Murder Ring (A DI Geraldine Steel Mystery) (21 page)

‘Dis ma crib,’ he answered, when a gang member had the balls to ask him where he went during the day.

It was a mild evening. More than a dozen youths were hanging out in the playground, standing around or sitting on the ground, rolling spliffs, smoking fags, their faces concealed in the shadows of their hoods. No one spoke. TeeJay watched a bitch deftly roll a joint. Apart from the gentle hum of traffic, pierced by an occasional wail of a siren, all was peaceful. TeeJay accepted the spliff and lay back on the seesaw, one arm beneath his head, gazing up into the clear night sky.

All at once the silence was disturbed by a burst of laughter from one corner of the playground. A few voices began jeering.

‘Tool!’

‘Hey, TeeJay, this wanksta’s trina beef ya!’

Everyone turned to see what was happening. With a grunt of annoyance, TeeJay heaved himself upright and swung his feet on to the ground. Seeing him scowl, his followers grew quiet.

‘Who disrespecting ma space?’ he demanded.

‘Dat loony wanna cotch wiv us.’

A couple of hefty gang members shoved the newcomer into the centre of the circle, while the others taunted him. By now they had all seen that the cause of the disruption was Theo, a crazy guy who lived on the estate. His curly black hair jiggled every time he moved his head, and his dark eyes stared around in terror.

‘Shiv him, TeeJay!’

The gang fell silent, jostling one another as they waited for TeeJay to react. Short and stocky, his presence dominated the arena as he took a long drag and dropped his spliff on the ground. A single thread of white smoke rose from it, twirling into the night air. All the time, his eyes never left Theo’s face.

At a nod from TeeJay, a lad with a heavy overhanging brow stepped forward.

‘Wait till my Jack gets home,’ Theo cried out, for the first time seeming to register the danger that was threatening. ‘Wait till my Jack gets home!’

At another nod from TeeJay, his chosen follower’s Neanderthal features spread in a grin. He raised a huge fist and froze as he caught sight of a gun in Theo’s hand. The watchers tensed. TeeJay didn’t move a muscle as Theo waved the gun around. At last the gun stopped moving. It was pointing straight at TeeJay. The gang leader couldn’t lose face. He kept his eyes fixed on Theo.

‘Don’t no blad move,’ TeeJay said softly. ‘Don’t no blad make no sound.’ He took a step towards Theo. ‘Stay cool, brah. Go home. Ain’t no blad get hurt. You do us, you mudder croaks.’

As TeeJay was speaking, Theo nodded his head.

‘I know where it is,’ he said earnestly, ‘I know where it is, I know where it is.’

TeeJay’s face twisted in a cautious frown. ‘What da fuck?’

He glared at the gang members standing behind Theo, but no one jumped the nutter.

‘You slow steppin, innit,’ he grumbled. ‘Listen up, brah,’ he turned his attention back to Theo, ‘put da shooter way. We gonna smoke.’ Theo nodded his head but kept the gun aimed at TeeJay. ‘Step off. You think cos you strapped we gonna play nice, innit, but you stuttin. You mudder.’

Something must have registered with Theo because he spun on his heel and darted away. TeeJay wiped his brow on his sleeve before looking round with a forced smile.

‘Breathe easy, blads,’ he said, clicking his fingers.

Lying back on the seesaw once more, he revelled in the adulation of his tribe. Someone rolled him a spliff and he took a long drag, thinking. No one had leapt to defend him. When they’d had the chance to jump the loony from behind, those losers had just hung around, waiting for TeeJay to sort it. He could have been gunned down, but it had turned out to his advantage in the end. He had stood his ground and, as a result, his credibility had never been so high.

