Good Girl Bad Girl

by Ann Girdharry

  Good Girl Bad Girl

  by

  Ann Girdharry

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First published August 2016.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright 2016 Ann Girdharry

  Cover design K&LC Graphics

  This book is dedicated to Mr and Mrs Walker,

  for all the years,

  of day-dreams and flowers…

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  London Noir (Kal Medi book 2)

  A note from Ann Girdharry

  Titles by Ann Girdharry

  Prologue

  Alesha could no longer feel her legs. They hung, freezing and lifeless beneath the surface of the water. Tied above her head, Alesha’s wrists rubbed raw against the restraints. No point in struggling. She tried that already, for hours or was it days? All the panic and the terror had long since run out of her and coursed down her legs.

  And the pool deepened. When the water lapped her bellybutton, the flesh on Alesha’s stomach contracted. Her two tormentors had climbed a ladder to escape, and a faint light drifted down from their exit route. Alesha watched the gleam of the rungs as they disappeared one by one beneath the inky blue.

  How many times had she endured it? Twice, she thought, or was it three times? Each submersion, they stripped away her strength. Each time she was left with less of her self. They were paring her down layer by layer. Perhaps this time she’d be down to bare bones and the last shreds of will. Or perhaps this time she wouldn’t make it.

  Alesha shuddered as the water climbed her rib cage. Once it reached the level of her heart, she’d only have a few moments before she drowned. The dread rose up. She tried not to think about the moments ahead, pushing away the thought of them resuscitating her, then closing in for the interrogation, their violence and their voices filling every cell in her body.

  Lapping at the sides of the chamber, the water sounded like gentle waves at the seaside. Alesha pressed her eyes closed. She wouldn’t crack. She’d never tell them. They’d have to kill her first. The thought almost made her laugh. Yes, she’d wondered about that too, wondered if she were losing her mind. Thing is, if she were dead she wouldn’t be able to give anything away. So perhaps she shouldn’t fight it. Maybe it’d be better to take that one last breath as deep as she could and hope her heart gave out. Then the water would take away her secrets.

  As the water rose, Alesha pushed deep inside her own mind and she saw her husband, his eyes full of life and he was young, like he’d been when they first met. He smiled at her. And the water reached her throat.

  Now she could see her daughter, Kal, running with her black hair streaming out in the wind. At first, Kal was a little girl laughing, and then she was a fiery teenager, and then she became a young woman. Alesha took a deep breath and sealed her lips closed. Kal wasn’t smiling, she was shouting and determined and running towards Alesha. Alesha knew Kal’d never reach her in time. The water covered Alesha’s nose and she felt the air expanding in her chest. Fight against it, she commanded herself. Don’t take a breath. Her body thrashed and jerked. They’d turn the water off soon. Then they’d bring her back from the brink. Then they’d start again. Alesha felt a deep regret for handing her daughter a death sentence. Then she blacked out.

  Chapter One

  The taxi meter clicked to a stop, and Kal stared at the two red numbers. Up front, the driver pulled on the hand-brake and waited a couple of seconds before swivelling in his seat.

  “This is it - Inner Park Crescent. You all right, lo...?” The word ‘love’ withered on his lips and the driver corrected himself. “This is the address you asked for. Inner Park Crescent.”

  Kal didn’t like endearments from strangers, even from a cabbie, because they always sounded so patronising. She made no effort to hide her annoyance. Humouring other people wasn’t her style. Especially right now. Because right now, she needed all her concentration to keep her panic under control. Kal pushed forward a twenty-pound note and the driver accepted it, his eyes avoiding hers.

  As predicted, Sarah, her mother’s best friend, was pacing to and fro on the corner. Sarah’s auburn hair was swept across her face by the wind and her steps were anxious and tight, restricted by her executive skirt. Kal reined back her emotions and slid over the seat and out of the car.

  “Oh gosh, poor you, there's nothing to worry about, Sarah,” Kal said, knowing it was a lie.

  Kal and her mother never lost contact. It was their safety code - always keep in touch. Kal forced a smile, and leant to plant a kiss on Sarah’s cheek. She noticed how the age lines on Sarah’s face, normally so faint, were dragged down by worry.

  The driver shut the book with a clunk and Kal took her backpack and hefted it over one shoulder.

  “I blame myself,” Sarah rushed it out, “I really blame myself, I should’ve contacted you earlier.”

  Kal tucked her jet black hair behind her ear. Being alone would have been better. Then she wouldn’t need to conceal herself under layers of bravado. She paused for a moment, her fingertips detecting tiny particles of grit near her temple, a leftover from her week at the refugee camp in Kenya.

