by Sibel Hodge
‘Meanwhile, we put together an assault plan, and once we got the green light we were off. Thirty tooled-up SAS guys in the back of an RAF Special Forces Chinook. We flew in low at night up the river then fast-roped down from the heli. We hit the ground and moved forward, quickly fanning out, as we were coming under some serious incoming fire. We immediately engaged the rebels, suppressing them as the designated assault team, hooked up with the recce team and we made for the known hostage location inside the camp. There was a serious firefight going down all around us. It was chaotic, rebels running everywhere but being systematically taken out. The entry to the stronghold was heavily fortified so we blew the door with charges and flash-banged the rebels inside. Once we got through the breach, we engaged the gunmen, clearing the rooms so we could make our way to where we suspected the hostages were.’ I stopped and rubbed my hands over my face. Took a deep breath, seeing it play out again in my head.
‘Go on. Please.’
‘That’s when things went wrong. There were dead rebels everywhere, hostages screaming and wailing. Trying to control the situation inside that hellhole was practically impossible. Tony and I . . .’ I closed my eyes.
Corinne touched my shoulder and squeezed.
I opened my eyes and looked at her. ‘Tony and I were working together, covering each other as we checked our sector of the stronghold to make sure the threat had been neutralised. Tony was covering me as I checked the last rebel and declared the room clear. I thought the rebel was dead. He was lying partially underneath another rebel and had blood and brain matter all over his head. But as we got into the re-org phase to extract the hostages, the bastard who was supposed to be dead sat up and let out a burst of AK fire from his rifle. The body fluids covering him weren’t actually his. It was the one lying on top of him whose brains were blown out. The rounds hit Tony across his back, into his body armour, but one round got him in the base of his neck. Killed him outright.’
Corinne cupped her hands to her mouth, stifling a gasp.
‘I should’ve fucking put one in him and made sure he was dead, but I didn’t!’ I shot off the chair and walked to the window, hands clasped to my head. ‘I don’t know how I could’ve made such a fatal mistake. Tony died because of me. I’m sorry, Corinne. I’m so sorry.’
She walked towards me, wrapped her arms round my neck and held on tight, her tears wet against my cheek. ‘You made a mistake. It was chaos, the adrenaline was pumping, and you had a split second to make a decision. It was a massive error in judgement but it wasn’t intentional. I know that now. I know . . .’ Her warm breath hit my cheek as she exhaled. ‘I don’t blame you any more. But even though he was going to leave, the Regiment was his life. And he died doing something he loved. He died with someone he loved.’ She pulled back and wiped her cheeks. ‘I came to realise over the years that Toni was his way of staying with me. She was his legacy and my last link to him. And now . . . what do I do if she doesn’t come back?’ She broke down then, her shoulders spasming with sobs, a torrent of tears streaming down her cheeks.
I held her tight.
‘Toni made a mistake, too, going into this dark web,’ Corinne said. ‘She’s mixed up in something terrible, and she’s just an innocent girl. She’s my little girl. I should’ve stopped her. She always was obsessed with horrible things because she wanted to use it to help people. Now she needs our help. She needs—’
‘I’m going to find Toni. No matter what. I will finally get to meet her.’ I pulled back and clutched her hands in mine.
Her gaze locked on to me, anguish and pain shimmering in her eyes, her mouth open with the words she wanted to say. The words we both knew were true. Even if you find her, it doesn’t mean she’ll still be alive.
‘Just bring her home to me. I can’t lose her, too. I just can’t. If I do I’ll have nothing left.’
I wrapped her in my arms and stroked her hair.
And then my phone rang.
I let her go and picked up Lee’s call.
‘What’ve you got?’ I asked.
‘I think you need to get up here and have a look for yourself,’ Lee said, his voice grave.
THE DETECTIVE
Chapter 24
Kings Tower was as far removed from its regal-sounding name as you could possibly get. A posh name for a block of dilapidated high-rise council flats in a concrete jungle that had been built in the sixties.
