‘She’s top drawer,’ Ed said. ‘Coming in on a bank-holiday weekend. Not many civvies would do that.’
But even she can’t magic money out of thin air, Sam thought.
‘So Baljit’s driving Sukhi’s car in Plymouth,’ she was saying now. ‘That suggests they found out where Aisha planned to go. If the car was ever found we were just meant to assume Sukhi dumped it.’
The simple plan could have worked and probably would have save for the undercover cop being embedded at the chop-shop.
Sometimes you needed a bit of luck.
Sam sat down. ‘I don’t want to make a move on him until we find out about the settee.’
Then she told Ed about the bank card.
‘All a bit of a coincidence,’ he said. ‘Nothing on her bank or phone since she went missing, and then after we’re in the street... ’
‘Exactly.’
Bev Summers appeared at the door and passed a photograph to Sam. ‘You might want to see this.’
Sam looked at it then passed it to Ed.
A small hammer with a metal head and a yellow handle was laid on a desk. The ball part of the head had traces of what was clearly blood, and a few hairs were stuck in the brown stains.
‘Found by one of the crew in undergrowth by the tow path,’ Bev said. ‘About 200 metres from where Jack Goddard was found.’
‘They did well to find that,’ Sam said, impressed and surprised in equal measure.
‘I think he went for a pee and stumbled across it,’ Bev said, a ‘go figure’ look on her face.
More good luck.
‘Get it off to the lab on Monday,’ Sam told her. ‘Pay the extra money for a quick turnaround. Let’s find out if it’s Jack Goddard’s blood and or hair, and if it’s not too much to hope for, let’s see if we can find the killer’s prints or DNA on the handle.’
‘You do want it with a cherry on the top,’ Ed grinned.
‘I know... look, I need some fresh air. Let’s go for a walk.’
The daffodils around the perimeter road swayed in the breeze, a gentle balletic movement that was almost hypnotic, and a soothing contrast to the investigative maelstrom thrashing around inside Sam’s head.
‘Funny fresh air that,’ Ed said, watching Sam light a cig. ‘And you’re not supposed to smoke in the grounds, you naughty girl.’
Sam blew out smoke. ‘Let them discipline me… If you wanted to get to London quickly, how would you travel?’
‘Train.’
‘Why not go to Plymouth?’
Ed thought for a moment.
‘Too far,’ he said. ‘From here you’d have to get to London, then get a train to Plymouth from, I think, Paddington, or you get on that Cross-Country train at Newcastle or Darlington, but that feels like a two-day camel ride, takes about eight hours.’
Not for the first time, Sam was amazed at the things Ed had stored away in his head.
‘I know it’s bad practice, but let’s assume Aisha is dead and her family still have her bank card,’ she said. ‘If they don’t want to drive, they get the train or fly but last minute, train is easier. I know we’re running out of staff but let’s have somebody looking at the CCTV at Newcastle and then Darlington train stations. Find the time of the trains after we left the street last night. Let’s see if anybody from Aisha’s family got the train to London. We know what time the card was used. The station CCTV up here might be an easier spot than the Saturday cameras in London.’
Ed said he would get Paul Adams straight on it.
‘I’m getting ahead of myself here, Ed, but if we can find someone and they’ve gone there with the intention of coming back today, we might get them coming off a train still carrying Aisha’s card.’
Ed called Paul Adams.
‘Sorted,’ he said, catching up with Sam, who had walked ahead. ‘The uniform who took the initial missing-from-home report is now on the search teams. He remembers the mother, father and brother. He doesn’t know the uncle but he’s on the way to the station now and he’ll get stills of any Asian men.’
He noticed Sam was on to her second cigarette.
‘I want the girls getting in tomorrow,’ Sam said, stopping suddenly. ‘I can’t keep paying for cops to walk the tow path, plus politically I don’t want to give the ‘we need more police patrols’ camp any indication I agree with them. We had cops there last night and we’ll have them there tonight, so tomorrow we get the girls. I don’t want to put it off any longer. Amber’s phone exam will be finished today, so tomorrow well go with what we’ve got.’
