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‘Still sprinting ahead, hey, Nas?’ Tibbsy enveloped her in a hug, pressing her face into his white shirt. She could feel his collar bone against her cheek. He smelt vaguely of shower gel and sun cream. ‘You back to stay?’
She laughed. It had been such a long time since anyone had seemed so pleased to see her. Again she wondered if she’d made a mistake in leaving. Tibbsy was a good partner.
‘’Fraid not. This is a flying visit. Wanted to ask you and the guv about a stop-and-search you did last June. Paul Robertson – the Rodriguezes’ drug runner?’
‘Ha! I remember that.’ Moast signalled for them to duck into his office.
Tibbsy’s face had flushed pink. ‘Not my finest hour.’
‘Why’s that then?’ Freddie asked, as they squeezed into the room. The plant in the corner had died since she’d left. Nasreen wondered if anyone else had watered it. Or even noticed the brown leaves.
‘Bit of a cock-up, wasn’t it, Tibbs?’ Moast grinned.
‘Yeah, well, I didn’t know who he was, did I?’ Tibbsy rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, and looked at the floor.
‘He got a right royal bollocking from the Drugs lads: they had surveillance on Robertson, when this lunk walked right up and started asking questions. I’d only popped into the office to get some gum. Can’t leave him unattended: he’s like a bloody big kid.’
‘Why did you talk to him if you didn’t know who he was?’ Nasreen said. Freddie was stood in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest. It wasn’t like her to sit on the sidelines.
Tibbsy glanced up quickly before looking back down at his shoes. ‘He just seemed like trouble.’
‘Don’t give me that,’ Moast said. ‘He was doing his whole knight-in-shining-armour bit.’
‘He was shouting at some girl,’ Tibbsy said nervously. ‘I just didn’t like the way he was going off at her.’
‘What did she look like?’ Freddie asked.
Tibbsy shrugged. ‘I dunno.’
‘Liar. He only noticed ’cause she was fit,’ Moast said with a laugh. ‘So he wades in with his badge out, breaking up a fight between one of London’s most notorious gangsters and his missus. Lucky he wasn’t packing heat.’
‘You know that for sure?’ Nasreen said. There were rumours Paul Robertson had been involved in the fatal shooting of an officer twenty years ago, but nothing had ever been proved.
‘He backed right down. Said he was sorry for the fuss,’ Tibbsy said, turning pale. He’d obviously since learnt of Paul’s reputation.
‘What colour hair did she have?’ Freddie said.
Tibbsy shrugged again.
‘Long and dark,’ said Moast. ‘She was a right stunner. Shut her mouth as soon as this one walked up to her. You’ve got that effect on women, don’t ya, lad?’ Moast was enjoying Tibbsy’s embarrassment.
‘What were they arguing about?’ Nasreen asked.
‘How old was she?’ Freddie said.
‘I dunno. Young. Twenty. They were just going at each other in the street.’
‘She had some balls on her,’ Moast said. ‘Not many people would speak to Robertson like that. I thought I was going to have to radio for backup when I saw Tibbs striding over there. Left my debit card in the shop and everything.’
‘What happened?’ said Nasreen. Freddie was frowning, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
‘He said he didn’t want no trouble. She said she was fine and we left it at that,’ Moast said. ‘Didn’t really want to push Robertson without backup. And I’d seen his name on intelligence reports: I knew we probably weren’t alone.’
‘Did she look like this?’ Freddie held out her phone.
Moast took it. ‘Yeah – that’s her. You know who she is?’
Freddie nodded at Nasreen. ‘Oh, yeah: we know all right. That’s his daughter Amber.’
‘But they’re a different colour!’ Tibbsy said disbelievingly.
Freddie rolled her eyes. ‘So’s Nas’s dad: it’s not like it’s a bloody miracle, you tool.’
Tibbsy blushed again. ‘Sorry,’ he said to her.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Nasreen shook it off. ‘So he was arguing with his daughter in the street twelve days before they both disappeared.’
‘Yeah, and on the same day she posted on her Facebook page that she was feeling down and “everything sucked”,’ Freddie read from her phone. Nasreen was starting to piece together a picture in her mind.
‘That’s his daughter.’ Moast let a whistle out his teeth. ‘She looks like a goer.’
‘She’s fifteen in that photo.’ Freddie minimised the page.
‘No wonder he was doing his nut!’ Moast laughed. Tibbsy made a half-hearted attempt to join in, before a look from Freddie silenced him.
Now Nasreen wanted to get back to the office more than ever. ‘That’s been really helpful.’
‘Has it?’ Freddie sounded surprised.
‘Thanks for your time, sir,’ Nasreen said, holding out her hand for Moast to shake again.
He gripped it and grinned at her, wrapping his other hand over hers. ‘Always a pleasure, Cudmore. Stop by whenever you like. But next time leave Venton in the car, yeah?’
She smiled and nodded, keen to get out of there. If she was right about the man calling himself Corey Banks then this could be explosive. They could have been looking at this all wrong. She was halfway down the corridor back to the car when she heard the slap of Tibbsy’s feet on the linoleum behind her.
