Good Girl Bad Girl

by Ann Girdharry

“One thing though, perhaps you met my mother, her name's Alesha Medi.”

  She spoke her mother’s name loudly and there came the giveaway - the top of Vankova’s chest flinched. It was a tiny movement that Vankova wasn’t able to control. Much like someone who hates spiders and retracts to avoid one.

  “You're correct, we've never met. I made a mistake.” The edge in the Mayor’s voice was unmistakable.

  Kal met Vankova’s gaze as the tic fired twice. This was the precise moment to press her advantage. Kal injected a venom into her words.

  “Oh, but I think you met my mother, didn't you Mayor Vankova, only you'd rather forget it.”

  A red flush raced up the woman’s neck, less of rage, Kal judged, and more of embarrassment, or shame.

  Kal leant forward, well inside the Mayor’s personal space. She knew she could add a great deal of menace to her manner when she wanted to, and to Vankova’s credit, the woman didn’t back off.

  Kal spoke directly in her face. “I know what you're trying to hide.”

  It was a complete bluff and in that instant Vankova’s pupils dilated. An extreme anxiety reaction. Kal heard her father's voice in her head - always look carefully, no one can govern their base instincts.

  “I don't know who you are or what your game is.” Vankova raised her voice to a shout. “I’m ordering you off the premises right now.”

  The others turned in their direction, the press already raising their cameras.

  “No pictures!” screamed Vankova over her shoulder, and she gave Kal a look loaded with hatred and stalked away.

  For certain, Vankova had a secret and her mother found it out. Bribes, sex, extortion, drugs? With her squeaky-clean image, what would be Vankova’s worst nightmare for a journalist to discover?

  The manager sidled up, blinking apologetically. He was a timid man and his fingers fidgeted with the frame of his glasses.

  “I'm sorry but, er, I shall have to ask you to leave.”

  “That's not a problem.”

  She packed away her laptop, swept up her jacket and walked the long corridors. A steady stream of staff members threaded their way to their assigned positions for the day and the gallery was full of the sound of their footsteps tick-tacking here and there across the marble flooring.

  She stared straight ahead. No one in their right mind would want to be on the wrong side of the look on Kal’s face. She’d been stonewalled again. The soft tactics would have to go - time to step it up.

  Chapter Sixteen

  By the time Kal left the gallery, the rain had stopped. She sat on the terrace. The stone was dry and was already warmed by the spring sun. She stared down the steps towards Nelson’s column. One teaching from her father kept returning - the more innocent a face, the greater its capacity to conceal deviancy.

  Her mother knew many trustworthy photojournalists, so why had Alesha contacted Kal at the camp? That question kept coming back. She’d worked with her mother a handful of times until Kal suspected her mother was giving her a boost with her career and she’d asked her mother to stop. No, her mother had called for a reason. Kal thought of the girl in the back of Vankova’s car. Deviancy. She shivered. A deviant inhabits a dark world and will go to any lengths to conceal themselves.

  People hurried this way and that across Trafalgar Square, some lingering by the central fountain to take photographs, others heading towards Pall Mall and the Houses of Parliament. Over by the far side, a conspicuous group of American visitors sipped from takeaway cups. Kal scanned carefully, sector by sector, but no one stood out. Her follower remained unidentifiable.

  Kal’s phone buzzed and her mouth went dry. In his message, Spinks gave nothing away but she didn’t anticipate good news. The Inspector suggested meeting in nearby St James Park, and in his detailed manner, he even indicated which entrance to the park Kal should take to find the bench he'd be waiting on. She’d find him on the third bench on the south side of the lake.

  ***

  Many Londoners love St James Park and plenty of them eat their mid-day sandwiches there, amongst the weeping willows and pleasant ponds. Tourists like it too, with its picturesque view across the lake to Buckingham Palace.

  Banks of daffodils stood knee high and the early narcissus were already in bloom, covering the grass with a sea of yellow and white. It took Kal fifteen minutes to arrive at Spinks' rendezvous and she found him sitting in the sunshine, seemingly reading a newspaper.

