Authors: Helen Black
He drove to their cottage knowing everything he needed was inside. For too long he had pussyfooted around, flirting, complimenting, letting Lilly get away with murder on his cases. He never imagined a woman as sorted as she was would have time for a loser who had never held down a relationship for longer than six months. Now he had her there was no way he was going to let anything stop him from making this work.
Lilly answered the door. She smiled with her mouth but not her eyes.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Jack.
‘The girl’s been arrested.’
‘The other shooter?’
He saw her shoulders tense. ‘She didn’t shoot anyone.’
‘And your man went all the way to court to tell you that?’
‘Milo asked me to help her,’ she said.
He didn’t like the way she said his name, as if there were magic in it.
‘And what does this
Milo
expect you to do?’
She turned away and walked towards the kitchen. ‘He wants me to represent her.’
Oh, no. She wouldn’t—would she? She was bloody pig-headed, but even she would see this was madness.
‘You can’t do it,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘You were there, Sam was there.’
‘I know.’
‘Mary Mother of God, I was the one who shot her boyfriend.’
‘I know.’ Lilly threw up her arms. ‘I bloody well know all that.’
‘So you told him no?’
‘I told him no.’ She didn’t meet his eyes.
Alexia Dee stretched out a smooth leg and admired her shoes. Purple suede with a high square heel. A small hole at the toe allowing a flash of nail of the same colour. Pure sex.
‘Busy, are we, Posh?’
Alexia pursed her lips. Her boss was in a foul temper, stalking around the office like a lion waiting for a kill, leaving his usual trail of stale smoke and sweat.
Steve Berry hated quiet days, unable to settle, pouncing on the phone like an addict on his drugs. Well, everyone hated the quiet days, didn’t they? Alexia hadn’t studied for three years in the backwoods of Bristol to spend her time drinking coffee, but any decent journalist knew that it’s part of the job. You sit. You wait.
The phone rang. Alexia yawned.
‘You gonna get that?’ said Steve.
Alexia sighed. No doubt another tip-off about the Harvest Festival at Mary of the Sacred Heart. Only the fourth that day.
‘Alexia Dee,’ she said.
‘Go on a website called
The Spear of Truth,’
said the voice.
‘Can I take your name, sir?’ she answered.
‘Just do it.’
The line went dead.
‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ said Alexia.
Steve leaned over her, his breath raspy. ‘Well?’
‘Crank call,’ she said.
He moved even closer, grimacing, and she could smell the onions he’d eaten earlier on his mid-morning kebab.
‘Jesus,’ she muttered, and went into her search engine.
The Spear of Truth.
It was a white-power site, all black and white pictures of 9/11 and ugly close-ups of Abu Hamza. She scrolled past the edited highlights of ‘The Nuremberg Rally’ until she reached the daily discussions forum. Then she saw it. A post from someone calling themselves Snow White.
‘Bloody hell.’
‘What?’ shouted Steve.
‘If this is true,’ said Alexia, ‘we’ve just got a fantastic story.’
Lilly pushed open the door of Luton East Police Station. The reception was bare except for three metal chairs bolted to the tiled floor.
She turned to Milo. ‘Not very comfy, I’m afraid.’
‘Have you ever been arrested in Sarajevo?’ he asked.
‘That’s a pleasure that has so far eluded me.’
‘Trust me,’ he said, ‘this is palatial.’
A WPC in her early twenties ushered them through to the custody suite. Her skin was clear, her hair sleek, pulled back into a neat ponytail. Lilly’s hand instinctively went to her own messy bird’s nest.
‘It’s chaos in here,’ said the WPC. And she was right. The benches were full of prisoners waiting to be processed. Coppers milled around waiting for interview rooms to become free. Two men pushed against the sergeant’s desk and clamoured to be heard. One had a gash across his forehead, blood running down the bridge of his nose.
‘Luton Town at home,’ said the WPC by way of explanation.
