Gallowstree Lane Page 21

  First was a voicemail.

  ‘Guv, DS Robyn Oakley here, I’ve been tasked with arresting King. We’re developing the intelligence…’

  The intention was clearly for Sarah to be pleased and not much else. She rang Robyn back.

  ‘Yes, guv. We’re just about to go to his flat. I left you a voicemail.’

  ‘Thanks for that. Can I ask what grounds you’re giving for arrest?’

  She heard a rustling of paper. Then, ‘OK, so Jermaine King, aka Kingfisher, has been spotted on CCTV at the scene of a GBH.’

  ‘That’s not right.’

  ‘DCI Fedden briefed me …’

  ‘That may be Bob’s directions,’ Sarah said, dropping his first name to show a bit of rank, ‘but there’s been a misunderstanding. We’re fast-tracking the CCTV but we haven’t got a spot yet.’

  ‘Are you saying we’re not ready to arrest, because if so …’ Sarah could hear Oakley working herself into what she imagined might be a customary rage. ‘My team’s been working flat out—’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying.’

  ‘So what’s my grounds for arrest?’

  Sarah hesitated.

  ‘We’ve got intelligence.’

  ‘What’s that? A source?’

  ‘I can’t discuss it.’

  She heard a low whistle on the other end of the line. ‘Can’t the arrest wait till you’ve got something else?’

  If only.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But King’s at the scene of the GBH, right? You’re bound to find him eventually. The boss wanted me to say he’s on the CCTV.’

  Into Sarah’s mind came Ryan, his jeans hanging down showing the waistband of his Guccis. His narrow chest and his nervous, watchful eyes. Jermaine King had already killed once. For a moment, she was tempted. What did they call it – noble rot? The best of motives. And it would be so easy. Yes, OK then. Say he’s on the CCTV. She wished she’d fought harder not to arrest, or at least forced Fedden and Baillie to agree the grounds.

  She said, ‘If we say we’ve seen him on the CCTV then we’re misrepresenting the evidence.’

  ‘But if he is there at the GBH then it’s not exactly misrepresenting …’

  Sarah could never work out whether this kind of argument was duplicitous, lazy or just stupid. She could hear her own voice getting irritated and emphatic. She didn’t like being the one insisting on the right thing; that was what nobody ever understood.

  She spelt it out. Slowly.

  ‘But we haven’t seen him on the CCTV, have we? So if we say we have, then we’re lying. This is the kind of thing that loses a case. We trigger admissions unlawfully and then, when his lawyer looks over it – and he will look over it, because it’s a murder inquiry and King will have a silk—’

  Robyn cut in. ‘Look it’s your arrest. Just tell me what you want me to say.’

  Robyn had a point. She was part of a manhunt team. Other departments tasked her; she nicked people. This stuff was not her problem.

  There was silence.

  Then Sarah said, ‘Until I’ve got something better, your grounds are that we have intelligence. Don’t say that in front of anyone else and not until he’s secured.’

  ‘He’ll be asking for a phone call soon as we get him into custody.’

  ‘We’ll hold him incommunicado, and hopefully by the time that runs out we’ll have our source nicked too.’

  The phone screen went dark.

  Sarah swiped to her favourites and tapped.

  Elaine answered after one ring; she clearly had her mouth full. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid, Sarah.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Tea club’s run out of biscuits.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘I know. No small talk allowed. No jokes. All work and no play.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘There’s four of us working on the CCTV. I’ve allocated cameras. Nearly through, but no sighting of him so far.’

  ‘Can you go back over it?’

  ‘We’ll go over it because that’s what we do, but don’t hold your breath. Every young man in London who wears a hoody gathered in the same damn place for that gig. It’s like trying to identify penguins. I’ve flagged and reviewed every male of the right build – and the odd female by accident too – but it’s pretty hopeless. We’ve got no clothing description, and the quality’s so bad on most of the cameras that you can’t see their faces, let alone if they’ve got a bloody tattoo on their neck. Tomorrow morning we can go back and do another CCTV trawl outside the venue – local shops, takeaways, the tube. Borough probably didn’t have the resources to do it properly the first time.’