‘We arresting them?’ Ed said.
‘Yes,’ Sam replied with zero hesitation. ‘I don’t want them getting the opportunity of refusing to attend voluntarily. They’re all on or near the tow path but only Alex O’Connell said she was there. They all know Goddard, at least with the possible exception of Amber Dalton. They had an altercation with Goddard. They’re members of a group. Whether that’s Sisters Of Macavity, time will tell. As they say on the TV, they’ve got motive and opportunity. Lock them up on suspicion of murder.’
She put the cigarette to her lips and inhaled.
‘I’ve told the CPS the way I'm thinking, just to keep them in the loop,’ Sam continued, smoke swirling around her face. ‘I don’t want them buried under a mass of paperwork they’ve no idea about if I’m looking for a charging decision sometime tomorrow.’
Ed answered his phone, listened, thanked the caller and turned to Sam.
‘Paul Adams. The lab’s been on. The blood on the settee…’
Chapter Thirty
Saturday 14th December 2013
Nothing in the street moved. Nothing except me, swinging from side-to-side, dangling from a line of clothes. I thought I’d be able to abseil down, like I’d seen on the TV, like how the girls from school told me they’d done it when they went on a trip to an outward bound place – not that I’d been allowed to go.
School? Why had they even bothered sending me? If it hadn’t been against the law, I don’t think they would have.
As soon as I got out of the window, any thoughts I had of abseiling vanished. The rope was swinging; my legs were hanging in mid-air, my weight taken by my arms and shoulders. This must be what the college gym rats mean when they go for the burn.
I tried to gauge where my legs were in relation to the living room window. I knew I had to be quick. If someone went into the front room and saw my legs I was finished.
I loosened my grip, slipped down a few centimetres then gripped the rope tight. My palms hurt, burning. I couldn’t breathe. My legs were about two metres from the ground.
My heart was pounding.
I was swinging again.
I looked down. My feet were near the top of the window.
I didn’t want to be swinging in full view of anyone who went into the front room.
The next time I would slide down to the ground. I could live with rope burns. They wanted me to kill myself.
I slid down. My hands were on fire. I was passing the window. The room was in darkness. Come on, Aisha! Be quick! I was at a point where I could just about jump.
Then it happened.
The ceiling light went on.
I froze, like a rabbit in a beam, staring at my mother. She stared back. Two motionless rabbits. I even stopped swinging.
Nothing. Just silence and empty time.
Then she screamed.
I let go, stumbled, jarred my ankle on the concrete and jumped over the little wall that runs around our tiny patch of front garden, if you can call a lump of concrete a garden. My ankle was on fire, but I had to run. I knew they’d come after me, and while I could probably outrun my father and uncle, there was no way I could outrun my brother.
I sprinted, arms pumping, trying to ignore the pain. I needed to get out of sight, hide somewhere, anywhere. I was already gasping for breath. I’d never won a race at school but I needed to be faster than I’d ever been before. I could see the end of the street.
Which way?
They’d expect me to go right so I’d go left, away from the town centre. Right would take me towards the police station but it was too far. I’d never make it. I was too slow.
Behind me I could hear shouting.
Don’t look back.
My ankle was getting hotter. Every time it hit the pavement I winced, but I couldn’t stop. I knew they were after me. I turned left, half-dashed and half-limped across the road, my eyes darting everywhere, looking for somewhere to hide, to hide from my own family.
Find somewhere Aisha! Anywhere!
The parked cars were no good. The builder’s skip, a big one, would do. It would have to. I couldn’t run much further. If I could get there, hide there, I might be safe.
Please God let me be safe.