  “Hello, Inspector,” she said.

  Spinks put aside the paper, not bothering to scan to the end of the article nor even finish a sentence, meaning he'd probably not been reading it at all.

  “Good morning, Ms Medi.”

  Spinks remained quiet as a couple passed by. Kal’s mouth went dry again. Something told her Spinks had news. How bad could it be?

  “I know it’s a very difficult time, so I want to be straight with you. If you’d allow me to summarise - you reported your mother missing two days ago and according to Sarah Wiseman, Alesha Medi had already been out of contact for two days previous to that. This has been corroborated by neighbours and colleagues. It would be unusual for any demand or ransom to be delivered longer than forty-eight hours after a disappearance and we’re already dealing with a probable four days. Can you confirm, please, you’ve received no contact relating to your mother whatsoever?”

  “None, Inspector.”

  “Secondly, the letter. The paper and ink are standard and therefore untraceable. There were no prints on it other than yours and Alesha's. Thirdly, the apartment - forensics found no trace of organic or inorganic material that would indicate violence. I can say in conclusion that, so far, my investigations have drawn a blank.”

  He didn’t have bad news for her after all. Despite that, her system wouldn’t relax, on the contrary, Kal’s unease grew.

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “I’ll be continuing with my investigations and if there’s something to uncover, I shall uncover it. It’s a matter of being thorough and persistent.”

  Spinks’ hands rested on his thighs and he looked straight at her. She looked steadily back. She didn’t feel guilty withholding information nor for deleting the file from the computer drive. Like she said at the beginning, she didn’t trust anyone with this except herself.

  “Have you found more information on the previous death threats?” Spinks asked.

  “I tried but Nannie wasn't well yesterday.”

  “It’s important you keep trying. Now, there’s one more matter we should discuss and it concerns your father and grandfather. Naturally, I studied the records of their deaths and the circumstances of both have raised questions I’ve yet to resolve.”

  The air felt suddenly crisper and clearer. The wooden slats of the bench pressed against Kal’s back and she stared at Spinks, noticing the dark pores on his chin that later in the day would reveal afternoon shadow. So that’s why he’d asked to see her. The coroner returned a verdict of 'death by natural causes' for her grandfather and the police conclusion on her father's crash had been 'accidental death'. She stared at the fresh, green fronds of the willow tree opposite, then back at Spinks’ chiselled features.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Kal knew it came out sharp. Her heart rate had picked up too. Spinks kept his voice neutral.

  “I’m still pursuing my enquiries, for instance, the officer who investigated your father's death has since retired and I'm waiting to speak to him. For now, I'd like you to tell me how your parents met.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t see any connection.”

  “I need you to cooperate with this investigation, Ms Medi. Tell me what you know.”

  Kal could count the people she trusted on the fingers of one hand. Did she have sufficient confidence in Spinks?

  “If you insist, well, in the days before Mum got her lucky break she worked freelance. One of those early assignments took her to Pakistan to interview women villagers. As I remember,
the women formed a co-operative. They’d received micro-credit from a UK charity to plant cotton in place of poppies. I’m sure you know the heroin trade is rampant in the border region between Pakistan and Afghanistan, and governments are always trying to wean villagers away from lucrative, poppy propagation. Mum met Dad whilst she was there.”

  “Your father, David Khan, he was a journalist too, wasn’t he? Do you know what he was doing at that time?”

  “He was in the same foothills. I think he was investigating the network of laboratories turning out raw heroin. Mum told me the two of them met up again once they came back to England. Their relationship went from there.”

  “When I looked into your father’s past, I saw he never took UK citizenship. Do you know why not?”

  “Though Dad went to school here, he was born in India. He always refused to change his Indian passport.”

  “A British one would’ve given him more flexibility for his work. An Indian passport would be more restrictive, requiring visas and so forth.”

  She shrugged. “He was proud of his heritage.”

