Brotherhood of Blades (20 page)

‘They need someone to keep an eye on them,’ he answered.

‘They’ll have it.’ Hank winked. ‘I spoke to uniform, told them to keep a look-out, but from a distance.’

Dawes opened his mouth to tell him he had done well, but he suddenly caught sight of Alysha in the side mirror. She was running down the middle of the road, dashing in and out of the hooting traffic, beaded plaits bouncing around her face.

‘Jesus Christ. Where’s she going?’ Hank wound down the window.

Dawes put out his hand across to stop Peacock tooting the horn and shouting to her. ‘To find Jason Young, I’ll bet. She’s going to tip him off that we’re on to him.’

Hank Peacock gave a bark of laughter. ‘Like he won’t know.’ He was still laughing as Dawes picked up his radio and told all units to keep the young black girl with sequined jeans and chin-length plaits in sight. She would lead them straight to their target.

Georgia tidied the papers she had been reading back into the file and checked her wristwatch. It was five p.m. Her team had hardly slept last night, and it looked highly likely that tonight would be the same.

Stephanie clicked her phone shut. ‘DI Dawes,’ she told Georgia. ‘They think they know where Young is.’

‘Again.’

‘He’ll call us when they’re sure. Unless you want us to go over anyway.’

‘No. We’ll wait it out. If Young gets to Reilly it will save us a lot of paperwork.’

‘Isn’t that exactly what Dawes said last night. And didn’t you read him the riot act?’ Stephanie asked, amused.

‘Yes, all right, I was wrong.’ Lack of sleep was beginning to creep up on her. Stephanie emptied the change from her pocket on to her desk, ‘Black coffee?’ she said, and headed to the drinks machine without waiting for a reply.

As Stephanie fed coins into the machine a thought occurred to Georgia. ‘Are Ripley and Delahaye still in custody or have they been released?’

‘I’ll check with the duty sergeant.’

‘We’ll tail them.’ Georgia looked pleased with herself . ‘They’ll go straight to Reilly, and Young will be just a breath away.’

Steph handed her a steaming paper cup, waiting only to pick up the chocolate bars she had paid for, before heading off in the direction of the cells.

Georgia picked up her bleeping mobile. It was the crime scene manager from Sally Young’s flat. The news was good; they had found a bullet shell in the walkway close to where Sally was shot. It was on its way to ballistics, and they should get some information about both bullet and gun within hours.

She rang the uniformed sergeant on the Romney Estate to check on progress, but he had little to report. They had had no luck finding the gun, and no one had seen or heard anything; most wouldn’t even open the door. Some officers had had water poured over them; another had been hit by a used nappy, which had been tossed over the balcony.

Her next call was to the officer on standby at the hospital. Both Sally Young and Chantelle Gulati were still in intensive care. Chantelle was slipping in and out of consciousness but unable to speak. Sally was about to be operated on to remove a blockage they believed was caused by a bullet; the operation would be long and delicate, and it was touch and go if she would survive. Georgia reminded the officer that she needed the bullet if it was in there.

She swallowed the last of her coffee, slipped her arms into her leather coat and was waiting with Stephanie’s car keys when the sergeant came back into the investigation room.

‘Ripley and Delahaye are both giving the custody sergeant grief,’ Stephanie said. ‘They refused a lift in a squad car back to the estate, but he didn’t give them a choice. I told him not to put them in a car until we’re out there.’

‘Good,’ Georgia said. She shook her head. ‘No, nothing’s good. Only one thing will make three attacks in one day good. If we can get both Reilly and Young behind bars before I kill them myself.’

‘Patience,’ Stephanie said.

‘I’ve run out.’

‘KitKat helps.’ Steph handed her a stick of chocolate.

It hadn’t been easy getting into the old tunnel. Jason had crawled over to it on his belly, over the used nappies, around the dirtied needles and stale condoms, turning his head away as rats scampered across his path. The entrance was through a half-rotted discarded door; he could tell it hadn’t been used in a while because spiders, maggots and more rats scattered around him as he pulled it open. He’d dragged himself in among them and closed the door behind him. There was no light; the large black hole felt like a rehearsal for death. But sure as hell he was going to get Reilly first.

