Good Girl Bad Girl

by Ann Girdharry

  “Detective Inspector,” Sarah said, “Alesha's in danger. There's something you must see straightaway.”

  Sarah ushered Spinks into the lounge and waved at the paper. Kal watched the way Sarah reared her upper body away from the table and it reminded Kal how immune she’d become to the threats and how she’d forced herself into numbness.

  “When did you last hear from Alesha Medi?”

  “She didn't turn up for a meeting two days ago,” Sarah said. “That's totally out of character. I'd spoken to her on the phone that morning and she knows my schedule’s packed, so she'd never not show without an explanation. I've been trying to contact her since. I've spoken to people at Alesha’s newspaper, at Capital Towers where I work, everyone I could think of, and no one has seen or heard anything. She's vanished.”

  “And you, Ms Medi, when did you last have contact with your mother?”

  “A week ago. I've been working in Kenya at a refugee camp. One of the humanitarian agencies had a satellite phone and Alesha called me and asked if I could team up with her on assignment as soon as possible. I said I couldn’t fly back until today. I didn't realise there might be something wrong until I got Sarah's message at the airport.”

  “Whilst we talk, may I take a tour of the apartment?”

  “Of course,” Kal said.

  Spinks began his inspection at the table and then moved to the bookcase and soft seating area.

  “And what’s your occupation Ms Medi?”

  “I’m a freelance photojournalist.”

  Spinks threw her a look which asked for more. Probably he wondered about her level of expertise compared to her well-known mother. As usual Kal kept quiet, declining to say last year she'd gained headline coverage with her pictures of the Ukrainian army clashing with the population. She’d had other career success too. What no one knew, was how closely those successes were linked to a feverish state brought on by lack of sleep, which meant Kal sometimes didn’t care how close she stepped to danger, maybe, sometimes, even craved it. If she’d led a normal childhood, she supposed she wouldn’t feel like that.

  “Kal’s a fierce humanitarian, just like her mother. She defends people who have no one,” Sarah said.

  Yes, she did, but it didn’t mean she wanted Spinks pawing all over her life. It suited her to have a hard shell. Only those closest to Kal, and she could count them on one hand, got to know just how much she cared about injustice. She interrupted before Sarah could say more. “Mum and I’ve worked together a few times. She didn't tell me anything about the assignment and that's the last time we spoke.”

  Kal remembered the moment at the refugee camp. The Medicine Sans Frontieres administrator had been standing at the flap of the tent. The air had been full of the stink of cramped, edge of hygiene conditions. He’d wanted her off the connection as soon as possible - she could see it by the tension in his shoulders and jaw, though he’d tried hard to conceal it. So she'd done her best to be brief.

  In their crackled exchange, Alesha asked Kal twice if she could come home and asking even once wasn't her mother's style.

  Kal looked at the carpet. She’d realised her mother’s call was important and she’d gambled it could wait. She should never have risked it. She’d made a terrible mistake. Kal saw images of her mother lying forgotten in the dirt, lifeless and bloody. She swallowed hard.

  Spinks continued with his questioning, firing questions at Sarah as he moved to the dining area and Alesha's work station and Kal trailed behind. He stopped often and Kal got the impression Spinks not only visually examined the facts, he almost inhaled them, absorbing everything. That was a surprise. Her mother’s reputation had brought them someone competent after all.

  Spinks headed to the hallway and alongside him, Kal re-inspected each area, searching for a clue, an idea, a direction to go in.

  “Did your mother tell you she’d received a death-threat?”

  “No.”

  “Had she been acting strangely in any way? Did she tell you anything that might lead you to believe she felt in danger?”

  “Mum has an erratic lifestyle. She works in conflict zones and places with no access and zero security, and if you know about her work then you know her list of potential enemies is long - people and politics she's exposed, cover-ups she's hit the front page with. Thing is, six months ago she was shot in the leg and she's been in physiotherapy ever since, so she had to slow down.”

