Blood Rush (Lilly Valentine) (29 page)

It seems best to do as he says and Jamie follows Trick up the path.

Inside, they head straight for the kitchen and knock on the door. The woman who looks like a man answers.

‘What are you after? Glass?’

‘Not right now.’ Trick’s voice is jumpy. ‘We wondered what you’d give us for this.’

He holds out the iPod and JC kisses her teeth.

‘This isn’t a pawn shop, you know.’ But she takes it.

‘I think a hundred would be a fair price.’ Trick wiggles on the spot. ‘Or eighty at a push.’

JC ignores him and checks to see that it works. Then she bends towards a low cupboard, opening it with a key on a chain. Inside are three or four rolls of notes. She pulls off two twenties.

‘I’ll give you forty,’ she says.

‘C’mon, JC, you know it’s worth more than that,’ says Trick.

She holds out the notes. ‘Take it or leave it, I don’t bargain.’

Trick snatches the money and they leave. At the door, he takes Jamie’s arm. ‘Let’s have a taste to clear our minds, yeah.’

There’s one bag left from Jamie’s watch swap, so they share it, hunched over the same piece of foil. A girl in the corner watches them.

‘Let’s have some of that,’ she says.

They shake their heads.

‘You can fuck me if you want,’ she says, lifting her skirt to reveal grey knickers and a scab on her thigh.

‘No thanks,’ says Trick.

‘Bastards,’ she mutters and wanders off to find someone less choosy.

The weariness leaves Jamie’s bones and he leans back against the wall as if he were sinking into a warm bath.

‘Did you see all that fucking dosh?’ Trick asks.

Jamie nods. There must have been hundreds of pounds. Maybe thousands. Mum and Dad have lots of credit cards but they never carry much cash.

‘If we had that much, we could do anything,’ says Trick. ‘Get away from this shit hole. To the sea. Abroad even.’

Jamie smiles until he sees that Trick isn’t joking. It’s not one of his disjointed plans that even he doesn’t believe. He’s serious.

‘We could take it.’ His voice is low. ‘She’s here on her own.’

‘What about the guy outside?’ Jamie asks.

Trick shrugs. ‘No dog and he didn’t look to me like he could run.’

They stare at each other, neither daring to say a word. Upstairs, the floorboards are creaking. Perhaps the scabby girl managed to get herself a punter.

At last Trick speaks. ‘If I stay here, I’ll die and I don’t want that. I want to be with you.’

‘Do you?’

‘Course,’ says Trick. ‘I love you.’

Jamie is stunned. They’ve known each other such a short time, and yet Jamie has never felt this way before. He gulps down his fear.

‘Let’s do it.’

The corridor at the lab was long and bare. The carpet tiles were grey, the walls red-brick, punctuated by white doors, each an exact copy of the one next to it. Standard issue.

Jack paced the length of it, once, twice, three times. The wait was killing him.

Cheney had personally brought the knife back and agreed to check it for prints and samples. Tests like these often took weeks but Cheney was doing Jack a favour.

He pulled out his phone. The battery was getting low. At some point he would have to get home or back to his desk to charge it. He considered calling the chief super to let him know what was going on, but thought better of it. There was, after all,
nothing
to tell. Yet.

Finally, one of the identical doors opened and Cheney appeared.

‘And?’ Jack asked.

‘Definitely the weapon,’ Cheney replied. ‘It’s Chika’s blood and the serration of the blade is entirely consistent with the edges of the wounds.’

Jack let out a breath. This was good news. In so many cases the weapon was never found, making it virtually impossible to trace the killer.

‘What about a perp?’ he asked.

Cheney smiled and held up his hands as if to keep Jack back. ‘A few prints, yes.’

‘Who?’

‘We’re running them through the database now,’ said Cheney.

‘Okay.’ Jack went back to marching up and down the corridor.

They nod at the man with the bandage, arms crossed to hide the iron bars inside their sweaters. When Trick nicked them from a building site on the other side of the estate, Jamie had been horrified.

‘We won’t need them,’ Trick assured him. ‘We’ll just wave them at JC, you know, frighten her into giving us the money.’

It all seemed like a good idea, until now. But Jamie knows he can’t back out.

They creep through the door, surveying the downstairs for signs of life. The scabby girl is in the first room, but she’s out of it, curled into a ball on the mattress. Trick nods at Jamie. They’ve been through it, what each of them will say and do.

