by James Arklie
They ate a few mouthfuls in silence, then Andy voiced concerns. ‘That’s a completely new line of investigation, Boss. Are you sure now is the time to go there? There’s currently the largest manhunt in years. Leave has been cancelled. We can’t really rock up to the Chief and say we don’t think it’s her.’
‘Let’s leave them to their manhunt and start looking at everyone on the periphery of all these relationships. Soul appears as a thread in them all. But is there anyone else? Someone hiding themselves in the background.’
She wrapped the remains of her sandwich. ‘We look at Soul and we look at all the deceased and we write down every name associated with each of them. Then we cross-reference.’
Andy crammed the last of his roll into his mouth, swallowed like a seagull.
‘One thing, Boss. Those hair samples, if they haven’t been kept for twenty years and Soul didn’t have them as mementos, where have they come from and why has she got them?’
‘Exactly, Andy. Exactly.’
Chapter Forty-Five
Ollie pitched out onto the streets at three am. Jo told her to hide, find Danny the pimp and get herself a meeting with Sammy Lee Cheong that night.
‘The delegation leaves tomorrow morning, Ollie. You have one chance only. No meeting with Cheong, or you run to the authorities, Lily and Alesha will suffer.’
Jo handed her a roll of notes, a mobile and her bag.
‘Cash for fresh clothes, perfume and survival. We’ll call you with a time and place to hand over the real vial.’
On her way out of the door Ollie snatched a black baseball cap from the head of one of the women and used it to cover her hair and face.
She ran for the darkness of the canal and the bridges. She refused two men looking for sex. Moving on quickly. Three am by the canal was a violent and lawless time.
She stopped under a bridge near Kings Cross and settled back against the steel, deep in the darkness. It was like sitting in a cave. The odd car swooshed above her and across the canal she could see the orange glow of streetlights. Further down the canal a couple of long boats were moored up.
She needed sleep, she was exhausted, drained of all power physically, mentally and emotionally. Everything ached, muscles, ribs, back, head, she felt like a piece of meat, pounded to tender submission.
She had to risk a couple of hours sleep. If she, no, when she found Danny, he would have Benzedrine or something to take her up and keep her going. For free given the fee he would earn.
Then she thought of something else. They would probably have a tracker in the mobile. There was no way they would let her run free. She took it from her pocket and tucked it onto a ledge created where two sections of the bridge were bolted together. She would have to retrieve it later.
Instead of sleep, she decided to move and find Danny. She could offer him the deal and then sleep under his protection.
She walked back towards Brick Lane and Whitechapel using the lanes, the alleys and the back streets of the housing estates. When she walked onto Danny’s patch two young boys on bikes appeared out of the darkness, pedalling furiously. They went past either side of her, then circled back.
She looked at them. Young members of the gang. Danny’s look-outs, letting him know who was on his territory. ‘Tell Danny that Oleander’s here. Got an offer for him.’
‘Danny who?’
She laughed. ‘Just piss off and tell him.’
She dropped onto a bench in the play park and waited. Ten minutes later she was taken to one of the houses on the estate. It was meant to be a semi-detached, but a rough door had been knocked through an inside wall.
Inside were some of Danny’s dealing team and a couple of his girls.
Danny sat in a huge leather armchair. He smiled. ‘You on the run again, Baby? Drugs, alcohol?’ She shook her head. They’d been at school together, way back, when they were still innocent.
He snapped his fingers. ‘Murder.’ And laughed. It was a loud, infectious, confident laugh. White teeth in a large mouth that could talk a deal or threaten violence.
She returned it with a half-laugh of tiredness and walked through the battered arch to privacy. She felt the women staring at her. It wasn’t every day someone with the reputation of Oleander Soul strolled into your house.
Danny followed. ‘You okay?’ There was a note of concern in his voice.
Ollie looked at him. Saw a boy of ten, saw the innocence and beauty of what had been and burst into tears.