The desk sergeant was trying to note down their details but the injured man was waving his hand in front of his face. A few fat drops of blood splashed onto his friend and he howled in protest at the red stains on his cream jumper.
‘Fucking Stone Island, this is,’ he shouted.
‘River Island, more like,’ said the injured prisoner.
The sergeant shifted in his seat. He was trying to keep his patience but Lilly could see it was wearing thin.
‘How long are you going to keep us here, mate?’ The man pulled on the sleeve of his jumper. ‘I need to get this in the wash.’
The sergeant didn’t even look up. ‘As long as it takes.’
‘I’ll sue you if it don’t come out,’ said the man.
The sergeant sighed. ‘I’m sure you will.’
‘And I need to get up the hospital,’ said the injured man, sending another arc of blood across the desk.
‘The FME will be here in five minutes,’ the sergeant said.
‘I ain’t seeing no fucking police doctor.’
The sergeant shrugged. ‘Then you’ll bleed to death, mate.’
The man turned towards Lilly and she could see that half his face was ferrous with blood. ‘Did you hear that?’ he shouted at her. ‘You’re a witness. He threatened to kill me.’
Lilly smiled. ‘He didn’t actually say that.’
‘He fucking did.’ He turned to his friend. ‘Didn’t he just say that?’
‘Call yourself a brief,’ he shouted at Lilly. ‘Whose fucking side are you on?’
Milo placed a protective arm in front of Lilly. ‘Leave her alone.’
The injured man leered at him, his face grotesque. ‘You want some, do you?’
If Milo didn’t understand the term, he certainly appreciated the tone and stood firm, keeping direct eye contact.
‘Don’t abuse this lady. None of this…’ Milo spread his arm towards the man’s wound, ‘is her fault,’ he said calmly but firmly, threatening them with his eyes.
The man with the stained sweater patted his friend on the shoulder.
‘Leave it,’ he said. ‘It ain’t worth the bother.’
The injured man shrugged off the hand, his shoulders still square, his neck pulsing.
‘He’s only a fucking Polack,’ said his friend.
This did the trick and the man turned back to the desk, bleeding once more over the sergeant’s paperwork.
When at last the men were bailed, Lilly stepped up. She looked at the blood still in gelatinous pools and tried not to think about hepatitis and HIV.
‘Get a cleaner in here,’ shouted the sergeant to no one in particular. ‘What can I do for you, Miss?’
‘Anna Duraku,’ she said.
The sergeant pointed to the whiteboard. ‘That her?’
Lilly saw the girl’s name had been misspelled.
‘There’s a mistake,’ she said.
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Her name is incorrect.’
The sergeant shrugged. ‘They’re hard ones, aren’t they?’
The sloppiness annoyed Lilly. ‘Not really.’
‘Does it matter?’ asked the sergeant. ‘We all know who we mean.’
Lilly sighed. There wasn’t much point arguing.
‘Can we at least talk about bail?’ she asked.
‘Not a chance,’ said the sergeant.
‘I’m glad we talked about it,’ said Lilly.
The sergeant smiled and leaned forward on his elbows. ‘Well, I’m interested in what you’ve got to say, considering she’s in here for conspiracy to murder.’
‘Can I speak to the DI?’
‘This is bullshit and you know it is.’
Lilly and the policeman were only inches apart. She could smell his aftershave. Pine, lemon and grass.
‘She was at the scene with a gun,’ he said. ‘Someone got killed, end of story.’
Lilly took a step back and appraised DI Moodie with a cool eye. Double-breasted chalk-stripe suit and starched shirt. A silk striped tie, not the splattered horror from BHS that most of the coppers favoured.
‘Look, Officer, I understand that what happened was a terrible thing and that the world and his wife will be baying for blood. I can see the headlines now. “Children gunned down in Columbine-style massacre.”’
‘I don’t give a monkey’s about the press,’ said DI Moodie.
The hell you don’t, thought Lilly.
‘As I said, I get it, my own son goes to that school.’ Lilly ignored the raised eyebrows and pressed on. ‘But the person responsible is dead. You got him. The girl you have was dragged along for the ride and gave it up before anything got serious.’
