by A. A. Dhand
The lights of the city sparkled.
‘Your stomach,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said, whispering gently in his ear and moving his hand higher.
‘Now?’
‘Your chest.’
‘What can you feel?’
‘Your heart beating.’
‘Tell me how.’
He paused, finding the rhythm. ‘Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum,’ he chanted quietly.
‘Keep it there,’ she said, letting go of his hand.
‘Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum,’ he whispered, smiling broadly.
Sarah pulled Percy’s knife from under her burka.
‘Is it getting quicker?’ she whispered, stepping back an inch and catching sight of the tattoo on her raised hand.
GZ.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Do you love me, Yasser?’
‘From the first moment I saw you,’ he replied.
‘And I love you?’ she asked him.
‘Yes,’ his brow creased momentarily, confusion washing over his face.
‘Then,’ Sarah replied, plunging the knife into his throat, warm arterial blood spraying across her, ‘perhaps you trained me too well.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘PUT IT DOWN,’ said Harry, ‘that’s not how this works.’
Ronnie kicked Billy, who was staring in disbelief at the gun. ‘Did he do it?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ replied Harry.
‘Who are you people?’ asked Billy.
Harry stepped into the firing line. ‘A word,’ he said, and pulled Ronnie away from the car.
‘Oi,’ Harry shouted at Enzo, ‘watch him.’
He hauled Ronnie away.
‘What’s got into you?’ asked Harry, when they were out of earshot. ‘You’re drinking again.’
‘No—’
‘Don’t. I can smell it.’
‘When one of your kids ends up dead, you see if you want a fucking drink.’
Harry couldn’t say much to that.
‘And I don’t share my location with you so you can babysit me,’ said Harry, removing his iPhone, accessing the Find My Friends app and disabling the function.
‘I told you: I want the guy. My way. You haven’t exactly shown willing, ignoring my calls and messages.’
‘Micro-managing me isn’t going to help us.’
‘Did he do it?’ asked Ronnie, nodding towards Billy.
‘Says he didn’t. Says there’s another player.’
‘Who?’
‘I’d got as far as the name “Ali”, and then you interrupted me.’
Ronnie made to push past Harry. ‘You’re not thinking straight.’
Harry wouldn’t budge.
‘I’m always thinking straight. That’s why I run this city.’
‘This morning, with Nash? Now, arriving here like this?’ Harry snatched the gun from Ronnie and waved it in his face. ‘Carrying a loaded weapon when you didn’t know what you were coming into?’
‘Tara’s dead,’ whispered Ronnie, stepping closer to Harry. ‘My kid is dead.’
Harry pushed his fist into Ronnie’s chest. ‘I’m on it.’
‘I want his fucking head on a stick.’
‘I’m on it.’
‘I’m not a patient man,’ replied Ronnie. ‘My wife wants to slit her wrists. Old man’s wandered off, and Mum …’
Harry tensed at the mention of their mother.
‘Sitting by the window, like she used to after you left,’ said Ronnie. ‘Hasn’t spoken. Hasn’t eaten. Hasn’t slept.’
He tried to snatch the gun back from Harry, who moved it out of reach.
‘Keep it,’ said Ronnie, and barged past Harry towards Enzo and Billy.
‘Shit,’ Harry hissed and followed. All the ground he’d covered was about to be lost.
‘Weapon,’ snapped Ronnie. Enzo produced another revolver.
‘Now,’ said Ronnie, crouching on the floor by Billy. ‘You want to deal with him? Or me?’
Harry tried to get close, but Enzo blocked his route.
‘We spoke about this earlier,’ said Harry, starting to lose his temper. He had one eye on Ronnie.
‘Don’t take orders from you.’
‘Last guy who came between me and my brother?’ Harry reminded Enzo of Ronnie’s previous business partner. ‘No longer with us.’
‘Times have changed.’
Harry saw Ronnie press the gun to Billy’s temple.
Forced into the move, and with the revolver to hand, Harry fired a shot into the ground. Enzo jumped and Harry jammed his fingers into his bared throat. As Enzo staggered backwards, gasping for breath, Harry kicked his feet from underneath him, sending the big man thundering to the ground.