Old friends hug, whatever trade or profession they have grown into, friendships forged in the fires, mistakes and secrets of youth never die.
Danny the Dealer held her close, then at arm’s length while he studied her.
‘When did you start crying? You and me, we’re meant to be the hard gang, y’know. We never cried.’
Ollie gave him one of those smiles you manage through tears and a runny nose. ‘We were all right back then, weren’t we? We had fun.’
He was searching her eyes. ‘You’re clean. I can tell. But, yea, we had good times. You were on the estate and I had you marked out as a future looker. We were stealing from Woollies and Marks and Sparks by the age of ten. Or was it eleven.’ He laughed again.
‘Do you remember my Dad.’
‘Sure. Got the piss off from him several times. You were his beautiful little girl. I was a bad ass.’
‘He was murdered.’
She watched a gentle wind of concern blow clouds across Danny’s eyes. She pursued them. ‘You know what happened?’
‘I remember, Baby, that he disappeared. Left his life in a pool on your kitchen floor.’
One of the girls appeared and with an annoyed snap of Danny’s fingers she disappeared. Ollie dropped to a settee and stretched out her legs. Danny was someone she could talk to, he understood the streets the way she did.
‘How did he disappear, Danny? If you’d just killed him, what would you do?’
‘I get the boys in. We bag him up, carry him out and dump the body in a place where no one will find it.’
‘A basement?’
He shrugged. ‘Good enough if not used. Prefer a few bricks and the canal myself.’ He laughed at her expression. ‘Jokes.’
‘But you’d hide the body somewhere you know?’
‘And where we won’t be seen dumping it.’
Ollie was quiet for a couple of minutes. Here she was again, discussing the practicalities of carrying out murder. Danny poured himself a glass of Chivas Regal Brandy. Ollie declined.
‘I’m in a mess, Danny. I need help.’ She could hear how small and pathetic her voice sounded. ‘I have a deal for you, but please don’t ask me questions.’ She felt the tears filling her eyes again and wiped them away.
‘In return you get to keep the money and you ask some questions around the estate for me.’
She told him what she wanted. Danny started laughing his infectious laugh, Ollie started smiling. Then exhaustion took over and she slept.
* * *
Jo was confronted by one of the right-wing extremist males. She knew he was the one with the handgun. The killer. He had an accent that might have been German but could have been from anywhere in Eastern Europe. He was angry.
‘The mobile is there but she’s not. If she’s run or is talking to the police….’ He patted his right-side theatrically.
‘Trust me. She will not allow us to kill her daughter and mother. She’ll be back.’
He wasn’t convinced. ‘I’m sending two people to the house, ready to take this to the next level. They will film it and send it to her.’
Jo stated the obvious. ‘Not much point if she hasn’t got the mobile.’
‘But when she does retrieve it, it will be the first thing she sees.’ He nodded and tapped Jo just above her cleavage. ‘And then she will shit herself with fear.’
Chapter Forty-Six
Ollie was woken by Danny at seven-thirty am with sweet coffee and toast. Ollie unloaded the truth on him. They talked for n
early thirty minutes. Danny was definite.
‘You need a plan, Baby.’
‘Well, that’s great, Danny. What do you suggest when someone’s holding your mother and daughter hostage and you don’t know where?’
He sipped his coffee, Ollie went on. ‘And when they’re convinced that you murdered several others.’
He sipped again. Ollie could see that this part of the semi was like a palace, while the other, business half, was a shithole. ‘You need to do what we’ve always done, Baby. Find a way to survive.’
‘How?’
‘Do a deal. Give them something and buy yourself some time.’
‘If I go to the police, Lily and Mum die. Simple as.’
‘Do what I do every day in this business. Balance the risks.’
A commotion broke out between two women in the other building. Danny muttered ‘bitches’, went to sort it out.
Ollie sank back into the settee. If she was going to do a deal it could only be with one person, her nemesis, DI Donna Small. Danny came back and watched her as she ate her toast, drank her coffee and slowly built a plan.
