by James Arklie
Trust your instincts, she told herself. Chat, establish a relationship, find common ground. Information will come out. Go with the flow and if you sense trouble, run.
Throughout the show Ollie felt George glancing sideways at her. Either to be sure she was enjoying herself or just to look at her. Twice, she looked back at him, made eye contact and they laughed. But he also spent time constantly checking two mobiles, one a Blackberry, the other an iPhone. In the interval, he had excused himself to the toilet, but on the way back to his seat she’d seen him texting.
Even now, in the pub at his invitation, he was edgy.
She tried to tease him. ‘You okay? Not nervous about taking a girl for a drink are you?’
‘Few things going on, babes, that’s all.’
‘What kind of things is that, George?’
‘This and that. Just waiting on a deal and they always go down to the wire.’
The iPhone tinged and he snatched it from his pocket and read the message. His face looked grim.
Ollie put down her wine. ‘You want to go?’
‘No. Just give me a minute then I’m all yours.’
She watched him speed dial a number and put the mobile to his ear as he walked to the door. Two minutes later her mobile rang. It was George.
‘I’m outside. Got us a taxi. You want to have a drink at my place?’
Ollie’s mind raced at the sudden change to the evening. This wasn’t in tonight’s plan and she didn’t feel ready. She felt pressured. She could say, ‘no’, but she had to say ‘yes’. And, anyway, wasn’t this another of the skills she’d been employed for? Picking up men in bars.
She felt she should put up some resistance. ‘George. What is this? Can’t you come in and get me.’
‘Taxi’s waiting, babes.’
Ollie looked at his untouched whiskey and her full glass of wine. Why wouldn’t he come back into the pub? She picked up her bag and glanced around. It was the West End and it was eleven pm on a Friday night, so it was packed. Was he worried about someone in here?
Men’s eyes followed her as she walked out, but there was nothing unusual in that; a blond, fit, black girl in a tight dress was always going to get looks.
George had the door of the taxi open for her. ‘What’s the rush?’
‘Just thought we could have more fun at mine.’ He sat beside her and picked up her hand. ‘You okay with that? Or I can drop you off at your apartment.’
She smiled easily. ‘No. I’m good.’
Twenty minutes later she was in his apartment, a new build just off London Bridge. At least she could report back that she knew his address.
Ten minutes later they were dancing slowly to Diana Ross and ‘Sweet surrender’ and Ollie was trying to remember the last time she had been coaxed to a man’s bed with a West End show and a slow dance. The answer was never.
George spoke quietly into her ear. ‘I don’t normally do black chicks.’
She pulled back to look at him and saw laughter in his eyes. You can’t be a killer. Please don’t be. Then she stopped herself. This is a job, Ollie. Don’t let yourself make it more than it is.
She whispered back in his ear. ‘And I don’t normally ‘do’ older, overweight men, but I guess there’s always a first time.’
He laughed, ‘You’re taking the piss.’
Ollie knew it was time to take the leap into the abyss. Whether it was the Motown relaxing her or just that George seemed a genuinely nice guy, she let go.
‘I am. So, shall we go do it together and see what happens? Who knows, we may surprise one another.’
* * *
Ollie arrived back at her apartment at one-thirty. As she stepped from the taxi into the orange street light, Mike Stockton emerged from the shadows.
‘Good work, Oleander. Told you it would be easy. Find me anything of interest?’
Ollie was shocked to realise she’d been watched the whole time. ‘Other than his address, which you now know and that he’s a really nice guy. No.’
Mike Stockton stepped closer. ‘Trust me, Oleander. Never be fooled into thinking that George Sapphire is a nice guy. He isn’t.’
Their eyes held in the orange glow of the streetlamp. A car whooshed down the street.
Ollie stepped away. ‘I’ll need more than words to convince me.’
She’d just spent a night out with him and yes, he was stressed about something, but other than that he’d been nothing other than kind and courteous. What her mother would call a ‘charmer’.
‘Then why don’t we start here?’ Mike held out a USB. ‘Next date plug this into the charger port of his mobile and leave it as long as you can. It’s programmed to access and download all the data. Then I’ll show you what a dangerous man he is.’
He stepped in close again. ‘It’s time to start getting serious, Oleander. You are not in this to find a husband, you’re doing it to expose a criminal.’ He pointed up at the apartment.
‘And don’t think of dragging this out. I can move you out of your cosy new life in minutes and you’ll be back out here.’
He turned and Ollie watched him walk away. She sensed something strange about him. He was coming across as cocky and confident, but the street hardness was missing.
When she turned back a car door popped open twenty yards along the road and Mark Anderson stepped out and ran towards her. Swinging in his right hand was a short, pointed kitchen knife.
He confronted her, arms splayed by his sides. A fighter ready to attack.
‘Who the shit was that?’ He waved the knife in the air between them. ‘I’m warning you, Ollie. If I can’t have you no one can.’
Ollie met aggression with aggression. Years on the street had told her it was the only way to respond. They expected you to be afraid and when you aren’t it confuses them.
She stepped forwards and pushed him in the chest. ‘Put that sodding knife away, you idiot. You want to carry on seeing me? You put it back in your pocket and get back into your car.’