  Spinks gave no comment and Kal could see he hadn’t yet got to the point of his questioning. She could feel it coming, like a wave rolling in across the ocean. She braced herself.

  “I know you were only twelve, but do you know what he was working on at the time he died?”

  At the time he died. Her brain picked out the words and amplified them to huge. Out of Spink’s line of sight, Kal’s hand curled around a slat of the bench and gripped it tight.

  At the time he died, she’d been having a perfectly ordinary day. Until her mother met her at the school entrance. Alesha didn’t need to say a word. Kal guessed the news from her mother’s terrible, torn expression. She’d fled, scraping her elbow on the school gate, with its peeling, green paint and rust flakes, throwing her bag straight at her mother’s face to stop her speaking. Knowing he’d gone was like having part of her cut away. A vital part. A part she couldn’t live without. You don’t have to have perfection to love somebody - Kal knew that. For all his faults, when she was with David Khan she felt special. He shared his real self with her, his real passion, and dark or light, that passion meant something. Of course, questions had been forming in her mind. Questions and suspicions that one day she would’ve put to him. One day, she’d have found the courage, right? And when that day came, her father would have given her sound answers - sound, guileless, proper answers. When David Khan died, he robbed her of that hope.

  Kal gripped the bench tighter. “Sorry, I've no idea what Dad was working on, only Mum might know.”

  Spinks’ eyes drilled into her. “I see.”

  As if anticipating she might ask him for more, Spinks made a gesture with his hand and stood to leave.

  “All in good time, Ms Medi, I’ll be in touch as soon as I have the full picture.”

  Spinks offered her his newspaper. When she declined, he tossed it into the nearby litter bin and off he went, the dark tails of his jacket flapping in time to his steps. It was only when he was out of sight that Kal fell forward and put her head in her hands.

  Kal’s first shock - the greyhound-loving newsagent – her awakening to life not always being what it seemed. Second - the neighbour at the corner, who pottered in his garden. The man was revealed to keep his disabled wife in soiled clothes, a prisoner in her own bed, punishing her for days on end. Third, the woman from the canteen whose breath smelled bad and who always gave extra helpings. She was arrested for having sex with underage boys.

  Her father chose each target for Kal before their public demise. With every piece of information Kal gathered, her father made her close her eyes and imagine her target - smell them, understand how they moved and shifted, until she could put into words the feelings they stirred in her. No surprise then that one day she’d turned her father’s own technique against him, to discover and sense the part David Khan kept hidden. The part she’d always known was there. The dark part.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kal headed to the training centre. The door was kept unlocked. All the trainees knew and the club never had any problems with vandalism. Many times as a teenager she'd come here out-of-hours to pound out her anger. Kal changed into practice clothing and walked into the centre, the familiar creak of the mats accompanying her footsteps. By the time the other students arrived, Kal had completed two rounds of warm ups, plus a session at the punch bag. Though she worked up a sweat she remained cold inside.

  “What the f-! What’s happened?” Marty asked.

  “Vankova. I’m on the right track. If I don’t get concrete information soon...”

  “I can see that.”

  Pam. Pam. Pam. Kal dealt out the final blows to the bag. “I’m going after the tail tonight. You up for it?”

  “Course I am and you’d better pound that pressure out before we do, otherwise, it’ll be a disaster.”

  The session started. During the Form, Kal’s attention was divided, caught in the smash of her father’s body and the veiled excitement coming off him at the range, as he slowed his breathing, took aim and squeezed the trigger, hitting bam in the centre of the forehead every time. Twice she hesitated over the correct sequence in the Form. Shit, things were falling apart. She was falling apart.

  Before the combats, Kal took a drink. Her hands were shaking.

