Bones in the Nest (8 page)

Sean thought he knew the answer to that. He also thought the chances of anyone willingly opening their front door to two police officers was slim. There was one option he could try.

‘Hang on a minute, sir. I’ve got an idea.’

He took out his phone and dialled. There was no reply. He rang again. This time the phone was picked up. A rasping breath and finally the familiar cracked voice.

‘Hello, who’s this?’

‘Dad? It’s Sean.’

‘Who?’

‘Sean. I’m round the corner. Thought I’d come in and see you.’

‘What for? It’s the middle of the fucking night.’

‘It’s the morning and I’m right here on the estate.’ He hesitated. Khan was looking at him, waiting. ‘Thought I might see if you needed anything getting in.’

‘Don’t bother, I’m skint.’

‘Well, I can sub you.’

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Jack cleared his throat. ‘You know what? Eileen’s not coming back.’

‘Sorry to hear that,’ Sean could feel Khan’s impatience. ‘So shall I come up?’

There was a pause, punctuated by his father’s laboured breathing, and the sound of him lighting up.

‘Mm. OK then,’ he mumbled through the cigarette in his mouth. ‘But don’t go expecting a cup of tea. I’ve no milk.’

Eagle Mount One was in desperate need of a Mrs Armley. The inside of the lift stank. The two men watched as the doors closed and two halves of a swastika came together in front of them. On the right-hand door someone had written ‘EDL’ and on the left, ‘
NO SURENDER
’.

‘Is that how you spell surrender?’ Sean wondered out loud. Khan said nothing.

Sean rattled the letterbox on the front door. He ran two
fingers under his collar in an attempt to loosen it. A trickle of sweat was running into the armpits of his shirt.

‘Maybe you should wait on the stairs, sir. Do the scream as soon as I get inside, then we can go.’

‘You don’t want me to meet your father?’ The challenge in Khan’s voice was undisguised. His eyes were fixed on a sticker on the door, all that was left of a St. George’s cross, peeling around the edges.

Sean looked at his feet. Regulation kit, steel toecaps hidden under the black leather. He’d come a long way from the little boy whose mother was dead and whose telly was broken because his dad had kicked it in.

‘No. It’s fine.’

Although it wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine at all. If this was a bright idea to impress DCI Khan, it was one he wished he hadn’t had.

At that moment the door opened.

‘Now then, lad. Look at yer! Trussed up like a wanker. I thought you’d packed it in.’

‘Hi Dad.’

‘Who’s this? Your business partner? Fancy suit, that. What’s he up to? Loan sharking? You’ve come to the right place. I’m flat broke.’ His laugh broke into a fit of coughing. ‘Eh, that’d be right, a loan shark hiring a bent copper for a bit of muscle.’

‘I’ll go to the staircase. Count to twenty?’ Khan sounded embarrassed.

Sean followed Jack into the narrow hallway and closed the door, trapping them together in a flat full of stale air and bad memories. The sympathy he’d started to feel for his dad
was evaporating fast. He put his hand in his inside pocket for his wallet.

‘How much d’you need?’

Jack licked his lips with sticky spittle. Sean stared at a pile of dirty clothes lying on the floor.

‘What happened to Eileen?’

‘We’ve split up. Artistic differences!’

Jack laughed, hacking his way through a chest full of phlegm. Then Sean heard it: the high-pitched scream of a man in pain.

‘Did you hear that?’

‘If you say so.’

‘But did you?’

‘Hear what?’

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’ He pressed a twenty-pound note into his father’s hand. ‘Buy some food with that. You look like you need it.’

‘As if you bloody care. I can hardly manage the walk to the shop, you said—’

But Sean had opened the door.

‘See you, Dad.’

He shut the door as Khan came through from the stairwell.

‘Well?’ Khan said.

‘I heard you. He didn’t.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Sean jabbed his finger at the lift button. He couldn’t wait to be out of there.

‘People hear what they want to.’

The early morning music show is playing a song her mum used to like. Chloe leans out of bed and turns it off. That DJ is way too chirpy anyway. She sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the grit of sleep out of her eyes. There’s a couple of slices of bread in a plastic bag by her bed. It’s all she’s got left until the first payment for her apprenticeship comes through. The mealtimes in the hostel are too late for her early morning starts and too early in the evening. It’s all cleared up by the time she gets back. She owes money for her hostel charge, but now she’s getting nothing for it. She’ll take the bread with her and eat it on her journey.

The whole building is quiet. She tiptoes downstairs, her work boots in her hand. Bill had them waiting for her yesterday. There was a sale on at the garden centre, he said, and they happened to have her size. She’ll pay him back when she can. The office door is ajar, but she doesn’t want to see Taheera. They didn’t speak again last night after the
accusation over the mobile phone. Chloe thinks there should have been an apology; you can’t speak to people like that and decide it doesn’t matter. It does matter. With any luck, Taheera will still be asleep in the little staff bedroom, beyond the office.