He wavered. ‘Now, Mark.’
‘Tell me who he was. I don’t want you with other men. I can give you everything you need. Money. Love. A home.’
Ollie knew she’d let this get too far already. She reached forward, took the knife from his hand. ‘Pocket. Now.’
She led him back to his car. His body was rigid with tension. She sat in the front seat beside him.
‘Drive.’
He looked confused. ‘Where?’
‘Your hotel.’
‘Can’t I come up to your apartment?’ He sounded pathetic and lost.
‘What, with my mother and daughter asleep up there? It’s too soon Mark.’
How the hell did she kill this without getting killed herself?
He drove them back to the Hoxton Hotel and she allowed him to make love to her. He was tense, very, and hard and fast, but it was the release and reassurance he needed.
‘You haven’t told me who that man was?’
She lied. ‘My ex-partner.’
‘You told me he’d disappeared.’
She lied again. ‘We had a deal. He was into selling drugs and had some gang after him. I made up the story about him disappearing to help him.’ She pushed herself up onto an elbow so her breasts distracted him.
‘Sometimes he appears out of dark corners. Gives me a bit of cash to help me out. Asks about his daughter.’
‘Looked to me like you were arguing.’
Ollie switched on the aggression again. ‘Let it go, all right? I’m not liking this jealous side of you, Mark, so if you want something to happen between us switch it off now.’
She rolled out of bed and started dressing. His face took on it’s pathetic look again. She knew she was safe for now, but also knew it was what was behind the face that was dangerous.
‘I thought you’d stay the night. We can make plans and ….’
‘Mark. I have work in six hours. I have to get some sleep.’
Although she was tired, Ollie
took herself to the familiarity and friendliness of the back streets to walk home.
What a night, she thought. And what a bloody mess.
Day Five
Chapter Twenty-Two
DI Small had nothing better to do with her day off so decided to spend some time parked up outside the house of Amal Khan.
There was something strange going on here. Stephan Khan and Soul had lived here under his brother’s roof. Then Stephan disappears and it’s made quite clear to Amal that Soul is the main suspect. Yet, still she is allowed to live here.
Then there is the possibility that this is a cook shop for manufacturing drugs. Homemade drugs had become like home brew beer in recent years. The only ways of tracking it were through intel or when there was sudden spate of deaths in one area. Growing a few plants in your backyard was nothing nowadays.
She’d started picking chunks of croissant from a bag when Andy called. ‘I’ve got us a lead on Stephan, Boss. Just sent it to your mobile.’.
Small dusted pastry flakes from her lap and watched the jerky CCTV video. It showed Stephan Khan and a woman. ‘Where are we?’
‘That’s the Doctors car park at Guy’s Hospital. Stephan Khan worked as a site labourer and at the time of his disappearance was working on a rebuild at Guy’s.’
‘Don’t give me a buried in cement story, Andy.’
He laughed, ‘No, Boss. But see how Stephan approaches this woman who seems to know him. It quickly develops into a confrontation.’
Small watched the woman start jabbing a finger at Stephan as she spoke, then turn and walk away, only to turn back to threaten something else before marching off into the Hospital building.
Small pinched her screen and open zoomed on the woman. ‘Who is she?’
‘A facial check against the Hospital database gives us Dr. Saran James. Works in A and E.’
‘When was this, Andy?’
‘Day before he disappeared, Boss, so it’s relevant.’
Small was watching a car that had pulled up in front of Amal’s house. A male got out, walked up the steps and banged on the door with his fist.
Small closed the video and took some pictures with her mobile camera.
‘Andy. Get lip-readers looking at the video and get me background on Saran James. And find out if she’s working today.’
‘On it already. What else?’
Small was watching as Amal opened the door. He didn’t seem too pleased to see his visitor, but the male removed a brown envelope from his jacket and passed it over. Amal gave a quick tilt of the head as he took the envelope.
‘I have a deal going down on the doorstep of Amal Khan.’ She sent some pictures. ‘Check the car registration.’
She took more pictures of the man hurrying back down the steps.
‘Recognise him, Andy?’
‘No, Boss. The car is registered to a Geoff Rider, lives in Blandford, Dorset. I’m calling the mobile number listed.’
Small heard Andy talking to someone. The person in the car hadn’t answered a mobile.
‘Boss. He sold it for cash two weeks ago. Met the person in a layby on the A303. Obviously not been re-registered and probably won’t be. Didn’t take the purchasers name but the description fits the man in your picture.’ He paused.
‘You want some back up there, Boss?’
‘No, but I’m just going to have a chat with our friend Amal.’
Small watched the car slide away down the street, then went up to Amal’s door. He looked thoroughly pissed off to see her.
‘You got news on Stephan?’
She ignored the question. ‘What was going on there, Amal? A little transaction? I have a feeling you’re cooking up some bad stuff in there. Or is it a garage around the back. It’s killing people.’
‘You’re talking shit.’
‘So, who was that?’
His gaze was firm and steady on hers. ‘I’ll give you a clue. He’s one of yours.’
