Danny swallowed. “Yes Sarge,” he said.
Wakey-wakey, young Oliver.
Bagley’s voice was an insistent purr. Hard to ignore. Olly blinked and stirred. A dull pain radiated along his back and shoulders. Trying to nap on the couch had been a bad idea. He groaned softly and checked the time.
“You awake then?”
Olly peered over at Liz, still standing where he’d last seen her, watching the news feeds. He wondered whether she’d even moved. “Coffee,” he moaned.
“Later. Bagley?”
My calculations are complete.
Liz sat and swung her legs up onto the table. “Good. Bring up the map.”
Olly watched in fascination as pixels coalesced in the air over the centre of the table, shaping themselves into a digital map of East London and its environs. He whistled appreciatively. Liz smiled. “Military tech,” she said. “Cracked it myself. And synched it to the GPS apps on every DedSec Optik.” Her smile faded. “Can’t trust off the peg GPS these days. Too many fingers in that particular pie. This way we get a more accurate picture of the city.” She looked up. “Bagley? Tighten in on Lister House.”
Shall I add the new data as well?
“Yes,” Liz said, somewhat impatiently.
“New data?” Olly asked, somewhat muzzily.
Liz glanced at him. “Bagley took a peek at what the Filth have been up to. We’ve folded their data into ours for a more complete analysis.” She gestured. “Look.”
The image changed – it was sketchy, primitive, but Olly recognized it as Lister House. A formless blob – the crowd – appeared. A moving shape he took to be himself raced along its fringes, colliding with Alex. Even as impersonal as the images were, he couldn’t help but feel his stomach tighten at the sight. He knew what was coming next. He cut his eyes towards Liz, and wondered if she were feeling the same. It was hard to tell.
I ran every possible scenario. Only one makes sense, given the evidence.
A red line reached down to intercept the Alex-figure. Down, not across. Olly huffed in surprise. “Bloody Nora. A sniper?”
Indeed. And not just a sniper. The shot was incredibly precise, and given the velocity and force of impact – it did not come from either of the nearby structures. Rather farther away, in fact.
The red line rose at a steep angle. Olly blinked. “That don’t look possible.”
“Shows what you know,” Liz said. She was leaning forward, chin resting on her clenched fists as she studied the image. “What type of weapon?”
I will know as soon as the police do. Bagley paused. I should inform you that I am not the only one attempting to discover that information.
Liz looked up. “Someone else is trying to hack the Old Bill?”
Several someones, by the looks of things. It seems we are not alone in our suspicions.
“What was he involved in?” Olly blurted.
Liz sat back, her arms crossed. “And why did it get him killed?”
I may have an answer to that. I detected an unexpected data-pulse moments before the shot occurred…
Olly snapped his fingers. “I remember that. What was it?”
A GPS ping.
“His Optik,” Olly said. He leaned forward, mind racing. “They determined his position through his GPS signal. Holy shit – that’s fucking clever. Evil as fuck, but clever.”
“That’s impossible,” Liz said.
Olly looked at her, bewildered. “Nah, dead easy innit? I could do it – not that I want to shoot anybody, but–”
“That’s not what I meant,” Liz said. “Alex didn’t have an Optik.”
Olly shook his head. “Everybody has an Optik.”
“He didn’t even have a phone.” She tapped the side of her head. “He had a thing about invisible waves and cellular frequencies and that sort of shit.”
“You mean he was crazy.”
She glared at him. “No.” She hesitated. “Well, maybe. A little bit. Either way, he didn’t have an Optik.” She stared at the digital map. “Unless… oh, Alex you absolute twat.”
“What?” Olly asked.
Liz gave a rueful laugh. “He swiped it.”
“He stole an Optik? What’s the point of that? They give the damn things away free.”
“I don’t know why, but I know that’s what he did. Alex is – was – a thief. Little stuff, mostly. A wallet here, a bit of identity fraud there. He must have stolen an Optik… and then… shit.” She sat back, her face gone pale.