DI Moodie nodded and she thought he might be convinced.
‘They went together. They had guns together. They pretended to be staff together. They were in on it together.’ He opened his arms. ‘In my book that’s the best description of conspiracy to murder I’ve ever heard.’
Lilly turned to leave, but at the door shot him a glance. ‘You’ll never make it stick, and when it unravels you’ll be left explaining why you wasted so much time and money.’
DI Moodie laughed.
‘Something funny?’
‘DI Bradbury told me all about you.’
Lilly put her hands on her hips. ‘And what did he say?’
‘That you were difficult, intransigent and bloody-minded.’
Lilly was smarting but refused to show it. ‘Did he also mention that the last time we crossed swords I won?’
Lilly slammed the door behind her, leaving DI Moodie staring after her.
‘Sadly, he did.’
The cell was cold.
Lilly stepped over the tray of fish fingers and beans and made her way to the bench at the far end. She patted the girl’s arm. Her clothes had been taken for examination and her police-issue white paper suit rustled like dry leaves.
‘Can’t blame you for leaving it. I wouldn’t feed it to a dog.’
Lilly looked into the girl’s face. So very beautiful and so very sad. Her full lips were already set with lines. Where nature had been generous, life had not been kind.
‘I’m Lilly Valentine.’
‘I’m Tirana Duraku,’ she said. ‘Everyone calls me Anna.’
Lilly nodded. ‘Milo asked me to come today. To help you.’
‘To help me.’ Anna rolled the words around her mouth as if trying them out for the first time.
‘I can get you an interpreter,’ said Lilly, ‘if English is a problem.’
‘No.’ The girl’s tone was sharp. ‘Sorry I do fine with English.’
Lilly wasn’t sure—but the girl’s English was pretty good.
‘The police intend to charge you with conspiracy to murder.’
‘I didn’t kill no one.’
Lilly held up her hand. ‘I know that, but they’re saying you and Artan had a plan together, and that plan was to kill those boys.’
Anna shook her head and wisps of glossy hair whipped her translucent cheeks. The contrast in colours was unnerving.
‘There was no plan,’ she said.
‘Artan didn’t tell you what he was going to do?’ asked Lilly.
‘He don’t tell me anything.’
‘And you didn’t wonder,’ Lilly asked, ‘why you both needed a gun?’
Anna shrugged and Lilly felt her impatience begin to rise. ‘Not good enough, Anna. People don’t find themselves with guns for no reason. Where did you get it?’
‘Artan give it to me.’
‘Where did he get it?’
Anna shrugged again.
‘Why did he need a gun?’
‘Protection.’
‘From what?’
Anna’s eyes filled with tears. ‘From everything.’
‘Why on earth did you take it, Anna?’ asked Lilly. ‘Why didn’t you refuse?’
Without warning, Anna fell forward, clutching at the neck of her suit.
‘Anna?’ Lilly fell to her knees. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Pains,’ the girl barked like a seal. ‘Pains in chest.’
Lilly leapt to her feet and banged her fist against the cell door. ‘We need a doctor here, now.’
The automatic gates of the station car park began their slow arc. Normally Jack would be tapping his finger against the steering wheel, revving the accelerator, but today he idled in neutral.
There was no prisoner awaiting interview, no custody sergeant breathing down his neck to get on with it and free up a cell. No urgent statements to be tweaked and mailed out. No impatient colleagues needing access to his notes. For the first time, for as long as he could remember, Jack had nothing to do. He’d only come in this evening to collect his photos of Lilly and Sam and to clear his desk of anything that could decompose.
He pulled into his usual spot and contemplated how to spend his free time. His flat could do with a clean. He hadn’t been able to take the jam out the fridge this morning, so firmly set was the jar to the now-opaque shelf.
And there was the paper. When had he last read more than the headlines?
He had to look on this suspension positively. He could double his running and lose more weight. Maybe get a body like your man Milo.