  Spinks paused at the doorway to the second bedroom. “That’s interesting - we don’t have that in our records. What were the circumstances of the shooting?”

  “Mum was in Eastern Europe investigating mass burial sites. Her colleagues can fill you in with the details.”

  “When I heard of Alesha’s recuperation, I asked her to work for me at Capital Towers,” Sarah said. “I’m putting together a documentary investigating medical research on children and I needed someone with her skills.”

  They circled back to the lounge and Spinks went to the table. As he stayed silent, Kal’s impatience stirred. Part of her wanted to tell Spinks to save his psychological tactics for other people and to cut to the chase. Another part knew that if she opened her mouth she risked alienating him. No point in Spinks being one more person who thought of her as a smart-ass. She bit back her remarks and waited.

  “I’ll speak with the neighbours and from both of you I need a list of people who might have seen Alesha Medi last - close friends, colleagues. Now tell me, what do you make of this?”

  He flicked his hand in the direction of the letter.

  “We’ve received them before,” Kal said.

  Sarah sucked in a gasp. “No, that can’t be true!”

  “I’m sorry, Sarah. It must be difficult to understand why we kept silent.”

  The horrified look on Sarah’s face confirmed it.

  “I know it doesn’t make sense but we kept the threats a family secret, mostly, I suppose, out of respect for my grandmother.”

  “You've received threatening letters and no one reported them to the police?” Spinks said.

  Though she doubted it was his intention, said like that, it made them sound stupid.

  “Hate mail is an issue we take extremely seriously,” Spinks said, “and as a high-profile, Asian reporter at a national newspaper, your mother would be an obvious target for racists.”

  “All I can tell you is it started with my grandmother. They come once or twice a year.”

  Kal knew it sounded odd and unconvincing. Spinks would think it a half-hearted attempt at giving information.

  As for Sarah, Kal felt sorry for her. She and Alesha had been best friends since before Kal was born, and yet Alesha had kept her in the dark all this time. How could Kal explain the need her family felt for secrecy, and how they’d closed in to protect themselves? Wasn’t that the natural reaction of immigrant communities? Nannie had no confidence in the British police then and probably still didn’t have. Going along with her grandmother’s wishes had been something they’d done to protect her grandmother’s dreams of a new life.

  The colour had drained from Sarah's lips.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah. We did it for my grandmother.”

  “Ms Medi, it’s important the information you tell me is precise, so when you say you’ve received these threats before, are you certain? Think carefully.”

  “I mean what I say, Inspector.”

  Kal didn’t dilute the sharpness and straightaway regretted it. Of course, Spinks wouldn’t realise her high level of investigative skills, most likely rivalling his own, why would he? And she shouldn’t forget Spinks could get in her way. Be diplomatic she told herself, and you’ll be rid of him soon.

  “We’ve received exactly the same threat for as long as I can remember, Inspector. The wording is identical and the type-face. The paper is definitely the same. The problem is, we never kept any, you see, neither my grandmother nor my mother took them seriously.”

  She knew this was untrue, that they'd lied to her and li
ed to each other. Sarah’s face had gone ghostly white. Again, Spinks waited and whatever made her say more, she didn’t know. Maybe she spoke more for Sarah’s benefit.

  “Nannie, that’s my grandmother, once told me the threats had something to do with Granddad, only I've no idea what that means.”

  “If your mother didn't take the threats seriously then why is one left as a centrepiece?” asked Spinks.

  “That’s a good question,” Kal said.

  “And your grandmother, is she still…?”

  “Still alive? Yes, she is. She's in a nursing home in Wimbledon, twenty minutes or so from here.”

  “I think you and I should visit her, Ms Medi, and meanwhile, with your permission, I’ll ask Forensics to thoroughly sweep this apartment.”

