch. The soft click echoed around her brain. She closed her eyes and took what she thought was her last breath.
But a boot in the base of her spine sent her flying into the room with the terrified girls.
Her first thought was have they killed Millie?
She stood up and turned to face the gun.
Eddie Chang’s eyes told her he couldn’t wait for her brains to burst out of her head. But Terry King pleaded, “Not yet, dear. We might need her, to get us out of here.”
“Where’s Millie Payne?” Isabelle asked Terry. “The girl who was singing earlier? She’s not a cop, nor is her boyfriend. There’s no need to hurt them.”
Eddie’s only reply was a push with his free hand and a kick in her crotch. She doubled over in pain, and as she straightened up he hit her again, this time across the head with the butt of the gun. She stumbled forward and he smashed the door into her face, sending her reeling backwards seeing stars. She felt warm, sticky blood bubble from her nose and drip on to her hand. One of the girls held out a filthy scrap of blanket; it stank, but she took it to stem the bleeding.
Her eyes flicked around the room. The window was tiny and covered in bars. No chance of escape there.
Isabelle’s heart hit her boots as the door opened again. Eddie was holding Millie in front of him; he shoved her into the room and closed the door behind her. Now, as well as a dozen young eastern European girls whose lives probably depended on her keeping her wits about her, she had to worry about an inexperienced PCSO dressed as Marilyn Monroe.
She could only see out of one eye and her whole face was so painful she wanted to pass out. But she had to hang on. Crowther knew where she was, and he had never let her down. Not professionally anyway.
The girls were wailing and she had to raise her voice so Millie could hear her. “How many did Chang have with him when they found you?” she asked.
“Terry and Eddie and the two doormen,” Millie told her.
“That’s four. We’ll wait for back-up.”
Not that they had any choice, but she wasn’t going to tell Millie that.
“What about Andrew?” Isabelle asked. “What do you think they’ve done with him?”
“I left him at the bar. He knows we’re in here.”
Isabelle was dizzy, but she fought to stay upright.
“I’m so sorry,” Millie said. “I really thought I kept out of range of the camera. Eddie must have seen me. Next thing I knew Terry and Eddie were coming in from the courtyard with those two doormen. Terry grabbed me and started hitting my head against the wall. Eddie took out a gun, I tried to shout out to warn you, but Terry put his hand over my mouth and said he was going to kill me.”
Isabelle took the smelly blanket away from her nose. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. She shook her head. “Crowther knows where we are, and I texted Alison just before we came in here. They’ll be here any minute.”
“Colin will come,” Millie said. “Know-All Col. He’ll get us out of here.”
“Course he will.” Their eyes met, and Isabelle could see Millie understood.
Millie opened her mouth to speak but an explosion shook the building.
The Ukrainian girls started screaming and banging at the door.
“Try and keep calm,” Isabelle started to shout, but stopped in mid-sentence. She smelled petrol.
Millie’s blue eyes widened with fear. “We’re on fire,” she said.
Chapter Sixteen
As Alison got out of her car she smelt smoke. She called to Banham, but he was already phone to his ear calling emergency assistance.
“Stop them!”
Andrew Fisher ran out of the club in pursuit of Terry King and Eddie Chang, who were heading for the red BMW Alison had just jammed in while parking her Golf. “Stop them,” he shouted again.
Alison ran across to the BMW, and reached it just ahead of them. “Police,” she said. “Hold it.”
Terry King pulled a hand-gun from his pocket and pointed it at her. Banham froze. “Put it down,” he barked. “Armed police are on the way.”
Terry flicked a glance at Banham. Alison used that moment to point her key and unlock her own car. Terry noticed. He swung the gun round and put a bullet in each of the Golf’s front tyres.
Andrew Fisher was edging himself round towards Banham. Terry’s other arm shot out and grabbed the PCSO; he pulled Andrew in front of him as a human shield and pointed the gun at the side of his head.
“Move away from the car,” he ordered Alison.
The sirens in the background grew louder. Alison reckoned they were less than two minutes away. Her best bet was to keep them talking.
