by Bo Brennan
Colt frowned. “Like?”
“Chop you up or string you up.” She laughed nervously. “Sounds silly when you say it out loud, sir. I’m probably being oversensitive, but he makes me a little uncomfortable. And I’ve seen the way he looks at my uncle sometimes. For a man assigned to protect him, I get the feeling he really wants to kill him. It’s just a feeling, sir. Ignore me.”
“Don’t ever ignore gut feeling, Clorindar. It’s there to keep us safe. Nurture it, harness it, hone it. It’s our secret weapon. Perceptive policing is what we do best. It’s what makes the Paedophile Unit so successful.”
“I can’t be that perceptive, sir. He wasn’t on the NF membership list.”
Colt raised a bruised brow. The fact that she’d checked spoke volumes. “You searched for Doug Henderson?”
“Yes, sir. And DI Bevan.”
“Did you look for me?”
She smiled. “No, sir. You’re the only person who’s ever given me a chance to prove myself.”
Colt smiled back. Seemed Clorindar Hussein was more perceptive than she thought, clearly more perceptive than him. “What about Nate?”
She looked away, and Colt could swear she was blushing. “No, sir. I didn’t feel the need to check DS Sharp either.”
Colt followed the satnav directions through Southampton city centre, thinking about Clorindar’s gut feeling. Thinking about Doug’s tattoo. Thinking about his vehement denials at being exposed as ‘Malik’. Colt was in no doubt that Malik was the Home Office’s inside man. And he’d been inside that apartment, touched the black silk sheets. But was that man Doug? No one had seen him. Except Melody Fletcher – she’d bedded him, and was critically off-limits since the club was raided. “D’you know anyone called Malik, Clorindar?”
“D’you know anyone called John, sir?”
Colt laughed as his phone rang in the hands-free cradle. Michael Moore flashed on the screen. “Morning, Michael. You’re on speaker phone. I have DC Clorindar Hussein in the car with me.”
“You might want to pick up then. It involves Councillor Cooper.”
“Clorindar’s involved in the case. Speak freely, Michael.”
The Crown Prosecutor sounded tense. “We have a situation.”
“What sort of situation?”
“A hospital situation.”
Colt snatched the phone from the cradle. “Cooper’s in hospital?”
“Yes, he is,” Michael said tersely in his ear. “Why did nobody think to tell me he was locked up with one of his victims’ fathers?”
“I thought we had.” Colt’s eyes darted to Clorindar. She sucked in a sharp breath and covered her face with a hand.
“If you had, he wouldn’t currently be cuffed to a hospital bed with ‘Rosie’s Revenge’ carved into his bloody forehead!”
Colt groaned. “Rosie Cromwell.”
“That’s the one. Daddy dearest, Steve, took a baseball bat to a Pakistani shopkeeper last year for ‘looking at her the wrong way’. Now he’s taken a razor blade to Councillor Cooper’s bloody face.”
“How did he know it was Cooper?”
“You tell me,” Michael snapped. “Because all I know is that Kylie Jones’ father, Nigel, visited his National Front buddy in prison at the weekend. No prizes for guessing that buddy wasn’t Cooper.”
“I’m out of the office this morning, Michael. Leave it with me. I’ll get back to you.” Colt’s jaw tightened as he hung up. His passenger stared at the road ahead. “Clorindar, when you saw Kylie Jones at the school on Thursday, did you speak to her?”
“No, sir. We just passed each other in the corridor as I was taking Rosie into the staffroom for a private chat. I told you she spat at me.”
“You didn’t tell me you were with Rosie Cromwell at the time. Kylie knows us, Clorindar. She knows what we do. She’s a hostile witness in our on-street grooming trial. How did she know you were there about Cooper?”
“With all due respect, sir, you and I arrested Councillor Cooper on live TV. You’d be hard pressed to find a person in this country who couldn’t connect the two.”
Colt pulled into a parking space outside the Southampton mosque, and turned to look at her, really look at her. “People keep telling me I can’t trust you, Clorindar. And I keep telling them I can.”