  Kal nodded and she searched for a trace that would betray Spinks’ mental deductions - a mannerism, a nuance, a suggestion that would tell her what he was thinking, but Spinks kept his face remarkably clear and she made a mental note to keep alert around him. Spinks was an unusually sharp detective. In contrast, Sarah appeared stricken.

  Kal wrapped her arms around Sarah. “Don’t worry, Sarah,” she said and she meant it. She couldn’t trust anyone and Detective Spinks was irrelevant. She’d be handling this investigation herself.

  Chapter Three

  “Patience. Patience.” The Controller muttered.

  He pushed aside the plate of Indian delicacies. Blew a deep out-breath towards the ceiling, as if he exhaled smoke; a remnant from his days of twenty cigarettes a day. Then he stared long and hard into space. He must wait a little longer for his satisfaction. A little longer until he achieved his full revenge.

  Hadn’t he watched them for years? Plotting and masterminding? Stalking. Picking them off one by one? Yes. Step by step. No rushing. Patience would bring its rewards.

  The Controller took the photograph of the black-haired girl and crumpled it, his face contorted with rage.

  Chapter Four

  On the drive over to Wimbledon, Kal turned over the information they had so far. She came up with nothing new. Damn it, if she’d have come back sooner, this would never have happened.

  “What’s your own explanation for your mother's disappearance?” asked Spinks.

  Kal bit back a sarcastic reply. They were speeding along a road of bay-windowed properties. A suburban street full of red brick houses and windows hung with white net curtains and rubbish bins standing dominant in tiny front yards. She let the Inspector’s question hang in the air.

  “You’ve an unusual ability to manage difficult situations, Ms Medi, and I suppose that comes from your work?”

  He was partially correct. What Spinks wouldn’t realise was the basis for her abilities came from her childhood - surveillance, subterfuge, high-end observation skills, psychology, manipulation, mind games. Her father had been talented and he’d wanted her to be like him. She gave a curt nod.

  “Very astute, Detective Inspector.”

  “All the same, I think underneath it all you feel alarmed and not due to the appearance of the threat. I suppose that's because you've seen them before with no action coming from them, so that brings me back to my earlier question.”

  “The problem is, I don’t have an explanation, otherwise, with all due respect, Inspector, you wouldn't be here. Mum always keeps in touch, maybe simply by a last minute text but she always sends a message, there's never been a time when she hasn't told me where she is.”

  “I see.”

  Kal examined Spinks in profile. He looked more shrewd side-on, probably due to his prominent nose. He’d make a great character shot - the quintessential hawkish detective.

  “You're right though, Inspector, I've never been convinced by the threats. I imagine it's just some nutter with a grudge against my grandfather. Whoever it is, they might be in their nineties by now.”

  “Proximity to death can be a highly motivating factor, Ms Medi. Of course, we also have details on record of your father, David Khan’s, death. I understand he died some years ago. Did anyone inform the police of the threats at that time?”

  “As you’re aware, my father lost control of his motorbike and the investigation concluded there was no one to blame. I was twelve years old, so I don't know for certain, though I’m guessing no one mentioned the hate mail. The social climate of Britain has changed, Inspector. I’m sure you won’t deny it wasn’t so long ago that no one in the police would’ve taken death threats seriously. Even in my time, I knew of a racist family who deliberately set their dog on a black child walking home from school. The Alsatian was shot, and the owners prosecuted, but the attack left the boy scarred for life. Racial tensions exist. These things happen. So you can’t blame my grandmother for not seeking help and then, I suppose, Mum and I fell in with the same habit.”

  The car wheels crunched on the gravel driveway of the nursing home. Spinks pulled in at a parking bay and Kal opened the door.

  “Before you ask, my grandfather died of a heart attack. He had a heart condition, though of course, his loss still came as a great shock to my grandmother.”

  “I’m sure it did,” said Spinks, “and please excuse this remark and satisfy my curiosity, Ms Medi, I know you’ve returned from a refugee camp, but judging by your appearance, you seem to have got very little sleep for some time. Is there are reason for that?”

