by Linda Regan
‘Did your aunt have any enemies?’ Georgia asked. ‘Had she upset anyone?’
Chantelle’s whole body began to shake. ‘No.’
Georgia looked at the girl. Chantelle was exceptionally pretty. She had seen far too many attractive teenagers lose their looks through drug use, then turn to prostitution to pay for the habit. This girl was a new user; the needle marks on her legs were still faint.
‘Chantelle, I need you to give me a full written statement,’ Georgia told her. ‘Normally I would let you come to the station in the morning, but as things are, I am going to take you tonight.’
‘Don’t take me in,’ Chantelle pleaded. ‘I haven’t done anything.’
‘You can’t stay here,’ Georgia said. ‘This is now an official crime scene.’
Tears tumbled from the girls eyes. ‘I don’t want to go to the police station. Can’t I stay somewhere else?’
‘Is there anyone on the estate that you can stay with?’ Georgia asked her. There would be police around the estate for the next few days at least, she thought, and as long as Chantelle didn’t do a runner they would be able to find her. It might be more useful to leave her here.
‘Luanne Akhter. She lives on this block. We were going to go out together tonight. She’ll be worried.’
Chantelle gave them the flat number and Stephanie scribbled it down in her notebook. Hank Peacock was on the walkway; she ripped out the page and gave it to him, with instructions to go and check if Luanne was in her flat.
‘Who is Luanne?’ Georgia asked Chantelle.
‘She’s my friend. I was on my way out to meet her.’
‘You were going out? At this time of night? Where to?’
Chantelle became flustered. ‘C-clubbing. We were going up the West End.’
Georgia sighed. ‘Do you have other relatives?’ she asked wearily.
‘Luanne’s like a sister to me. She has a real sister too, Alysha. They’re like family to me.’
Georgia nodded. ‘You said earlier you were going to work.’
Chantelle hesitated. ‘We were going to a couple of clubs, to try to get work.’
‘Do you not have a job?’ Georgia asked.
Chantelle’s dark cheeks glowed. ‘I’m saving up to go to dance college. I need lots of money for that, and the clubs pay well. Waitressing or table dancing.’
Stephanie returned. ‘She’s there, ma’am. She said to come up, that Chantelle was welcome to stay there as long as she liked.’
Chantelle smiled with relief.
Luanne was black too, much taller than Chantelle but not as pretty and more African looking. She had a long, oval face, with prominent teeth and brown eyes so alert they seem to pierce into you as she spoke. Her mauve nail extensions were longer than the blue denim mini-skirt she wore, and her skimpy cream chiffon bodice advertised more than a few inches of bare brown midriff. The blouse didn’t fully cover the stark purple uplift bra under it, and purple lace spilled over the edge of the blouse, matching the skimpy mauve shrug around her otherwise bare shoulders. Six-inch stiletto-heeled shoes in pearlized lilac adorned her feet, and like Chantelle’s, Luanne’s black patterned hold-up stockings hardly reached the hem of her micro-mini skirt.
It was now two a.m. Outside the rain was spitting and the wind was harsh and biting. According to the calendar it was early spring, but it didn’t feel that way.
Luanne greeted Chantelle with a hug and took her through to the living room. Georgia and Stephanie followed.
‘I hear you were going out,’ Georgia said.
Luanne offered them both a seat. ‘We were planning to go to a late party before I heard about this,’ she answered, looking away.
‘How did you hear about it?’ Stephanie asked.
‘My sister told me. She was out on the estate earlier, and word goes round.’ Luanne fussed around Chantelle, her large hooped imitation gold earrings dangling against her long neck. They jangled against the other three pairs, which hung from different holes further up her ears. Georgia guessed she was around twenty, although her lived-in face looked as if it had seen many more years.
‘This is just such a shock, and too awful,’ Luanne said to the two detectives. ‘Haley was like a mother to her. I’ll make her some sweet tea. Do you want tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, two sugars,’ Stephanie said. Georgia shook her head.
Georgia was beginning to feel weary and would have loved a cup of coffee, but experience had taught her that finding a loo on a high-rise estate in the middle of the night wasn’t easy, and unlike the men on the team, she minded having to relieve herself under a bush in a dark corner. The answer was simple: she abstained from liquids during the long golden hours when a murder enquiry was just under way.
