by Bo Brennan
“Jesus Christ.” India flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Shayla Begum’s not pregnant, the hospital would’ve told me. So why would she be so terrified of ending up like Becky Adams?”
“Becky’s baby was fathered by an Asian,” he said, pulling on a T-shirt. “She’s regularly touted as Britain’s first white honour killing.”
India sat bolt upright. “Why didn’t you tell me this when you knew I had an honour killing on my patch?”
“It wasn’t my case. I’m just repeating what I heard, I don’t even know if it’s true. What is true is that SOCA took over the murder investigation when elements of organised crime surfaced. One of those elements was the on-street grooming gang my unit’s involved with. That’s why Doug Henderson has a vested interest. He was involved in the original investigation, pre NCA.”
India eyeballed him. His T-shirt hugged every muscle. Inked biceps strained the short sleeves. “You can’t wear that; you’ll scare the shit out of her. Put a sweatshirt on.”
Colt looked at her as though she’d asked him to wear a frock. “I don’t own a sweatshirt.”
India riffled his wardrobe of Saville Row threads and handed him the closest thing to acceptable casual she could find. “What were the other organised crime elements?”
“Who knows,” he said, swapping shirts. “It’s the Home Office, India. Their departments don’t even speak to each other, they sure as shit don’t speak to us.”
“But one of the men you brought to trial could be Becky Adams’ killer?”
“That’s what everyone seems to think, but we’ve never found a shred of evidence to connect any of the defendants to Becky.” He tucked his shirt in his jeans and pulled a leather belt from the drawer. “I’ve even run her baby’s DNA against theirs in the hope of finding a paternal match. Nothing. None of the other victims knew her either.”
With a shudder of revulsion, India dropped back onto the edge of the bed. “You’ve got the dead baby’s DNA?”
Colt nodded. “It’s in the system. If Becky Adams was murdered because she was pregnant, establishing who fathered her baby is critical to the case.”
“Talk about special privileges. I couldn’t get a dead woman’s fingerprints, yet you’ve got access to a dead woman’s foetus.”
“She wasn’t a woman, and it wasn’t a foetus. Becky was sixteen, a child herself. The baby was thirty-nine weeks, a perfect little boy ready to be born. He should be starting school now.”
“School? When did it happen?”
Colt sat down beside her to fasten his shoes. “Three years ago.”
“That’s when Nazreem Sinder went off radar. Henderson said she gave information that guaranteed her death. Shit. D’you think she knew who killed Becky Adams?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve got her DNA too.”
India frowned. “Wow, you really are special. If I couldn’t get Sinder’s fingerprints out of the system, how the hell did you get her DNA?”
“It’s not in the system. It’s in the fridge.”
“What fridge?”
He leaned into her, pointing to the kitchen and the giant American stainless steel side-by-side. “That fridge.”
India baulked. She’d spent a lot of time eating here lately. The next thing she ate would be bleach.
“I’ll fill you in later.” Colt cracked his knuckles and stood up. “C’mon, let’s go speak to your wayward brother and find out what the fuck’s going on.”
India gave the fridge a wide berth as she silently followed him outside.
Colt waited on the deck, giving them a moment to adjust as India let herself in.
Her opening gambit was characteristically curt. “Still here then.”
In the darkness, Colt breathed a sigh of relief that they were.
Gray’s response wasn’t happy. “We didn’t have a lot of choice. You locked us in and took my keys.”
“In this lifetime, you only get one chance to brain a copper with a plaster cast, Gray. She’s used hers.” India shifted in the open doorway. “I know all about Becky Adams. As suggested, I asked my boyfriend. Brought him over too, so whatever you want to accuse him of you can say to his face.”
With a wince, Colt stepped into India’s lounge. The first thing that struck him was how small Shayla Begum actually was, considering the size of their collective problem. She seemed to shrink further into the sofa when she saw him. The second thing he noticed was the ferocity with which she gripped Gray’s hand, the coffee-coloured skin of her knuckles and fingers blanched white.
Traumatised and terrified, her broken body trembled despite the sweltering log fire blazing in the hearth.