  Too slow.

  ‘Can you go and check other possible links to Jermaine? Off the top of my head, there’s the car – the SUV – that you picked up on the CCTV, the one that passed the lights before Spencer’s murder and then returned the same way shortly after.’

  ‘Fedden was in earlier, sweating away in his office and shuffling up and down the corridor like Rumpelstiltskin. He’s tasked the car out. Called in some of the guys who’d gone home to catch forty winks. This place is running on Red Bull.’

  ‘What about the shop?’

  ‘Remind me.’

  ‘Yilmaz, the shop near the murder scene. Has the CCTV been chased up yet to see if it’s a coincidence that it wasn’t working, or whether there’s a link to King?’

  ‘That’s tasked too. Lee’s got it.’

  ‘Any update on Jarral?’

  ‘Still no-commenting. Fedden’s gone over to supervise. Listen, Sarah, truth is, there’s fuck all for you to do. Why don’t you go home to that bed of yours and grab a few hours? No one likes Sarah when she’s tired.’

  ‘I might do that.’

  ‘Packet of Hobnobs says you don’t.’

  The line cleared and Sarah was alone again in the cold car. She closed her eyes, but this time no sensations of Caroline came, just a chain of worries. Whistles in the dark. She’d put in another couple of hours and then try to grab some sleep.

  Tommy kept his phone always on his desk, next to his rolling tobacco, but it still took him five rings to answer. That was no surprise. He had his own rhythm, the rhythm of the guy who worked the phones: typing up the applications, waiting for the results, studying the spreadsheets patiently. Every hour or so, up from his desk and steadily down the stairs for a smoke outside the building. He spoke slowly too. Only a fool would try to hurry him.

  Lexi’s handset, he said, wasn’t going to offer up any quick wins. Apart from the phone call that they already knew about to the other tom, Michelle, all the recent calls were to prepaid unregistered mobiles.

  ‘OK. What do we know about Michelle?’

  ‘I’ve done some basic intelligence: convictions for shoplifting and soliciting. One kid, a girl, nine. Got an address too from the social services reports: not far from Gallowstree Lane.’

  ‘Remind me about the calls.’

  ‘12:27 today Lexi calls Michelle. Call lasts twenty-three minutes. 13:09 Michelle calls back. Calls lasts nine minutes. No subsequent calls to or from Lexi’s mobile.’

  ‘And Lexi’s murder?’

  ‘999 call is made 15:52.’

  ‘Thanks. Have we sent anyone over to Michelle?’

  ‘Everyone’s tied up with the King arrest. It’s Santa’s grotto on Christmas Eve here. All the elves are bad-tempered and no one can get hold of a reindeer when they need one.’

  ‘Any risk factors showing up on her?’

  ‘Standby … No, nothing I can see.’

  It was a 1960s terrace down a little lane about five minutes’ walk from Gallowstree Lane. Although it was past one o’clock in the morning, the lights were on. The doorbell played the first bars of ‘I Wish I Was in Dixie’ and a shadow moved behind the frosted glass. A nervous voice.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Sarah Collins. Met Police.’

  The door opened on a chain. In the narrow gap between door and frame
a section of the face of a red-haired woman: bridge of the nose splodged with freckles, a big mouth.

  Sarah showed her warrant card, and Michelle slipped the latch.

  ‘Shh. Gail’s asleep.’

  She had already turned and was walking along the hall: a short woman, cream fake-fur flip-flop slippers, grey tracksuit bottoms that showed the round expanses of her buttocks, a loose purple T-shirt. Sarah followed her into the kitchen. In the corner was a small table that had been painted hot pink. On its surface a framed postcard of the goddess Kali, a Pepsi bottle holding a white carnation and three tea lights burning in glass holders.

  Michelle sat at the kitchen table. Her mouth sagged and she was red around her eyes.

  ‘I know why you’re here.’

  Sarah nodded but did not speak. On the wall behind Michelle was a framed epigram written in a collection of different fonts, black against white.