It didn’t balance the risks, it risked everything; her freedom, her life and the lives of Lily and her mother. For them all to survive, she had to do what she’d never done before.
There was no more running.
She had to face up to everything.
And gamble everything.
* * *
The cluster of names on the white board reminded Small of a bunch of flowers. The key names had a circle around them, radiating out at regular intervals from this flower head were the petals, a name written at the end of each one. A flower vase of murdered people and anyone associated with them.
She had enlisted the help of the ‘grunt’ once again, who happened to be a WPC Andy fancied. She was petite, blond and blue-eyed. He called her Jules, so Small did as well. She had also been a close friend of WPC Jane Morgan. Dedication to shit tasks like this was not going to be a problem.
Small asked, ‘How many?’
Andy answered. ‘Just over a hundred. Some are going to be dead. Some impossible to track.’
‘Names that appear more than once?’
Jules answered. ‘Quite a few. I’m colour coding them, then we can use that to sort the different patterns of association. Hour, maybe two?’
Small’s mobile rang. She looked the number, didn’t recognize it, but answered anyway.
The voice was strong, confident. ‘This is Oleander Soul. I want to offer you a deal. We can talk, just you and me. Ruislip Lido, one hour.’
Small was so shocked she didn’t react for a couple of seconds.
‘You there, Detective Inspector?’
Small was suddenly on her feet, snapping her fingers at Andy, mouthing, ‘its Soul.’ He reached for the desk phone and dialed the Chief.
Small. ‘Why don’t you come in for a chat. It’s easier.’
‘Because I’m not your serial killer even though everything says I am. I walk in, I’ll walk out in chains.’
‘Why did you keep the hair of three dead men?’
Small detected the shortest of pauses, then, ‘Come and talk the deal and you may find out.’
‘It may not be me. I’m no longer leading this.’
‘Send whoever. One person though. I’ll find them.’
The mobile disconnected. Small took the phone from Andy and spoke to the Chief.
‘We’re getting a lock on the mobile. We can track her. I want to go, Chief. She called me.’ Small was desperate for this one but knew she wouldn’t get it.
The Chief refused. ‘We send armed snatch teams and we send a trained negotiator in case it all goes wrong.’
Small was confused. ‘How can it go wrong?
‘Trust me, Small. There are two black vans in our business. One transports the living, the other the dead. She’ll be coming back in one of them.’
* * *
Ollie hung up after talking with Small and handed the mobile to the two boys.
‘Ruislip Lido. A bench somewhere outside. Take over-ground trains and buses so they can follow you. Use the mobile all the time. When the police arrive say you found it in a bin.’ She gave them £50 in tens.
‘What’s my description?’
The eldest grinned. ‘Tall black chick, blond hair, big tits. Can I have a squeeze.’
He reached, Ollie slapped his hand away, couldn’t help laughing at a younger Danny. But when did self-confident cheek become cocky violence?
‘Piss off and call me from this mobile as they approach. Could be plain clothes.’ She handed them a second mobile. ‘Got it?’
She watched them go. First time I’ve laughed in days, she thought. She felt in her pocket for the three clean mobiles and the roll of notes Danny had given her. She’d be getting through a lot of both if she was to stay free.
She took the tube to Liverpool Street and took a day room at a cheap hotel around the corner. The City boys came here to cheat on wives and girlfriends. It had been a good earner to a good looker like Ollie.
One hour later one of the boys called. He was breathless and he was panicked. ‘There’s fucking loads of them, missus. What have you done?’
She hung up and called DI Small. ‘Knew I couldn’t trust you. Walk around the corner. Alone. I’m watching every step.’ She gave her the name of the hotel. ‘Room 109. Five minutes and I’m gone.’
Ollie was pacing, about to leave, when Small rapped on the door. Ollie opened it. Small was breathless. Five minutes meant she’d had to run. ‘You bitch.’
Ollie dragged her in by the arm, looked back up the corridor. A female head appeared and nodded. All clear. No tail.