Colt took a seat on the sofa opposite them, and patted the gaffer-taped cushion for India to join him. Her penetrating stare was unnerving. Propped against the pole, the rolled-up papers in her hand could’ve passed for a pitchfork. “You don’t need to be afraid of us, Shayla,” he said as India settled beside him on the stabbed sofa. “Whatever’s happened, we’re here to help.”
When Shayla turned her face into Gray’s shoulder, things got a whole lot more complicated.
Gray instantly wrapped a protective arm around her, and Colt knew they were in much bigger trouble than originally thought. A furtive glance India’s way proved she knew it too.
“Gray’s a good guy, Shayla. You’re right to trust him, he’s kept you alive this far,” Colt said. “But if you want to stay that way, you need to trust us too. We’re his family. We want to keep you both safe.”
Shayla remained silent. Wouldn’t even look Colt’s way.
He leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his knees. Shayla curled further into Gray, and Colt frowned. Could understand her being scared of India, she was sitting on her rage-ravaged sofa, effectively under house arrest. But it wasn’t India who terrified her, it was him. “Tell me why you’re so afraid of me, and I’ll tell you why it isn’t true,” Colt said, only to be met with silence. “Regardless of what the press says, I had nothing to do with Becky Adams or her murder investigation, and I wasn’t in a relationship with your sister either, whatever you or Malik might believe.”
Gray eyed him suspiciously.
India’s eyes flashed at the minor omission.
Colt shook his head, wanting to save it for another time.
India didn’t. “Who’s Malik?”
“That depends who you ask,” Colt said. “According to Ryan Reynolds, he’s Shayla and Nazreem’s brother. According to Firman, he’s Melody Fletcher’s boyfriend.”
India puffed out her cheeks. “Right, let’s cut the crap. The ‘I no speak English’ routine will not work with me. I know you understand me. I know you have a PhD from University College London. I know your sister’s dead, and all around you people are dropping like flies. The bodies are mounting up, Shayla. That priest you went to see?” India tossed a web printout of The Daily Herald article into her lap. Colt was glad she’d cropped him from the picture. A blood-covered copper praying over a dead priest might sell newspapers, but it wouldn’t sell trustworthy to Shayla Begum. “Gone to meet his maker. And I won’t let that happen to my selfish bastard brother here.”
She hit a nerve.
Shayla almost folded in on herself as all the air left her body in a keening wail of despair.
Gray stiffened. “She didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“I didn’t say she did, but you both got into an altercation outside his church which resulted in you getting stabbed, Gray.” That was news to Colt. He let it slide, India was on a roll. “So, Shayla, you can either speak to me or I’ll haul your arse into custody right now and throw as many charges at you as I can sling. One of them will stick, I promise you that. The assault on a copper will get you time inside.”
“Her name’s Priti,” Gray said, and she reeled at his betrayal. “I’m sorry. There’s nowhere left to run, Priti. Without the priest, we’re all out of road.”
India scanned her graduate list
from UCL. “Priti Patel,” she said with grim satisfaction.
“What’s the priest’s part in all this?” Colt asked.
Gray entwined his fingers through Priti’s. “He was organising forged documents for her new identity. She was supposed to collect them tomorrow.”
Colt shifted his gaze to Priti. She stared at the picture of her slaughtered saviour, silent tears streaking her cheeks as news of his demise demolished her dreams. All doubts of her selling the story dissipated. It wasn’t her. The priest was no good to her dead. He thumbed India’s paperwork and cautiously crossed the room, removing the punishing picture from Priti’s lap to replace it with something sweeter. “You don’t have a brother called Malik, do you?”
She responded with a shake of her head as her fingers traced the smiling face in the graduation photo.
“And your sister’s name wasn’t Nazreem,” India said.
“Shareen,” she whispered.
Colt drew a deep breath and squeezed India’s thigh. One corner of her mouth lifted.
Chapter 60
Friday, 16th March
Park Gate, Hampshire
Colt came up behind her in the kitchen and slipped his arms around her waist. “I could get used to this.”