As Chloe reaches the bottom of the stairs, the office phone starts to ring. The light is switched on. She heads for the front door and hears Taheera answer.

‘Hello? Yes. Ghazala? What’s wrong?’

Chloe has her hand on the exit switch to unlock the door.

‘I can’t hear you properly. What are you saying?’ Taheera says. ‘Which tower? He’s what?’

The catch clicks and Chloe opens the door to the street.

‘Dead? Mo’s dead? What d’you mean?’

Chloe hesitates.

‘No! Oh, God, no! No!’

Something crashes to the floor in the office. Another door opens and a sleepy voice from upstairs asks if everything is all right. Chloe slips out into the cool morning air and walks quickly to the bus stop.

The words on the menu in Val’s Café danced in front of Sean’s eyes and he didn’t have the energy to work it all out. He pretended to be too tired to choose and let Gav order.

‘Uncle Gavin knows best, sunshine, and you need to eat. You’ve had a shock and your blood sugar will be on the floor.’

In minutes a full English breakfast was put in front of Sean. He stuck his fork into his fried egg and watched the yolk pour out and merge with the juice from the baked beans. He shuddered, trying to blank out an unbidden image of blood pooled on concrete, and shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.

‘Back in the day, we’d have been in the pub by now,’ Gav was saying, pouring sugar into his tea. ‘A couple of double whiskies to get over ourselves. Now they offer you counselling.’

‘Food,’ Sean said through his mouthful, ‘is just as good. You were right.’

They ate in silence until they were mopping up the last juices from their plates with slabs of Val’s white sliced bread. She replaced their mugs of tea without asking. Sean wasn’t even sure if she was actually called Val, or whether she was a successor to the original owner, but she’d been running the café round the corner from the police station for years.

‘He’s taken a shine to you, that DCI Khan,’ Gav said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Sean shrugged. ‘Useful that I know the territory, nothing more than that.’ In the pocket of his trousers, the corner of Khan’s business card pressed almost imperceptibly against his thigh.

‘He’s a tricky bugger,’ Gav said, ‘so watch yourself.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Bit of a reputation for running to the bosses at the first sniff of things not going his way. Plays the race card if anyone crosses him, so I’ve heard.’

Sean shrugged. He hadn’t had much time to form an impression, but he thought the detective was all right. Serious, but all right.

‘He’s not got a lot of friends in the Sheffield force. That’s probably why he’s been sent over here,’ Gav said.

‘I thought it was the cuts. We can’t even get a Major Incident Team together on our own.’

Sean drained his tea. He was so full of food he thought he might fall asleep, face down in his empty plate, but he still had to pick up his moped and get back to his nan’s.

By 10 a.m. he was riding along Winston Grove, the curved crescent that ran along the lower end of the Chasebridge estate. The community centre masked his view of the base
of the towers, but he could see the first floor windows and above. He wondered how good Mrs Armley’s eyesight was and what she could see from her window.

His nan had texted him to say she needed a packet of fags and he thought he might pick her up some nice biscuits as a surprise. He parked in front of the parade of shops and rocked his ped onto the kickstand. AK News appeared deserted, but the jangling bell must have alerted someone because when he reached the counter, the plastic strips parted and a young woman in a hijab appeared from the back of the shop. Her nose was red and she had bloodshot eyes. He recognised her slightly as one of the family who ran the shop, but he didn’t know her name. There were several daughters or sons or cousins; they were interchangeable. He thanked her but she didn’t say anything. Not even a smile. Pretty rude, Sean thought. A smile didn’t cost anything.

As he was about to leave the shop, he saw through the glass door that there was someone by his moped, fiddling with the mirrors. He rushed out, slamming the door behind him, as the small figure darted away up the side of the library. The packet of biscuits slipped out of Sean’s hand and hit the pavement. Shit. A last drop of energy surged through his legs and he shouted something as he ran round the corner. It was meant to be
come here you little bastard
, but only the last word was intelligible.

Saleem Asaf was waiting for him behind the shops, a scabbed bruise fading on his forehead.

‘I need to talk to you,’ Saleem said.

‘You’ve got a cheek. What were you doing to my bike?’

‘Nothing. Just waiting for you.’

‘Well I don’t want to talk to you,’ Sean said.

‘You going to catch who did it?’

‘What are we talking about here?’

‘You going to catch who killed Mocat?’

‘Sorry?’

‘My cousin, Mohammad?’

Sean’s hand went to his pocket and he held Khan’s business card tightly between his finger and thumb. He was off duty now and his radio was back at the station, but he had his phone.

‘Are you saying you can identify the casualty found at Eagle Mount Two this morning?’

‘That ain’t no casualty, man. That’s a dead body. And he’s my cousin. It’s gone too far now. They take one of ours, if it don’t stop, we’ll have to take one of theirs. You get me?’