Olly caught up with her a second later. “Oh bugger. The shot wasn’t meant for him.”
“No. So who the fuck was it meant for?”
6: Hayes Family Dinner
The sky was the colour of ripe plums when Danny finally got to the Locksley Estate. He was still thinking about Jenks and Faulkner and whatever it was Faulkner had been trying to pinch when he reached his mum’s flat. But all that was washed away by the smell of the chicken cooking on the other side of the door.
For a moment he was fifteen again, and hurrying home from practice. He’d wanted to be a footballer then, like every other kid his age. He wasn’t sure when that had changed. He paused and turned, momentarily at a loss.
The estate was much as he remembered it. He could still see the Pinnacle on St Mary Axe from where he stood outside his mother’s door. The glassy corporate tower was lit up like a Christmas tree, with some looping bank logo glowing along its flanks. The estate, in contrast, was mostly dark, save for a few sputtering lights on the walkways or bleeding through cracked curtains.
He could hear the murmur of televisions and radios. Voices on the levels below. Mum lived on the top floor. He craned his neck, curious. Idle youth in the courtyard. Probably dealing. He stopped himself even as the thought occurred to him and turned away.
Whatever they were doing, it was none of his business. He wasn’t in uniform. No sense bringing trouble to mum’s door. Ro did enough of that, if what he’d heard was correct. It was hard to tell with Ro. You never knew how much of it was just trash talk, and how much was truth.
That thought was foremost on his mind when he finally knocked. He’d never gotten along with his younger sister. They’d fought from the first, competing for attention. He loved her, he supposed, but he’d never much liked her. He expected that she felt the same. If she was here tonight…
The door opened. Ro glared at him and sucked her teeth. His sister was shorter than him, but muscular. She was still in her workout gear; he’d rarely seen her in anything but sweats and trainers. She’d shaved the sides of her head, and added purple highlights to what was left. “About time,” she said. “You been standing out there for an hour.”
“What happened to your hair?”
She frowned. “Stylish, yeah?”
“Do it yourself?”
“Maybe.”
“Looks like it.” He stretched out a questing finger. “I thought mohawks were supposed to stand up, like.”
“Don’t touch.” Ro balled her fist, and Danny tensed. Ro had a mean left hook – infamous, even. She’d had aspirations of mixed martial arts stardom, but as with many of Ro’s big ideas, it hadn’t worked out. From the look of her, she hadn’t let her training regimen slip, at least.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He paused. “Can I come in?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Think quick, or I’m going through you.”
Ro frowned and made a show of looking around. “Oh? Got some backup, then? Brought some of your Albion pals? I’ll kick their arses too.”
Danny shook his head. “Big talk, from such a tiny person.”
Ro bared her teeth. “That just means I’m close enough to punch you in the nuts.”
Danny took a step back. It wasn’t an idle threat. “Don’t think I won’t thump you.”
Ro made to retort, but was interrupted by the rattle of pots and pans inside. “Who that at the door, girl?” a woman’s voice called out. Ro stepped aside with a sigh.
“Ta,” Danny said, as he squeezed past her into the flat.
“Fuck off and die.”
“Rosemary, language.” Cece Hayes was short and round and never seemed to get any older, no matter the length of time between visits. Unlike her children, she spoke with a strong Trinidadian accent. She bustled into the hall, wiping her hands on her apron. “Oh my days, Daniel. The prodigal son, he comes home!”
“Hello Mum, give us a kiss?” Danny bent, and his mother clasped him in a bone-crushing hug. “How are you?”
“I’m gone tru, love,” she said. “Been running around all day, awa?” She stepped back. “You look thin. You not eating?”
“Not as good as I used to.”
“We’ll change that soon enough. Inside, inside.” She pulled him along. “Rosemary, close the door, you letting gnats in.”
“Yeah Rosemary, close the door,” Danny said.