Harry stepped past him and snatched the other revolver from Ronnie’s hands, raising both weapons, one at Enzo, the other at Ronnie.
Billy remained pinned to the ground, helpless, watching the unfolding drama.
‘I asked you this morning if you were with me or against me? Looks like I got my answer,’ said Ronnie, standing up.
Enzo was coughing on the ground, trying to get his breath back.
‘One: I don’t like your poodle crossing me. He’s your bitch, so keep him on a damn leash. Two: don’t spy on me. And three …’
Harry stepped closer to Ronnie, leaving only Billy’s body between them.
‘… She was mine too,’ snapped Harry, losing his composure. ‘Mine! I held her for the first twenty minutes of her life. I was the one she came to when she was scared of the dark and I’m the one who failed her when I left that godforsaken house! So don’t tell me I’m against you, Ronnie, or I will knock you the fuck down and make sure you don’t get back up.’
Harry lowered the weapons, eyes blazing furiously at Ronnie.
‘Are we fucking clear?’ he shouted.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ronnie.
The brothers were sitting in Ronnie’s Range Rover.
Enzo was watching Billy, who still had his head trapped under the tyre of the Peugeot.
‘You should be bloody sorry,’ replied Harry. ‘Christ, we’re supposed to be a team.’
‘Guilt,’ said Ronnie, and wiped his eyes. ‘It’s my fault. All of it. I let Bradford take her.’
‘You’re not the only one. Tara tried to call me – I never answered.’
‘When?’
‘A few months ago. I told you I wouldn’t be in contact with her and I kept my word.’
‘She called you? Why the hell didn’t you answer?’ snapped Ronnie, ignoring what Harry had just said.
Both men stared uncomfortably at each other until Ronnie started pounding the dashboard.
‘Shit!’ he hissed. ‘This fucking family!’
‘I know,’ said Harry, and waited till Ronnie calmed down. ‘I feel like part of me died yesterday. She looked so helpless. I wanted to hug her, bring her back to life. I just … can’t stop picturing it.’
‘Jesus, we’re both losing it,’ said Ronnie.
‘I’m not,’ said Harry.
‘Don’t bullshit me.’ Ronnie rubbed his hand across his face and sighed.
‘When did you fall off the wagon?’ asked Harry.
‘Does it matter?’
‘It does to me,’ said Harry, remembering the detox programme Ronnie had been through. ‘I can’t let you go back there.’
‘I’m not like I was.’
‘Says every alcoholic. I can’t have you hitting the bottle with this over our heads. I need you ready, not obsessing about where the nearest off licence is.’
‘I won’t touch it, OK?’
Harry stared outside. He could see Enzo pacing, still rubbing his throat.
‘Fucking Elmo, when will he learn?’ said Harry.
‘You going to hurt everyone who helps me run things?’
Harry looked at his brother.
‘Easier if you just joined us. Look at you: you stick a guy’s head under a car and you think you’re not like me?
’
‘We’re not having this conversation again.’
Ronnie shook his head. ‘Tell me about him.’
Clearly Ronnie didn’t know who Billy was. Harry struggled to hide his relief that his brother hadn’t expanded into child trafficking. He told him everything he knew about Billy.
‘So he’s complicit in something and he’s a nonce?’ said Ronnie.
‘Exactly. Says he was in Brum on Saturday night and the guy we need is called Ali.’
‘Ali?’
‘That’s as far as I got when you arrived.’
‘Let’s get back to it,’ said Ronnie.
Harry put his hand on his brother’s arm.
‘One thing?’
‘I know – it’s your show.’
‘Not that.’
Ronnie raised his eyebrows.
‘Put Elmo in your car. I don’t need an audience.’
‘On one condition.’
‘What?’
‘Stop fucking calling him that.’
Outside, Harry took the lead with Ronnie a few steps behind.
‘Who’s Ali?’ asked Harry.
‘Who are you people?’ Billy asked again. Blood had pooled on the concrete below his chin, in the shadow of the tyre.
