Strong propped himself on the end of her horseshoe-shaped workstation.
The woman watched Rio instead with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Looks like I’ve been kicked to the kerb and you’re stepping out around town with a new lady friend.’ She flashed Strong a mock-sultry look.
‘I wish I had the time to sweet talk you back into my arms . . .’ Strong’s face became serious as he dropped his voice low. ‘I need to track when and where a mobile phone has been used in the last couple of hours. But I need you to keep it off the books.’
Teasing vanished from the other woman’s expression. ‘Since all that newspaper hacking business, things are a bit more tight around here. The higher uppers are so paranoid I think they’re going to ask us soon for paperwork every time we visit the toilet.’
‘Sylvia, I really need this one. Someone’s life is on the line.’
The woman pursed her lips, turning the creasing around her mouth into worry lines. Abruptly she turned back to face her computer screen as she said, ‘OK, let me have the number.’
Strong gave her the information she needed. Sylvia typed away as Rio and Strong anxiously waited.
‘Here we go,’ the older woman said, as information filled her screen. ‘One call, two hours and fifteen minutes ago. Placed just outside of London.’
Rio thought that fitted in with Nikki still being at home.
‘Next call was to the same number she contacted earlier. This call is placed at about one hour later near London Bridge Station. And then she texted the same number thirty-three minutes ago.’
‘What’s the text say?’ Rio dived in.
Sylvia turned to look at her. ‘No words, just a smiley face.’
‘Can you find the name and address of the person she’s been calling?’ Strong clipped in.
Sylvia went back to her computer and a minute later said, ‘Adeyemi Ibraheem. Twenty Beacon House, Peckham.’
‘Of course,’ Rio said. ‘I should’ve guessed. SE15 is the postcode for Peckham.’
Rio halted at the sudden paleness on Strong’s face.
‘Is this address known to you?’
But instead of answering her he leaned down and kissed Sylvia on her cheek. The skin on the older woman’s cheeks screwed up in pleasure.
‘Can we access the PNC from your computer?’ he asked her, the colour back in his face.
Sylvia swung out of her chair, stretched. ‘I need to make a cuppa. But not too long.’
Strong was in her seat as she walked away. He typed away for a few minutes.
‘Bingo,’ he said.
Rio leaned in close and saw a photo of a young black man. ‘Adeyemi Ibraheem,’ she read aloud. ‘Twenty years old. Juvvie record for shoplifting when he was sixteen – got community service and put into a mentoring programme. But no other . . .’ Her voice stopped again before she read on. ‘But he’s got a much older brother – Chiwetel Ibraheem - who has done time for breaking and entering, robbery and gang affiliation. You think they could be part of the Greenbelt Gang?’
‘It seems to add up, but no one said they were black.’
‘No one could see what colour they were.’ Irritation drew lines across her forehead. ‘And if they’d spoken how would anyone know they were black? Maybe our gang were all meant to be singing Bob Marley’s ‘‘One Love’’ in between telling their victims how they’re going to set them on fire if they don’t do what they’re told?’
Ignoring her sarcastic words Strong said, ‘And Twenty Beacon House is on the Bonnington Estate.’ Abruptly he jerked out of the seat as his face grew pale again.
‘You’ll have to go without me.’
They were back outside in the dark, Strong leaning against the brickwork of the building that housed the Information Bureau with Rio facing him. Silence lay for a few seconds between them. Rio could see whatever he was about to tell her was serious. And she wasn’t going to like it.
‘That case I was involved in,’ Strong quietly started – Rio could hear something in his voice; it wasn’t remorse, but she’d swear it was grief – ‘where the teenager died in the cell. He lived with his family on the Bonnington Estate. I can’t go back there. Can’t do it.’
Rio knew this wasn’t the time or place to ask him what had happened, but she could see that he was having a massive fight with his emotions. She didn’t know this man, didn’t know what to say. So she did what Rio Wray did best, kicked the emotions aside and got back on with the case.