Ro flipped him the finger and slammed the door. Danny grinned. The kitchen was smaller than he’d remembered. It was barely there at all, most of the space occupied by the oven and the small, chipped Formica table that nestled flush to the wall. A window looked out over the courtyard on the opposite side of the building, and under it a battered radiator sagged beneath the weight of drying clothes – Ro’s, by the look of them.
“You brought your laundry,” he said, as his mother guided him to a seat.
“Mum offered,” Ro said, claiming another chair for herself. There were only three around the small table. Just enough, no more, no less.
Cece turned from the stove, ladle in hand. She had a pot on the bob, simmering away. “If I hadn’t, you’d be wearing them nasty clothes in here, making my kitchen smell like sweat. Like your flat, I might add.”
“You moved out?” Danny asked, somewhat surprised.
“About time.” Ro knocked on the wall above her head. “Need my own space.”
“More room to hide contraband, huh?”
Ro’s eyes narrowed. Before she could speak, Cece said, “None of that now. Your sister has a good job. She’s not running with them no account wide boys no more.”
“A job? Doing what?”
“Courier, innit?”
The way she said it caused him to prick up his ears. He leaned towards her and pitched his voice low. “For whom?” He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her.
“For whom?” she mimicked. “None of your business.”
“Wrong,” Danny said. “I’m an officer of the law, remember?”
“You ain’t nothing.” Ro leaned forward belligerently.
Danny sat back in his seat. “Some things never change.”
Ro reached for him and he slapped her grasping hands aside. She didn’t relent, and his chair rocked back on its back legs. She was stronger than he remembered, but so was he. The problem was, Ro fought dirty. The table squeaked between them as they struggled.
“Allyuh be quiet!” Mum stormed in, ladle whipping left and right. “Danny, you let go your behen right now or I give you bois!” Danny recoiled. The ladle was still hot. Ro scrambled aside, jeering at him until their mother rounded on her. “An you,” she said, in a low voice. “You wajang…”
“Mum,” Ro protested. “He provoked me. He’s always provoking me.”
“You ain’t seen him in three years girl.” She snorted dismissively. “Talking about always. Behave, chile.” She glanced at Danny, and he raised his hands in surrender. “Goes for bloody both of you, awa? Now sit down. It is time to eat.”
“Gladly,” Danny said, carefully taking his seat. Order restored, Cece ladled out plates of chicken pelau. Danny’s mouth watered. Chicken browned in sugar, cooked with peppers, fresh herbs and coconut milk. He tucked in eagerly.
As he ate, he eyed his sister over his plate. She returned his glare with one of her own. She stuck her tongue out. He bit back the urge to respond in kind. Five minutes together, and they were kids again. It might have been comforting, if it wasn’t so annoying.
They ate in silence, their mother doing enough talking for all three of them. Finally, she poked him. “What about that today, then?”
He looked up from his food. “What?”
“The shooting!” She slapped her hands on the table, causing it to wobble. “I saw you on the news getting yelled at by the police, didn’t I?”
“They filmed that?” Danny paused. Of course they had. They filmed everything these days. “It was nothing, Mum. A jurisdictional misunderstanding is all.”
Ro snorted, and Danny glared at her.
“Somebody trying to shoot that Lincoln woman, no doubt,” Cece continued, ignoring their byplay. “Doesn’t surprise me. She got no care, that woman. Vikey vike, like your father. Doesn’t care about no one but herself.”
“Mum, didn’t you vote for her?” Ro said, innocently. Cece turned, squinting.
“A woman can’t change her mind, then?”
“It wasn’t her they were after,” Danny said, picking at his food. His mother and sister turned, and he immediately regretted saying anything. Ro frowned and poked at him with her fork. He batted it away. “What?”
“Not her, then who?”
“Some rando. Local bloke.”
“Who shot him?”
“Why do you care?”
Ro looked down at her plate. “Just curious.”
Danny studied her. He’d always been good at reading Ro’s face, or maybe she was just bad at hiding things. But it seemed like she’d learned how, over the last three years. Her expression told him nothing, and that worried him.
