by Linda Regan
‘Then he should be here on time,’ Georgia said as politely as she could muster. ‘This is golden hour, we can’t waste it. He might have got held up, so we’ll get on.’
‘He told me he was coming,’ Alison persisted.
‘Do you think he meant he was coming to the meeting, or just coming?’ Stephanie whispered to Georgia.
Georgia fought a smile. Stephanie always amused her.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Banham’s voice boomed from the back of the room at exactly that second. ‘I got held up in a budgeting meeting. What have I missed?’
Alison speedily told him.
‘Right.’ Georgia handed Alison a book. ‘I will leave you to familiarise yourself with this book on the gangs in this area. It is kept up to date by Trainee DC Peacock. Everything is in it, the names of their leaders and lieutenants, and where everyone hangs out. Sergeant Green and I will pay our informant a visit. We won’t be long,’ she turned again to the team. ‘Get your tasks off Sergeant Green and let’s get out there. Someone around that estate must have seen something; let’s find that person or persons.’
‘DI Grainger will go with you,’ Banham said to Georgia.
Georgia looked at Alison and then she turned back to Banham. ‘Sir, with respect, it would be better that I went with Sergeant Green alone. Alysha Achter knows her. She doesn’t know DI Grainger. A strange face will make her nervous, I don’t want her to clam up.’
She noticed Banham’s expression harden.
‘This is the Aviary Estate,’ she further argued, ‘where no one talks to us except Alysha and her friends.’
He kept his eyes boring into hers.
‘Sir, we’re desperate for a lead,’ she persisted. ‘Alysha Achter knows everything that goes on down on that estate, she could give us vital information.’
‘I would also like DI Grainger to be hands-on. She needs to re-familiarise herself with the location.’
Stephanie and Georgia flicked a glance at each other. Both knew better than to argue.
‘Guv,’ Georgia nodded obediently, then remembering what Banham had said about Alison being the worst driver in the word, she added, ‘We’ll take my car, shall we, and I’ll drive?’
‘Very good idea,’ Banham said, his eyes twinkling, but his face saying nothing.
Four
15:00
Everyone knew Zana Ghaziani was a looker. Her perfect heart-shaped face, striking dark eyes framed with heavy brows, and pert Bardot mouth with a tiny beauty spot adorning its edge made her face stand out in a crowd. Seventeen and from a strict Muslim family, she was allowed little freedom. Living in South London and attending a school where other pupils enjoyed nights out with others of their age, Zana had become rebellious. She had taken to sneaking out when her family were working in their dry cleaners. She would slip off her hijab, smoke cigarettes, and hang out and have fun with the friends she had made around the streets, just a bus ride away. She had a secret boyfriend and loved the attention she got from him and his friends. Her brother Wajdi was always on her case and a few times had caught her hanging out with her boyfriend. The beatings she had endured from him and the threats were all worth it, though, for the fun she was having. She was confident Wajdi wouldn’t tell her parents because the punishment they would dish out to her, she knew, was worse than anything he would inflict.
Today the wind was cold and fierce, and her long black hair was blowing freely around her face and body, which felt really good. She loved combing her fingers through it, something she watched other girls at school doing, aware that hers was covered and inside its prison. Sometimes she dreamed of having her hair cut short, in a bob, and dressed in trendy layers, feathered in towards her well-defined cheekbones, but she was too afraid of her parents’ reaction to actually do it.
Today, as soon as she was out of sight of the dry cleaners, she had stood in a shop doorway and removed the claustrophobic hijab, then defined her eyes with black liner and glossed her mouth with nude lipstick. In her pocket she carried a packet of tissues and a tube of E45 cream, along with the packet of condoms, so she would have time to wipe every scrap of evidence away before hurrying back home. She knew she probably had two hours until her brother would be out combing the streets and well on her case, and she had a date to keep.
She hurried along the pavement, a few yards from the Aviary Estate, turning into the familiar alleyway and huddling her back into the uneven fence that camouflaged it. It was the agreed meeting place, in the dip of the fence, by the overhanging branches of the large tree, just inside the alley. The wind had picked up again, and a branch from the overhanging tree caught at some of her wind-blown hair. Zana turned to pull her hair free and as she did so, heard footsteps behind her. In the moment it took to finish freeing her hair from the branch, the figure was upon her. She saw nothing, but felt an agonising pain in the back of her head from the hammer that hit her. As the next blow came, her knees gave way. The third blow again hit the back of her head and now she was on the damp paving stones, unable to move, her face lying beside a pile of rotting dog’s mess.