He could hear Fed cars approaching the estate like wailing banshees. He had the upper hand; he knew the geography of the estate like his own hand, and he also knew the residents wouldn’t help the Feds. A lot of them were old enough to remember when Jason ran the estate; he was good to them, rewarded them well when they covered for him during Fed raids. He had taken the trouble to find out what they needed, and he made sure they got it: CD player, sofa, even a wide screen television, the Buzzards would provide it. Jason cared for the welfare of the estate, and they knew it. He used to think of himself as a Robin Hood.

The young kids, or tinies as they were now called, had always liked him too. Remembering his own childhood, he made sure none of them went hungry. A lot of those tinies grew up to be his Youngers. Some of them were dead already; others followed Reilly now.

Jason understood that. It was all about survival; you did what you had to, and if you joined a gang, the gang protected you. Reilly terrified everyone with his dogs, and ruled the estate by fear. The residents wouldn’t give him up to the Feds either, not because they liked him, but because they were afraid of the consequences. Reilly even stabbed his Youngers if they made mistakes. In the old Buzzard days you never hurt your own crew. You looked out for each other, like family.

Jason couldn’t wait to shoot the fat bastard and rid the estate of him, no matter what the cost to himself. Reilly was going to pay for what he did to Chantelle and Luanne, and the estate would be a better place for it.

For an estate boy there were two choices: die young, or spend your life in and out of the slammer. What a fool he had been to think he could be different. He dashed away a few tears with a dirty hand, and groped for the gun.

It felt good.

Dawes spoke into his radio. ‘All units eyeball on young black girl, braided hair, sequined jeans and trainers, running toward the Aviary estate. Do not approach, repeat do not approach. Maintain eyeball.’

A reply came from Georgia. ‘Approaching Aviary estate in an unmarked car. We have eyeball on Alysha. She is heading around the back of the dustbins by the derelicts. I am pursuing on foot. Sergeant Green will follow in the car.’

Dawes updated her on his position.

‘Back-up moving in to estate perimeter.’ This was Jim Blake, the CO19 unit coordinator.

‘Take it slow,’ Dawes told him. ‘We don’t want to frighten Alysha off. We believe she is leading us to Jason Young.’

‘Alysha is on her stomach scraping at the ground,’ Georgia said. ‘There must be some kind of hideout hidden behind those dustbins.’

‘I’m parked by the kerb, ma’am.’ Stephanie Green. ‘Right by the derelicts. If anyone tries to run I have this edge of the estate blocked off.’

Georgia kept her eyes pinned on Alysha. The girl’s legs suddenly disappeared.

‘OK, all units, go, go go,’ Georgia shouted.

The CO19 team jumped from the vans, guns at the ready, and moved in behind Georgia to surround the area.

‘It looks like a door, under the ground,’ Georgia said, kicking it hard with her boot. ‘Alysha, can you hear me?’

There was no answer. She tried again. ‘Alysha, are you in there?’

Dawes sighed. It felt like Groundhog Day; less than thirty minutes ago he had stood with a CO19 team, expecting Jason Young to be on the other side of a shed door.

One thing was certain: Alysha was around here somewhere, and if Jason was with her, there was no way CO19 could shoot.

Dawes nodded to Jim Blake, who fired a warning shot into the air. A few nosy residents appeared, including Stuart Reilly, who stood watching with a wide grin.

‘Alysha!’ Dawes called into the loudhailer, moving closer together with Hank Peacock and a team of uniforms.

He pushed at the corner of the door, which was balanced against a pile of dirt. The door gave way and slid to one side. Behind it Jason Young lay on his belly, a gun in one hand and Alysha beside him.

‘Throw that gun out!’ Dawes shouted, stepping in front of Georgia. ‘And let Alysha go. Now! Do it.’

‘This isn’t what it looks like,’ Young said loudly. ‘I wouldn’t hurt Alysha.’

‘Prove it,’ Georgia shouted. ‘Let her go.’

No one moved.

‘Let her go,’ Georgia repeated. ‘Then throw the gun out, and we’ll listen to what you have to say.’ She stretched out an arm. ‘It’s OK, Alysha,’ she said calmly. ‘Climb out, and walk towards me.’

Alysha let out a loud wail.

‘It’s OK,’ Georgia assured her. ‘Just climb out. Your sister’s waiting.’

Young threw his gun on to the ground and slid it toward David Dawes. ‘She doesn’t like the Feds,’ he said. ‘She won’t go near you. She knows the Brotherhood will punish her if she does.’

