by A. A. Dhand
Omar was impressively built; every part of his body was taut with muscle. Harry hadn’t noticed that on the footage. He had a neatly shaven head, sharp jawline and a broad welcoming smile.
‘Last-minute emergency,’ he said, pushing the lollipop into his cheek with his tongue. ‘I’m almost finished and, to be honest, I’m done in.’
‘Get rid of the lollipop,’ said Zed. ‘This detective wants a word.’ Harry thought he’d probably forgotten his name.
Omar’s smile fell.
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ said Harry. He didn’t offer his hand.
‘Nah, nah,’ replied Omar. ‘Just, er … you know … got a few parking fines I ain’t seen to. You here to collect?’ He forced a nervous laugh.
Harry turned his head towards Zed. ‘Can you leave us for a minute?’
Zed faltered, then shook his head decisively. ‘I’d like to stay.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ said Harry. ‘Let’s not make this all formal. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be gone.’
Omar exchanged nervous glances with Zed before nodding at him. ‘Go on, boss. Close up and I’ll help …’ He looked at Harry.
‘Inspector Virdee.’
‘Inspector Virdee with whatever he needs.’
There was another pause. An uncomfortable tension.
Reluctantly, Zed left them alone, saying he would wait in the office.
‘So,’ said Omar, shifting the lollipop to his other cheek. ‘What’s this about?’ He was rubbing his hands together, bouncing on the balls of his feet. It was distracting.
‘You mind?’
‘Freezing, bro.’
When Omar didn’t stop, Harry put a hand on his arm. Firmly. ‘Seriously, “bro”,’ he said, squeezing a little, ‘stop that. And like your boss said, get rid of the damn lolly.’
Omar took the little white stick from his mouth and threw it across the workshop.
‘Better. Last Friday, did you take a car from here? To use over the weekend?’ asked Harry.
‘Er … maybe.’
‘You want to think about it?’
‘Sure,’ said Omar, snapping his fingers. He seemed unable to stand still. ‘I did.’
‘Remember which one?’
‘Shit, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast!’
‘Your boss checked the log. A white Audi …?’
Omar was fidgeting like crazy.
‘You OK, Omar? You seem nervous.’
‘Nope. Just cold, you know. Us Asians don’t like it, yeah? All right for you in the coat and gloves.’ Another nervous laugh.
‘The car? You remembered yet?’
‘Sure. White Audi out front.’
Why was Tara chasing your car, Omar?
‘So did you go anywhere Friday night?’
Omar shook his head. ‘Skint. Waiting for payday, innit?’
‘You left work and then what? Went home?’
‘Can’t remember. Probably. Yeah.’
‘How about Saturday? Sunday? D’you use the car for anything?’
‘Shopping. Maybe.’ He paused, as if thinking about it, closing his eyes for emphasis. ‘Yeah. Supermarket.’
‘Thought you were skint?’
‘The missus paid.’
‘Married?’
Omar held up his hand, showing Harry a wedding ring.
Harry moved closer and dropped his voice. ‘You guys happy?’
‘What the fuck’s that got to do with anything?’ spat Omar, stepping back, keeping the distance to a few feet. ‘Look, you want to tell me what this is about?’
‘Easy there.’ Harry raised his hands. ‘Why the attitude?’
‘Told you, bro. I’m fucking freezing.’
‘You want my coat?’
‘You taking the piss?’ Omar’s face creased in anger. ‘’Cos, you know what? I don’t need this aggro.’ He made as if to move past Harry, who put a firm hand on his shoulder.
‘Just a couple more minutes.’
Omar turned his face, looking at Harry side-on. ‘If I say no?’
‘I could take you down the nick. Do it there if you prefer?’
Omar hesitated a beat. ‘OK, but hurry it up.’
‘Anyone borrow the car from you Friday or Saturday night?’
Omar shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’
‘Come on, Omar – you had the keys. Did you lend them to anyone?’
‘Nope.’
Harry nodded. ‘You know the Thorpe Edge estate?’