“You can, sir. I swear.” She fidgeted in her seat, unable to meet his glare. “I’m sorry I keep letting you down. You’ve given me chance after chance and I don’t understand why.”
“Because I’ve been there,” Colt said. “I’ve had the wrong name. The blood ties to the brass. Colleagues giving me side eye, thinking I got an easy ride or I’m there to snitch. It’s tough being the outsider looking in.”
“It is, sir. I’m doing my best to fit,” she said, and Colt wondered what that actually meant to a young officer who’d joined his department from the notoriously dirty Drug Squad. “Keeping Cooper safe wasn’t my priority, keeping his victims safe was.”
“Rosie Cromwell has been deprived of her anonymity and her father, Clorindar. He’ll do extra prison time for carving her name into her abuser’s face.”
“Her father is an animal. She’s better off without him.”
Colt frowned. “That’s not for you to decide.”
“I was so busy sorting out funding for Cooper’s victims, I forgot to inform the prosecutor, sir.”
That was her excuse and she was sticking to it, Colt thought. “Forgot or neglected?” he said.
“Forgot, sir.”
“We do things differently to the Drug Squad. We’re better than them. If I ever find out you deliberately withheld information in order to put a suspect’s life at risk, I won’t sack you, Clorindar. I’ll charge you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right, let’s meet this imam and get this funding sorted.” Colt checked his black eye and straightened his tie in the rear-view mirror before stepping from the car. “Then we can get into the office and sort out this Cooper mess.”
“How did you do it, sir. How did you earn your colleagues respect?”
Colt pursed his lips, glancing sideways at her as they approached the mosque doors. “By keeping my nose clean, and working twice as hard as them.”
Clorindar smiled sheepishly. “I’ll see you inside.”
Colt frowned. “Where are you going? The entrance is here.”
“That one’s for men, sir. The female entrance is around the corner.”
“Is there one round there for police officers too?”
“No, sir.”
“Then get your butt back here.”
Clorindar trotted to his side. “They might not let me in, sir.”
“They invited us,” he reminded her.
“Actually, they invited you, sir,” she said, anxiously wringing her hands.
When the door creaked open, Colt extended his hand. “Detective Chief Inspector Colt,” he said. “I believe you know DC Hussein. Thanks for inviting us.”
The imam shook Colt’s hand and glanced at Clorindar with unconcealed amusement. “I’m afraid she can’t come in.”
Colt set his jaw. “Then neither can I. We’re here in our capacity as police officers, sir. Where one goes, we both go.”
The imam and Colt stood staring at each other on the threshold of the mosque. Colt looked down and ran his toe across the door jamb dividing them. “This doesn’t have to be a battle line. We all want the same thing. With a little give and take on both sides, we can change this.”
The imam regarded him thoughtfully. “Now I know where my daughter gets her stubbornness from.” He pulled the scarf from his neck and offered it to Clorindar with a smile. “At the very least, cover your hair, child.”
“I’ve brought my own, daddy,” she said, pulling a hijab from her pocket and wrapping it around her head and neck. “Mummy says I get my stubbornness from you. I’ll tell her she’s mistaken.”
Chapter 70
Park Gate, Hampshire
The day was
dark and dismal. The mist rolling in from the river crept between India’s layers of clothing, settling against her skin. She sat on Colt’s deck, shotgun across her lap, wondering what he’d thought when he’d sat here last night, wondering what he thought now.
No doubt he’d tell her later.
She checked her watch and stood up, traipsing slowly across the way, a reluctant straggler to the funereal farewell.
Gray opened up as she approached. “No Colt?”
“Work. Said he’d try and make it back to see her off.” He hadn’t. He’d left without saying a word. At least with Priti gone, India could be back in her place before he got home. Save him the trouble of kicking her and her toothbrush out.
“Is he all right?” Gray said.
“Yeah.”
Gray stared at her. “He didn’t look all right.”
“Been spying?” India shoved past him to get inside.
“No. Neither has Colt.” Gray grabbed her arm and gritted his teeth. “Don’t use other people to punish him for loving you.”
