Nothing But Trouble, page 6
part #11 of Jessica Daniel Series
‘Why am I here?’
‘To nick round the back, just in case. If no one’s popped out in five minutes, come back here.’
‘Do you think Irfan’s inside?’
‘What? Getting a manicure? If I thought that, it wouldn’t just be me and you.’
‘Who is inside?’
‘His sister. Let’s go.’
Jessica waited for Archie to sidle around the side of the Londis, heading to the passage at the rear of the shops. He was strutting in the way he always did, knees slightly bent, the lad about town. Sometimes she thought she couldn’t stand him, other times she wasn’t sure what she felt. He was good at his job but the pair of them had crossed a line from which they couldn’t retreat.
When he had disappeared, Jessica entered the nail bar, checking from side to side until she spotted Falak Nabil sitting behind a screen, out of sight from the front window, sipping something green and steaming from a cup. The woman behind the counter asked if she could help but Jessica ignored her, angling in the other direction.
‘Hey, Falak,’ she said.
Irfan Nabil’s sister was in her early twenties, long, straight black hair stretching down her back. She was wearing skinny jeans and a black top, with a beautifully embroidered satin scarf that wrapped across the top of her head and looped under her chin. She smiled, before the recognition set in. She sank in her seat, sighing silently.
‘Can I borrow you for five minutes?’ Jessica asked.
There was an awkward glance between Falak and her boss, with Jessica not wanting to reveal she was police. Jessica looked between them, before Falak spoke. ‘I’ll only be five minutes.’ The other woman took in Jessica, before nodding tersely.
Out front, Jessica leant on her car, smiling thinly. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
Falak had her arms crossed, back to the shop. ‘What’s he done now?’
‘I can’t say but I do need to find him.’
The younger woman was grinding her teeth before she reached into a pocket and took out an e-cigarette. She gripped it between her teeth, puffing a spiral of something that smelled fruity into the air.
She held the device in between her fingers at her side. ‘I don’t have anything to do with Irfan, neither does the rest of my family.’
‘Why not?’
Her voice was low, furious. ‘Why do you think? He brings shame on us all.’
‘That’s why I’ve come to you, rather than your mum and dad. At the moment, my colleagues are searching in the area where we last knew he was living. If they can’t find him, they’ll go to your parents’ house.’
Her eyes widened. ‘They can’t! Not again.’
‘They won’t have any choice.’
‘I don’t know where he is.’
‘But you’ll know more than your mum and dad. If your brother’s not at home, where is he?’
Falak drew deeply on the e-cigarette. There was a browny-purple scrawl of henna along the length of her fingers, stretching into a swirl on her wrist. Her long, rounded nails were painted in intricate rainbow stripes, the tips a spiky silver. She watched Jessica with deep brown pupils, before taking a second suck from the tube.
‘He’s got a girlfriend,’ she said.
Jessica scrambled into her pocket for a pad. ‘What’s her name?’
‘I don’t know . . . Sharon? Sonia? Sophie? Something with an “S”. A white girl.’
‘Where does she live?’
Falak glanced sideways, to where Archie was edging towards them. Jessica waved him away, watching him acknowledge and head into the Londis.
‘He’s a colleague,’ Jessica said, nodding at Archie’s back.
Falak took another breath from the e-cigarette, then fiddled with the end, before pocketing it. ‘What’s Irfan done?’ she whispered.
‘Something stupid.’
She shook her head, sucking on her bottom lip. ‘If I tell you where she lives, will you make sure he’s safe?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Last time he was arrested, he broke two ribs. He said it was one of you, you said he was trying to escape.’ She shrugged, wanting to believe her brother, but not quite able.
‘There are procedures . . .’
‘That didn’t stop him getting his ribs broken.’
‘I could take you to the station and ask you in an interview room.’
Falak smiled thinly, dismissing the implied threat. ‘He could have gone by then . . . all I’m asking is that he doesn’t get hurt. You’re the police, isn’t that the minimum we should expect?’
