The Kill (24 page)

‘I don’t suppose any of you saw who threw the firework at the police van, did you?’

Four heads shook in unison.

‘You wouldn’t know who did it.’

‘Nah.’ The short one reached out and touched my cheek with a hot, damp finger. He was sweating under his sportswear and scarf, and he was excited. ‘Look at her, still trying to be police. Give it up, you cunt.’

‘Back off,’ I commanded. ‘Now.’

‘I’m going to enjoy fucking you. And when I’m done, I’m going to call up all my mates and they’re going to fuck you too.’ He laughed. ‘Here, you’ll know. Can you rape someone to death?’

I looked at him without seeing him for a moment, feeling total panic rush through my body. I couldn’t imagine myself walking away from this. One wrong move would be enough to make him attack. A look, a word – it would only take a tiny mistake on my part and I would be taken away. Hundreds of coppers were outside the door and there was no way a scream would do anything but get me beaten, then dragged into the lift or carried up the stairs. They would move faster than my colleagues. They had worked out their route. They had planned this, or something like it. Even if they hadn’t expected to get a woman, they’d wanted a police officer of their own to torture.

They were doing this because they felt deprived, I thought, and felt the analytical part of my brain switch on again.

‘Did you feel left out?’

‘Huh?’

‘You weren’t invited to the party, were you? You weren’t allowed to help. Too young? Not important enough.’ I snapped my fingers. ‘Unreliable, maybe.’

‘What the fuck you on about?’ Muscles demanded.

‘I’m trying to work out why you’re doing this. I think you’re annoyed because no one told you about the attack on the cops until after it had happened. It wasn’t someone on the estate who planned it, was it? This was just a good place to kill them.’

‘I don’t know.’ The small one was looking confused.

‘You should find out. Find out why you weren’t included. It’s disrespectful, isn’t it? Like they don’t think much of you and your mates.’

His eyebrows drew together as he considered it.

‘This has been a pleasure, but let’s forget we ever had this conversation,’ I said, standing up straight, away from the wall. I put my bag on my shoulder, ready to leave. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me—’

A hand landed on my chest and shoved me back against the wall so hard the back of my head connected with the bricks. The short one wasn’t giving up easily. ‘Not fucking likely, bitch.’

‘I’m going.’

‘Like fuck you are.’

Three of them didn’t know what to do. I gambled on that and elbowed the short one in the face, pushing him back into the arms of the slender black youth. I pivoted for the door and collided with Muscles. The impact sent me reeling against the tall thin one, who held on to my shoulders. I pulled away with enough force to rip open the buttons down the front of my coat, which was actually a blessing. Without even pausing to think I reached in to grab my extendable baton out of my inside pocket. There was no room to swing the Asp, or time to make room, so I had to use it as it was, folded up. I held it in my fist, my thumb on the end to stop it opening behind me as I brought it down hard. It connected with Muscles’ chest high up, just over his heart, and I dragged the end of the Asp down his sternum, pressing it into his body as hard as I could. It was appallingly painful, I’d been told in training. Certainly, Muscles put up no fight whatsoever. He crumpled to the ground, wheezing, in agony.

Which was fine, except that he was blocking the door.

I turned back to the others and racked the Asp so it shot out to its fullest extent. ‘Get your friend and get going.’

They didn’t move. I hit the end of the baton on the door, as hard as I could. The sound was deafening and the wood splintered.

‘I said, get going.’

They weren’t going to move. I had gambled and lost. One of them would realise they could take the Asp out of my hand easily enough, and use it on me if they thought of that. My arm muscles were vibrating with tension. The tip of the Asp was wavering as if there was a high wind in the stairwell.

By my feet, Muscles moaned.

‘We can’t carry you, man.’ The lean black kid bent down and grabbed his shoulder. ‘Come on. You have to walk.’

The tall white one went to help, propping Muscles up against the door. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

Which left the short one. He had to salvage something. I got a finger in my face. ‘If you give the people round here any shit we will come after you.’

I didn’t say anything. I just looked at him, as if we were equals, as if we understood each other. He nodded, once, and then the four of them disappeared through the door, into the waiting lift. It clanked and creaked up, stopping every couple of floors so I couldn’t tell where they’d got out.

