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.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Halsworth Grange
There are too many people in the garden, stopping and staring. Chloe tells herself they’re looking at the plants, not her, but it does nothing to calm her nerves. A sticky-faced toddler kicks a ball into one of the herbaceous borders and it thwacks against the stem of one of Bill’s best hollyhocks. She wants to tell the parents to get out and take the little brat with them, but instead she goes inside the shed to get some twine and a cane. While she’s staking it back up, hoping the damage isn’t too severe, she turns round to see a man taking photographs. He has the camera pointed right at her. She turns away and pulls the elastic out of her hair, letting the dyed blonde strands cover her face.