  Sing like no one is listening. Dance like no one is watching …

  Michelle said, ‘I thought I was helping her.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘She rang me, desperate. Didn’t dare work on Gallowstree Lane. Told her I’d put her in touch with the Soldiers. Thought they weren’t connected to that bastard Shakiel. Thought she’d be safe. But we’re none of us safe. Think they own us.’

  It was the Soldiers who had betrayed Lexi to the Bluds? Sarah thought about that. It did make a certain sense: my enemy’s enemy, all that. The Soldiers wouldn’t have been too happy King setting up on his own. If it wasn’t safe to buy from King, then that might be the end of his little posse. And perhaps the Soldiers had been happy too to make a peace offering to the Bluds. The streets stay calm. The territories are maintained. Everyone makes money.

  Sarah said, ‘How do you know it was Shakiel?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know it was Shakiel himself, but one of his crew for sure. Time it happened, I saw the only other bastard who could have done it on the Lane in his four-by-four. That little wannabe doesn’t have any foot soldiers to do his dirty work.’

  ‘Who’s that then?’

  ‘A guy with a tat of a bird on his neck?’

  ‘Kingfisher?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘What do you make of him?’

  ‘Psycho. Cut one of the girls just for looking at him the wrong way. You need to send him down. Rumour is he’s the one killed Spencer.’

  ‘What about Spencer’s mate?’

  ‘Ryan? He’s a nobody. Just a kid on a bike selling crack.’

  ‘He didn’t know about Lexi being set up?’

  ‘I thought he did, but he turned up on the Lane afterwards. Didn’t even know she was dead. Shocked as I was when I told him.’

  Sarah’s phone started ringing. Lee’s name crossed the screen. She rejected the call.

  ‘Thanks for talking to me.’

  Michelle shrugged. ‘Someone’s got to help you put Shakiel inside.’

  ‘Funny you should say that. Are you willing to give a statement?’

  Michelle shook her head, smiling without any humour. ‘You’re joking, right?’

  ‘I’m not joking. You seem like the kind of person who just might.’

  Michelle frowned. ‘I’d love to stand up and stick it to that murdering bastard, but this is real life. I’ve got a daughter. You going to protect me?’

  ‘There’s witness protection.’

  ‘Some shitty flat in Stoke-on-Trent where I don’t know no one and little Gail isn’t allowed even to phone her mates? Sorry, good luck to you, I mean it, but no way.’

  Not wanting to draw more attention to Michelle by sitting outside her flat on the phone, Sarah drove a few blocks away and called Lee.

  ‘Sorry, Sarah, I can’t check the shop. We came across something on the way.’ Sarah said nothing. The suspicion hung in the air: Lee could never resist a bit of action. In turn his voice carried a tone of resentment that it was even necessary to explain himself. ‘RTC – drunk driver made off. We couldn’t pretend not to see it. I’ve foot-chased him and nicked him.’

  ‘But did it really have to be you nicking him and getting tied up in custody? Couldn’t someone else have had the arrest?’

  Lee didn’t answer and Sarah relented.

  ‘Sorry to be a spoilsport.’ Silence. ‘Wasn’t his lucky day, was it? I’ll see if anyone else is free for the inquiry.’

  She made another call.

  ‘Elaine.’

  ‘Sarah.’

  ‘Tell me something good.’

  ‘The Planet Earth team put all the baby turtles they filmed back in the water?’

  Sarah laughed.

  ‘On the other hand, we can’t find King on the CCTV.’

  ‘Shit. What about the SUV?’

  ‘The guys were moaning about that. Had to put my headphones in and pretend to be listening to audio.’

  ‘What was it really?’

  ‘Funkadelic.’

  ‘One Nation Under a Groove?’

  Elaine laughed. ‘Get you.’

  Sarah pretended offence. ‘Why wouldn’t I know that?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Then, after a pause, ‘How do you know it?’

  Sarah laughed. ‘I’ve got a cool girlfriend.’ There was another pause. Then she said, ‘OK, so the SUV?’

  ‘There’s thirty-seven possible cars that match the vehicle description and so far no obvious links. Four of them are hire cars. Problem is, it’s the middle of the night. If it’s a hire car then the offices are closed. What about the shop, Yilmaz? Any joy there?’