Trick knocks on the kitchen door and calls to JC through it.

She opens up. ‘You two again.’

‘Got something for you,’ says Trick.

She gives a bored sigh and holds out her hand. Trick pretends to check behind him.

‘Not here,’ he says. ‘Too risky.’

JC rolls her eyes, but just as Trick predicted, she gestures to them to come inside.

‘She’s like the rest of ’em,’ Trick told Jamie. ‘Fucking greedy.’

Once inside the kitchen, Trick closes the door with the back of his heel and stands in front of Jamie, so Jamie can slide his iron bar into his hands undetected. It’s heavy and cold and Jamie nearly drops it.

‘Come on then,’ says JC, ‘I don’t have all day and I know you need your little fix.’

Trick fiddles in his pocket and pulls out a crucifix. He lets it dangle from his finger, letting it catch the light. Trick said his dad gave it to him for his first holy communion. He told Trick it was solid gold. ‘But the tight bastard lied,’ said Trick. ‘I’ve tried to sell it before.’

JC squints at it. ‘That isn’t worth shit.’

This was always the risk. That JC would suss it for what it was and refuse to buy it.

‘Just twenty quid,’ says Trick, ‘that’s all I’m asking.’

There’s a pleading in his voice that sounds fake to Jamie. He hopes JC will just smell desperation.

‘Ten and that’s your lot,’ she says.

Trick and Jamie exchange a nervous glance. This is it. The moment of truth.

JC bends to open the cupboard with the key, her top riding up to expose a ring of wobbling fat. As her hand reaches inside, Trick pulls out his bar and presses it to the back of her head.

‘Give us the money,’ he says.

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ JC replies.

As arranged, Jamie brandishes his bar so JC can see that one too.

‘We don’t want to hurt you,’ says Trick, ‘but if you don’t give us that cash, we’ll smash your skull to little pieces.’

JC moves very slowly, one hand reaching out to the rolls of notes as if in slow motion. Jamie pants, the bar shaking in his sweaty hand. He’s never threatened anyone in his life. Despises Tristan and all the bullies at school. He tells himself that this is different. This is for Trick. Soon it will be over. They’ll have what they need. And they’ll escape. For ever.

In the gloom, he catches sight of a glimmer. Not the crucifix; that’s hanging half in, half out of Trick’s pocket. It’s something metal. It’s near JC’s other hand.

‘What’s that?’ Jamie shouts.

‘What’s what?’ Trick shouts back.

‘There!’ Jamie points to the gleam in the shadows.

Whatever it is, it’s in JC’s hand now and she tries to spin towards them. A gun. Exactly like Jamie’s seen on the telly.

‘Shit,’ Trick screams and brings his bar crashing down on JC’s head. She jerks forward then back, like one of those test crash dummies that are always yellow. Her eyes roll.

The gun is still in her hand, so Trick hits her again. This time the skin on her skull splits and blood begins to gush down her face.

‘Get the money,’ Trick screams at Jamie. ‘Get the fucking money.’

Jamie drops his own bar and reaches across JC, trying not to look at the gaping white hole in her head. What is that? Bone?

He scrabbles for the rolls of notes, dropping one into the
growing
pool of blood. He plucks it out, pockets it with the rest.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Jamie races for the door.

‘Don’t run,’ Trick warns.

Together they slip out of the kitchen, closing the door on the carnage behind them, and move briskly down the hall. The scabby girl is in the doorway and they push past her.

‘Bastards,’ she calls. ‘You’re all bastards.’

‘I like Lola,’ Tanisha stroked her bump, ‘and Leticia, cos it means happiness.’

Lilly smiled at her client. Choosing a name for her baby was obviously important. Planning ahead to better times.

‘I used to like Portia,’ said Tanisha, ‘but I looked it up and it means pig, so what can you do?’

Lilly recalled her pregnancy with Alice. She’d been in shock for most of it, running away from it, refusing to even discuss names. At the time she’d said it was bad luck, or that she was too busy, but now she wondered if it wasn’t the relationship with Jack she was running from. Would she have even considered moving him into the cottage if it hadn’t been for Alice?

The door to Lilly’s office opened and Karol appeared with a smile and a tray of tea and biscuits. If he was tired after a night on Lilly’s sofa, he didn’t look it.

‘I’ll be mother,’ said Annabelle and began to pour milk for everyone.