Omar’s cheeks flushed red. Panic. He answered too quickly. ‘Nope.’
Harry was closing in. ‘Weird. Got the motor placed there Friday night. Helping Lexi Goodwin move house. You going to tell me you don’t know Lexi now?’
Omar’s eyes narrowed and he looked past Harry, at the closed garage door. He dropped his voice. ‘Look, why’re you busting my balls? You want to get me fired?’
Harry shook his head. Let him talk.
Omar’s eyes lingered on the door before he looked back at Harry. ‘Listen, the boss doesn’t like us using the cars for favours. I know Lexi – not a lot, like, but we used to chill sometimes.’
Harry looked pointedly at Omar’s wedding ring.
Omar shook his head. ‘Just, you know, chillin’.’
‘So you saw her Friday night?’
‘She said she needed a lift to the station with some luggage. Last-minute holiday deal. You know how it is,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders.
‘Which station?’
‘Bradford Interchange.’
‘What time?’
‘Seven?’
The Interchange was heavily monitored by CCTV.
‘Where exactly did you drop her?’
Omar hesitated. Harry wondered whether he’d realized he’d picked an area that was well covered.
‘Traffic was bad, I was rushing. Dropped her outside St George’s Hall.’
‘Just Lexi?’
‘Her daughter as well.’
‘What’s her name again?’
Another pause.
Harry stared intensely at Omar, noticing all the usual signs of a lie. The hesitation. The shiftiness of his eyes. The involuntary twitch in his hands.
‘Olivia.’
‘How old is she?’ asked Harry, thinking of the footage he had seen at Britannia House, how young Olivia had looked.
Omar couldn’t meet Harry’s gaze.
Harry let the silence linger. Then he asked again.
‘Like, nine,’ said Omar quietly, almost ashamedly.
‘Tell me again?’ said Harry stepping a little closer.
‘What the fuck for?’ snapped Omar. ‘Listen, I’m done here, yeah? Maybe you got nothing better to do, but I got a home to get to.’ The two men were almost toe to toe. ‘You gonna move or—’
Harry stood his ground and Omar didn’t like it. Not one bit.
‘Olivia is nine?’ Harry spoke quietly, his breath forming a white mist between the two men.
Omar brushed past Harry, opened the garage door and slammed it, making it bounce in the frame. Harry looked around at the emptiness of the garage. He thought about the way Tara had been frantically chasing the white Audi. He was certain of one thing: he’d be seeing Omar again soon.
Outside, Harry watched Omar speed out of the lot and on to Manningham Lane in the blue Fiesta. He pulled his phone from his coat pocket to check the tracking device was working. He was about to open the app when his phone rang – a withheld number.
‘Yes?’ said Harry.
‘Find the diary?’ the voice asked.
‘I did.’
‘Prove it.’
Harry hesitated before saying, ‘Lexi and Olivia Goodwin.’
Now it was her turn to pause.
‘The New Beehive Inn. You know it?’
‘I’m not far from there.’
‘Fifteen minutes?’
‘How will I recognize you?’
‘Trust me,’ she said. ‘When you see me, you
’ll know.’
NINETEEN
BILLY MUSA PULLED up at the rear of the farmhouse just as the sun was starting to set.
Only twenty-four hours until he would be six-figures richer.
He rubbed his eyes hard.
What the fuck was Ali playing at?
Murder, so near to the handover. Madness.
‘I’m out after this,’ Billy whispered to himself.
He stood for a moment, struck as always by the enormity of Ilkley Moor with its foreboding nothingness. He had lived this life long enough.
The farmhouse sat half a mile from anywhere, surrounded by green fields, with the Cow and Calf Rocks towering in the distance – complete isolation. Their boss owned the place and Billy had got used to taking advantage of the empty, secluded house. Women and drugs – Billy was happy to pay for both and it was easy to get carried away out here in the dark moors.
Billy wasn’t the only one using this house. For the past decade, once a year, the farmhouse became a prison for two carefully chosen people.
Chosen because, if they left Bradford, they wouldn’t be missed.