‘I can’t go on my own—’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Strong’s response was savage and loud. He pushed off the building. ‘I can’t go back on that estate. All I ever wanted to be was a cop. Plain and simple,’ he said, his voice more gentle. ‘Sure, I’m a bit rough around the edges, but that didn’t mean I went out of my way to do a bad job. I was one of the best.’ His palms rubbed together as he said the last with pride. ‘Then one messed-up day—’
Strong looked away from her as his nostrils flared. ‘I can’t help you . . .’
Rio let out a long breath. ‘Then I’m going to need to find someone who can.’ She thought instantly of John ‘Mac’ Macdonagh. She was reluctant to contact him, knowing he’d had his own troubles recently, but what choice did she have? ‘There’s another officer I could ask who will keep his mouth shut.’
Rio pulled out her mobile. The line connected with Mac’s. Rang six times. Voicemail. She snapped off the connection. The only option left to her was one she didn’t want to take. Nikki Bell’s face planted itself in her mind reminding her that she had to use any options she could.
Rio dialled another number. ‘Listen . . .’ Her voice grew louder. ‘You cut this call and . . . Meet me . . . You heard right, meet me. I’ll be parked up by the entrance to the Bonnington Estate in Peckham. Fifty minutes. Be there.’
Her heartbeat was pounding in a way that wasn’t healthy.
‘Who are you meeting?’ Strong asked.
Face grim, she didn’t answer him as she walked away.
Sylvia watched Jack Strong and his colleague being swallowed up by the darkness as they moved away from the building. She turned away and moved out of the office to the drafty corridor near the top of the stairwell. Pulled out her mobile.
‘They were here. About five minutes ago . . .’
twenty
10:11 p.m.
The north Peckham that Rio’s BMW parked up in was very different from the one she’d remembered policing years ago. The residential skyline dominated by miles of walkways, that had once been the notorious North Peckham Estate, was gone. In its place were low-rise homes that weren’t jammed one on top of the other, but with spaces that gave residents privacy and maybe that chance to breathe more easily.
The homes on Bonnington Street were half-hidden in the semi-light of two lamp posts and the moon which was round and strong above. The quiet unnerved Rio as she looked through the windshield trying to find the person she waited for. She checked her watch.
10:12 p.m.
He was late. Maybe he wasn’t coming, which wouldn’t surprise her. Bollocks, she might have to do this one on her own. She might—
Two rapid taps sounded on the glass of the passenger-side window. Rio’s hand reached for her baton as she looked across. Her hand relaxed.
Calum.
Rio released the lock on the door. He slid inside, taking care with his right leg. Shut the door. The air closed in around Rio; she felt the heat coming off his body. It felt good. It felt bad.
‘I take it you haven’t asked me here for a quickie in the back seat?’ Calum asked, his mocking green gaze looking straight ahead.
‘Nicola Bell’s parents were murdered this evening.’
Calum swore.
‘I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t have any option, so—’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re not telling me anything I haven’t already figured out.’ Now he looked at her with a sideways glance. ‘I gave you a heads-up about your girl, which doesn’t
give you the right to start stalking me.’
‘Which begs the question what are you doing here? Why come running to the woman you told to stay the hell away?’ His gaze shifted away from her, confirming what she suspected was his motivation. So she told him. ‘Whatever you’ve cooked up with Foster means you need to stay near to this investigation and what better way to do it than to remain cosy and close to the detective leading on it. So let’s agree to drop the bullshit drama.’
She expected some outraged denial speech in response, but what she got was silence as he hitched his stare back at her while his green gaze lingered on her face.
‘What do you need me to do?’ Calum finally said.
‘First thing is, leave our past in the past. We don’t go there. This isn’t about you and me, it’s about a young kid who’s probably in danger.’
‘So the girl cut out on you.’ His expression became stern. ‘After what I told you earlier, you should’ve been sitting on her twenty-four–seven—’
‘I think someone is holding her in one of the houses on this street—’
‘So why haven’t you got an armed response vehicle with you? What the heck are you doing here on your own?’
‘Because as soon as someone knows I let her slip between my fingers I’m off this case.’