Terry fired at the ground in front of Banham’s feet, then pointed the gun at Andrew’s head again. “Hands in the air and drop your keys and bag,” he ordered Alison.
She obeyed.
Eddie Chang pulled his car keys from his pocket and flicked his head to one side to tell Banham to move. He did.
“You won’t get far,” he told him.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” came the reply.
Terry opened the car door, holding Andrew in front of him. The gun was still pointed at Alison and Banham. “I won’t shoot you if you keep out of my way, but if you try to stop us, I’ll shoot you both.”
“You won’t get far,” Banham repeated.
“Shut the fuck up, before I do it for you,” Terry snapped moving the muzzle closer to Andrew’s head.
Andrew was standing upright, and showing no fear. Alison felt quite proud of him; experienced police officers quivered and turned to jelly in the same predicament.
Terry opened the back door of the BMW for Eddie.
“Don’t try to follow us,” Terry warned them. “I’ll kill this guy if I have to.”
“Please do as they ask,” Andrew pleaded.
Banham had no intention of arguing with a gun. He stepped clear.
As if on cue, three armed response vehicles speeded round the corner and screamed to a halt a few yards away. Over a dozen armed CO19 officers jumped out, their guns pointed at Terry and Eddie.
“Better drop it,” Banham told Terry calmly. “They’ll kill you.”
The sound of guns being cocked echoed around the marks-men.
“I’ll kill your officer,” Terry said.
“Last chance,” Banham replied.
Andrew Fisher closed his eyes. His whole body was shaking visibly.
Terry King dropped the gun and put his hands in the air. Eddie Chang followed his example.
Andrew’s knees almost gave way as he joined Banham and Alison on the pavement. Banham patted him on the back. “Good lad,” he said.
“Are you all right?” Alison asked.
“Not really. But I will be.”
Alison walked slowly towards Chang. With her face inches from his, she in a low voice, “If anything – anything – happens to either of my officers in that cottage, I will kill you myself.”
She turned and ran into the club, and straight out of the back towards the cottage. Five blaring fire engines had pulled into the alleyway, and a team of firemen were pulling out water hoses.
Banham was close behind her. “It looks bad,” she called, watching great billows of black smoke snaking towards the sky.
�
�Isabelle! Millie! Don’t worry! Help is on the way.”
Isabelle’s heart hit her boots. The window was tiny, no more than a foot wide, and covered in bars. Through it she saw the courtyard filling with smoke.
Then she heard Alison shouting.
“We’re here,” she yelled, banging frantically on the glass.
But a series of small explosions like gunfire sent tremors through the cottage and drowned her out.
The shots alarmed the girls. They started screaming and running around, shaking at the bolted door, some shouting in their own language, others just wailing.
“Don’t panic,” Millie soothed them. “Help is coming. Stay calm and we’ll get out.”
Isabelle’s vision was still blurred from the beating Chang had given her, but Millie’s grim expression told her the other girl knew what the explosions meant. The fire had hit the Mac 10 ammunition store; the whole place could explode at any moment, and if it did the chance of any of them surviving was one in a million. The rescue team would have to work fast.
Millie was amazingly calm. She passed stained blankets to the girls, wrapping them around the ones too scared to do it themselves. She talked to them reassuringly – “Be brave,” and “It’s going to be OK, we’re going to get out of here.” Though Isabelle knew they didn’t understand a word, it seemed to be working; they stopped screaming and running around.
Isabelle threw herself at the locked door. “Help me,” she shouted to Millie. “We’ve got to break this down.”
A deep male voice cut across the screams of the sirens. “Isabelle, can you hear me?” She didn’t recognise it. “My name is Jamie,” it continued. “I’m the fire chief. Can you get to a window?”
Millie ran to the window and banged on it. “Up here, up here!” she shouted. “We’re trapped. The window won’t open and the door’s locked.”
“Can you force the door and get to the upstairs landing?” That was Banham’s voice.
“There’s a wide window there, with a ledge below it,” Jamie added. “If you can get to it, we can reach you.”
Then Alison’s voice. “Hang on, girls. We’re going to get you out.”
“There are children in here too,” Millie shouted back.