  DI Spinks had balls, she’d give him that – usually no one dared mention it.

  “Sleep has never been my strong point, Detective Inspector.”

  They walked to the front gate. It was sixteen years ago that her father skidded out of control and died from impact wounds. Her grandfather had died five years before her father's accident, and so Nannie had already moved to live with them. Now, sadly, Nannie lived here. Kal rang the buzzer. Most of the residents had dementia, so the home had a security system to prevent people from wandering out.

  As she waited, she scanned the environment and noted score marks on the letter box as if someone had tried to prise it open. Perhaps a resident, since the marks weren’t those of a serious thief. The entrance system gave a loud click. Stretching out ahead, the cream floor tiles gleamed spotless and Kal led the way, wondering if they'd find Nannie having a good or a bad day.

  ***

  They found Kal’s grandmother sitting by the window in her room, looking out over the garden. Nannie's once jet-black hair had long since turned white, and was tied back in a neat chignon. Her grandmother wore a long, dark green shift with gold border design. It was one of Nannie’s favourites and made of silk identical to one of Alesha’s saris. Kal had learned to gauge Nannie's level of confusion by her appearance. Today, it looked like Nannie would be better than usual.

  “Hello, Kal darling, how lovely to see you,” Nannie said.

  Excellent. On bad days, Nannie didn't recognise her or mixed her up with Alesha or with her great-grandmother.

  Kal bent to give her grandmother a kiss and realised she should’ve discussed with Spinks how to break the news of Alesha's disappearance.

  “I see you brought an unexpected visitor,” Nannie said, “though I don't think it's of the type I'm waiting for.”

  Kal clenched her abdominals, assessing the remark cryptic enough Spinks wouldn't guess Nannie's persistence in wanting to meet her granddaughter's boyfriend. She'd had no one serious to introduce for years.

  “This is Detective Inspector Spinks. We received one of those letters this morning. He’d like to ask some questions.”

  Nannie stared at Spinks. “It's none of his business.”

  “He's trying to help,” Kal said, as Nannie returned to gazing out the window.

  “When did you last see Alesha Medi, your daughter?” asked Spinks.

  “Yesterday, and that's none of your business either,” snapped Nannie. “Now I kindly suggest you leave, Mr Spinks. Or shall I call the Matron and ask that you be escorted from the premises?”

  Nannie had always been feisty. Her grandfather liked to joke that the hot-
headed streak ran all the way down the female line. Now, it gave little choice except to tell Nannie the truth. Kal put her hand on Nannie's arm, her fingers used to the heavily scarred, irregular skin, where Nannie had been burned in a cooking oil accident.

  “Sorry to tell you this, only Mum's gone missing. Inspector Spinks is trying to find her.”

  There was a moment's silence. Perhaps she'd been too blunt.

  “Now I understand,” Nannie said. “Why didn't you say so in the first place?”

  Trust Nannie to surprise them. The insidious dementia could be so difficult - never knowing what to say or do for the best. Adding complicated, real-time events to the mix could have made it even more complex, though not, apparently, today.

  “You said you saw Alesha yesterday. Did she say anything you found surprising or unusual?” Spinks asked.

  “Not that I remember,” Nannie said.

  “Did she say she would be going away?” asked Spinks.

  “No, she didn't mention it, we had a nice chat and then she left.”

  “And what time was this?”

  “It was late afternoon, just after they served afternoon tea.”

  Kal wanted to tell Spinks Nannie could be unreliable about days and times, but no matter, they could check at the office, all visitors had to sign in and out.

  “And the letters, Nannie? Spinks needs more details. Didn't you once say they were connected to Granddad?”

  Nannie ignored the question.

  “You told me years ago the letters started with Granddad, can you tell us more?”

  Nannie pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Alesha, you know that's absolutely untrue. I forbid you to talk about them.”

  Then her grandmother became agitated, her eyes scanning from side to side as if she searched the room for some invisible intruder.