  She went onto automatic, focusing for the pairs combat. She bowed without properly seeing her opponent. No problem. This came as second nature. Pam. Pam. Her opponent’s strike whistled past her ear. Kal heard her own heavy breathing mixed with the sound of her father’s engine, the throaty rev turning into a high-pitched overdrive, as it spun out of control. Pam. Her opponent’s fist struck her torso. Kal felt the air gush out of her. She threw a return strike and her father’s voice whispered a single word. “Deviancy”. And Kal misjudged the punch.

  Her fist sank into her opponent’s abdomen. Full force. The boy doubled. For a split second Kal thought she’d taken out his spleen. The student crumpled to the mat and he gave a sickening groan. Kal stared in horror as he wretched. LeeMing sprinted over.

  “I…I…We should call an ambulance.”

  She avoided LeeMing's glare. He carefully examined the student and put him in the recovery position.

  “You’re lucky. Very lucky. Check his status every few minutes.” LeeMing’s tone was curt.

  Strict code within the club dictated all students restrict themselves to light contact, especially senior members. The other students on the mat stopped to stare. Kal kept her eyes down and felt her cheeks coloring.

  Kneeling by the young man, she felt the sweat drying on her back. Finally, he sat up and Kal wiped quickly at her eyes.

  “A blow like that can cause internal injuries but it looks like you were lucky.” LeeMing said. “I’m still sending you for a full check over at casualty. And you,” LeeMing pointed at Kal, “get changed and see me at the end.”

  Kal sat out for the rest of the session. She felt small and incompetent - both feelings she hated. At the end, when LeeMing came over, she screwed herself up inside. What excuse could she give? She knew there wasn’t one.

  “You should know better. When you let thoughts and emotions interfere during a combat, it always affects your judgement. The discipline of martial arts is maintaining clarity and the more advanced you are, the more important that is.”

  Heat flushed Kal’s cheeks. Her opponent had been so keen to pair up with her, wanting to work with someone more experienced. She'd done the same in the past because it was a great way to learn. Tonight, she’d made a mistake, she should’ve refused, and paired up with Marty.

  “I know you're aware of your responsibility. My predecessor, Master Yeung, spoke highly of you, and I'm sure he'd say what happened tonight was out of character.”

  Kal kept her mouth tightly closed.

  “Yes, I took the liberty of checking you out. When someone with your level of skill comes to the neighbourhood, I make it my business to k
eep up-to-date.” LeeMing pulled on a sweat shirt. “For you to mess up like that there must be a real problem up here.” He tapped the side of his head. “What's going on?”

  The question took her off-guard. LeeMing spoke as if he expected an answer. If it had been Master Yeung, Kal wouldn't have hesitated. The Master, or Shifu, of your club, commands the greatest respect and students follow their instruction, emulate their conduct and rely on their knowledge, just as she and Marty had done with Master Yeung. Alongside combat skills, all students learnt the strict moral code passed down as part of the Shaolin Temple Tradition - respect, ethics, correct behaviour, discipline.

  Kal scuffed her foot against the edge of the mat. Though a great deal of the respect she held for Master Yeung automatically transferred to LeeMing, not all of it did. The other students filed into the showers and the room fell quiet. As the Shifu of the club, she knew LeeMing deserved an explanation.

  “I've never misjudged like that before. I know there's no justification… thing is, I’m exhausted, I mean mentally. Emotionally. My mother's vanished and the police are trying to find her. And I’ve got no proof but I know someone's following me.”

  “I agree, that’s serious, though if you’re looking for an excuse, I’m telling you now, nothing justifies your lack of control.”

  Kal could do nothing except squirm.

  “So – what’s going on? Any ideas why she’s missing? Is you being followed linked to your mother's disappearance?”

  “It seems likely, doesn’t it? I tried to catch them and they got away.”

  “What do the police have to say about that?”

  “I didn't tell the police. It’s important to know why someone’s following me because I’m sure it will help me find Mum. If the stalker gets scared off, that’s the last thing I need.”

  “Which explains why you decided to deal with it yourself.” LeeMing crossed his arms. “Take it from me, Kal, martial arts can't protect you from everything. Going after someone is a huge risk. Was Marty with you?”