When Karol left, Tanisha gave a gravelly chuckle. ‘I thought you said he wasn’t your man.’

‘He’s not,’ Lilly exclaimed.

‘Don’t look that way to me.’

Lilly felt herself redden and changed the subject. ‘With Chika’s death, I think the CPS might reconsider their case against you.’

‘Oh thank God.’ Annabelle coughed in embarrassment. ‘I mean, I’m sorry the girl was killed …’

‘I ain’t,’ said Tanisha.

‘You know what I’m trying to say,’ Annabelle blundered on. ‘I’ll just be so very glad when all this is over and we can get on with our lives.’

Lilly nodded that she understood.

‘You really think they’ll drop it?’ Tanisha asked. ‘That
policeman
seemed to want to send me down real bad.’

‘Without Chika, their case is very weak,’ Lilly explained. ‘The prosecution might decide to cut their losses.’

‘When will we know?’ Annabelle asked.

‘I’ve already listed the case for tomorrow.’

As Annabelle beamed and Tanisha nodded her approval, Lilly’s mobile rang.

‘Yes?

‘It’s Jack.’

Lilly smiled. Perhaps the decision to drop the case had already been taken and Jack was giving her the heads-up.

‘What do you know?’ she grinned.

He cleared his throat, didn’t laugh.

‘We found the murder weapon that killed Chika Mboko. It’s a kitchen knife.’ His voice was solemn.

‘Okay.’ Lilly narrowed her eyes.

‘We’ve tested it for prints.’

Lilly looked up at her happy client and her heart plummeted in her chest. ‘Go on.’

‘I’m afraid we’ve found a match with Tanisha.’

Jack met Lilly at the station entrance. He checked nervously behind her.

‘Where is she?’

‘Gone home to get some things,’ Lilly said.

‘What?’

Lilly sighed. When she’d broken the news to Tanisha, the poor kid hadn’t been able to move. Annabelle had burst into tears, but Tanisha had sat in stupefied silence. Eventually, she had hauled herself from her chair, as if she were nine months gone, and announced quietly that she would need to collect her clothes.

‘I ain’t wearing that prison uniform like last time,’ she told Lilly.

‘I can’t believe you let her out of your sight,’ said Jack.

‘I’m a lawyer, not her armed guard,’ Lilly retorted.

‘I told you first as a matter of courtesy.’

‘You told me first because you couldn’t resist it,’ said Lilly. ‘If you wanted the blues and twos you should have brought her in yourself.’

He muttered something under his breath and disappeared back into the nick. Lilly waited outside, scouting the street for any sign of her client.

After ten minutes, Lilly’s mobile rang. She snatched at it.

‘Tanisha?’

‘It’s me,’ Annabelle sobbed. ‘She’s gone.’

‘What do you mean by gone?’

Annabelle’s voice was choked. ‘We were packing a bag and she suddenly stopped, said she couldn’t do it, that she can’t have her baby in jail.’

Annabelle broke down again, her breath coming in miserable heaves.

‘Where do you think she might be?’ Lilly asked.

‘I have absolutely no idea.’

Lilly hung up and made her way back to the station entrance, her footsteps heavy, as she went to find Jack.

Demi runs up the stairs to the disused flats that Danny uses as his headquarters. She wishes she could have changed out of her muddy jeans but knows better than to keep him waiting.

Rocky opens the metal door with a clang. ‘He’s vexed, so watch yourself.’

Demi nods and sneaks through. Unlike the first time she came here, the room is full. The CBD girls are huddled in a corner and there are several men stood around, including the card players and the man from the wall on Solomon Street. Demi wonders where he’s left his dog.

In the middle is the table. Only it’s not a table any more. It’s in a splintered heap, scattered with broken glass. On the far side, in the knocked-through room, is Danny. He has his back to them and is holding an axe.

Everyone is silent. The only sound is the grunting that comes from Danny.

When he turns, Demi understands that he’s not grunting. He’s growling. The pit bull isn’t necessary, there’s already an animal in the room.

‘How did this fucking happen?’ he shouts, flecks of white spit collecting in the corners of his mouth.

No one answers. Demi assumes he’s talking about Chika’s death and of course no one does know what happened.

‘These scumbags think they can come into my area and take from me.’ Danny raises the axe and flings it across the room. It skitters into the wall, sending out a cloud of plaster dust.