‘People you shouldn’t have crossed,’ said Harry. ‘Ali?’
Billy was struggling between his fear of what might happen if he didn’t talk and what would happen if he did.
‘OK, I’ll help you out. Here’s what I’ve got so far,’ said Harry. ‘Olivia Goodwin is the target. Tomorrow night you complete a deal which sees her disappear. Tara got in the way, put the transaction at risk and you guys killed her. Sound about right?’
Billy tried to move his head to look up at Harry.
Harry put his hand on the jack and started to turn it.
‘Do it!’ screamed Billy. ‘If I talk? I’m fucking dead anyway.’
‘Poor choice,’ said Harry and gave it a quarter-turn.
Another sickening scream from Billy.
‘Harry,’ said Ronnie, stepping forward, his breath warm on Harry’s ear. He put his hand over his brother’s. ‘Step away. One more and he’ll be no good to us.’
Harry couldn’t believe Billy still wouldn’t talk.
‘Let me take him,’ Ronnie continued. ‘Few hours in the black hole will do the trick.’
Ronnie was right, but the clock inside Harry’s mind was racing.
Tomorrow night Bradford loses another girl.
Tara had died trying to protect Olivia Goodwin. Harry couldn’t let her efforts go to waste.
He couldn’t let Tara’s murderer walk free.
Harry stepped away, breathing heavily, trying to regroup. ‘I need him to talk, Ron, however you do it. He’s the key. There’s another player, called Riz. See if you can get his details.’
‘You got other things to chase down?’
Harry nodded.
‘You focus there. I’ve got this.’
Ronnie used the jack to raise the tyre from Billy’s head and crouched by his side.
‘They worth dying for, these people you work with?’
Billy didn’t reply.
‘You think this is as bad as it gets?’
He smiled warmly then grabbed Billy’s face, squeezing his cheeks. Billy spat out a bloodied tooth.
‘You’ve got about thirty minutes before we hit the black hole.’ Ronnie let go of Billy’s face and stood up, towering over him. ‘Thirty minutes before you’re begging me to kill you.’
TWENTY-NINE
AT MIDNIGHT ALI Kamran was parked outside Detective Inspector Harry Virdee’s home, a simple three-storey end-of-terrace Victorian house on Oak Lane in Manningham.
The house was dark. The orange glow of the streetlight fell on the pavement just in front.
Ali walked to the back of Virdee’s house, through a narrow snicket. No CCTV cameras out the back either.
Come on, Detective.
He opened the gate and hurried down the path. The back door was locked but he had expected that. Ali tested the letter box. It opened easily; a decent-sized gap to pour petrol through.
He was out to make sure the next twenty-four hours passed without incident.
He was not prepared to risk his plans.
Ali glanced through the kitchen window. He could see a picture frame but in the darkness he couldn’t make out its contents. The window came away from the frame as he pulled; it wasn’t locked.
He held his breath, half expecting an alarm but there was nothing. Slipping his hand inside, he picked up the picture, brought it close.
Detective Inspector Virdee, his wife and their baby.
A perfect family photograph.
Ali slid his hand across Saima’s face, the outline of her body.
A wife. A child. A family.
Tomorrow night, in a farmhouse by the moors, Ali would seize his opportunity and take Olivia Goodwin. He replaced the photo, pushed the window shut and walked away. If Detective Inspector Virdee threatened what Ali had been planning for over a year, he wouldn’t hesitate.
Back in his cellar, as Gori slept, her naked, cold body tucked under a loose white bedsheet, Ali stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at a shelf at the opposite side of the room.
Hidden at the back of the shelf was a glass jar, covered in a thin layer of dust.
A jar Ali Kamran so desperately wanted to bring out.
No.
He wanted to smash it against the wall. His breathing quickened, sweat trickling down his face.
Ali rubbed angrily at his face, disturbing the make-up, leaving his skin naked and exposed.
He stepped closer to the shelf, eyes fixed on the hidden jar.
‘Just you wait until tomorrow night,’ he hissed. ‘Just you wait!’