Chosen because the mother would put her own happiness ahead of her daughter’s and when Billy showered her with attention and enticed her into the unforgiving world of drug addiction, she’d be only too willing to follow.
This was getting easier. Only in Bradford, he thought.
Lexi Goodwin was a gift. Her own parents hadn’t been interested when she fell pregnant at fifteen, sacrificing her youth for an ill-prepared parenthood. Now twenty-four, she was still a child. Exactly the type of woman Billy targeted.
It was always the same. He threw cash at her: nice hotels, restaurants, shopping sprees.
The younger the prize, the bigger the payday.
Six figures was the most they’d ever been offered …
Lexi might feel special in the glow of all that attention, but it was nine-year-old Olivia Goodwin who Billy had his eye on.
‘Hey!’ Olivia yelled, running towards Billy with outstretched arms. ‘Big Bee’s here!’
She charged towards him, excitement etched across her face, and threw her skinny arms around his towering body.
‘Yo!’ he said, holding the pizza box high above her head.
‘Are you staying tonight?’ she asked. ‘We miss you!’
Billy ruffled her blonde hair.
‘Big Bee brought you pizza and …’ He handed her a new iPhone.
‘For me!’ she squealed.
‘Don’t tell your mother,’ he said, lifting her up and carrying her into the living room. ‘So, you like it here?’
‘It’s too big,’ she said flatly. ‘And Mum’s phone doesn’t get reception.’
‘Who do you want to call?’ he asked, laughing as he put her down on a leather couch.
‘Cold,’ she said, making a face at the leather.
‘Leather couches are expensive.’
‘Still cold.’
‘So, who were you trying to call?’ Billy asked again.
‘Just you. I wanted pizza.’
Billy’s shoulders relaxed.
‘And I brought it? Hey, great minds!’ he said, raising his hand for a high-five. ‘Where’s your mum?’
Olivia pulled a face. ‘Sleeping. I thought you said the medicine would make her better?’
‘It will when we go to London tomorrow.’ He set the pizza box down on the coffee table.
‘Are we definitely going tomorrow?’ she asked excitedly.
‘Of course. I told you, it’s my last shift tonight.’
‘And then we’re going to that eye thing?’
Billy nodded and smiled, opening the box of pizza. ‘The London Eye. Here,’ he said, removing a slice of Margherita from the box. ‘You want to eat with your hands?’
‘Can I?’
‘You’re with Big Bee, we can do whatever we want.’
‘You’re the best,’ she said, taking it from him.
‘You’ve been very grown up, looking after your mum, you know.’
Olivia shrugged and took a bite from the pizza, strings of cheese hanging from her mouth. ‘She’s been sleeping most of the day,’ she said through a mouthful of food.
‘What time did she wake up?’
Olivia shrugged again. ‘Judge Judy was on TV.’
‘Nearly lunchtime then?’ he said.
‘Suppose.’
Billy got up from the couch, heading towards the open-plan kitchen at the far side of the living room. ‘You want a Coke?’ he called out.
‘Yeah.’
‘Only got cherry,’ he said, opening the fridge and looking back over his shoulder.
Olivia made a face.
‘Water then?’ he said jokingly.
She frowned.
‘Let me ask you a question,’ he said, removing a can of Cherry Coke from the fridge. ‘How come you’re so beautiful?’
Olivia frowned again and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I told you, I’m not. Stop saying that.’
‘Hey,’ said Billy, opening the can and pouring its contents into a glass, ‘when we get to London, I’m going to have to warn the boys to keep away from my princess.’
‘I don’t like boys,’ she whined. ‘Yuck!’
Billy laughed and from his pocket removed a small white pill, slipping it into Olivia’s glass. The cherry flavouring in the Coke would mask the taste of the sleeping pill. Combined with a tummy full of pizza, Olivia would easily fall into a deep sleep.
‘Olivia?’ he called out.
‘Yeah?’ she said through another mouthful of pizza.
‘Why don’t you pick a film? I’ve got time for one before I start work,’ said Billy, swirling the glass to ensure the pill had fully dissolved.