On the ground near her lay a poster. It had obviously been torn from the fence. She wasn’t conscious enough to read the wording: This is our territory, not yours, enter it at your own risk. We don’t make threats that we don’t keep.
Zana was barely conscious, but she smelt the pungent paraffin and heard the clicking of the lighter. Dazed, she had no idea that her hair was the target. She lay, nearly unconscious, next to the stinking faeces, as the flame took its perilous hold.
16:00
Georgia and Stephanie were used to the lift on Sparrow block of the Aviary Estate not being in working use. Even when it was in order, Georgia still preferred to use the stairs. The lift was often used as a lavatory or a depository for used nappies, and she couldn’t abide the smell, no matter how many stairs it meant climbing.
As the three detectives approached the lift, even before Alison Grainger could read the Out of Order notice, Georgia had shaken her head and was heading towards the stairs.
‘How many floors up, surely not thirteen?’ Alison asked as they made their way up the filthy concrete stairway at the back of Sparrow block.
‘It’ll do us good,’ Georgia said with an amused smile. ‘Some people spend a whole day behind a desk and have to forfeit their lunch hour to work out in the gym.’
‘We don’t get a lunch hour,’ Stephanie reminded her. ‘And if we did I’d spend it shagging. ‘That works off more calories, and keeps me smiling.’
Alison gave her a disapproving look, then started taking two steps at a time. Georgia flicked an amused glance in Stephanie’s direction.
After the first six flights were conquered,’ Stephanie said, ‘I’m having a burger and chips for lunch. I’ll have earned it after doing these stairs.’
‘If you just had a salad, and still did the stairs, you might lose some of the weight you’re always on about shifting,’ Georgia told her, pausing to read the graffiti on the concrete stairwell. Feds are Dead was written in bright red paint next to the sixth-floor lift doors, which also displayed an Out of Order sign.
‘I fancy a burger too,’ Alison said, glancing at the graffiti and then carrying on, two steps at a time. ‘And double chips, and tomato sauce, and lots of pickles.’
‘I’d rather eat the polystyrene packet,’ Georgia said. ‘How do you stay stick-thin if you eat chips and burgers all the time?’
‘Must be the stress of the job because I don’t diet these days,’ Alison said.
‘You’ve got your man, you don’t need to,’ Stephanie was now puffing like a marathon runner at the end of a race. ‘Mind you, if you ever get bored, just let me know. I’m happy to give him back after a short loan.’
They were finally turning onto the thirteenth floor walkway that led to Alysha Achter’s flat. Again Alison threw her a disapproving look.
‘Only joking,’ Stephanie said as Alison marched ahead to the flat.
There was
no answer when they knocked. There were a few girls at the corner of the walkway watching them. One had bright pink hair and wore a tartan kilt with black leggings and heels that were almost as high as the Sparrow block itself. She was talking to a tall black girl whose hair was a rusty shade of orange from over-use of peroxide, and wild, an overgrown bush. The second girl wore a denim jacket over a baggy beige jumper that stretched down to her knees, jeans, and black Doc Martens. The girl had a phone to her ear and was talking ten to the dozen. The pink-haired girl, beside her, was watching the detectives’ every move. Georgia recognised them both, they were close friends of Alysha Achter and had, up until quite recently, been street girls working near the front of the estate. A few other girls had now come from the fire exit and joined them. Georgia also recognised these girls, they still worked the streets at the front of the estate. They were grouping around the black girl and the girl with the pink hair, all watching the three detectives. Georgia smiled, ‘Hello,’ she said. The girls nodded to her, but looked apprehensive. Georgia was aware that Alison’s presence was making them uneasy.
Stephanie walked towards them. ‘Do you happen to know where Alysha Achter is?’ she asked in a friendly tone.
The girl with the orange hair stopped playing with her phone and slipped it into the top pocket of her denim jacket. ‘Yeah, I do, as it happens,’ she said in a disinterested fashion.