I took a deep breath, for the first time in many long minutes. It was cold in the stairwell but I could feel sweat trickling down my back I bent to pick up the radio, wincing as my lovely, wonderful stab vest dug into me. Losing the radio would have been a bad mistake, especially when it was unlocked and in use. Small mercies. I closed my Asp, banging it on the floor until it retracted into its neat tube. I was fine. I’d done just fine.

And then my phone rang. I got a hand to my inside pocket and answered the call in the same movement, paranoid that the sound would bring the teenagers back. Derwent’s voice was tinny but loud enough to be audible in the stairwell even before I lifted the phone to my ear.

‘Where the hell are you?’

I saw the front of the building in my mind’s eye, the name painted above the door. ‘Barber House. I’m coming out.’

I disconnected without waiting for a reply and then made myself walk instead of run as I passed through the hall. I looked normal, I hoped – I was trying for normal.

Even so, the first breath of the morning air felt like being reborn.

Chapter 16

He was right outside the door, of course. I almost walked into him.

‘What happened to you?’

‘Nothing.’ I’d made a split-second decision to say that, but it felt right to me. No investigation would find the four of them: they had melted away like snow. I couldn’t describe any of them in any meaningful way. I couldn’t identify them. I was sure, from the way the ringleader had reacted to me, that they hadn’t been involved in the shooting of the police officers. That was, after all, the point of our presence on the Maudling Estate. I was very much not keen to provide a side attraction in the shape of one dizzy female detective who walked through the wrong door unaccompanied.

Derwent had stopped so close to me he had to lean back so he could get a proper look at me. ‘What happened? What were you doing in there?’

Sound normal
. ‘I thought I saw the kid from the shooting. The one who they stopped. Our suspect for throwing the firework. When I got inside, he was long gone.’

‘That explains why you booted it across the car park. Doesn’t explain why you were in there for so long.’

‘I was talking to some other kids. About the shooting. They didn’t know anything useful,’ I added, anticipating that he would ask.

‘I see. And did you get their names? Addresses? Any details?’

‘No.’

‘That’s not like you, Kerrigan.’

I couldn’t look at him. I stared over his shoulder, concentrating very hard on not crying. I was aware his expression was severe. He moved closer, effectively shielding me from everyone else in the car park. Slowly, one by one, he did up the buttons on my coat, as if I was a child.

‘You lost one.’ He held on to the edge of the fabric halfway down, where a triangular tear showed the button had been ripped away.

‘I didn’t notice. It must have dropped off. The thread was loose, I think.’ Which was an obvious lie.

‘The button was there when you walked across the car park before.’

‘Then I must have lost it in there.’ I jerked a thumb in the direction of the building behind me.

‘Do you want to go and have a look?’ Derwent’s voice was silk-smooth.

Nothing was going to get me back into that building. I tried to smile. ‘I won’t bother. There’s a spare.’

‘I’ve got a better idea. I’ll go.’ He started to walk away. ‘Where were you? Just here?’

‘Try the stairwell.’

He was gone for a few seconds, then came back with it on his palm. ‘Easy.’

‘Thanks.’ I took it from him and dropped it into my pocket. My skin felt seared where the cold metal of the shank touched it. It felt like bad luck. I wanted nothing that reminded me of how scared I had been, how fragile.

‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right?’

‘I just need a break, that’s all. I’ve been here for hours. I’m freezing.’

‘A break,’ Derwent said. ‘Not a bad idea. You should probably also brush the dirt off the back of your coat.’

I swiped at it ineffectually. ‘Thanks.’

‘All part of the service.’ He took my arm. It was halfway between affection and custody. ‘So is breakfast.’

‘You don’t have to do that. Take me to breakfast, I mean. I can get something on my own.’

‘I know. I’m hungry,’ he said simply.

Derwent had a police officer’s nose for a good cafe. The one he’d found was two streets away from the Maudling Estate. It was charmless, with fixed tables and chairs and a 1980s pastel theme, but the smell of frying bacon was a compelling reason to take a seat. We threaded a path through tables full of scaffolders and builders loading up for a day of hard manual labour, finding a table at the back. Derwent ordered two full English breakfasts without asking me what I wanted.