  “Mum’s always dashing off on assignment, there's no need to worry,” Kal said and she walked towards her mother’s apartment block, trying to push down memories of her father’s smashed and broken body.

  Her father, David Khan, died when she was twelve, leaving her bereft, and with a head full of questions. Not ordinary questions about life an
d death that any child would be tormented with, no, extraordinary questions about why they kept so many secrets, and why he insisted on teaching her such strange things. He’d made all his tutoring a game and she’d excelled as his student. It was only later she understood how abnormal his skills were, how disturbing.

  A small part of Kal clocked the homecoming scent of suburban London, a blend of tarmac, damp concrete and traffic fumes. Sarah skittered along beside her.

  The lift took an age to arrive at the top floor. Without Sarah she’d have soaked up the adrenalin by sprinting the seven flights. Instead, Kal took several calming breaths. She focused on the air flowing over her top lip and then cool into her nose. The technique crystallised her attention. It was a meditation she used to steady herself for kung fu, and now it brought an unexpected detail springing into focus - Sarah’s impeccable make-up spoke of her rank as a top, television executive and meanwhile Sarah’s painted fingernails were chewed to the quick. Odd, because she knew her mother’s best friend had kicked that habit years ago.

  “I should never have left it so long,” Sarah said.

  Kal put her arm around Sarah’s shoulders. Underneath the suit jacket, Sarah’s shoulders felt fragile, so she pulled Sarah close and gave a gentle squeeze.

  The ting of the elevator announced their arrival and Kal took long strides down the passageway. At the front door of Apartment 701, her arm froze mid-air, fingers gripping tight the new spare key. Her defences, usually water-tight, started to crack.

  “Kal?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes, yes I’m fine.”

  She stared at the smooth grey in front of her. Without mentioning anything to anyone, her mother had fitted a high-security door.

  “Like I said, Sarah, there’s going to be a reasonable explanation, you wait and see.”

  “At least there's no sign of a break in,” Sarah said.

  Kal pushed in the key. “You're right. It's securely locked.”

  Sweat on her fingers made the key slip a little, but it turned smoothly and the door swung easily open. The hallway lay in silence.

  “Mum?” she called. No reply.

  The lounge door lay ajar and Kal pushed it. Daylight filtered through the blinds and shapes in the gloom indicated the sofa and armchairs. She went to the windows and walked the length of the room, yanking one by one on the cords so that light streamed in. Kal surveyed the space. No signs of a struggle, no disarray. Ignoring the rapid beat of her heart, she forced herself to stand still and scan the room systematically quadrant by quadrant, just as she’d been taught to do by David Khan - to observe meticulously, clocking every detail, with no room for errors.

  In the first quadrant, Sarah hovered in the doorway. Alongside an armchair, a book lay beside an empty glass. The three loose cushions on the sofa were piled where her mother liked to relax. On the end wall, the Chinese scroll hung straight, something her mother had the habit of adjusting to the perfect vertical.

  Kal’s gaze moved to the second quadrant where a bookcase separated the lounge from the dining area. She spotted the titles she’d stuffed in on her last visit to her mother’s flat some six months ago. Her mother’s favourite ornament had pride of place on the top shelf – a wood carving of four elephants with one kneeling as if at a watering hole. The dark lustre often made guests pause to run their hand over the wood. Then, as Kal’s gaze swept to the dining table, a dread seeped into her stomach, squeezing through her defences, like cold water trickling through a crack in a dam.

  “What's wrong!” Sarah's voice edged towards panic.

  On the table lay a single sheet of paper, not completely flat because it had once been folded in three. There was no mistaking the colour of the paper – it was the usual, distinctive blue.

  Though her legs didn’t want to obey, Kal ordered herself to cross the room. The sound of her steps came sharp on the wooden boards, then muffled on the woven rug, then sharp again as she neared the table. She paused before picking up the letter. Though she knew the wording by heart, she read it out loud, as Sarah tip-toed to stand behind her.

  “You are SCUM

  Filthy VERMIN

  SUFFER

  Then you will DIE”

  It came on the paper it always came on, and the threat was written in the same way. Kal dropped it and it landed in its concertina shape, striking the table with a smart tac. Her grandmother had burned them. Her mother had laughed and ripped them to pieces, and Kal had joined in the pretence it meant nothing, all the while aware of the panic hidden behind her mother's eyes and the grim determination of her grandmother. That's why, when she'd received her first threat several years ago, she'd not told them. Nor any time since.

  “It's nothing, ignore it, Sarah.” No tremor sounded in her voice. She was just as convincing as they had been.

  Sarah was taking out her mobile and her mother's best friend no longer fumbled. She dialled before Kal could stop her.