As he smoked, he wondered how a crazy punk like Theo had got hold of a shooter. In the interests of public safety, if for no other reason, TeeJay would have to relieve him of it. If the pigs got to hear about it, they would be all over TeeJay’s turf like a dose of the clap. He sat up and beckoned to the gang. When they had gathered round, he sat up and glared around the assembled group. No one was to breathe a word about the gun. Those were his orders. There was a murmur of acknowledgement. Satisfied, TeeJay lay back on the seesaw again, and resumed his smoke. Tomorrow he would think about how to get hold of Theo’s shooter.

39

P
ASSING BY THE
main entrance to the compound the next morning, Geraldine saw a convoy of vehicles drive in. She stopped to see what was happening. Several vans squealed to a halt, the back doors were thrown open, and there was a racket as about two dozen young men were hustled into the police station. Aged from early to late teens, the youths were shouting and swearing at the uniformed officers supervising their arrival, making a terrible din. Geraldine walked over to find out what was going on.

A constable was shouting, trying to be heard above the noisy protests. ‘Shut it or you’ll all be cuffed.’

‘You ain’t got no business wiv us,’ one of the boys yelled back and the rest of them joined in, cursing and issuing futile threats.

The police officers continued to shepherd the group inside. Geraldine abandoned her attempt to talk to one of the constables dealing with the detainees. Instead she went inside and asked the desk sergeant what was going on. He told her that a gang had been rounded up after a resident on their estate had phoned the station that morning. The caller had reported seeing one of the youths threatening the others with a gun the previous evening.

‘Of course he couldn’t say which of them it was, and of course there’s no sign of any gun now,’ he added. ‘If there really was a weapon yesterday evening, it’ll be long gone now. We’ll never find it. We’ll lean on them for a bit and question them individually and then let them go. Waste of time, really, but we’ve got to go through the motions. And of course the gang leader’s nowhere to be found. It’s an established gang. They as good as run the George Berkeley Estate in Camden. Do you know it?’

She shook her head, although the name rang a bell. Looking for a gun herself just then, she knew only too well they were virtually impossible to find.

‘So how are you getting on?’ the desk sergeant asked.

She shrugged and shook her head.

‘It’s early days,’ he sympathised.

‘I suppose so. We’re arranging a TV appeal with the parents of the victim shot at Kings Cross so keep your fingers crossed for us.’

‘Good idea. You might get a result. It’s a busy area, so there should be quite a few potential witnesses about.’

‘Yes, you’d think so. Lots of people passing by, but how many of them are likely to see the appeal?’

‘You never know.’

They exchanged a rueful glance. There were times when their job seemed pretty thankless, a lot of donkey work for little or no return. Geraldine continued on her way to her office where she had to make the arrangements for the broadcast.

‘Someone must at least suspect who shot him,’ Geraldine had suggested to Luke’s parents.

She didn’t necessarily believe her own words. It was possible that no one knew who had pulled the trigger, apart from the killer himself. Even if someone else knew, and happened to watch the appeal, they would still have to be willing to share that information. Not everyone was prepared to help the police, whatever the circumstances. Still, she had to pursue any possible avenue and hope for the best, and Luke’s parents had agreed to participate, which would make the appeal more effective. Checking everyone was in the right place, and ensuring the bereaved parents understood what was required of them, occupied most of her morning.

The first time Geraldine had seen Luke’s mother, she had been wearing a shapeless grey jumper and baggy leggings that could have been pyjama trousers. Now she was dressed in a smart well-fitting navy trouser suit. Her hair, which Geraldine remembered as greasy and unkempt, looked glossy, as though it had just been washed and straightened. Mr Thomas had also made an effort for the television cameras. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie, and his thinning hair was plastered to his head with some kind of hair product.

‘What if I cry?’ Mrs Thomas asked.

Geraldine told her it wouldn’t matter. The parents of a murder victim displayed the human side of such a tragedy. She didn’t add that a display of grief could help persuade viewers to pick up the phone if they were in two minds about whether to come forward or not. Shortly before the appeal was due to begin, Geraldine’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen and recognised the social worker’s number. Excusing herself, she stepped out of the room where Mr and Mrs Thomas were seated at a table, ready to make their appeal. They were due to begin in just over five minutes.