‘Tea or coffee?’ the waitress asked. She was retirement age, with egg stains on her apron, and she had a truly world-weary air.

‘Tea,’ Derwent said.

‘Coffee.’

‘Coffee for you, love. Okay.’ She shuffled off towards the kitchen.

‘The coffee,’ Derwent said, ‘will be shit.’

‘The tea will be stewed.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

I shook my head. ‘Awful.’

‘All right. See what you get, Miss Fancypants.’

What I got was rich and dark, a proper Italian coffee made by an antique Gaggia machine that had been hidden behind the counter. The waitress put the cup down in front of me reverently, with wrapped sugar in the saucer and a little jug of hot milk.

‘How did you know?’ Derwent demanded.

‘All the pictures on the walls are of Naples.’ They were greenish and blurred, the years not having been kind to the colour reproduction of various tourist spots. ‘I thought the owners were probably Italians, once upon a time. Worth a gamble, anyway.’

‘I’d still have had tea.’ Derwent knocked back half of his in one long swallow. It was so strong it left a gauzy scum on the inside of the mug. I could taste a ghost of the tannin on my tongue, and sipped more coffee to take it away.

The food arrived then, on big oval platters. I stared at it, overwhelmed with nausea. The egg yolks seemed too bright, the whites wobbly and revolting. The beans looked dehydrated. I cut into one of the sausages and watched the shiny fat run out of it.

Across the table, Derwent was eating with single-minded efficiency. He didn’t even glance in my direction while food remained on his plate. When there was nothing left but a few smears of ketchup and two despised, sagging tomatoes he put down his knife and fork and leaned back.

‘That’s better.’

‘Mm.’

‘How would you know? You’ve eaten nothing.’

‘I had some toast. And bacon.’ It was still wedged in my throat, somehow. I sat up a little bit straighter. ‘The coffee was what I really needed.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Wide awake now.’

‘So I should hope.’

The coffee was actually making me jittery. I assumed it was the coffee, anyway. The alternative was that it was the look Derwent was giving me that was making me fidget. He knew I was refusing to tell him something. With unusual delicacy he had let it go earlier. I knew him too well to think he’d forgotten about it. The best way to head him off, I judged, was to annoy him about something else.

‘What were you doing, having a go at Superintendent Enderby?’

‘Nothing, really. Just pointing out that it wasn’t all that simple. I’d rather start off with the truth than make ourselves feel good by pretending everything was lovely here.’

‘He wasn’t saying that. He said Sergeant Grayling told him he felt like a target on the estate.’

‘Greyson,’ Derwent corrected. ‘And he was leaving out why they were targets, wasn’t he? Not just because they were job, whatever it says in this morning’s papers.’

‘Be honest,’ I said, impulsively. ‘Were you showing off to impress Godley? Or were you making trouble to show Burt she needs to watch her step around you?’

‘Neither.’ The corners of his mouth turned up. ‘Or maybe both.’

‘You need to leave her alone.’

‘She needs to leave me alone,’ Derwent countered.

‘You’ve made yourself into a challenge. Not a good idea with DCI Burt. She doesn’t like to be defeated and she won’t let you win.’

‘We’ll have to see about that.’

‘Fine. Do what you like. But next time you and DCI Burt want to have a pissing competition, don’t involve me.’

‘It wasn’t my idea to involve you, if you remember.’

‘No, but you went along with it and you embarrassed me.’

‘I’m surprised you found that embarrassing.’ He folded his arms. ‘I’ve done much more embarrassing things than that to you.’

‘And I’m sure you will again. But it was humiliating to have the two of you scrapping over me.’

‘You should have been flattered. We both wanted you on our team.’

‘You both wanted to win. I was just an excuse for the fight.’

‘That’s not true. I could have done with your help.’

‘You had plenty of bodies for your search.’

‘Yes,’ Derwent said with barely suppressed impatience. ‘But I wanted you. You’re good at finding things.’

‘I pray to Saint Anthony. He’s the patron saint of lost things.’

He looked delighted. ‘Really?’

‘He really is. But I don’t.’

‘Damn.’

I grinned at him. ‘You believed me.’