by A. A. Dhand
Sarah nodded. ‘He thinks I’m dead.’
‘How?’
She shook her head, looked away and wiped away a tear.
‘I guess he panicked. Did this,’ she said, touching her scars, ‘then threw my body into the Leeds and Liverpool Canal.’
‘How did you survive?’
‘Just did.’
‘Come on.’ Harry wasn’t about to accept that.
‘Look,’ Sarah said fiercely, glaring at Harry, ‘they left me for dead and I stayed that way.’ She grabbed hold of the burka. ‘No easier place to disappear than Bradford.’ She let it fall. ‘We’re dealing with the bottom end of this chain – Billy and others—’
‘Others?’
‘Omar, Riz and Ali. But they’re not the endgame. There’s someone higher up that they work for.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Because Billy told me, right before he came at me with a knife. He said, “Little girl, you don’t know who you’re fucking with …” And I believe him.’
‘So why did you drag Tara into all this?’ Harry asked, fixing her with a penetrating stare.
‘I had nobody to trust until I met her.’
‘Run me through it.’
‘Cultural crap,’ said Sarah. ‘Remember?’
Harry nodded.
‘I met her at a bar one Friday night. Two angry girls sharing war stories and getting drunk.’
‘Thought you stayed off the grid?’
‘I do,’ she corrected herself quickly. ‘But I’m smart with it.’
Harry nodded for her to continue.
‘We became friends. She was bitter at her family situation, I was bitter at … everything.’
Harry went to speak but Sarah stopped him with a raised hand.
‘Tara wanted to prove her decision to move out was the right one.’
Sarah leaned closer to Harry. ‘She was driven, I mean driven. I could see it in her eyes, in every breath she took. She wanted to quit the internship, but I told her not to because I had a story worth investigating. I knew she’d be all-in, so I told her. Everything.’
‘When?’
Sarah shrugged. ‘Just over a year ago. I didn’t realize how far she’d go, Harry. You have to believe me. Tara was so fair-skinned, she easily passed for white and looked girlish enough to pass for a teenager. The only way to find out which girl was Billy’s next victim was to get close to him.’
Sarah struggled with her next sentence but forced it from her lips. ‘She used herself as bait.’
Harry scratched his stubble wildly then swept his hand across his face and rubbed his eyes.
‘Tara?’ he said dismissively. ‘She was just a kid.’
‘You hadn’t seen her in, what, four years? She was twenty years old, Harry. She wasn’t a kid, and she knew exactly how to play Billy to make him think he had a shot.’
‘Jesus,’ said Harry, standing up and moving back to the table. He picked up the remainder of his drink and finished it, struggling to reconcile this version of Tara with the Tara he had helped raise.
‘He never touched her,’ said Sarah, standing up, reading his thoughts. ‘But we realized Olivia Goodwin and her mother were next. I told Tara to back off, but the closer it got to the deadline—’
‘Deadline?’
‘Tomorrow night.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I’ve watched Billy for years. The girls always disappear the day before Ramadan begins, which is tomorrow night.’
‘Tell me about Olivia,’ said Harry, unsure how much of this he could believe.
‘You’ve been to her mother’s flat, I assume?’
‘Empty.’
‘They took her on Friday and Tara panicked.’
‘Panicked?’
‘We’d been monitoring Billy. And since I have to remain invisible,’ she said, pointing to the scars on her neck, ‘Tara was the one who got close to Olivia.’
Harry didn’t want to hear any more, struggling to believe Tara could be so bold, so brazen.
‘Tomorrow night, Bradford loses another girl, Harry. We’re almost out of time.’
She held his gaze.
‘You will help me. You’re more responsible for Tara’s death than you realize.’
Harry registered the change in Sarah’s tone. He didn’t like being threatened.
They stared at each other, eyes dancing before she tried one last stab of the knife.
‘You could have stopped her death, Harry,’ she whispered, and stepped a little closer. ‘We were out of our depth and we knew it. So she called the one person she was sure would help us.’