Alice Drew’s flat was on the third floor, which could be reached by a stairwell. As we climbed the steps, Ronnie spotted someone’s regurgitated doner kebab on the floor and pinched his nose between his forefinger and thumb, grimacing.
I eyed him with an amused smile.
‘What?’ He stepped over it carefully. ‘Lots of germs are airborne. They can enter your nasal or mouth cavity and then you’re in trouble.’
‘Let’s hope there’s no Ebola running rife here, then.’
We walked to the end of the corridor. On Alice’s door someone had scratched ‘Hor Bittch’ into the cracking blue paint. It would’ve been offensive if they could actually spell.
I banged on the door and peered over the balcony down to the car park while I waited. A teenager was on a bicycle, aimlessly riding in a circle. The whole place smacked of poverty and hopelessness with a side order of desperation.
There was no answer so I banged again. This time the door was opened by a young woman with short, spiky blonde hair. Her skin was so white it was almost transparent. She had the remnants of dark make-up crusted around her eyes and wore a dressing gown with so many stains on it that it would make Ronnie nervous.
‘What?’ she snapped, rubbing her eyes like we’d just woken her up. ‘Who are you?’ She glared at us. ‘Oh, fuck’s sake.’ She sniffed the air with exaggeration. ‘You’re pigs, ain’t ya?’
Damn, I obviously needed to change my aftershave. Eau de Porcine was obviously not in vogue these days. ‘Are you Alice Drew?’
‘Yeah, so? I ain’t done nothin’.’
‘We’re looking for your friend, Tracy Stevens.’
‘Why?’ She narrowed her eyes at me.
‘It’s concerning a murder. Is she here?’
‘A what?’
‘We need to speak to her in connection with a double murder. A shooting in Turpinfield. Is Tracy here?’
‘Murder?’ Her jaw fell open slightly. ‘Nah. I ’aven’t seen her for a couple of days.’
‘Can we come in and have a look around?’
She rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘I s’pose. You’ll never piss off otherwise, will ya?’
We stepped inside the cramped living area. There was a small sofa along one wall, an old, boxy TV on a black ash corner unit, next to which was a gas heater with a fraying flex that looked dangerous. Off to one side was a galley kitchen. Alice slumped down on the sofa with a huff of protest as I searched one tiny bedroom, home to a double bed, a single wardrobe and not much else. A second box room had a single blow-up bed in it. Clothes were strewn around in piles or in carrier bags. The bathroom was only big enough for a narrow shower, a sink, and toilet. Unless Tracy was invisible, she wasn’t hiding out there.
Alice lit a cigarette as I walked back into the lounge.
‘When did you last see Tracy?’
She sucked in a lungful of smoke and blew it in my direction.
Ronnie coughed, waved a hand in front of his face and stepped backwards.
‘I don’t know. The days blend into one. Was it Monday?’ She frowned, picking a stray piece of tobacco from her tongue. ‘Or Tuesday? Not sure.’
‘I need you to be more specific,’ I said. ‘Come on, Alice, I really don’t want to have to take you down to the station to do this.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, Tracy wouldn’t kill anyone. You’ve got the wrong person.’
‘So what day was it? Monday or Tuesday?’
She took another puff. Blew a smoke ring at me.
Ronnie coughed again. I watched her carefully.
‘T
uesday night.’
‘Three days ago, then. And what happened on Tuesday?’
‘Um . . . well, we was going out, you know?’
‘To work London Road?’
She shrugged.
‘I’m not interested in the prostitution,’ I said. ‘This is a double murder inquiry. I really don’t want to have to nick you for obstruction, so let’s make this easier on all of us and just tell me what you know.’
She clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘OK, yeah, we was working London Road. It was probably about eleven when we got there. I had a punter pretty much straight away and got in his car. Tracy was hanging around on her patch at the bottom near Devon Crescent. By the time I got back about a half hour later she weren’t there. I didn’t see her for the rest of the night but I was back and forth. ’Aven’t seen her since.’
‘But she was living with you?’
She nodded. ‘For ’bout a year.’
‘And you weren’t worried about her?’ Ronnie asked, surprised.