‘So where she is?’ Stephanie persevered in a friendly tone.
‘Who wants to know?’
Stephanie didn’t produce her identification card, she merely smiled, keeping her tone friendly.
‘Oh, come on, don’t pretend you don’t know who we are.’ Before Orange Hair had time to answer, Stephanie added quickly, ‘It’s a social call. Will you tell her Stephanie and Georgia popped round, with a present for her. We know she had a birthday recently.’
‘Who’s the third?’ the pink-haired girl asked, eyeing Alison.
‘Alison,’ Stephanie told her, looking to Alison and then back to the girl. ‘She’s a friend as well.’
‘Not round ’ere she ain’t,’ Pink Hair told her.
‘She don’t trust strangers,’ Orange Hair said, nodding towards Pink Hair.
Just as Stephanie was about to argue the toss, Alysha turned the corner from the stairs on the walkway. She was carrying a bag of groceries, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, and looking nervous. Georgia knew immediately that she had been on the other end of the phone to the girls, having already been tipped off that ‘the feds’ were there.
‘Perfect timing,’ Orange Hair told her. ‘Someone’s askin’ for you. Friends of yours, apparently.’
‘Yeah, s’alright,’ Alysha said, nodding and smiling at Stephanie and Georgia. Then she noticed Alison. Her expression grew cold. ‘Who’s she?’ she asked Georgia, eyeing Alison suspiciously.
‘This is Alison Grainger,’ Georgia told her, fighting with herself not to tell Alysha that she knew the girls were playing games, that they had seen them coming and tipped Alysha off, giving her just enough time to go to the supermarket, which was just outside the estate. Georgia suspected that Alysha might be back on the game; she certainly had something to hide. She had a soft spot for the girl, and had hopes that the money she paid her for informing would keep her off the streets. She certainly hadn’t heard any reports from patrolling uniformed officers confirming that Alysha was working as a hooker, and she had asked to be kept informed.
‘Can we talk to you?’ Georgia said, indicating with her head to Alysha’s flat.
‘If you can talk, then you can talk to her,’ Pink Hair said rudely.
‘In private,’ Georgia said to Alysha before turning to Pink Hair and glaring at her.
‘We’ve got you a late birthday present,’ Stephanie told Alysha, ‘and we’d all love to come in out of this bitter wind and have a cup of tea. Can we do that?’
‘Yeah, course you can,’ Alysha said looking to Orange and Pink Hair, and then turning back to the detectives. ‘My dad’s out, so you can come into the flat.’
‘When is he ever in?’ Georgia couldn’t resist.
‘He works a lot at night, and then he sleeps a lot during the day,’ she said.
‘It’s day now,’ Georgia said following Alysha into the flat. ‘So presumably he’s not working, so why is he not sleeping?’
‘Not sure,’ Alysha said with a shrug. ‘He’s out, that’s all I know. Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, and I’ll help you,’ Georgia said, following her into the kitchen which was in its usual squalor. The smell of rotting food threatened Georgia’s stomach. Cardboard cartons of half-eaten fried chicken, empty pizza boxes, and remnants of tinned food filled the overflowing bin. Georgia wished she could bring out her forensic gloves and scrub the mugs and dishes that stood stacked in dirty piles by the side of the sink. The last thing she wanted was to have to sip tea out of one of these mugs, but Alysha was her informant and around the Aviary an informant was even rarer than a clean cup in this kitchen.
Alysha pulled three mugs from the cupboard, and as Georgia took them and started to re-wash them in hot soapy water, Stephanie and Alison walked in and Stephanie handed Alysha a tablet computer that they had bought on the way over.
‘Nice,’ Alysha said, merely glancing at it and throwing it on the side where the unwashed plates were. She turned to Georgia. ‘If you want info from me, I want to have corn, from now on.’ She noticed the look of bewilderment that came over Alison’s face. ‘Cash,’ she told her, rubbing her forefinger against her thumb. She looked at Georgia and jerked her head at Alison. ‘Why’s she here anyway?’
‘She’s been away for a bit,’ Georgia told her. ‘She’s trustworthy, though, and that’s all you need to be concerned about.’ She threw teabags in the clean mugs and took milk from the fridge. She passed it to Stephanie. ‘I’m sure you know why I’m here,’ she said to Alysha.