Alysha looked terrified. Her eyes flickered from Jason to Georgia, and then to David Dawes. Suddenly she leapt past Georgia and was over the grass and heading for the stairs to Sparrow tower block in a matter of seconds.

Dawes picked up Jason’s gun, and two burly uniformed officers moved in quickly to pull Young out of the old tunnel. They turned him, frisked him, grasped his hands behind his back and clicked handcuffs on him as Dawes read him his rights.

Hank Peacock set off across the grass after Alysha.

‘Leave her,’ Georgia called. ‘She’s only going home. She’s scared stiff. I’ll send Steph up there in a while, to take her statement.’

‘No wonder so many estate kids turn to crime,’ Hank said. ‘I wish we could . . .’

‘Better concentrate on getting through your training before you try to change things . . .’ The sentence trailed away. One of the uniformed officers who had been searching Jason Young’s clothing stood up.

‘This was in his sock, ma’am,’ he said, holding up a short knife.

Hank Peacock moved in with an evidence bag. Georgia had rarely seen anyone look as bleakly despondent as Young did at that moment.

‘That’s it, then,’ he said. ‘My scholarship’s fucked. I should’ve known it was too good to be true.’

‘Shoot your own grandmother too, did you?’ Peacock said.

Jason visibly paled. ‘Gran Sals has been shot?’

‘Don’t pretend you didn’t know,’ Hank Peacock scoffed. ‘Where did you get the knife?’

‘It’s for protection.’

Dawes silenced Peacock with a little shake of the head. ‘A knife and a gun,’ he said to Jason. ‘That will put you straight back inside. And that’s just for starters.’

Two constables led him to the waiting police van, as Stephanie Green approached with her phone in her hand and a grim expression on her face.

‘Ma’am, a word. The hospital’s just phoned. Sally Young died on the operating theatre, and Chantelle Gulati has been rushed back into surgery with complications.’

Jason let out a deafening howl. One of the officers put one hand on his head and pushed him into the back of the police van. He closed the door, but Jason’s shouts could still be heard.

‘No-o-o-o! Tell me it’s not happening!’

Alysha had grown up a lot, Yo-Yo Reilly noticed as she approached the stairs of the Sparrow. She was tall for her age, no bad thing, and like her mother she had long, slender limbs. Blokes liked long legs. She looked cute too, which was another plus when someone wanted a young thing. He’d have her out on the streets earning before long.

It hadn’t taken him long to work out she was sweet on Mince Delahaye. Reilly made it his business to know other people’s weaknesses.

He blocked her path as she hurried toward the stairs. She fixed frightened eyes on him.

‘You’ve done well today,’ he said.

The hideous dog he was holding snarled and pulled at the end of its chain.

‘Sally Young’s dead,’ she said flatly.

‘Where did you hear that?’

‘Feds are talking over there. They’re all over her walkway, looking for a bullet.’

‘Did they find one?’

She shook her head and raised her head defiantly. ‘Mince said I should ask if you’d let me have some of your good grass.’ She stopped to watch his reaction, and he gave her a tight smile. She carried on. ‘Cos Luanne got a beating today.’

Reilly’s face broke into a wide grin. She was so like her sister – a greedy little cow. ‘You want some, you can have it, darling, but it’s for you, not Luanne. I’ll even throw in a bit of crack for your added enjoyment. And as you’ve had a tough day, I’m gonna tell Mince to give you a go-o-o-od time.’

Mince and Boot were sitting on a low wall a little way off, listening.

‘I ain’t giving this one a good time,’ Mince said, taking a step forward. ‘No way, little princess. You are way too young, innit?’

Reilly wondered why he’d never noticed how alike these two were. They both had long, gangly limbs they couldn’t quite control, and both had oval faces. Only their eyes were different: Alysha’s large and round, Mince’s almond-shaped.

‘This little princess wants some gear and a good time,’ he told Mince. ‘If that’s what she wants, that’s what she gets, after the day she’s had.’

Mince’s tongue moved nervously over his full lips. ‘No,’ he said. ‘There are some things I won’t do, Yo. The kid’s too young.’ He looked at Boot and Scrap for support.

Boot Ripley pushed himself off the wall, all ears. Scrap Mitchell, who had been standing a few yards away, moved closer. Nobody said no to YoYo, not even his Elders.