When Luanne returned with the tray of drinks, her sister Alysha was with her. Georgia and Stephanie both recognized her as one of the kids who had circled the crime scene on bikes, looking for information. Alysha was wearing trendy teenage pyjamas, patterned in navy blue and pink with matching ribbons on the legs and cuffs. Her hair was neat as rows of corn; narrow plaits fell from a middle parting to hang either side of her face to chin level. She was as pretty as she was forward. She sat down next to Chantelle on the sofa and poured from a teapot. ‘Why Aunt Haley? Was she targeted, or just in the wrong place at the wrong time?’ she asked.
‘How did you know it was Aunt Haley who was murdered?’ Georgia asked.
Alysha looked Georgia directly in the eye. ‘I knew someone was dead, so I went down to have a look. You saw me. Someone said Chantelle was looking for Haley and she hadn’t turned up at home, so they thought it was probably her. You wouldn’t tell me nothing, remember?’
‘Who was the someone who said they thought it was Haley?’ Georgia pushed.
Alysha shook her plaits. ‘One of the kids. I don’t remember who. They just said they heard it was a black woman, and then everyone said the Feds had descended on Chantelle’s flat, so . . .’ She shrugged.
This kid was twelve going on forty. Georgia had met her kind many times: a child who had learned to survive in the absence of parents by the rules of the estate – and that meant pleasing the gangs. It made her highly vulnerable.
‘Do you have parents?’ Georgia asked Luanne.
Luanne pulled her mouth into a sarcastic smile. ‘We’ve got a dad, but he’s not in.’
‘He hardly ever is,’ Alysha piped up. ‘He’s a waste of space. We look out for ourselves.’
‘He works nights and sleeps days,’ Luanne said quickly.
‘But not always here,’ Alysha laughed. Luanne nudged her, but she just smiled.
‘Where does he work?’ asked Stephanie.
‘Nowhere special, just wherever he can get it.’ This was Alysha again. She picked up a packet of sugar and started spooning it into Chantelle’s tea.
‘I need to take that statement from you,’ Stephanie said giving Chantelle a reassuring smile. ‘Won’t take long, and then I think you should try and get some sleep. We’ll talk some more in the morning.’
‘She needs to stay here,’ Georgia told Luanne. ‘And I would prefer it if you didn’t go out again tonight.’ The fact that the girls were on the game didn’t concern Georgia; the fact that it made them vulnerable concerned her a lot. A hooker had been murdered recently just outside the alley that led to the estate; she decided not to bring that subject up.
Luanne was twisting one of her hoop earrings around the hole in her ear. She took Chantelle’s hand and squeezed it. ‘There’s no way we’d be going to a club after this,’ she said.
‘You’d probably catch a cold,’ Georgia said with a pointed glance at the girls’ skimpy clothes.
Luanne got the message. ‘I don’t feel the cold,’ she said narrowing her eyes. ‘Black-skinned girls are tougher. We have to be. You should know that.’
‘What about Alysha?’ Stephanie asked her. ‘Who would have looked after her while you were out, if your dad hadn’t come back?’
Alys
ha suppressed a giggle.
‘She’s got friends around here. She would have had a sleepover,’ Luanne answered irritably.
Stephanie clicked her ballpoint and turned back to Chantelle. ‘Let’s get this statement done, shall we? Did you see or hear anyone coming along the walkway at any time earlier this evening?’
Luanne gave a little laugh. ‘Only half the people who live in the flats. It’s Friday; everyone walks up and down all the time, going out or coming home.’
‘I’m asking Chantelle,’ Stephanie said sharply.
Chantelle looked at Luanne then back at Stephanie. ‘No one,’ she said.
‘What time did Haley go to work?’
Chantelle furrowed her forehead. ‘She left about midday, I think.’
‘Were you there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you go out after that?’
She shook her head.
‘Are you sure?’
She nodded.
‘Think, Chantelle. Did anyone knock on your door?’
‘I can’t remember anyone knocking,’ she said, growing flustered again.
‘So she can’t help you,’ Alysha butted in.
‘Would you mind taking Alysha into another room?’ Georgia said sharply to Luanne. ‘And stay in there with her. I’d like to take Chantelle’s statement in private.’