The conversation drifted away from the shooting and onto local topics. Gossip, mostly. Cece Hayes was a fine, upstanding Christian woman, but she had her flaws. She took an inordinate amount of pleasure in recounting the travails of her friends and neighbours, and always had. Danny wondered why companies like Blume bothered to craft data-gathering software, when they could just plant people in the kitchens and barber shops of East London. They’d have more information than they knew what to do with in a fortnight.
“Mum, have you ever heard the term schadenfreude?” he asked, finally, interrupting a story about the unwed mother one level down, and her dating habits. He stood and stretched.
“Don’t you get smart with me, Daniel Benjamin Hayes,” she said. She rose as well. “And where do you think you are going?”
“Home. Sleep. Early roll call.” He grimaced slightly as he said it. Faulkner wanted to roll up to Bethnal Green police station in the morning, make a show of force and get a look at the evidence. Danny had been under the impression that they were supposed to be keeping a low profile – maybe new orders had come down. Either way, he wasn’t looking forward to it – or the possibility of running into PC Moira Jenks.
Ro stood as well. “Me too. Deliveries all day tomorrow.”
“Oh, look at you both. Hard workers. You make me proud.” Cece kissed them both, and followed them out, still talking. When she’d finally closed the door, Danny turned to his sister. “I heard you been running with the Kelleys.”
Ro turned and started walking away.
Danny hurried after her. “Am I right then?” he asked.
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m your brother.”
She stopped. Turned. “Three years you been gone. You call once in a while, maybe send an email to Mum. Not much of a brother.”
“I offered to help you get a job… Albion’s looking–”
She laughed. “How is that any different to the Kelleys?” She poked him in the chest. “From where I stand, they’re pretty much the same thing. Just your lot is better armed.”
Danny didn’t reply. Ro shook her head and turned away. She waved dismissively as she left him staring after her.
“See you in another three years, bruv. Or better yet, make it five.”
Ro Hayes made her way across the street, ignoring traffic. She was still angry. She was always angry,
but this was different. Danny hadn’t changed. Three years without a word, and he thought he could come back to their ends, pick up where he’d left off, easy as that. Her fists clenched in the pockets of her hoodie.
She wanted to knock his block off. Take him down a peg or six. It wouldn’t do any good. He’d been trying to run her life since she was a kid. He thought a stint with the army made him the big man, but she knew he was just another tosser in a fancy uniform. Doubly so now that he was working for Albion.
She’d almost laughed when her mum had told her about his offer. Like she wanted to be manning a call centre or arranging files for a crap outfit like Albion. Because that was what he meant by job – something safe and boring.
She’d tried it, and didn’t like it. She needed something different. She’d always been a fighter, and she liked that. She’d tried wrestling, but playing at fighting wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted a real fight.
Mixed martial arts had seemed to promise that, but she’d made some bad decisions early on – trusted the wrong people – and her career had ended before it had even begun. She’d needed her brother then. But he hadn’t been there. Too busy playing soldier.
Thankfully, she’d had friends. And those friends had introduced her to other friends and acquaintances and she’d done some favours for some quick cash and then…
She stopped, waiting for a light. Just a few favours. And then, before she knew it, she was a proper villain. Nothing big. Mostly she hit people who needed hitting. Sometimes she just threatened to hit them. Either way, she got paid for it and that was the important part.
She didn’t think about being a criminal. She doubted Danny thought about being a soldier. It was what he was. And she was this. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and studied the faint scars that ran along her knuckles and fingers. She made fists and stuffed them back into her pockets.
The light changed, traffic slowed, and she crossed the road, heading for the pub on the other side of the roundabout. It was a small building, old fashioned, crouched securely in the shadows of more modern neighbours.
The pub – and its owners – were resisting gentrification with commendable fortitude. It had been a hole in the wall since before the Blitz, and would remain so even after it was surrounded by gourmet cake shops and boutique clothing retailers. The white exterior was smudged with decades of soot and grime, and the red trim was faded and peeling. The golden lettering on the red sign was tarnished, but still legible – The Wolfe Tone.
Day Zero Page 6