Ollie flipped the lock and pressed her back against the door. ‘Strip. To your underwear. Now.’ She held out the liner from the room’s rubbish bin.
Small opened her mouth to protest, then started stripping. She wanted this confrontation, whatever the cost. Ollie went through Small’s bag, removing her mobile, emptying her purse of cash and cards. She threw her the dressing gown, opened the door and threw the bag into the corridor. Danny’s woman was taking it on a trip to the City.
Ollie made a show of ripping the phone line from the wall and from the phone. Emphasising it was now just the two of them.
Small looked around and went and sat in the only chair. ‘Bit dramatic, Soul.’
‘I want a deal.’
Small let out a derisory laugh. ‘What? For seven murders? Get real.'
‘Not with you. What I’m about to tell you goes well above your paygrade. You’re my messenger. That’s all.’
Ollie watched Small’s eyes narrow at the slap, carried on into the tension between them. ‘I don’t think I committed any of these killings. I think I can prove it.’ She tapped her temple. ‘It’s all up here. Just needs sorting.’
Small shook her head, the patronising smile still on her face. ‘We’ve got teams of specialists on this and guess what? They’ve come up with you. How are you going to change that, wonder-woman?’
‘By finding out who did commit them.’
‘Come on, Soul, this is bullshit.’
‘This isn’t. Here’s a sweetener. In the fridge in the apartment….’
‘Told you earlier. Got them and analysed them. Stephan, Billy and Emmanuel.’ Small looked for a reaction. Got none.
Ollie should have guessed the apartment had been turned over by now.
‘Okay, try this. The bodies are in a basement in an outbuilding at the Café. I found them two days ago. The one with the red tee-shirt is Stephan. The yellow dress is mine.’
Small paused, wanting to call that in now, knew she couldn’t so returned to the offensive. She wanted control of this encounter.
‘Don’t bother offering me your killing tools, we have both knives as well.’
Now it was Ollie’s turn to pause. She had to maintain her new belief. ‘I’ve never killed. They’re not mine.’
She saw the knife in the
hand of the faceless girl who’d killed Billy. Then a flash. Another knife in the hands of Mark Anderson. The one she’d taken off him. The one that would now have her fingerprints on it. What is it I’m seeing, she thought. And what is it I’m missing? Look for more patterns like this.
Ollie changed tack. ‘Do me a favour. Check that yellow dress for DNA.’
Small frowned. ‘Why? What will I find?’
‘Just check it.’
Small attacked again, but uncertainty was starting to creep in. If they were not her knives…
‘Why did you have to kill Amal?’
That got a reaction. But not what Small was expecting. She saw genuine shock, a wave of sadness, then acceptance. Shit, she thought, she really didn’t know. And if she didn’t know, then perhaps they weren’t her knives.
Ollie heard the sound of defeat creeping back into her voice. ‘Don’t tell me. Early hours of yesterday morning.’
‘You were seen there.’
‘He was alive when I left. There were no knives there.’
‘Well the one that killed him had your prints all over it and was still in his gut.’ Small paused, then went for broke. ‘Forensics found blood traces from Marston, Anderson and WPC Jane Morgan.’
The enormity of it slashed into her and Ollie collapsed down onto the side of the bed. She said quietly. ‘You said knives.’
‘We found your second one in it’s hiding place behind the skirting. Your prints as a child.’
Ollie looked across at the woman who was winning this battle. Trading murders in a sick game of abusive ping-pong.
Ollie sighed, ‘Let me guess. Blood traces for Billy, Emmanuel and Stephan.’
Small smirked. ‘You knew that already.’
A tsunami of tiredness crashed over Ollie. The monkey of madness swung from his tree, yellow eyes goading her. What the hell was happening? Who was planning all this and doing it to her? It was so complicated. Was this all Jo and the extremist group? It had to be, but Jo had denied killing Anderson and Marston. And the others went way back. Why try and frame her for something so old?