‘Paying you money? I don’t think so.’ Small tugged at her ponytail. What was a cop doing here, she thought?
She changed tack. ‘Why did you throw Soul out onto the streets? It’s Stephan’s kid she’s dragging round homeless.’
Amal stepped back and started pulling the door closed. ‘Get a warrant. Arrest me. Otherwise it’s ‘no comment’. And if you could find my brother, I would appreciate it.’
Small wandered back to her car and took a call from Andy. ‘Dr James’ shift ends in one hour.’
They both waited near a large hedge in the doctor’s car park. Indians setting an ambush. Saran James appeared, still in her white coat, stethoscope draped across the back of her neck, carton of coffee in one hand.
They stepped out and blocked her path, ID’s held high. ‘Dr James? Saran James?’
‘I am.’ Small watched her study the ID’s for a couple seconds, then sip her coffee, unfazed, confident. ‘You always hide behind hedges?’
‘We’re investigating a missing person, this man.’ Andy held out his mobile with a facial of Stephan Khan. ‘Do you know him?’
Small watched Saran look down, then back into her eyes. She gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘Don’t think so. Should I?’
Andy showed the footage of six months earlier. Small watched her sip, then drain the contents of her carton.
‘Oh, that. Some crazy guy stopped me and asked for money. Got quite aggressive. I told him to piss off or I’d get security.’
‘So, you don’t know him?’
‘Like I said, begging. Probably sleeps under the hedge behind you for all I know.’ Small watched James look around and then lob the carton into a bin.
‘I’m sorry he’s missing, but if that’s all, I’ve been working most of the night.’
Small gave Saran a card and watched her walk away. She muttered, ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’
When she was out of sight Small pointed at the bin. ‘Grab that carton, Andy.’
For a moment Andy was confused, then he realised what she intended to do. Use the saliva for a DNA profile. ‘Boss. We can’t do that. Just randomly…’
Small took out the scrunchy and shook her hair loose. ‘Oh, yes we can.’
Day Six
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sunday was the march. Ollie was exhausted and didn’t want to go, but knew she had to. Also, she’d sold it to Lily around the picnic in the park and she was excited.
They worked the café until midday to clear the Sunday brunch business, then closed up. Three, beat up vans arrived from somewhere. They all piled into two of them. The third already had several men and a couple of women in it. They didn’t get out and mingle.
They got as close to Westminster as the police would let them and then all got out. Jo and a couple of the men went across to the third van. Ollie watched a conversation take place that worried her. Heads down, furtive glances around, a couple of items she couldn’t see changed hands. She’d watched deals take place between gangs and this was horribly similar.
Ollie looked around her and found reassurance in the other women and children milling around. Some unrolled homemade banners, others had placards held aloft. Children had started playing with one another. She carefully positioned herself and Lily in the middle of them.
Lily skipped and they marched their way to the other side of Westminster Bridge, some chanted inane slogans, others just chatted, allowing the volume of people to make the point. Everyone enjoying the sunshine and a common purpose. Even shirt-sleeved police officers were smiling.
Until something kicked off down a side street right next to them. The protesters panicked and surged this way and that. Ollie lost Lily’s hand and then lost Lily as she was dragged towards the violence. She ducked, forcing her way low through the crowds, trying to spot Lily. Ahead of her there were screams and shouts, a clash of wood and metal. Fury unleashed against the police.
Sirens started and backup police teams rushed in with riot shields and batons. For a long minute Ollie was lost, then
she glimpsed Lily just ahead of her, crying, screaming, panic in her eyes. Ollie grabbed her, pulled her into her arms and forced her way back against the tide of aggression. Eventually, she reached a current of protesters that carried them away to safety.
Ollie joined the picnic reluctantly. Lily ran off laughing and screaming with the other kids, while the adults sat on blankets chatting about nothing in particular.
That was until mobile phones pinged with news alerts that in the fighting a woman police officer had been stabbed and died on the way to hospital. Ollie sensed the honest shock among the women and then the anger that their peaceful protest had been hijacked by a more extreme group of people.
When the news came through, Jo had moved away from the group and was now sitting cross-legged on the grass, texting on her mobile, chewing on her lower lip, continually flicking a loose dreadlock back behind her with an annoyed jerk of her head. There was an excited aura surrounding her and her eyes didn’t seem to blink as she stared at the screen and her thumbs sent messages.
Ollie watched her. The face wasn’t of the friendly Jo she knew. This one was another person. After a couple of minutes, Jo dropped her mobile into her lap, glanced up and saw Ollie looking at her. The smile was immediate, the other Jo had rejoined the party.
The gut feelings that made Ollie a survivor on the streets warned her to start taking care.
* * *
George knocked on their door at six that evening. Cradled in his arms he had two pizzas balanced on top of a cardboard box.
Ollie opened the door. ‘George. What….?’
‘Two days without you, babes, so I come bringing gifts.’
Lily appeared like an excited terrier. ‘George.’
To Ollie’s amazement she grabbed him round the waist and hugged him.
‘Well. Can I come in?’
Ollie could see she had little choice. She shook her head and smiled at his triumphant grin. ‘How did you find out where I lived?’