The penny dropped and suddenly Harry felt his heart sink. Sarah saw it in his face. She nodded.
‘She called you three months ago, Harry. Left messages for you.’
Sarah stepped closer still, right into his personal space, as sickening, overwhelming guilt spread through his stomach.
‘She needed you, Harry. And you let her down.’
TWENTY-THREE
OUTSIDE, HARRY LEANED against the wall of the New Beehive Inn, welcoming the sensation of drizzle on his face like an alcoholic might a drink. He had stepped outside for a moment of air. To be alone with his guilt.
Tara had called Harry three months ago, half a dozen calls at the office over the space of a week. She had left messages. Harry had not returned her calls. Ronnie had forced a promise on him, that he’d cut all ties with the family – the only way the brothers could keep their own relationship strong. Mundeep had threatened Ronnie with divorce if he allowed Harry to be part of their children’s lives. She wanted to be clear that if the kids did what Harry had done, they’d receive the same treatment.
‘Christ,’ he whispered, raising his face towards a sombre, starless sky, moving his head left then right so the rain caught every inch of his face. ‘Christ,’ he said again.
Harry’s mind was a mess, anger surfacing, his ability to reason fast disappearing.
How much more was his decision to marry Saima going to cost him?
He suspected that Sarah might have held back on some of the details, but he’d heard enough to more than spike his interest in her story.
‘That poor girl,’ Harry whispered to himself. ‘All of them, Christ.’
He pulled his phone from his pocket, ignoring several missed calls from Ronnie and an impatient text asking him again for an update. He scrolled through dozens of emails until he arrived at the one from Charles. The video file was attached – Tara chasing after Omar’s Audi.
Why hadn’t she called him then?
Because you’d ignored her, Harry, and she didn’t trust you to help after that.
The realization cut deeply, forcing the breath out of his lungs. Harry leaned against the wall of the pub as the world started to spin.
He thought of Tara’s diary, the names: Billy, Riz, Ali and Omar; Olivia and Lexi Goodwin. The question: Why do girls go missing in Bradford?
Harry focused across the street where hookers were approaching kerb-crawling cars. Everything Sarah had told him had changed his view. If these women disappeared off the streets, would anyone give a shit? Who would report them? People were so caught up in their own lives, it seemed easier than ever to simply forget about others, especially those on the fringes of society. Alienation of vulnerable young mothers wasn’t a hard sell. Harry believed that part. He also bought into the possibility the real target was an innocent little girl.
Harry watched the footage again. Tara chasing Omar’s car. Her desperation when it pulled away. The anger and guilt inside him reached boiling point.
He needed to put this right.
These bastards thought they were untouchable. They were wrong.
‘Where do you live?’ asked Harry, retaking his seat opposite Sarah, rainwater dripping from his hair.
‘I move around a lot,’ she replied. ‘I don’t know who in this city is involved in this mess and I’m afraid of staying in one place too long. At
the moment, I’m staying here.’
‘Here?’
She pointed upstairs. ‘Room five. I … was too scared to go to Tara’s place, but I knew you would. So I waited for you.’
‘How did you get my number?’
‘Tara got it from her father’s phone. And I got it from hers,’ she said, putting her hand in her pocket and bringing out another iPhone. ‘This is the one Tara used with Billy and the others.’
She gave Harry the pin to unlock it.
‘Real James Bond stuff you got going on here,’ he said patronizingly, taking it from her. ‘Anything useful on it?’
‘No. Billy was really particular about people using phones around him.’
‘Smart man.’
‘Suspiciously smart, no?’
Harry looked at her.
‘What about the others?’ he asked, not revealing he’d already met one of them. ‘Omar, Riz and Ali?’
‘Omar works at a garage on Manningham Lane. Riz is the boss of the taxi firm Billy works for. And Ali …’
She trailed off, breath coming quicker, fear spreading across her face. ‘He’s the guy Billy sends if the girls won’t do what he says. Wears a hoodie … I … I … met him once. His eyes … they don’t look human.’