‘Who’s “they”?’

‘Chase Boys. White boys. Working off the Chasebridge estate.’

‘And you? Where do you work?’

He looked like he might be about to run again. Sean reached for his arm but Saleem didn’t move. He went limp under Sean’s grip and for a moment he was just a frightened young boy.

‘I’m going to call someone,’ Sean said. ‘He’s a senior detective. He’ll want to meet you. We’re going to stay here until he comes and if you try to run, I will stop you in whatever way I have to, God help me. Got that?’

The boy nodded.

They were in Khan’s black Range Rover. Sean had a pain in his head that was spreading from behind his eyes, right round the back of his ears and up over his forehead. He should be asleep in bed, but he was sitting in the back of the car with Saleem, who squirmed under the seatbelt, his face turned away from the window, as if he feared being recognised.

All spare manpower was on the estate doing house-to-house under the female detective’s orders. DS Simkins, Khan said her name was. He said he’d rather not bother her for any more officers and Sean heard himself offering to come along with the boy. He must be mad. He wasn’t even getting paid overtime and technically he was off duty. None of this seemed to concern DCI Khan.

‘Who were you talking about, Saleem?’ Khan said quietly. ‘Who was involved in your cousin’s death?’

Saleem was still for a moment before he replied.

‘Haram zathey.
Just scum. Don’t know any names. But he was clean, man, you won’t find nothing on him. Gone all straight-edged for some girl. I’ll take you to his mum, but that’s it. That’s all I know.’

‘How did you know it was your cousin who was the victim?’ Sean asked, then wondered if he should keep quiet but the thought was out of his mouth as soon as it had formed in his head.

‘Word gets out.’

‘Not from us, son,’ Khan eyed him for a moment in the rear-view mirror. ‘So who?’

The boy shrugged and focused on picking the skin off the side of his thumb. He didn’t say any more, beyond
directions to turn right or left, until they were on Nether Hall Road, where they pulled off into a street of red-brick terraced houses. There was nothing remarkable about the house where Saleem told Khan to stop. Net curtains hid its occupants; the short front path was swept clean and a row of potted geraniums filled the space between the bay window and a low wall to the street.

‘We going in or what?’ Saleem was anxious to get out of the car now that there was a possibility of being spotted.

‘I’m waiting for a female officer,’ Khan said.

‘What for? Come on man. You got bad news to tell my auntie, you better get on with it.’

A car was turning into the road behind them. Sean recognised PCSO Carly Jayson behind the wheel. As she got out and walked over to them, it was clear that her uniform and the Range Rover had caught the attention of the people in the house. A net curtain lifted and dropped. A few seconds later, the door opened and a girl of about twelve, in purple shalwar kameez, peered out. She saw Saleem, but as he stepped forward, she frowned and ran back inside.

‘Look, this is the house,’ he said. ‘You don’t need me now.’

‘We don’t,’ Khan came closer to him and spoke gently, ‘but your auntie might.’

The boy’s shoulders dropped and he seemed to grow younger still with this new level of responsibility. Khan led the way, followed by the boy, Sean and Carly. The house was quiet.

‘Hello?’ Khan called.

The girl appeared from the kitchen and mutely beckoned
them into the front room where a woman was sitting, her hair covered by a pale green, embroidered shawl, which matched her dress and trousers. She looked surprisingly young, but her face was tired and shadowed with dark circles under her eyes.

‘As-salamu alaykum.
My name is Detective Chief Inspector Khan.’

She looked up at him for a second before saying something which Sean didn’t catch, then she fixed her eyes on the carpet. Khan spoke to her in Urdu and Sean was able to pick out a few English words:
Chasebridge, police.
The girl sat next to her mother and held her hand. The woman remained still, nodding gently. She hadn’t acknowledged Saleem, but when Khan stopped speaking she looked at the boy with fire in her eyes. She spoke in rapid Urdu and her fury was undisguised.

‘No, auntie, it’s not my fault,’ he replied.
‘Allah dey Kassam.
What d’you blame me for?’

Khan turned to the boy. ‘Is there a father? We need someone to identify the body.’

‘His dad and mine,’ Saleem said, ‘they’re both away in Pakistan.’

‘She’ll have to do it. You should come too.’

‘OK. I’ll come.’ The woman’s voice was quiet and thick with the effort of holding back tears. ‘But not the boy, he stays here.’

There was a sound in the hall and Sean realised the house was filling with people. The vehicles outside, messages flying between phones, from young to old, had confirmed what until now had been a rumour.

‘We’ll wait outside,’ Khan said. ‘PCSO Jayson will accompany you to the car when you’re ready.’

A press of bodies in the hallway moved aside as they passed and two women pushed forward into the living room. As Sean and DCI Khan stepped out into the daylight, a sound like a wounded animal rose from inside the house.