But these girls lived in a different world. A world Ronnie was still learning about.
‘Nah. She’s always doing it. Pissing off for a few days. One time it was a week. She goes where the good times take her. She’s a sma—’ She stopped abruptly, but I knew what she’d been about to say. Smackhead.
‘She’s an addict,’ I said it for her.
Alice pursed her lips together. ‘I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.’
‘Alice, this is more serious than any drug offences,’ I said. ‘She’s still your friend and we need to find her. So just tell me what you can.’
‘Yeah, she’s a mate. But I ain’t her keeper or nothin’. She’s probably off partying with someone who’s got some gear, all right?’ She scowled at me.
‘Any ideas who she could be with?’ I asked.
She shrugged and shook her head. Ground her cigarette out in an ashtray overflowing with butts tinged with red lipstick. ‘No idea. Could be anywhere.’
‘What about her friends? Who did she hang around with?’
‘She didn’t ’ave any other friends. When she does her disappearing act, it could be with someone she ain’t even met before.’
‘Did she mention any trouble she was in?’
‘No.’
‘What’s her mobile number?’
Alice glared at me for a moment before rattling off a number that Ronnie wrote down in his pocketbook.
‘Did she take any of her belongings?’ I asked.
‘Don’t fink so. All looks the same to me.’
‘Her room is the one with the bags of clothes in, I take it?’
‘Yeah.’
I wondered how she could tell it all looked the same when it seemed like a crowd of bargain hunters at a car boot sale had rummaged through it all. ‘Do you remember what she was wearing that night?’
Alice scratched her nose and thought for a moment. ‘Um . . . she ’ad a black mini skirt on and a pink top. High heels. A handbag. And a denim jacket.’
‘Jewellery?’
‘Don’t fink so.’
‘Did any of the items have small pink stones on them?’
She frowned. ‘Yeah. The top did. It had, like, glittery pink stones in a pattern on the front. They kept coming off. Keep finding ’em all over the flat. It was just cheap shit. Don’t fink they stuck ’em on properly.’
I took my phone from my pocket and retrieved a photo of one of the stones found in the Jamesons’ lounge. ‘Did they look like this?’ I passed the phone to her.
‘Yeah.’ She handed the phone back to me.
‘Did you pick up the stones? Have you still got them?’ I asked.
‘I vacuumed out ’ere so I don’t fink there’s any left, and I chucked the rubbish out. But there’s probably loads of ’em still on the floor in ’er room. I haven’t tidied up anyfink in there yet.’
I looked to Ronnie. ‘Go and have a look. Bag any of them you find. And look for a laptop or mobile phone.’
Ronnie nodded.
Alice snorted. ‘Laptop? You must be joking. How was she goin’ to pay for that? And she ’ad her phone with her.’
‘Does she have a pimp?’ I asked Alice.
‘Nah. Neither of us do. We’re entrepreneurs, ya know.’ She gave me a sneery grin.
‘And you can’t think of anyone else she hangs around with?’
‘Nah. Like I said. She don’t ’ave any friends apart from me.’
‘What about a dealer?’ I asked.
She chewed on her lower lip, looking scared now. ‘I ain’t a grass. They’ll come after me if I tell you.’
‘This won’t come back on you. I promise.’
She lit another cigarette and this time her hands trembled. She took a long drag. Blew it out, thinking. ‘His name’s Dex.’
‘Dex, what? Is that a first or last name? Or a nickname?’
‘I don’t know! I never met him. I may be stupid but I ain’t stupid enough to get into that shit.’
‘You’re not stupid, Alice,’ I said.
‘Whatever.’ She shrugged dismissively.
‘Any idea where he lives?’
She hesitated for a moment, chewing on her lower lip, before finally answering, ‘Over on the Bowes Estate somewhere. Other side of town.’
‘How did Tracy seem that night? Did she mention she was going anywhere in particular or meeting anyone?’