Sarah produced a card from her pocket and slid it across the table to Harry.
‘Triple-B Taxis,’ she said. ‘Billy drives their only seven-seater.’ ‘You think he killed Tara?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘He’s too smart for that.’
‘So?’
‘Billy will know.’
‘Which number was your room again?’
Sarah looked at him nervously. ‘Five.’
‘I want to see it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I asked nicely,’ he replied, standing up and beckoning for her to follow.
‘You always in disguise like this?’ asked Harry, pointing at her outfit.
She nodded. ‘Since he tried to kill me.’
‘What do you do for money?’ he asked, staring at her so hard she looked away uncomfortably.
‘Am I under investigation now?’
‘Damn right,’ said Harry. ‘Your room. Let’s go.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if we’re going to work together, you have to earn my trust.’
The room was bigger than Harry had imagined. Two double beds, an oak dressing table, desk and wardrobe. The door to the en suite was open, the edge of a shower cubicle visible.
‘What now?’ said Sarah.
Harry closed the door, looking around the chaotic room, burkas and western clothing flung across the floor, a laptop on an unmade bed and a half-empty bottle of vodka on the bedside table.
‘ID,’ said Harry. ‘Something official.’
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
As if prepared for it, Sarah put her hand in her pocket and brought out her driving licence. She handed it to Harry, who looked at her suspiciously.
‘A flat on Leeds Road?’ he said, noting the address.
‘I rented it for a few months. Like I said, I move around.’
‘Give me your hand.’
‘My hand?’
‘Are you right or left handed?’
‘What?’
‘Right or left handed?’ he said impatiently.
‘Right,’ she replied.
‘Give it to me.’
‘No.’
‘We haven’t got a lot of time, have we?’
She puffed her cheeks out and thrust her hand at him.
‘Under the light,’ he said, moving near the bottom of the bed where a light fitting was hanging from the ceiling.
Sarah rolled her eyes and held out her right hand.
Harry slapped a pair of handcuffs on her, the other end on the metal bed frame at the foot of the bed.
‘What are you doing?’ she hissed, panic in her eyes.
‘Due diligence,’ he said. ‘If what you’ve said checks out, we’ll talk some more.’
‘You can’t do this,’ she said.
Harry looked at his watch. ‘Nine p.m.’ he said. ‘You should get some sleep. Might be a late one.’
‘Seriously,’ she said, rattling the handcuffs against the bed frame. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘You make too much noise, that old barman downstairs will call the police. Either way, you end up with me. You choose,’ he said, turning to leave.
Sarah sat down on the bed, shaking her head. ‘If I need the bathroom?’
Harry pulled a drawer out of the dressing table and placed it by her feet. ‘I’d hold it,’ he said, ‘but if needs must.’
‘You’re kidding me?’
‘I lost my sense of humour when I found my niece’s body,’ he replied.
There was a half-eaten apple on top of the dresser with a small knife sticking out of it. Harry removed it, tapped his finger on the blade then put it in his jacket pocket.
‘Give me your mobile number.’ Harry thrust his phone into her left hand.
‘What are you going to do?’ Sarah asked as she saved her number.
Harry waved the business card she had given him earlier.
‘Call myself a taxi,’ he said, and picked up the key to her room from the table so he could let himself back in later. He picked up the half-empty bottle of vodka and threw it on the bed. ‘Sleep aid.’
Before opening the door to leave, Harry paused with his hand on the doorknob. ‘Your hand,’ he said. ‘The tattoo? What do the initials stand for?’
Sarah glanced at her handcuffed wrist, turning it to reveal the letters GZ.
‘Nothing,’ she said quietly. ‘Nothing at all.’
TWENTY-FOUR
HARRY WAS ON White Abbey Road heading towards Bradford Royal Infirmary. The roads were quiet; rain spraying across his windscreen. He parked in a side street adjacent to the hospital, slipped on a raincoat and grabbed another pair of handcuffs from his boot before setting off for the hospital’s main entrance.