Calum smiled. ‘Never thought I’d see the day when Ray Gun would be going all Lone Ranger.’
Rio’s hand curled into a fist. Sometimes this man just made her want to . . .
‘You deck me, baby,’ Calum warned softly, ‘and who’s going to get you out of this mess?’
Rio’s hand fell flat.
Calum’s gaze scanned the street. ‘Which house are we talking about?’
She gave him the address and the name of their target.
‘You tooled up?’ Calum asked.
‘The usual – CS, taser and baton.’
‘You might need one of these.’
Rio couldn’t help but gasp when he pulled out a revolver, reminding her of her stint in the armed response unit.
‘No guns,’ she told him firmly. ‘This needs to be done quick and quiet and clean. We knock at the door and take it from there.’
Calum’s response showed his frustration. ‘If the girl’s alive and we knock on the door it could lead to her immediate death.’
‘We do this my way, which means no gun play.’
Rio knocked on the beige coloured door as Calum waited half a step behind and to the side of her. The house was well kept from the outside and the mini-garden in the front appeared well loved and cared for. Rio tensed as she heard the slap of feet from inside. Her warrant card was already in her hand.
The outdoor light came on. The door partially opened, a security chain holding it back. Rio saw half of the face of an older black woman, a black, satin nightcap on her head.
‘Yes?’ The woman’s voice was soft, Nigerian and edgy.
Rio showed her warrant card. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Rio Wray. Are you Mrs Ibraheem?’
‘If this is about Chiwetel, he doesn’t live here . . .’ Her voice cracked. ‘Has something happened to him?’
‘If I could come in, please.’
The woman unhooked the chain and opened up. She stepped back as Rio and Calum entered. The scent of food cooked earlier lay thick in the air. The woman was large in both height and size. She clutched the ends of a bright red dressing gown. Her dark face was sad and mournful as if she had been in this position before.
‘We need to speak to your son Adeyemi.’
Suddenly the woman straightened her back as her arms dropped to her side. ‘He’s not here.’ She shifted her body so that she stood almost in the middle of the hallway like she was trying to protect the rest of the house.
Rio inched closer. ‘I think that you’re lying to me—’
‘No.’ Mrs Ibraheem gazed over Rio’s shoulder. ‘He’s good boy—’
One of the doors leading off the hallway opened. A young man stepped outside. As soon as he saw Rio he twisted around and started running. Calum was already after him, bolting past both women. He lunged forwards and grabbed the man by the back of his T-shirt and flung him face first against the wall.
‘Leave him alone,’ his mother cried. ‘He’s done nothing wrong.’
But Rio ignored her as she strode towards Calum and his captive. The man shifted his face so that only his profile was pressed against the wall. His breathing was ragged and hard.
‘Are you Adeyemi Ibraheem?’ Rio asked.
‘Of course he is,’ his mother called out. ‘You think I let strangers sleep in my house?’
‘Where is Nicola Bell?’
The eyelid that Rio could see flickered as he replied, ‘Don’t know no Nikki Bell.’
‘She didn’t call her Nikki, Dumbo.’ Calum slammed him hard against the wall again. ‘Tell us where she is?’
‘No, I—’
But he never finished as the door of the room he’d come out of was flung open. Nicola Bell stood in the doorway and yelled, ‘Leave him alone. He’s my boyfriend.’
twenty-one
10:20 p.m.
Nikki Bell sat shaking on the camel-brown sofa in the living room, wrapped in the arms of her boyfriend. To say that hearing about her parents’ death had knocked her for six was putting it way too mildly. Her legs had gone from underneath her as the shock and tears came. Adeyemi had carried her into the family room, while Rio sat opposite and Calum and Mrs Ibraheem hovered in the doorway.
The sixteen-year-old looked across at Rio. Her skin was pasty in contrast to the golden-blonde hair that hung over half her face. She flicked her hair impatiently aside.