India stirred the coffee and glanced down at her bare feet. “Don’t. It won’t last. One day we’ll be allowed to have proper jobs.”
Colt chuckled and kissed her neck. “Are you ready to speak to Firman?”
She tensed at the mention of his name. “Has hell frozen over?”
“Guess I drew the short straw for being the big, bad bastard this morning then,” he said, shrugging into his jacket. “Still, will get Doug out of my face. He’s be hanging around the unit like a dog with two dicks lately. Maggie must be giving off divorce pheromones.”
“Get used to it. You’re not telling Henderson anything.”
Colt frowned and leant back against the kitchen worktop. “India, they need to be in witness protection.”
“The last witness he protected got delivered to you in a box. That’s not happening to Priti and it sure as shit ain’t happening to Gray.” She slammed the lid on the coffee and thrust the travel mug towards him. “They’re going nowhere until we catch up with Scarface.”
Colt’s hands tightened around the cup. “Scarface is a murdering bastard who’s already stabbed your brother and barbecued two people trying to get the girl. I’d rather they weren’t here when we do catch up with him.”
“But don’t you want to know why he sent you body parts?”
“Of course I do, India. I want to grab him by the throat and squeeze until he squeals, even though I know he won’t. But more than that I want Gray and Priti and you to be safe. That’s what witness protection is for. They have to go.”
“If they go, the answers go with them. I’m not buying the honour killing and forced marriage crap. None of what Priti Patel told us stacks up. A Google search turns up nothing for Shareen, missing or otherwise. We don’t even know why the sister was in protection in the first place, but the fact you got her foot in the post means it’s somehow connected to you. My money’s on Becky Adams.” She raised her hand to shush him when he started to protest. Colt clenched his teeth and tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling as she continued. “I know Becky Adams hasn’t got anything to do with your unit, but everybody else thinks she does. Even the press thinks one of the groomers on trial killed her. Maybe the woman on my houseboat cosying up to Gray, actually does know.”
“If she does, she won’t tell. We battled walls of silence for months and months to bring those men to trial. The only time people in their community opened their mouths was to spit on us. You’re seriously underestimating the power of loyalty and honour within Asian culture, babe. It’s ingrained. You can’t protect Gray and Priti from an enemy you don’t know. The NCA can.”
“No, you’re seriously underestimating me, and overestimating Dick Henderson,” she snapped.
Colt sighed and locked eyes with her ice-cold glare. “You’ve got the weekend,” he said evenly. “I’ll do anything you want me to, but if they’re still here on Monday morning, I will be taking them into protective custody myself.” He picked up his car keys and reluctantly kissed her goodbye. “A brown canary is a wild and rare creature, India. If you want to hear birdsong, take it from me, find yourself another bird.”
Through the porthole in India’s front door, Gray and Priti watched Colt leave for work.
“What time does your sister leave?” Priti asked.
“Seven usually.”
Priti turned Gray’s wrist to read his watch. “God, that’s another two hours away.”
“She won’t be going. Colt told me she’s been suspended because of us.” Gray caught her hand in his. “Why did you lie to them last night?”
“Why did you let me?” She looked up at him expectantly.
He looked to the crumpled sofa bed they’d shared, a pang of guilt stabbing at his gut. “Your truth isn’t mine to tell. I’m trying to do my best by you, Priti, I really am. But I love these people, they’re my family. I won’t allow them to get hurt. If you make me choose, I will choose them.”
She nodded in silent understanding. “Shareen’s truth isn’t mine either. I fled a forced marriage. She fled a failed one. I would never dishonour her, not even in death. My sister’s secrets I shall take to my grave. Now I’ve lost you and the priest’s paperwork, that might be sooner than I’d hoped.”
Gray’s heart squeezed as Priti’s eyes welled with tears. They had more in common than she would ever know. “You haven’t lost me. I’m right here.” He pulled her to him and held her close. “You’re stuck with me to the end, remember?”
“How could I forget?” She choked a chuckle against his chest.