Why were there no white neighbours? The area was full of Asians. I wished I could knock on somebody’s door but I couldn’t. They’d side with my parents. Someone must have seen Sukhi getting beaten up, me being dragged home, but nobody would have reported it, or at least if they had, the police hadn’t come around. The skip was close. I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing. I put on a burst of speed and dived into the skip. My torso cleared it but my legs didn’t. I was half-in, half-out. I heaved myself downwards and my legs followed, falling over my head, forcing me to roll down to the bottom of the skip, my shoulders bashing into some broken bricks. I knew without looking that I’d taken the skin off my shins. I pushed myself up and got myself into a sitting position.
I was covered in brick dust.
Please don’t let there be a cloud of dust above me.
Tears ran down my cheeks. I was playing hide-and-seek but if I lost this game, I would lose my life. I listened, tried to stop my teeth chattering. All I could hear was heavy breathing. My breathing. No footsteps. No cars. Silence.
Maybe they’d gone right.
Please let them go away.
My body was shaking like an old man I’d once seen outside the mini-market having a fit.
I listened. Nothing.
I couldn’t see what was happening on the street. All I could see was the inside of the red skip. Should I risk a look over the top?
Don’t Aisha. They’ll see you.
I lay down, covered my legs and body with cardboard, and kept the last two pieces for my head. I tried to breathe slowly, tried to stop my body shaking. If I could stay there until morning, another four hours probably, I would get help even if it I had to run through the streets screaming.
I just had to hide.
The rubble dug into me but it was safer than lying in my bed.
I had to be still, couldn’t move. The cardboard mustn’t move. I eased myself on to my side, checked the cardboard on my legs and body, lay down and covered my head.
I closed my eyes, thought of 4.36pm, Friday, 6th December, one minute before my mother changed my life. A week later there I was lying under cardboard in a skip, hiding from my family. Why had they not accepted British values?
Suddenly I heard voices. Were they far away or just talking quietly?
I knew who they were. Who else was out at this time of night in an Asian area? A couple of sons perhaps, but they’d be really quiet if they were sneaking in so late.
It was my family.
Why hadn’t they turned right?
Maybe they had and were doubling back on themselves. I hoped so. That would have meant they had no idea where I was.
I had to lie still. If they looked in here, they’d see rubble and cardboard.
Would they hear my breathing?
I shut my eyes. If I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me.
You’re not four years old, Aisha.
My lips were moving really fast, like when I did my times tables at school, only now they were repeating ‘I’ll be okay’ over and over again.
I couldn’t relax. My body was stiffer than the cardboard.
Four hours. That’s all. Then help.
I saw Sukhi’s smile.
BANG!
The first punch had sent blood spurting from my mouth. The second made me dizzy. Hands clawed at me, dragged me by the hair, by the arms.
My uncle had jumped into the skip, punched me in the stomach. I couldn’t breathe.
A hand covered my mouth and I was dragged backwards over the top of the skip. I could feel the skin peeling away from my back. My head was tilted backwards. I was looking at the ground. I recognised my father’s shoes.
He punched me in the mouth.
Is this what it’s like before you pass out?
The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
My ankles were grabbed, gripped tight. It must have been my uncle. Between him and my father they hauled me out of the skip. When my legs were clear, they dropped me. I crashed on to the pavement, landing on my shoulder. I cried out, but nobody heard. There was nothing to hear.
My father’s black shoe booted me in the ribs. What air was left in my body flew out without carrying a sound.
What were they shouting?
My father grabbed me under my arms. My uncle grabbed my ankles. They started walking, carrying me like a rolled up carpet. They flicked me on to my side. Through my tears, through my terror, I saw my brother.
Will someone, anyone, help me?
Nobody did.
As they carried me up our path, I twisted my head and saw my mother open the front door. I tried to speak but couldn’t. She must have seen the fear in my eyes.
As my father stepped over the threshold with his human roll of carpet, she punched me in the head. No words, just a punch.