‘Please let them stay with me,’ Chantelle protested.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Just a few questions,’ Stephanie said gently. ‘Then they can come back.’
Luanne stood up and pushed Alysha outside the room. Georgia noticed that her shoes were smeared with mud.
‘Have you been out tonight, Luanne?’ she asked.
‘No.’ Luanne lifted her chin defiantly.
‘I think you have,’ Georgia said. ‘Look at your shoes.’
Luanne looked down at her feet. She pushed Alysha through the door and lowered her voice. ‘I was working, on the street next to the estate. I need the money.’ She glared at Georgia. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d want all the gory details of the cocks I sucked earlier.’
‘I’m not interested in that,’ Georgia snapped. ‘This is a murder enquiry.’
‘Heard it all before,’ Stephanie added.
‘Never tasted it though, I bet.’ Luanne said, looking straight at Georgia before leaving the room.
Stephanie and Georgia exchanged a look, and Stephanie turned back to Chantelle. ‘Have you been out earlier too?’ she asked the girl.
‘No, I was in all day. And no, I don’t remember anyone coming to the door.’ She looked away. ‘You keep asking, but no one did. If they did I would tell you.’ Her forehead crumpled as if she was about to cry.
She was lying.
‘When did you last see your aunt?’ Georgia asked, her voice totally devoid of sympathy.
A thread of mascara began to run down Chantelle’s cheek; she touched a finger to the corner of her eye to ease the sting. ‘This morning. I told you. Aunt Haley went out about twelve. She said she had to get shopping on the way home, so she might be a bit late. I told her I was going out tonight, and she said I was to wait for her to come home first.’
‘What time is she usually home?’ Georgia asked.
Stephanie pulled a tissue from a crumpled packet in her pocket and passed it to Chantelle. She took it and dabbed the leaking mascara under her eye. ‘She works at the hairdressing salon from two until six on a Friday.’
‘And do you work?’ Georgia asked her for the second time. ‘Honestly?’
Chantelle dropped her gaze. ‘I’m waiting to go to college.’
‘Do you work?’ Georgia persisted.
She picked at her nails. Georgia noticed they were yellowing. That confirmed what Georgia already knew: the girl was a user.
‘I was working,’ Chantelle told her. ‘But I want to dance professionally. Street dancing, I want to do street dancing.’
‘Do you go to lessons?’
She reluctantly shook her head. ‘I used to. I gave it up, just for a while.’ She became visibly nervous. ‘I am going to start again.’
‘Nice shoes,’ Georgia said. ‘Very fashionable. New, are they?’
Chantelle’s dark eyes were vague and her skin was papery dry. Another few months of using and this girl’s pretty face would look like a haggard old woman’s. Georgia wanted to find out which lowlife snake was dealing to her; she believed he could be the link to her aunt’s murder. She made a quick decision. A tough approach was best.
‘Chantelle, you need to start talking to us,’ she said. ‘If you don’t, you could be arrested for obstructing a murder enquiry. I think you know who came to your flat tonight. So answer me this: are you trying to protect someone? Or is it that you’re afraid of someone?’
Chantelle’s eyes widened and fresh tears formed in them.
‘Talk to us,’ Georgia said, her tone still harsh.
‘If you’re afraid, we can help you,’ Stephanie said, slipping into the hard/soft approach she and Georgia habitually worked during teenage interviews.
Tears began to spill down Chantelle’s cheeks.
‘You know as well as I do that we have DNA on record for three-quarters of the people on this estate,’ Georgia said. ‘It won’t take us long to find out.’ She paused, waiting for Chantelle to speak, but the girl just looked terrified. ‘You see, I think that blood is your aunt’s,’ she continued, ‘and someone came to your flat to tell you that. Am I right?’
Chantelle was crying in earnest now, but Georgia pushed on. ‘We will find out who it was, and you’ll be charged with withholding vital evidence in a murder enquiry. Is that what you want?’
‘Help yourself, Chantelle,’ Stephanie said gently. ‘You must want us to find her killer.’
Chantelle wiped her tearstained face with the back of her hand. ‘Yo-Yo,’ she said in a in a barely audible voice. ‘He came to the flat earlier.’