THIRTY
HARRY PARKED BILLY Musa’s Peugeot in a dark side street off Thornton Road, a couple of hundred metres from Triple B’s dispatch office. He went inside and asked Pamela, the driver coordinator, to confirm Billy’s location over the weekend. Despite Harry’s ID, she refused to cooperate until he removed the wad of cash Ronnie had given him and put a fifty-pound note on the table. Then another.
Billy hadn’t been lying. He’d driven to Birmingham on Saturday afternoon and hadn’t come back until Sunday afternoon. Harry made her double-check the log, then left the office. Billy was out of town while Tara was murdered. He wasn’t the guy Harry was looking for.
Back in his car, Harry contemplated his next move.
He took out his phone and found the photo he’d taken of the logbook at Manningham Lane Autos. He could just about make out Omar’s phone number.
He’d kept Billy’s phone – he’d have no need for it at the black hole.
Harry found Omar saved under OMG. There was a goofy-looking photo of Omar grinning with a cigar in his mouth.
‘There it is,’ Harry whispered.
In the last hour and a half, it looked like Omar had been trying to get hold of Billy. There were several missed calls listed.
Back on his own phone, Harry went to check the GPS tracker for Omar’s location. But it failed to connect.
The damn thing wasn’t working.
Harry accessed Billy’s text messages, scrolling down to find the last thing they had sent each other. Harry went back through their conversation log to get a feel for how the two of them communicated. Then he started to type.
U sleepin? Don’t buz. Still drivn.
Harry’s heart was racing.
Billy’s phone beeped with an instant reply.
Yo. Bowt time.
Letz meet. Now.
Wher?
Harry quickly checked the location services on Billy’s phone, choosing ‘frequent locations’. He scrolled the history and replied.
Water Lane.
Harry pulled up in front of the derelict Crabtree & Sons mill on the corner of Water Lane and Wigan Street.
A crumbling six-storey monument to Bradford’s pa
st.
On the passenger seat were two things Ronnie had refused to let Harry leave without. A taser and a rare eight-chamber .357 Smith & Wesson revolver wrapped in black cloth. Ronnie loved anything out of the ordinary. Why have a six-chamber gun when he could have eight?
Rain battered the road, the surface shimmering, the sound a calming prelude to Omar’s arrival.
Harry wasn’t thinking about Omar. He was thinking about Tara, about the Candy Club. If Nash was right, he could understand why Tara had been so desperate to move out from home. Why she was so determined to follow her own path, free from the Asian traditions that her grandparents and her parents would be forcing on her. It was an all-too-familiar scenario for Harry.
A car coming the opposite way interrupted his thoughts. It slowed and flashed its lights twice. Harry started the car and pulled forward, taking an immediate left turn. Victorian cobbles gleamed golden in the streetlight.
Harry pulled into the courtyard at the back of the mill, reaching for Ronnie’s weapons. Omar killed his lights as he pulled in alongside. He got out of his car and darted towards the passenger side of the Peugeot, opening the door, hurrying in out of the rain.
Harry locked the doors and pointed the gun at him. ‘One wrong move.’
Omar jumped towards the door, fumbling for the handle.
Harry jammed the gun into Omar’s crotch. ‘What did I just say?’
‘You? What the fuck is with you, man? You crazy? What’s going on?’
‘You tell me.’ Omar was bigger in the passenger seat than he had seemed at the garage.
‘Where’s Billy?’ asked Omar.
‘Busy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You need me to draw you a picture?’
‘Listen, man—’
Harry raised the gun, striking Omar in the nose. It shattered instantly.
‘Fuck! What’s wrong with you?’
Harry had expected rage. Instead, Omar cowered.
This kid was no hero; the bulk was to compensate.
Harry sat more comfortably in his seat.
Omar was cradling his nose, pinching the top, trying to stem the blood flow.
Harry glanced over at Omar’s car; there was somebody inside.
‘Who’d you bring with you?’ asked Harry.
‘Nobody.’
‘She looks young.’
‘I was giving her a lift home.’