‘Hey, Nas,’ he called.
‘Hey, Tibbs – remembered something else?’
‘What?’ His eyebrows knitted briefly together. ‘Oh: no. Sorry. I just wanted to say I was sorry again. For what I said in there. You know me: big mouth – big feet to put in it.’ He looked sheepish.
‘Seriously, forget about it. I have,’ she said.
‘You promise? Because you and me have always been cool, haven’t we?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ she said growing uneasy. Did he want something? Perhaps he was on the lookout to progress from the Jubilee himself?
‘Cool,’ he said. ‘That’s cool then. Brilliant.’ He took a step back, his long arms flapping at his side. Half a wave. ‘Right. I’ll be seeing you then.’
‘Right,’ she said, smiling.
‘Stop by whenever you want.’
‘Okay,’ she said, stepping backwards herself.
‘Okay – so I’ll see you.’
‘Bye,’ she said, sensing this could go on for ages. Tibbsy might want to drag his heels today, but she had things to do. Increasingly pressing things. She glanced at her watch. She could be back at the office in twenty with a bit of luck. Not that it was likely to make a difference now. Not after so long. She could be mistaken, obviously. Could have misread the situation. Briefly she closed her eyes and prayed that that was the case. Because if she was right, if what she suspected were true, then the consequences for Amber could be very bleak indeed.
Kate (#ulink_89cff8fe-a69d-5d68-a2ea-72e0696bd32c)
That night she’d taken down the box from its shelf. It wasn’t pretty, like she really deserved, but it was waterproof and fireproof. A safe box. A safe place for her to be. She slipped off the chain she wore under her shirt and pushed the small gold key into the padlock. It was silly keeping it locked, really. No one else lived here, no one else would begrudge her this, but she preferred to keep it personal. It was a secret between her and her girl.
Gently she opened the lid. Her senses greedy for it, she reached in, pulled out the small knitted blanket and held it to her nose. She could smell her: her baby. She closed her eyes. She was back in the hospital room again.
So happy and so sad, all at once. Light seemed to pour from Tegbee, her big brown eyes staring up at her. Her eyelashes were so long, and she had a dusting of hair that curled round her scalp like silk. She was the prettiest, most beautiful baby she’d ever seen. And she was hers. She’d made this little miracle. She stroked her full cheeks as the girl blinked. She didn’t even cry. Only grizzled once, but she stopped when Kate started to sing to her. Hush little baby, don’t say a word, mama’s going to buy you a mocking bird. And if that mocking bird don’t sing, mama’s going to buy you a diamond ring. The doctors must have made a mistake. There couldn’t be anything wrong with a child who was so perfect.
Kate opened her eyes: don’t think of that bit. Don’t think of the pain. Not tonight, not now. Carefully, she laid the blanket on the table. She hadn’t had a drink since the night she’d seen the video, but today was a special occasion. Regardless of everything else going on, she would still celebrate. As if she were here. The bottle was chilling in the fridge, still wrapped in its blue tissue paper from the deli. Only the best for my girl. She opened the cupboard where she kept her best china and took down one of the crystal flutes her sixth formers had presented her with on their graduation.
‘That was the year we lost three boys,’ she said out loud. ‘One to leukaemia, and two to juvenile detention.’ She unfurled the tissue paper and loosened the safety cap of the bottle. ‘But it was also the first year that one of our students made it into Oxford.’ She held the cork, twisting the bottle. ‘His name was Dwayne Haden. You would have liked him.’ The cork popped and a stream of bubbles frothed out of the bottle. She laughed as she caught the fizz in her glass. Then she poured one more and took them both back to the table.
Under the blanket was the onesie Tegbee had worn on that first day. She’d buried her in the christening dress that had belonged to Kate’s mother. They’d had to take Kate’s womb out when Tegbee had arrived; she knew there’d be no more children. She lifted out the photos. Her and her baby smiling. You could she had her father’s eyes. But Tegbee’s lips were from her mum. Sometimes she couldn’t help imagining what she would look like now. She’d be so beautiful. Tall like her dad. Would she love the same books as her? She’d planned on sharing her favourite films with her little girl, curling up on the sofa with her in her arms. Reading to her at night. When she was older they would have spent summers in Ghana and the States; she was going to teach her all about her heritage. The bubbles rose in the glass and popped. Kate lowered her flute and clinked it against the one on the table.
‘Happy nineteenth, baby girl.’
A (#ulink_469f7d41-f595-5a81-bcdc-1b92ba6ffd0d)
Her body is warm, soft. His duvet barely covering her naked ass. Her leg pressed against his, the rhythmic push of her hip. He starts to gasp. Her hand softly works its way down under the covers, down his chest, round his nipple, down his stomach, tracing the line of hair that’s started to grow there. He gulps. Tries to control himself. And then he’s stroking her beautiful face, feels the flesh turn cold and come away in his hands. Chunks of meat fall from her. He tries to push it back, hold her together. He starts as her bone fingers close over his dick. Her beautiful dark eyes fall onto swivelling nerves. Her lips laugh and fall away from her skull, biting into his face, and scurry across his body, hungrily drawing blood. Her flesh peels back and she’s sinew and muscle and then skeleton. He tries to get away, but laughing she mounts him. Pushes him back. She claws at his chest, plunges her fingers into him, grabs his heart. Pulls it out. He can see it beating as she squeezes, and her hip bones snap closed over his cock.