‘Nah, she didn’t say nothin’ like that. She was in a good mood when we went out. We’d had a couple of drinks while we was getting togged up. She’d got some stuff from Dex a few days before so I don’t fink she would’ve needed to see him again that night. Why do you fink she killed someone?’
‘Her prints were found at the house of the murdered couple. They’d both been shot.’
‘Fuck!’ She took another lug of smoke with her quivering hand. ‘Tracy couldn’t do that. She was . . .’ Alice trailed off.
‘She was what?’ I said.
‘Look, she had ’er problems. We all ’ave. But she wouldn’t hurt no one. I’m sure of it. She weren’t like that. She weren’t violent or nothin’. No way could she ’ave done it.’
I thought about the void of blood spatter on the wall. Of someone around Tracy’s height standing next to Jan Jameson when she was shot. Was Tracy the shooter or accomplice? ‘Well, someone did. And Tracy was there.’
She stared at me, chin jutting in the air. ‘I can’t help you. I don’t know anyfink about it.’
‘Did Tracy ever talk about knowing a couple called Jan and Mike Jameson?’
‘Is that the ones who was murdered?’
‘Yes. They were retired farmers.’
‘Farmers?’ She scrunched her face up. ‘No. She never said anyfink about anyone like that. Tracy was a city girl. Doubt she’s been anywhere near a farm in her life.’
‘How about Paula or Grant Eagan? Do those names sound familiar?’
‘Nah.’
‘Had Tracy ever been to Turpinfield?’
‘Where the fuck’s that?’ She frowned.
‘It’s a small, rural hamlet. About fifty-five miles from here. Out in the country.’
‘She’s bin living with me a year and the furthest she’s gone is the other side of town. Anyway, she ain’t got no car and she can’t drive. How would she get over there?’
‘Someone could have driven her.’
‘Well, I ain’t got a clue who.’
‘How did you meet Tracy?’ I asked. ‘What do you know about her?’
‘I met her on the street. ’Bout a year ago. She said she’d run away from home – somewhere in Bristol – and been living rough for a while. Then she moved into a squat in Church Road, near the railway station, and she ’ad no money so she was . . . you know . . . working London Road.’
‘Do you know the number in Church Road she stayed at?’
‘Nah. Anyway, I offered for ’er to stay here. Thought it would save me on rent and it was nice to ’ave a bit of company. She kind of . . .’
Alice trailed off and stared at a spot on the carpet, a desolate look in her eyes.
‘Kind of what?’
She shook her head to herself and then the look was gone, replaced with an edge of defiance as she glared back at me. ‘She just kind of reminded me of myself, all right?’ She stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray as if it had personally ruined her life.
‘What was Tracy like?’
‘She was sweet. She was . . . a bit quiet. She . . . She’d had a shit life and she was trying to do the best she could.’
Ronnie entered the room then, carrying several evidence bags with the pink stones inside. His nose twitched from the smoke.
‘Do you know why she ran away from Bristol?’ I asked.
‘Somethin’ to do with ’er dad. She never told me. But I guessed, like. He was a fuckin’ piss head, weren’t he? Liked smacking ’er and ’er mum about a bit when he’d ’ad too much to drink. You know the type, don’tcha?’
Alice blinked then, her eyes watering. The hard exterior finally cracking to reveal the vulnerable young woman behind it. In my job it was easy to judge people, but I hadn’t lived in her shoes. Couldn’t imagine how she’d ended up at this place she was in now, but I could hazard a good guess. Denise and I had never had kids. We’d tried, but it wasn’t meant to be. At the time it had been heartbreaking for both of us, but now I was glad about it. The world was becoming more violent and dangerous every day, with people thinking up new ways to hurt and exploit each other. We lived in a selfish, narcissistic society, where people didn’t want to look further than the end of their nose. If it wasn’t happening to them they didn’t give a shit about it. Most people would walk past Alice and see something dirty, disgusting. A slag, a slapper, a whore – someone who chose to do what she did for a living. I looked at Alice and saw a girl whose life had conspired against her to push her down and keep her there with its foot pressed firmly on her back. Choices were always relative. When you had none, you did what you had to in order to survive.