‘Harry Potter!’ she cried, taking the DVD from the shelf.
‘Really?’ Billy asked, bringing their drinks through. ‘I’m sure we watched that last week.’
‘No, this is the next one,’ she replied, taking the glass from him.
‘OK, magicians and wizards it is. Tell you what, let’s see who can drink their Coke quickest? Like yesterday? If you win, we watch your DVD, but if I win, we watch football.’
Olivia grabbed the glass with both hands.
‘No cheating,’ said Billy, lifting his glass and pretending he hadn’t seen her start.
‘Oh, one thing?’
She scowled, impatient to get on with their game.
‘Before I forget: tomorrow morning, my friend is coming to take a look at the boiler. I’ve given him a key, so when you see him, don’t be scared. OK?’
She nodded, but wasn’t really paying attention.
‘Olivia, this is important,’ he said. ‘He’s called Ali.’
Upstairs, Billy found the emaciated body of Lexi Goodwin in the master bed where he had left her. A potent smell of sweat and urine made Billy want to retch.
‘Hey,’ he said gently.
‘You got me some?’ she pleaded, her lips cracked and dry. ‘I need some, Billy, I … I … just need a little.’
Billy nodded.
‘We leave for London, tomorrow,’ he said, gently wiping her mouth and pushing blonde hair back from her sweaty temple. ‘We’ll get you booked into that detox clinic my friend owns, yeah? Get you some real help?’
She nodded eagerly, looking at the syringe in his hands.
‘No more after this,’ she said, more out of habit than hope.
‘You’re going to do fine when we get there,’ he said, wrapping a sleeve around her arm as a makeshift tourniquet. ‘Just fine.’
‘Are … are … you going to be here in the morning?’ she pleaded.
‘Last shift, baby,’ he said. ‘When you wake up tomorrow, we’ll start our new life. You excited?’
Billy slipped the needle into her arm, watching as the blood entered the barrel.
‘Yeah, babe,’ she whispered. ‘Dead excited.’
TWENTY
THE NEW BEEHIVE was in Westgate, on White Ab
bey Road. Harry drove through a side street, on to Lumb Lane. At six p.m. there were already several silhouettes lurking in doorways, waiting for a fee.
Skies which had earlier threatened rain now made good on their promise as Harry parked the car and climbed out, dismissing the woman who had come over to offer her services.
According to the plaque by the door, the New Beehive was the oldest public house in Bradford and the only gas-lit pub left in the country. He thought of Thorpe Edge and Wilson’s living room wall with its long list of local pub closures.
Etched above the doorway, illuminated by a dim lamp, was a carved date: 1901.
Bradford had been a thriving industrial centre back then.
Next to the pub was Rashid House. It used to be the place to buy car stereos, but it had been transformed into a vibrant Islamic shop selling hijabs, jubbas and other clothing, books and prayer beads.
The two buildings couldn’t have been more different. One a decaying relic of days gone by when the local pub had been the heart of a hard-working community, the other a symbol of the new Bradford, a bold shopfront, smooth stone pillars and prayer mats in the windows.
And behind Harry, dominating the surrounding buildings was the dome of one the largest mosques in Bradford, the Jamiyat Tabligh-ul-Islam, one of over a hundred that had sprung up across the city.
From the outside, the pub looked decrepit. His first impression was of a tumbledown local where the BNP might have held meetings, but he was happy to be proven wrong. Inside, the pub was quiet. There were two elderly locals at the far end of the bar and what looked like a couple of students huddled in the corner, focusing on their mobile phones. The place looked like it had been recently refurbished.
The barman welcomed Harry warmly. His face was lined with wrinkles and his grey hair was receding. Harry couldn’t help but notice his hands were the size of spades.
‘Nice spot you got here,’ said Harry, and ordered a Jack Daniels. ‘Owner? Manager?’
‘Both,’ replied the man. ‘Percy.’
Harry nodded. ‘Outside could do with a spruce up.’
Percy smiled. ‘Aye. You talking about my pub or the city?’