He has screamed himself awake too many times. So he won’t sleep. Nights are the hardest. He sits in the corner, on the floor. The bed is too soft. He tries to count to stay awake. Recites what he knows about the solar system. The solar system was formed 4.6 billion years ago. Tries to keep moving. Paces his room. There are eight planets that orbit the sun. Mum thinks he’s sick. It started off as a lie; maybe it’s not any more. In decreasing order of size the planets in the solar system are Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Earth, Venus, Mars, Mercury. He doesn’t speak to anyone. Shuts his brothers out of his room. You need a degree in engineering, biological science, physical science and mathematics to be an astronaut. You must have 20/20 vision. You must be between 62 and 75 inches tall. His phone beeps. The number is unknown, but he knows who it is. Hands shaking, he opens it.
Blood is thicker than water.
Blood. He keeps his phone by his side all the time. You must have at least 1,000 hours minimum flying time in a jet. Turns his music up to try to block out his breathing. The sounds of her. Headphones don’t work. You must have 20/20 vision. His books are unopened. His laptop closed.
The sun sets again. Light pours through the curtains. You must have 20/20 vision. He watches it shrink down the wall. You must have 20/20 vision. He walks to the window. His mum is on night shift and the flat is quiet. His brothers are sleeping. Fam. Blood. You must have 20/20 vision. He didn’t close his eyes all night. He didn’t go to sleep. It’s dark outside, and in his reflected face he sees hers. Blood. They will be looking for her. You must have 20/20 vision. He has decided. There is only one way out. Only one thing he can do. He watches himself mouth the words:
‘I’m going to kill you.’
Kate (#ulink_b5545ec1-916b-55ba-9a7e-9749d9b3a7aa)
Her eyelids fluttered. Her neck felt stiff. Her wine glass was still in her hand. She must have fallen asleep on her chair. She’d taken a sleeping pill and she probably shouldn’t have had alcohol. She was groggy. Thirsty. She shifted in her seat and then stopped. There was someone else here. Someone in the room with her. Had the man from the film found her? Kate opened her eyes a fraction. It was still dark outside. Night time. It felt cooler. It was the early hours of the morning. Should she pretend to still be asleep? Cry out? Years of teaching had taught her that a strong stance was best: no weakness. She sat up quickly. Her eyes open. ‘Can I help you?’
A tall black woman was standing in the corner of the room. She didn’t flinch or move when Kate spoke. Instead she smiled, her white teeth beautiful in the dark. Something caught at Kate. She didn’t feel scared. She felt calmer than she had for a while. It was the tablets, she told herself. The woman stepped forward into the strip of yellow streetlight that shone through the window. A silver charm bracelet jingled around her wrist. Kate had seen one like that before. Many years ago. She must be hallucinating: the pills.
‘Tegbee?’
When the young woman spoke, her voice was as familiar as her own. The voice she’d carried in her head every day for nineteen years. ‘Hello, mama.’
Kate held her breath, not wanting the mirage to fade.
‘I’ve missed you.’ Tegbee smiled and stepped towards her. Her baby girl. All grown up. Perfect. So perfect. She smiled at her, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
Answer your
phone. We need
to talk.
I can explain.
Just pick up.
You can’t
hide from me.
Pick. Up.
Don’t do anything
stupid. Anything
you’d regret.
…
…
…
This isn’t over.
Nasreen (#ulink_f107d2a2-e7b6-5862-b90d-7d772705bd0b)
Nasreen felt the familiar pull of tension in her stomach as she neared the office. But it looked like only Chips was in. She’d spent the evening poring over all the files she could find. This was not looking good. At some point she must have fallen asleep; she’d missed a call from Freddie, but it was gone 1am by the time she woke up. Too late to call back.
Chips looked up from the teetering barricade of folders on his desk. ‘You get me one of those, lass?’ A soft puffy finger pointed at the Espress-oh’s bag she was carrying.
‘Skinny mocha it is.’
He beamed. After forty-odd years of drinking black coffee with a dash of milk, Chips had been converted to the sickly drink by Freddie. He was a man of routine, his physical bulk a metaphor of his immovability, and yet within two weeks of working with him Freddie had changed the habit of a lifetime. She had that effect.
‘Is DI Saunders in?’ She tried to sound casual.
‘He’s in a meeting with the boss.’ Chips sipped from his drink. ‘This really is cracking.’
Freddie’s voice carried from the corridor. ‘Hey, Milena, it’s me. Just to say cheers for letting me crash last night. I left the key under the bin outside. Hope the night shift wasn’t balls. Catch ya soon.’ The door to the office opened and Freddie appeared, her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head. The same cutoffs on as yesterday, but with a shapeless T-shirt. She pointed straight at Nasreen. ‘You and me need to talk. I called you.’