  ‘Lee got caught up in something on the way. Had to nick someone.’

  ‘Typical.’

  Sarah wouldn’t stoke that particular fire. ‘He didn’t have an option. Good arrest, actually. Do we have anyone else free for that inquiry?’

  ‘Fuck, Sarah. All the little detectives are out of their boxes. The shelf is empty.’

  ‘OK, don’t worry, I’m nearby.’

  ‘Don’t go on your own.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  Two nights ago, Gallowstree Lane had had that day-for-night feeling. People standing, discussing, organizing. The search team in their white babygros progressing down the tarmac in a perfect line. The emergency services as wide awake as if they were nocturnal. Now the road was returned to its usual state: deserted, an unplaceable feeling of threat.

  The metal shutters of the shop on the corner were firmly drawn. The number stored on HOLMES for the owner had gone to voicemail, but Sarah had remembered the building from the murder scene. On the right-hand side there had been a wooden residential door. Her hope was that whoever managed the shop lived in the flat above. Ryan stood on the edges of her conscience and she rang the bell. A light came on and the curtains above opened. A man looked down. She waved her warrant card and he moved away from the window. After a short wait the door opened, revealing a man who was smaller than Sarah. He had a face shrunken as a prune and wore a velour dressing gown over stripy flannel pyjamas.

  Sarah, showing her warrant card again, said, ‘Sorry to disturb you.’

  ‘Police have already been here. I didn’t see anything. CCTV not working.’

  ‘I just wanted to clarify something.’

  ‘It’s two o’clock in the morning!’

  ‘Sorry, it’s urgent.’

  The man nodded like he had come to expect this kind of crap from life.

  ‘I’m sorry, the officer who spoke to you should have made a note. Is the camera a dummy or was the CCTV broken?’

  ‘Broken.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Few days ago. Didn’t realize it wasn’t recording till the police asked to see it.’

  ‘What was wrong with it?’

  ‘Cable disconnected. It’s working now.’

  ‘When did you find that out?’

  ‘My daughter looked at it when she got in from school.’

  ‘Can I watch the tapes from before it was disconnected?’

  ‘I don’t know how to work it. I’m no
t waking my daughter.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’ll be able to.’

  He shrugged as if he was unconvinced but lacked the will to protest. ‘I’ll open the shop.’

  The door shut and Sarah waited. A fox appeared, trotting down the pavement. It stopped and considered her sharply before disappearing through the railings that circled the park.

  Five minutes later, Sarah was standing behind the counter watching a tiny monitor in the deserted shop. Camera 3 showed the counter area from behind the till. The CCTV was a simple system – a hard drive on a shelf under the counter hooked up to seven cameras – but the image of the young man was surprisingly good. The kingfisher tattoo was clear on his neck as he gestured towards something on the wall in front of him. The person serving – Sarah could see just the back of a man in a T-shirt – turned and moved briefly out of the frame. That was when King leant forward and reached under the counter. It was deftly done, but Sarah did not see the action completed because the frame had gone dark. Well, if nothing else, that went towards premeditation for the murder charge.

  She called immediately, from the shop. Robyn didn’t pick up the first time the dial tone sounded. In fact she didn’t pick up the second time either. It was only on the third call that the line opened.

  ‘Not free to speak.’

  ‘It’s urgent—’

  The line had already closed. Sarah texted.

  I have revised grounds for arrest. Call me urgently.

  She waited. Eventually she gave in and called again, but the line went straight to voicemail.

  It must have been twenty minutes before Robyn called back. ‘I’m sorry, guv. There’s a problem.’

  Sarah listened. Sometimes policing was like hitting your thumb with a hammer, only with the added agony that you couldn’t allow yourself to shout expletives.

  Who the fuck allowed him to use the toilet?

  This was what Sarah thought, but she said nothing. What would be the point? Robyn already knew it was a mess. Her earlier confidence and cool had evaporated. It was a tiny window, she said, and a Velux! It gave onto a pitched roof three storeys high. Nobody would think he could get through the window, let alone make off through it.

  Suppressed sarcasm was making Sarah’s skin tingle because, well really, who would have thought?