Then he saw the Mini Cooper.
Lilly cringed when she saw Jack lumbering towards her. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl caught smoking by her dad. ‘I was just holding it for my friend, honest.’
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
She hedged her bets. ‘A case.’
He stood, arms crossed, his face giving nothing away.
‘A client in custody,’ she said.
‘I’m a copper, Lilly, I’d worked that much out for myself.’
Lilly put up her hands in surrender. ‘I just came down to give her some advice. I’m not taking on her case.’
‘Mary Mother of God,’ Jack yelled. ‘I thought we’d been through this.’
They stood looking at one another for a moment. Lilly reached out and stroked the leather of his jacket. It was warm and creased from years of wear.
‘She’s in a terrible state, Jack. The doc says she’s having horrendous panic attacks.’
‘You can’t take on the case.’
Lilly nodded. ‘I’m not taking on the case.’
Steve’s car smelled as bad as the man himself, and Alexia wound down the window. She shifted in her seat, her skirt sticking to the plastic. And who the hell still owned a manual?
She supposed it was better than the bus. The salary of a junior reporter on a local rag didn’t stretch to her own transport, so she grudgingly accepted the use of her boss’s and tried to ignore the ash that clung to her black wool suits.
‘I bet Kate Adie doesn’t have to put up with this.’
As she crunched into third, she banished from her mind the Alfa that Daddy had bought for her twenty-first. A gorgeous little red number with tan upholstery and a walnut dash. It had broken her heart to give it back.
She pulled in front of the gates of Manor Park and admired the floodlit countryside that flanked it on all sides. It reminded her of Benenden, her own alma mater, with its tennis courts and clock towers.
Until seconds ago she had remained sceptical that the report was true but the multitude of press vans and cars stationed at the foot of the sweeping drive made her heart pound. A shooting—in a place like this? Fantastic…
She parked the battered Honda and entered the throng. All the nationals were here and the main TV stations.
Alexia smiled at a man fiddling with the boom on his camera.
‘What’s the story?’ She tried to sound as casual as she could.
‘Police won’t let us in,’ he said. ‘No one’s saying anything.’
‘So we don’t even know if it’s true?’
He shook his head and went back to his boom.
Alexia squeezed past the mighty power of the media until she stood in front of three policemen who were blocking the gate.
‘Can you confirm whether a pupil has been shot?’ she said.
‘Nope,’ said the nearest. The others simply looked over her head.
‘So you’re prepared to say nothing about a terrible crime which presumably happened on your patch?’
‘Yep.’
Alexia sidestepped them and craned her neck up to the school. She held out her hand to lean on the wrought iron gates and peer through.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Miss,’ said the policeman.
‘What?’
The policeman nodded at the gate. ‘They’ve taken out an injunction preventing anyone so much as touching their property.’
Alexia laughed. ‘They can’t do that.’
‘They can and they have.’ He pulled out a piece of paper. ‘And you’ll see that we’re empowered to arrest anyone who fails to comply.’
Alexia skim read the document and flicked it with contempt.
‘So much for freedom of speech.’
She headed back to her car where the cameraman was still adjusting his sound equipment. ‘Like I said. No one’s saying anything.’
Alexia’s phone rang.
‘Well?’ barked Steve.
‘The world and his wife are here but we can’t get in,’ she said. ‘And the police refuse to give a statement.’
‘Some bloody story that’ll make.’ She could hear him dragging on his cigarette. ‘May as well get your arse back here.’
But Alexia was not ready to give up. ‘I’ll have a scout around first.’
‘You’ve got half an hour,’ said Steve and hung up.
She pocketed her phone and jumped back in the Honda. The main entrance might be guarded, probably as well as any other official routes into the school—but her years in boarding school had taught her that there was always a way for the pupils to sneak out. And when she found it she would sneak her way in.
She drove along the entire flank of the school grounds shielded by a high wooden fence with nettles growing to waist height. Nothing. Maybe she was out of touch and kids these days finished their prep and were tucked up by nine.