“That’s my girl. We’ve been in tighter spots than this before.” Gray rested his cheek on top of her head. “It’ll be okay. We’ll work this out, Priti. I promise.”
India tucked her interrogation folder under her arm, cupped both hands to her brow and peered through the window. What she saw chilled her bones.
Semi-naked, Gray stood with his bare back to the door, head bowed. India couldn’t see Priti, but she could see her plaster cast. It hugged Gray’s waist, milk chocolate fingers melting into smooth vanilla skin as embers died in the open fire.
Beyond them, the sofa bed showed sheets dishevelled both sides.
India stepped away from the window with one more reason to hate Doug Henderson. If he hadn’t popped the priest she’d be gone now. Gray would no longer be in the crosshairs . . . or in anything else. Colt was right to set a limit. The longer this went on, the harder they’d be to separate. Priti Patel had to go, and soon.
Drawing a deep breath, India knocked on the door.
By the time they opened up, both were fully clothed and the sofa bed was gone.
“Sleep well?” India asked.
Gray raised a shoulder. “So, so. Access to that would help,” he said, gesturing to the locked gun cabinet.
“I’m sure it would.” India’s gaze shifted to Priti, silently standing two paces behind him. “You ever fired a shotgun?”
With eyes like saucers, she wildly shook her head. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“The beginning works for me,” India said, claiming the standard sofa and settling with the file on her lap. “Stick the kettle on, Gray. Doctor Patel and I have lots to discuss.”
His lids and lips opened and closed, opened and closed, like a feeding fish out of water startled by the hook. “You’re a doctor?”
Priti Patel cast her eyes down, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. “Not that sort of doctor,” she said, awkwardly raising her clumpy cast to his shoulder. “A forensic anthropologist.”
Gray stared at her, looking none the wiser.
“A doctor of the dead,” India chirped, gaining the upper hand. “Slashed or slayed, you were always in skilled hands. How’s that coffee doing?”
&
nbsp; Gray huffed and got to it, Priti hesitated in pursuit.
“It doesn’t take two, he knows what I like. Sit down, please, Doctor.”
Priti nervously took a seat.
India opened her folder and perused the contents, ignoring the annoyed clink and clang coming from the kitchen.
“I’m sorry you lost your job,” Priti said.
It was a poor play for power. India lifted just her eyes. “I’m not. Good way to find out who your friends are. Which one of your friends is this?” she said, holding up the Preston brothers police sketch of Scarface. “Is this Malik?”
Priti Patel recoiled.
Gray placed three cups on the low table and sat down beside her. “That’s one of the guys from the graveyard,” he said. “He’s the one who stabbed me.”
India lifted the only cup of coffee, leaving the tea for the walking wounded. “You got off lightly,” she said. “He killed Priti’s sister, Mrs Reynolds, and Charlie Riggs.”
Gray reached across the table to take the picture from her hand. “He lit the fire at Cantilever Court, too?”
India blew steam from her mug and nodded. “Yep. Also robbed a bank in Winchester last month. I think that’s where he first encountered Shareen. She caught the bus home from work right outside the bank. I know she was there when it happened, I’ve got witnesses.”
Gray pursed his lips, mulling it over. “So you think this stems from her sister seeing a bank robber?”
“No. I think this stems from the bank robber seeing her sister.” India sipped her coffee, letting the theory sink in. The only sound in the ensuing silence was her brother’s guilty gulp. “Shareen was in hiding for three years before she died, Gray. I want to know why.”
Priti rested her hand on Gray’s thigh, silencing him. “I told you last night. My sister ran away from marriage. So did I.”
“I don’t believe you,” India said. “Your sister was originally in the protection of the Serious Organised Crime Agency. Now I’m not doubting that forced marriage is indeed a serious crime, and by Christ, as Gray can attest, weddings take some bloody organising at the best of times, but the clue’s in the title, Priti. SOCA never dealt with domestic shit. They dealt with serious organised crime shit. And right now, Colt and I are in it up to our eyeballs. So, I will ask you one more time,” India stood up and snatched Scarface’s picture from Gray’s hands. “Is. This. ‘Malik’?”