  “I want the police. It's an emergency.”

  Kal felt the last of her confidence drain away and she started to shake. Luckily, Sarah was too occupied to notice.

  “I'll check the rest of the apartment,” Kal said, keeping her face turned aside.

  Sarah nodded and Kal headed into the hallway. Out of sight, she leant against the wall. Black dots of panic danced in front of her eyes. Kal closed her lids, squeezing them out. She never crumbled. And definitely not in front of other people. You know how to deal with this, get yourself back under control. She took several deep breaths and it helped push the terror away. Now was the time to focus and go into action. This was what she’d been trained for.

  She moved down the hall and, pausing outside her mother's bedroom, took one more breath and pushed down the handle. The police would arrive soon and Kal had no intention of handing everything over to some substandard detective.

  A faint scent of musk and jasmine hung in the air, recognisable as her mother's favourite perfume. Lying on the bed were a hairbrush and a gold lipstick case. A bathrobe had been flung over the back of a chair. On an impulse, Kal peered under the bed and found empty space. As she pulled open the closet door, the clothes hangers rattled, her mother's clothes swaying in unison, revealing nothing except normality. The room didn’t give much away about her mother’s whereabouts, though it told her Alesha had left after a usual morning routine, and if she’d rushed off on assignment it was somewhere civilised.

  Kal discovered nothing strange in the second bedroom nor in the bathroom, where the rumpled shower mat and uncapped shampoo indicated all was normal. No surprises. Everything in its place.

  Check every detail, prompted the voice in her head. Kal bent to examine the contents of the bin, ran her hand down the door and window frames to check for scratches or nail marks, scrutinised the floor for any blood or ripped strands of hair.

  In the kitchen, a used plate sat in the sink and pitta bread lay on the counter in a torn packet. Kal circled back to the lounge where she answered Sarah's anxious look with a shake of her head.

  “There's nothing wrong in any of the rooms. I don't see any explanation.”

  The only thing not in its place was the death-threat. They destroyed those immediately. Why had Alesha left it on display? With no trace of an intruder, there was only one conclusion - her mother wanted it to be seen. For the millionth time that morning, Kal checked her mobile and found no new messages. A light sweat covered her back. Sarah's instincts were correct. Something was very wrong.

  Chapter Two

  In Kal’s assessment, the man at the door had the sharpness of someone who'd delved into plenty of gruesome murders. Probably in his early fifties, and with a greyness in his complexion, he seemed to have been permanently impregnated with the dirty side of London. Kal noted his shrewd sweep of the environment.

  “We received an emergency call from this address with the report of a missing person. I'm Detective Inspector Spinks.”

  Kal stared at Detective Inspector Spinks. She’d learned how to read people's
faces and interpret their behaviour and she'd been tutored in reading body language and the subtle messages people tried so hard to hide. Her father had been a hard task master and an expert in psychological analysis. Yes, she thought, this man will pretend to be starting from zero, whereas in reality he’s made a running start with his veiled appraisal of me and Sarah and the state of the apartment.

  The Inspector stared back, taking in her Indian complexion and black hair and dark eyes. From him, the appraisal lasted a split second and his expression remained neutral, giving no hint of pigeon-holing. Kal saw his mind efficiently click back into professional mode.

  “I’d like you to tell me exactly what’s happened.”

  Spinks had a London accent. Hear that accent anywhere in the world and it reminded her where she felt at home. Spinks made no move to shake her hand nor did he brandish an identification card. Instead, he inclined his body and shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, as if he were about to walk in. Clever, Kal thought, and she stepped aside to let him enter, trailing her eyes down the back of his body to assess his bearing and gait. Detective Inspector Spinks had an air of quiet confidence and she pegged him to have the mental endurance of a marathon runner. He had the appearance of a runner too, slim and willowy, built for the long-haul.

  “It’s my friend, Alesha Medi, she’s vanished into thin air,” Sarah said.

  “The call came from Sarah Wiseman, is that you?”

  “Yes, Inspector,”

  He turned to Kal. “And you must be?”

  “I’m Kal Medi, Alesha is my mother.”

  Spinks seemed unfazed by her purple, bell-bottom trousers, teamed with a colourful, Mexican-print cummerbund. Most people would have given them a glance. And a lot of them would have been looking down their nose.

  “Please tell me what’s happened. Our files show that the person reported missing, Alesha Medi, is a respected, investigative journalist. She's on our high-profile list.”

  Detective Inspector Spinks pronounced each word deliberately, as if he liked to give every word its due attention and it made him sound a bit old-fashioned. Kal felt sure Spinks’ speech habits were a reflection of his mental process, meaning he’d give every detail in a case his full, slow consideration.