‘Yo-Yo?’ Georgia looked at Stephanie. ‘You mean Stuart Reilly?’ She nearly leaped in the air. Was it going to be that straightforward? She saw in Stephanie’s face that they were both thinking the same. Was this the evidence they needed to trap this bastard that CID had wanted for months? No wonder these girls were so cagey; they were terrified. Reilly was a killer.
She kept her cool. ‘He’s the main Elder on the estate, is that right?’ she asked. She knew exactly who and what Reilly was, but she needed to hear it from Chantelle.
‘He’s head of the Brotherhood, the gang that rule this estate, is that right?’ Stephanie pushed keeping her tone casual.
‘He’ll kill me for telling you,’ Chantelle said in a tiny voice.
‘He won’t get the chance,’ Stephanie quickly assured her. ‘If he killed your aunt he’s going to prison. He’ll be locked up for a very long time.’
‘Why would he want to kill your aunt?’ Georgia asked her. ‘Does she owe him money for drugs?’
Chantelle shook her head.
‘Do you owe him money?’
Chantelle said nothing.
‘Is that it, Chantelle?’ Georgia pushed. ‘He punished your aunt for a debt you owe?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. I work for him. I pay him that way.’
‘For drugs?’
Chantelle pressed her lips together.
‘Help us to help you, Chantelle,’ Stephanie said to her. ‘We want to protect you.’
She still didn’t answer.
‘Why did he come round to yours today?’ Georgia asked her.
Chantelle shrugged.
‘Come on, Chantelle. Help yourself here.’ Stephanie was getting tough now. ‘Did he come to tell you he’d killed your aunt?’
‘No.’ She shook her head vehemently and scrubbed at the black mascara with the tattered tissue.
Stephanie gently took it from her and handed her another clean one. Chantelle snatched it and continued to rub the mascara from her face.
‘Chantelle, what did he
say when he came to your flat tonight?’ Georgia asked her again.
Chantelle examined the mascara on the tissue. ‘He told me to go to work.’ She looked up at Stephanie. ‘I work the street with Luanne. That’s how I pay for my stuff.’
Georgia had to remind herself again that it wasn’t her job to save these girls. Her job was to get the bastards that destroyed them.
‘Where does he live?’ Stephanie asked. ‘Stuart Reilly – Yo-Yo – where does he live?’ She looked at Georgia.
Georgia managed not to smile. They certainly had Yo-Yo Reilly’s DNA on record. If he was responsible for Haley’s murder the case would be tied up as soon as the lab results came back. Twenty-four hours might be optimistic, but by the end of the weekend Yo-Yo Reilly would be in custody and they would be toasting another solved murder. In the meantime they had Chantelle’s statement, which meant they could arrest and lock him up now. The most vicious criminal in South London was coming off the streets, and away from this crime-infested estate. And also, thanks to Stephanie, they also had Chantelle’s DNA on the tissue.
‘Where does he live?’ Georgia repeated Stephanie’s question. ‘Chantelle, does Yo-Yo live on this estate?’
Chantelle didn’t answer.
‘We can easily find out,’ Georgia told her.
‘He lives on the ground floor of this block.’ The voice was Luanne’s. She had been listening outside the door, as Georgia had expected.
‘If we tell you, are we finally going to be free of that scumbag?’ she asked Georgia.
‘What number?’ Stephanie asked getting up from the sofa and lifting her mobile ready to call for back-up.
‘He’ll get us for this,’ Chantelle said in a terrified tone to Luanne.
‘A hundred and thirteen,’ Luanne told them clearly. ‘He’ll be put on remand, won’t he?’ she asked. ‘I mean, the bastard won’t get bail, will he?’
Georgia shook her head. ‘Not a chance. He’s already got a string of offences for carrying weapons.’
‘We’ll need protection,’ Luanne said.
Now they both looked like the frightened, vulnerable teenagers they were.
‘There will be police up and down the walkways all night. You’re quite safe here,’ Georgia assured her. ‘Just make sure you don’t go out.’ She handed Chantelle a card. ‘If you need me, call that number. We’ll be back in touch tomorrow anyway. We’ll need an official statement.’ She turned to Luanne. ‘Do not let her out of your sight.’