‘They didn’t want me to see Ade, just like they didn’t like me seeing cousin Lia. Not because he was black and his parents are Nigerian, they didn’t have a problem with that. They hated that he’s Muslim. What did they think he was going to do? Blow up their conservatory? Not all Muslims are terrorists.’ Her voice broke. ‘I wish they were still here so I could tell them . . .’ Her voice fell away as her head moved in a bewildered side-to-side movement, fresh tears spilling from her mournful, grey eyes.
Her boyfriend’s arm tightened protectively around her as he spoke for the first time. ‘Is that why her parents are dead? Did someone go to her house to kill her? That man who was in the hospital earlier?’ Although he spoke with anger there was a natural gentleness in his tone.
‘I’m sorry,’ Rio answered, ‘I’m not able to divulge details about the investigation—’
‘For fuck’s sake—’ He exploded back.
But his mum’s voice stopped him in his tracks. She spoke rapidly in a language Rio couldn’t understand and then finished up in English. ‘ . . . It’s best for your friend to go.’
Ah, so there was trouble on the home front. Mum didn’t approve of Nikki.
‘How did the two of you meet?’ Rio asked, her tone softening.
The lovebirds gazed at each other and shared a private smile. It was Ade who answered.
‘I’ve been studying up at Oxford. Part way through my second year.’ His hand moved up and down against his girlfriend’s arm, not a rub more a comforting shuffle. ‘We met at a sixteen to nineteen student conference last year—’
‘She’s not right for you,’ his mum jumped in, her opposition out in the open. ‘Do you know what they call children from Peckham? Thugs. Criminals. Animals. One son is already lost to me. But not my Ade.’ A bittersweet smile curved her lips. ‘He’s made me proud. Oxford University.’ Her chest pushed proudly forwards. ‘That girl is no good for him.’ She made that tutting sound that most black people called ‘kissing your teeth’ and bustled past Calum out of the room, her back slightly bent.
The couple on the sofa wore new strained expressions as if another death had occurred in their lives. Rio wasn’t going to get involved in this family drama.
‘Nikki, you can’t go back to your home.’
‘Can I stay with cousin Lia?’ Her face lit up for the
first time. ‘I used to stay with her on the day of my birthday, but then Mum and Dad said I couldn’t anymore.’
More family drama Rio didn’t need to know about.
Rio pointed at Calum as she stood up. ‘This is my friend Calum Burns.’ Friend? Yeah, what a joke that was. ‘I just need to talk him.’
She moved past Calum into the tight passage and he followed her.
‘So how are you going to look after your young cub, Mommy Bear?’ he asked. He leaned more on his left side.
‘I should organise to take her to one of the safe houses,’ Rio whispered.
‘Too obvious. The hitter might already be on that trail. He found out about where she lived pretty quickly, so there’s no reason he can’t do the same for a safe house. It needs to be somewhere totally off the radar. A place only a few people are going to know about.’
Rio leaned closer to him. ‘Yeah, but if you know you’re going to go blowing it into Foster’s ear.’
Calum shoved a mock-shock look onto his face. ‘You’re the one, sweetheart, who said to leave the bullshit drama outside the door.’
‘I ain’t your sweetheart.’
He leaned his mouth close to her face, his heated breath coating her skin. ‘Think the law might have something different to say about that.’
A stubborn silence rose between them, each mentally daring the other to step through the door he’d banged wide open.
Calum pulled his head back, firmly closing the door again. ‘OK, cards on the table about what I’m doing for Foster: he wants me to use my contacts to find the gang and it seems to me that your suggestion that we team up is the best way for that to happen.’
Rio reared back like boiling water was heading for her face. ‘This is an official investigation which will be done officially . . .’
‘Like going into a potentially dangerous situation in downtown Peckham without backup?’
Rio twisted her lips. ‘That was a one-off, which paid off.’ Her glance slid to the room where her traumatised charge was. She needed help; couldn’t do this on her own. But Calum? With so much crap strewn between them, was she crazy to even think of him? But Stephen Foster had already involved him. So had she. If she kept him in plain sight she’d know every move he was making. What was that saying – oh yeah – keep your friends close and your enemies even closer.
Death Trap Page 12