Saima worked as an A & E sister, so Harry knew the place better than most. At the reception desk, he showed a harassed-looking young Asian woman his identification and asked to urgently see Consultant Balraj Patel. He was an old friend whose father had also owned a corner shop in Bradford. They’d spent their childhood in each other’s stores. Balraj was one of only a handful of friends Harry had.
Harry took the last seat in the busy, humid waiting area. He was about to join everybody else in staring down at his phone when Balraj appeared and beckoned for Harry to follow him along a corridor and into a consultation booth.
‘Not a good time, mate,’ he said, pulling off a pair of blue latex gloves which he threw into a yellow clinical waste bin. They shook hands quickly, pulling each other in for an embrace.
‘One of these days we’ll just meet up to chew the fat,’ replied Harry. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Night before Bonfire Night,’ replied Balraj. ‘Burns. Wish they’d ban the things.’
‘I won’t keep you long,’ replied Harry.
‘How’s Saima?’ asked Balraj. ‘Christ, I can’t wait to see her back here. No one else knows what they’re doing.’
‘She’s great. Motherhood suits her.’
Harry fished Sarah’s driving licence from his pocket and handed it to Balraj. ‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t critical,’ he said.
‘It’s always critical, Harry.’
‘Forms and protocol are the death of progress. You know that. Just tell me if she was ever admitted with lacerations to her neck, stab wounds? Anything, really.’
‘I can only give you the A & E records.’
‘Can’t you request her file from Medical Records?’
‘What are you looking for?’
‘Anything.’
‘Off the record?’
‘Obviously.’
‘It’s mental in here tonight, Harry—’
‘You remember Tara?’
‘Your niece?’
<
br /> Harry nodded. ‘She was …’ he sighed. ‘Murdered. I need this, Balraj. As quick as you can get it.’
‘Shit, I’m so sorry, had no idea,’ he said, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezing it before falling silent, unsure what to say next. ‘Corner-shop boys stick together,’ he said after a beat. ‘I’m on it.’
Inside the entrance of the hospital was a payphone. Harry called Triple-B and ordered their seven-seater taxi, telling them he needed to go to Liverpool – no cabbie would turn that fare down.
Dispatch told him what he already knew; they only had one seven-seater, Harry would have to wait half an hour. With time to kill, he walked along the ground floor to a vending machine and bought a couple of chocolate bars and a Lucozade. Hovering around the entrance, he couldn’t stop himself thinking of Saima; how he had repeatedly visited her here at work until she had finally agreed to go out on a date with him.
Outside, Harry sat on a bench where a smoker was lighting up under a no-smoking sign. The rain continued to fall.
‘You should have nailed him when you had the chance.’ The smoker edged closer.
Harry faced the man, rainwater sliding inside his collar, and stared at the battered, bruised face of Nash, almost unrecognizable after what Ronnie had done to him early that morning.
‘Fractured wrist. Two broken ribs. Might have been worse if you hadn’t intervened,’ he said, raising his left arm, which was plastered from knuckle to elbow. ‘You want to sign it?’ Nash grinned and took a deep pull on his cigarette.
‘You’re in good spirits for a man who almost didn’t see sunrise today,’ said Harry.
‘I didn’t see it.’
‘Don’t get smart.’
Nash grunted and dragged hard on his cigarette.
‘At least his boy Enzo did the decent thing and dropped me off here,’ Nash said, smiling again.
‘What did you say to the doctor?’
‘Fell off my bike.’
This time it was Harry’s turn to smile.
‘I can’t think why you put yourself through this with him.’ Harry stared across the car park, dimly lit by lampposts. He wasn’t prepared to talk about that with Nash. ‘Tara,’ he said. ‘What can you tell me?’
Nash removed a blister of tablets from his pocket, dry-swallowing two white pills before continuing with his cigarette. ‘She didn’t like her old man,’ he said.