India shrugged him off and propped the gun against the pole. “Stop being dramatic. Priti had fun. Popped those cameras like a pro. She all packed?”
“She is,” Priti said from the bedroom doorway. “It didn’t take long. I don’t have much.”
“Good. Not about your stuff, good that you’re ready.” India strummed the hollow pole with agitated fingers, filling the room with a tinny, metallic ting. “Not long now.”
“Can you not do that?” Gray said. “You’re making me nervous.”
Priti cast her red eyes up to the ceiling. “What’s it for?”
India looked to Gray. His eyes were red rimmed too. There’d be plenty more tears before bedtime. “Keeping the roof up,” she said, perching on the arm of the sofa, picking at the gaffer tape.
“What happened to the sofa?” Priti asked.
India huffed. “What happened to your sister?”
Gray glared at her. “Stop it.”
“She died,” Priti said.
“So did the sofa. Same way, in fact.”
Gray stood up, and Priti grabbed his hand. “You’re spiteful when you’re hurting,” she said. “I’m sorry I brought you pain.”
Her damp clothes suddenly cold, India shivered. “You didn’t. I brought it on myself. It’s what I do best.”
Priti smiled sympathetically. “In paradise, we could be friends.”
India’s lips quirked. “I found my paradise. I keep fucking it up.” She sighed as her phone signalled an email. “This is what it’s come to,” she murmured, shaking her head as she read.
“What is it?” Gray craned his neck to see.
India held it out for him. “The NCA psycho’s bitch sending me messages from Colt.”
“He wants you to meet him at a mosque in Southampton,” Gray said.
“Well, I can’t, can I?”
“Sounds important,” Gray said, handing it back.
India tutted. “If it was that important, he’d phone me himself.”
“Phones are banned in mosques,” Priti said.
Gray checked his watch. “It’s only up the road. You can be there and back in thirty minutes. Nisha’s not due for another hour.” He inclined his head, eyes pleading with her to give them one last hour together.
“Go,” Priti said. “If you’ve found paradise. Stop effing it up.”
Chapter 71
Southampton
Funding secured, Colt and Clorindar bid farewell to her father and the mosque door creaked closed behind them. “Why didn’t I know your father was an imam?”
“Female, Muslim, niece of the commander.” She pulled the hijab from her head and waved it in surrender. “You don’t think I have enough problems at work, sir?”
“Point taken.” Colt smiled as she rammed the hijab in her pocket. “Don’t be ashamed of who you are, Clorindar. We’re all the sum of our parts. Own it. Be proud of it. Wear it like a badge if you have to, but don’t ever hide it.”
“Are you a religious man, sir?”
“Raised a Catholic. Did enough time on my knees as a child to figure God will still be there if I want Him.”
“Sensible, sir. You have knees like my dad. They creak when you bend.”
Colt laughed. “Don’t knock it. Your dad’s a sensible man. We should be listening to him. He’s moderate, well respected, engaged with both congregation and community. His input would be invaluable to our unit. Why aren’t we listening to him?”
Clorindar frowned. “You’re not the only one who thinks Uncle Ali’s an arse, sir.”
Colt raised a brow, as surprised to hear her swear as he was by the frank admission.
“Don’t get me wrong, sir. I love Uncle Ali, he’s family, but he’s also old school. All he cares about is how he looks to others. Wouldn’t let anyone go to my aunt’s funeral because she killed herself. He and my father haven’t spoken since.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise she killed herself, I thought the commander’s wife died in a car accident.”
“Only if you class dousing yourself and your vehicle in petrol and striking a match ‘accidental’, sir. Suicide is anti-Islam. Uncle Ali was more concerned with the shame than his wife’s pain.”
Horrified, Colt stopped dead in his tracks. “Your aunt set herself on fire?”
Clorindar nodded sadly. “In Richmond Park, where they used to picnic. It was the third anniversary of her death at the weekend. I place flowers at Aunt Shareen’s spot every year, so does her sister usually, but even Priti didn’t bother this time.”
Colt stared down at her, speechless, as pieces that shouldn’t fit fell into place.