‘Geraldine?’

‘Yes. How is she?’

‘The hospital called to say there’s been a minor complication –’

‘Oh my God. How is she?’

‘She’s stable.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

‘She suffered a minor setback an hour ago –’

‘What does that mean, a minor setback?’

‘She had a second heart attack –’

‘Oh my God. Should I go there? Is she all right? Why didn’t you phone me straight away?’

‘I only just heard. But they said she’s stable –’

‘So you keep saying, but what does that mean? Is she all right?’

‘It means she’s not in any immediate danger. It’s not critical. But you might like to go and see her later today. Give her a few hours to rest first. They said she’s sleeping, and that’s the best thing for her right now.’

‘OK. I’ll be there later. And Louise –’

‘Yes?’

‘Can you ask them to call me if there’s any change? I do appreciate your help, you know, but I’d rather hear directly from the hospital. Tell them I’m her next of kin.’

‘I’ll tell them. And don’t worry. She’s in good hands.’

Feeling slightly shaky, Geraldine returned to the parents waiting to talk about their murdered son. Although she tried not to think about her own mother, sick and possibly dying in hospital, she struggled to maintain her professional detachment when Mrs Thomas broke down in tears.

40

T
HEO OFTEN WOKE
up early. His sense of time was erratic. It gave Rosa a brief respite when he overslept, even though it meant he would probably be up late at the end of the day. This morning she had enjoyed the luxury of breakfast on her own. As she cleared the table she hummed softly, enjoying the temporary peace. Theo still wasn’t stirring. Determined to make the most of it, she busied herself tidying the small living room. Once Theo was out of bed, chaos would return. For now she could imagine her home as it might have been without him. But however destructive her son’s presence, she could never allow them to take him away. No one else would care for him like she did.

When he still hadn’t appeared by one o’clock, she began to wonder if he was sick. There was no response when she rapped at his door. Cautiously, she pushed it open. It was tricky stepping into the room. The floor was covered with clothes, pages ripped from magazines, old children’s toys, and odd items of bric-a-brac he had scavenged on his rare excursions outside: a broken umbrella, a wooden spoon, a man’s scuffed leather shoe, various items of underwear – clean and soiled seemingly interchangeable – and several woolly scarves Rosa had knitted for him in different colours. On his bed, along with his scrunched up duvet and pillow, were a tiny red patent leather shoe and a grubby pink woollen pig. Theo wasn’t there.

She checked the bathroom. It was empty. She looked in the cramped kitchenette. That was empty too. Panicking, she dashed round the flat, calling his name. The only place she couldn’t check was Jack’s bedroom. His door was locked. She banged furiously on the door. Theo must have managed to lock himself in there, although Jack kept the only key. When there was no response to her shouts, she checked the front door. It wasn’t locked. She was always careful to secure the door to prevent Theo running off, but she must have overlooked it. She hadn’t seen Theo for about seventeen hours. He might have slipped out at any time since then. He could be anywhere. Trembling with shock, she flung herself down on a chair in the living room and tried to work out a course of action. She didn’t really have much choice. Theo had to be found. He could be lying in a gutter, dying from a severe beating.

On the point of calling the police she thought better of it and rang Jack instead. He wouldn’t thank her for contacting the police. Besides, there was a chance Jack had accidentally locked his brother in his room before going out, or he might even have taken Theo out with him. He did occasionally take him out for a walk, although he had never kept him away for longer than an hour. Her hopes were dashed when Jack answered his phone. He had no idea where Theo was. As she had expected, Jack insisted it would be a mistake to invite the police to poke around in their business.

‘I ain’t letting no one take my bro away. They gonna say you ain’t able to take care of him. They’ll take him away from us and bang him up. They ain’t good to loonies, ma. You know it.’

‘Your brother ain’t no loony.’

‘We know it, but you know what they gonna think.’

Jack offered to come straight home, and made her promise not to do anything before he arrived.