‘You want info on the boy that was killed in the grounds of the estate by the old garages this morning,’ Alysha answered. She picked up the tablet and turned it in her hands. ‘Is this my payment for the last bit of info I give you ’bout South London Rulers trying to bring in Mac 10s from Europe?’
Georgia nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘See thing is, if anyone from SLR knows or finds out that I grassed on them, I’m dead, you gotta understand that.’
‘No one will ever know where anything you tell us came from,’ Georgia assured her. ‘You, must know that by now.’
‘It’s just a present, you had a birthday recently,’ Stephanie told her. ‘So it’s a birthday gift for you.’
Alysha looked up and met Stephanie’s eyes. ‘My birthday was six months ago, but thanks. So I’m still owed corn then, for that info.’ Before Georgia could answer she carried on, ‘That was a big coup for you, them Mac 10s would have caused a bloodbath in South London, so gotta be worth a lot of corn.’ She looked at Georgia. ‘Much more than an MP3 player.’
Georgia squeezed her lips. ‘Alysha, I’m here over a boy that was murdered. I need information.’
‘See, everyone round here knows you’re feds,’ Alysha said. ‘And has seen you visiting me. So now I really have to watch my back.’
‘We are watching it for you, too,’ Georgia said.
‘You said you’re gonna help me.’
‘And I have. What do you know about the murdered boy?’ Georgia pushed her.
‘I need some corn first. See, you said you’d help us an you’d talk to the man at the council bout doing up that kids’ playground. Ain’t heard nothing, an’ nothing’s been done. Kids on this estate got nowhere to play. They’ll get bored and they’ll start thieving. So if you want to talk to me ’bout that boy got killed, then I wanna you to talk to the council about rebuilding our kids’ area.’
‘I have spoken to them, three times in all,’ Georgia told her. ‘It’s not down to me if they haven’t done anything.’ She opened her purse and took out a twenty-pound note.
‘You told me you�
��re trying to go to hairdressing school. Is that still happening?’
Alysha nodded. ‘Yeah, me and some mates, we wanna open a hair and beauty salon in them boarded-up shops down below. Need the corn first, though.’
‘You’re fifteen now, you could get work,’ Stephanie told her.
‘I’m sixteen, actually. And wouldn’t that be sweet. Any idea how hard it is to get anything like a job, if you come from this estate?’
Stephanie sniffed the milk and then started pouring it into the mugs of tea.
Georgia placed the twenty by the kettle. ‘So what can you tell me about the boy that was murdered?’ she asked her.
‘Only that he was seen, dead, in the grounds.’
‘By who?’
‘Not important. The people that saw him will say they didn’t,’ Alysha said, holding Georgia’s gaze. ‘That was ’bout eleven this morning. ‘I heard he’d been shanked, ’cos he was bleeding. Rumour has it he was a member of South London Rulers and he fell out with his own gang.’
‘So South London Rulers stabbed him?’ Georgia pushed.
‘That’s what I heard,’ Alysha said.
‘Do you know anything about a consignment of machetes that have been brought into this country and are heading for this area?’ Georgia then asked her.
Alysha took the milk from Stephanie and bent to put it back in the fridge. ‘I did get to hear some things about that, as it happens,’ she said straightening up. She looked at Alison, then back to Georgia. ‘Are you sure I can trust her?’
‘Yes,’ Georgia assured her, silently cursing Banham for making her informant so insecure after she’d worked so hard to do the opposite.
‘Only I’m here on my own, a lot of the time,’ Alysha said, ‘and if it was suspected that I’m a grass …’
‘Take my mobile number, and ring if you need me, no matter what the time,’ Georgia said, trying to hide the concern she felt for Alysha. The girl was very vulnerable; by managing to change her date of birth on a few official forms, and pull off being sixteen when Georgia knew full well she was fifteen, she had left herself wide open. Social Services wouldn’t come to her aid if she needed help, so there was no one, only Georgia, to look out for her. Secretly, Georgia felt that if her own life had been different, and she’d been able to have children, then maybe her daughter would have looked like Alysha. Alysha, like Georgia, was a mixture of African, Indian, and English genes, and a tough survivor.