“Sorry, sir,” Clorindar murmured, withdrawing into her shell. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I wanted you to know what you’re up against. Forgive me.”
The parking in Southampton was atrocious, or the driving skills non-existent. Every vehicle outside the mosque claimed a one and a half car space as its own. India could see them talking on the busy street, midway between mosque and car. She didn’t have time for this. Someone had to be there when Nisha Fisher called to collect Priti.
She picked the biggest gap she could find and drove in, nose to the kerb, arse in the lane. It was further away than she wanted to be and she couldn’t open her doors, but it would do. She peeled back the fabric roof and stood up. Foot on the horn, she waved with both hands.
The girl noticed her first, and pointed her out to Colt. He tossed his keys to his companion and ran down the pavement towards her. “What’s wrong?” he shouted.
And in a blinding flash of white light, India was airborne and Colt was gone.
Everything was gone. The whole world suddenly sucked into an eerily silent cloud of dust and smoke as India found herself dazed and confused, sprawled on her stomach on the pavement.
The sound returned at full volume – cars honking, alarms screeching, glass shattering, burning debris and twisted metal raining, screaming, screaming, SCREAMING!
India clambered to all fours and crawled through the choking smoke to where Colt had been just seconds before. Coughing and spluttering she blindly searched for him. The man was a giant. He couldn’t just disappear in a puff of smoke. She wouldn’t let him.
Her hands frantically patted all around, until her fingers fell on a leg.
“Colt?” she rasped, feeling her way up a slender calf until the limb abruptly ended. Her body began convulsing and retching, reality sinking in as she slumped across the dismembered limb. It doesn’t mean he’s dead, she reasoned. Get your fucking shit together. Find him. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. As she prepared to move on, she flicked the acrid bile and saliva off her wrist and her fingers connected with the foot. She sat back on her knees, both hands clasped around the shoe. It was rubber soled, too cheap and too small to be his. Then she remembered the girl.
“Colt!” she screamed, renewed determination flooding her veins as she staggered to her feet. �
�Where are you?”
As the dust began to settle, she moved swiftly, callously ignoring the injured’s cries for help, until she found him, sprawled across the mosque steps. He wasn’t crying out. Clothes blown from his body, he was almost naked, covered in blood and dust, deathly pale, and deadly still.
India dropped like a brick to her knees as the sound of approaching sirens filled the air. “Don’t you leave me. Don’t you dare fucking leave me!” she cried, pressing her cheek to his chest and her fingers to his throat. He was there. Still there. She stared at the twisted chunk of metal lodged in his side, and panic swept through her. “Stay with me, Colt. Please,” she pleaded. “I can’t do this life without you.”
“Never leave you,” he spluttered, weakly resting his hand on her chest. “Feel me here.”
India looked up with wet eyes, a sob escaping her throat as she laced her fingers through his. “No. You have to stay. My toothbrush is in your pot.”
He laughed and it rattled his chest. “Get out of here.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Hussein,” he rasped. “Hussein.”
India looked over her shoulder. His car was gone. If that was Clorindar Hussein with him, so was she.
“Shouldn’t be here. Gray and Priti need you.”
“I need you!”
“Sister’s husband,” he rasped. “Go.”
“No.”
“They’ll kill her.”
“I don’t care.”
“Kill Gray,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Diversion.”
“Shush. Save your strength. I’m not going anywhere, neither are you.” India peered through the smoke as stunned shoppers staggered to their feet. “Over here!” she shouted, waving to the platoon of arriving medics and police officers. “Officer down!”
“Be fine, babe. Promise.” Colt brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her fingers. “I love you.” He dropped her hand as the medics surrounded him. Rallying the last of his strength, he said loud and clear, “Get rid of her. Don’t want her here.”
“Colt, don’t do this,” India pleaded, reaching for his hand. He stared at her as the uniforms wrestled her to her feet. “Get off me,” she screamed, shoving them away. She stood staring back at him, watching him fade. Her body deadening and growing numb as blood bubbled from his mouth and his eyes slid closed.