They carried me to my room. I didn’t speak, didn’t scream. What was the point? Even my family weren’t speaking. My mother ripped my clothes off and threw them on to the landing. The last thing I saw before the door was slammed shut and I heard the bolts being rammed in place was my uncle, my mother’s brother, staring at my naked body.
I sat on the bed, legs tucked under my chin, back pushing against the corner of the two walls. My shins were red raw. The tops of my arms had finger bruises where they grabbed me, my face was swollen and my back felt like it had been skinned. But the one thing that bothered me the most? I honestly thought my uncle was coming back.
I sat like that for hours. Cold, alone, frightened.
Morning came. I heard knocking at the front door. The bolts moved on my bedroom door. My uncle walked in. I pushed back against the wall.
‘Say one word and I have your mother’s permission to rape you.’
He stood there, the door open, leaning against the door frame, his black eyes locked on me, his tongue sliding around his lips.
I bowed my head, closed my eyes.
Please just go away.
I heard my mother speak in Punjabi. It was the young Singh brothers. I’d forgotten about the new settee, but my mother and the shop owner hadn’t.
My mother was polite, made small talk, no indication that her daughter was upstairs, naked, being guarded by her uncle.
Mia came into our bedroom. She didn’t look at me but I knew she was scared. She pulled her big case from under the bed, rummaged through it and took out a scarf. She looked at me. Can eyes plead? She never spoke. What could she say?
It must have taken about 20 minutes to take out the old settee and bring the new one in.
My uncle just stood there. I didn’t say a word.
I heard the van driving off. The bedroom door was slammed shut.
I got off the bed, walked to the chest of drawers and picked up the bottle. I sat back on the bed, unscrewed the top, sniffed, raised the bottle to my lips and took a mouthful.
It burned. I coughed, took another mouthful. I wasn’t going to touch the tablets, but I was going to get drunk.
Chapter Thirty-One
Saturday 19th April 2014
‘It’s Aisha’s,’ Ed said.
Sam dropped her head.
‘Primary or secondary transfer?’ She asked after a moment. ‘Not that it matters a
t the minute. We need to prove the settee was delivered after they reported Aisha missing and then they’ve got some explaining to do.’
Primary meant Aisha had bled on to the settee; secondary, somebody had Aisha’s blood on them and came into contact with the settee.
‘It’s a primary transfer,’ Ed said. ‘There’s too much blood for it to be anything else. It’s seeped into the cushion.’
She lit another cigarette, her third on their short walk.
‘It won’t be enough to charge them, unless they cough of course, but it’ll be enough to arrest the parents. We’ve got plenty already to arrest the son for vehicle theft without the fingerprint results, but we’ll wait for those anyway. So that means all three adults in that house arrested.’
Ed had been watching her closely. Now he smiled.
‘You’ve got that glint in your eye.’
‘Get them all in,’ Sam told him. ‘Get the youngest daughter looked after by Social Services and then the house is empty.’
‘I see where you’re going. It could work. Very resource intensive though,’ Ed said.
‘There’s no rush to jump yet,’ Sam went on. ‘Aisha’s been missing for months. Let’s get the girls in tomorrow and see where we stand. If we can get that investigation boxed off, it’ll allow us to divert some staff on to Aisha’s… I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’
‘Somebody will be going out for food.’
They walked back towards the building.
All that was left in Sam’s office to indicate she and Ed had eaten was the empty polystyrene trays and the pungent smell of sweet-and-sour pork balls, beef foo yung, curry sauce and chips.
‘I needed that,’ Ed said, his hands around the cold can of Pepsi Max.
His phone rang.
Sam sighed. ‘Can’t you change that gangster song?’
‘Coolio? It’s quality. Ed Whelan... Hi Paul… Good shout. We’ll meet you there… Cheers.’
He ended the call.
‘Six-ten this morning Mrs Bhandal is in Newcastle station. There was a train to Kings Cross at 6.20.’
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