‘I’ll pick him up myself,’ Jessica said.
Falak nodded, reaching for Jessica’s pad and pen and scribbling a note, before handing it back. Jessica made sure she could read the handwriting and then pocketed it all.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
Falak gulped away a mix of annoyance and upset, half-turning to the nail bar, before replying. ‘If he gets hurt, it’s on you.’
Jessica was still annoyed by the time she pulled up outside the address Falak had given her. ‘You’re so selfish,’ she told Archie, who was slouched in the passenger seat.
‘What? I left the station in a rush. I only had a quid.’
‘So buy two things that cost 50p. I’ve had to drive all the way here, listening to you slurping on a Calippo.’
‘You could have had a suck.’
He sniggered childishly, not needing to add the punchline.
Jessica tutted as she checked Falak’s note to make sure they were at the right place. It was a run-down semi-detached, with grubby double-glazed windows, a soil-streaked front yard, and a battered tumble dryer left on its side at the edge of the pavement. It sat at the centre of a row of similarly tattered properties.
Archie was clucking his teeth, nodding at the house. He’d wedged his empty ice-lolly tube on her dashboard and was making no effort to remove it. If she’d done that, it wouldn’t have been a problem – she was hardly a clean freak – but the fact he’d assumed he could dump stuff in her car was infuriating. She wanted to tell him off but if he used the word ‘nagging’, there was every chance she’d lose it.
‘You reckon he’s inside?’ Archie spoke with a click as he used his tongue to try to free something from between his teeth. He was so annoying.
‘Maybe.’
‘Why haven’t you called anyone?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Right.’ He spoke in the annoying way that made it clear he knew it wasn’t.
‘Can you do me a favour, Arch?’
He pushed forward in the seat. ‘What?’
‘If anyone asks, we received urgent, time-sensitive information. Because of the state of the traffic, there was no time to report that to anyone, else we’d risk losing the suspect.’
She could feel him turning sideways to watch her. ‘Of course – that’s what happened, innit. Time-sensitive. Traffic. Got it.’
He might be annoying but at least she could trust him.
‘It’s only Irfan Nabil,’ Jessica continued. ‘I’ve arrested him before, most of the officers at the station have. Not a big deal. If he is there, we go in, grab him, out, you keep him quiet in the back seat, then we go back to the station. Easy peasy.’
‘Gotcha.’
Jessica wasn’t convincing even herself. Irfan had once been caught riffling through the magazines inside a newsagent at three in the morning. He wasn’t University Challenge material – but then this wasn’t a robbery, this was a break from a prison van. Still, it was that or risk breaking her promise to Falak and Jessica didn’t want to do that.
‘How are we going to do this?’ Archie asked.
‘Same as the nail bar. You pop round the back, I go through the front. If he runs, nab him. Just don’t bloody hurt him.’
‘What if he runs at you?’
Jessica turned to face him, eyebrows raised. ‘What if he does?’
‘I just mean . . .’
‘What?’
He hesitated, not wanting to add: ‘You’re a girl.’
She didn’t force him to finish the sentence and dig himself a deeper hole. ‘What are you waiting for?’ she said. ‘Get round the back.’
Archie did as he was told, climbing out of the car and heading to the end of the row of houses, before disappearing into the alley. Jessica took a deep breath, a little out of her depth for the first time in a while. Usually, she wouldn’t give herself time to think before doing something stupid . . .
Out of the car, she first searched for a bell, before knocking hard on the glass of the double-glazed door. There was a shuffling, a clunk, and then a man’s voice: ‘Who is it?’
Jessica stepped away from the rippled glass, narrowly out of sight of the nearby window. ‘I’ve got a parcel.’
There was a short pause and then: ‘Leave it on the doorstep.’
‘I need a signature.’
The shuffling became louder and then a shadow loomed on the other side of the dappled glass. It moved from side to side, then there was a clicking before the door opened a sliver.
BANG!
Jessica threw her shoulder into the door, forcing it inwards but bouncing as the person inside shoved back. A man yelped but Jessica had the momentum, heaving forward until the resistance disappeared and she stumbled onto the doormat. She peered up to see Irfan’s mop of black hair disappearing through the open door ahead. There was a jangle of pans and a clatter of china as Jessica heaved herself up, racing after him into a kitchen. Irfan’s top half was out of the window, his trainers scrambling on the back of the tiles as the contents of the draining board scattered across the floor. Jessica lunged for him, but only managed to hold onto his shoe as he fell through the other side, landing with an ‘oof’.
She kicked her way past the clutter on the floor, scrambling for the back door, which, luckily, had the key in the lock. As she dashed into the back garden, Jessica relaxed, peering up to see Archie sitting on the flapping, wriggling figure of Irfan Nabil.
‘Let me go, I—’ Irfan’s eyes widened as he spotted Jessica, the game firmly up. ‘I didn’t do it,’ he added desperately. Archie shifted his position, allowing Irfan to roll and then stand before the handcuffs were clipped around his wrists.
‘Didn’t do what?’ Jessica asked.
‘Whatever it is.’
‘Aye, pal,’ Archie replied on her behalf. ‘That’s what they all say.’
7
The heater in the corner of the interview room was fighting a losing battle against the power of the air-conditioning. Somewhere, an iceberg was melting, seals were dying, and Greenpeace would be going mental if they realised how much electricity was being wasted on a building that was simultaneously being cooled and heated.
Archie was restless at Jessica’s side, shuffling in his seat, wanting to get involved as Jessica remained calm and spoke slowly and deliberately. Irfan Nabil was on the other side of the table sweating, which was nothing to do with the heat, or lack of. The duty solicitor had her fingers interlocked, knees crossed, generally waiting for the same thing as Jessica: Irfan to say something stupid. Sooner or later it would happen, they both knew it.
‘Did you kill Owen Priestley?’ Jessica asked.
Irfan couldn’t sit still. ‘What? No.’
‘But you did break him out of the prison van?’
‘No!’
He’d done well so far, the most basic of questions failing to trip him up. He’d got his own name right, too.
Jessica slid an enlarged photo that showed Irfan next to the prison van across the desk. ‘That’s your scar, isn’t it?’ she said.
She peered from the pictured scar to the actual one, a purple moon-shaped ripple across the curve of Irfan’s right cheek.
He touched his skin, no doubt wondering if he could get away with denying it.
‘Er . . . maybe.’
‘It is your scar, isn’t it, Irfan?’
‘Um . . .’
She passed across a second photo, the same as the first but not such a close-up. It showed Owen Priestley and a balaclava-clad figure heading across a road, then Irfan slightly behind, his balaclava two-thirds removed, glancing backwards towards the picture-taker.
‘Was the balaclava itchy?’ Jessica asked. ‘Or hot? I bet it was warm under that in the heat yesterday. You lifted it up for a quick scratch, then kept running.’
‘Um . . . no comment.’
Jessica nodded, wanting to elbow Archie to stop him wriggling. The constable was dying for a crack. She slid across a third photo – Owen Priestley’s limp, lifeless body dangling from the motorway bridge. ‘So, you broke him out yesterday, murdered him overnight and then left him hanging for us to find.’
Irfan’s eyes widened, a small gulp giving way to a truthful cry of surprise. ‘He’s dead?’
‘Don’t you watch the news?’
‘I didn’t do it.’
‘You broke him out and that was the last time he was seen. Seems clear-cut to me.’
‘But, I . . .’
‘You what?’
Irfan’s neck shrank into his top, a tortoise taking shelter in its shell. ‘It wasn’t me.’
‘Which bit wasn’t you? The breaking out, or the killing?’
The solicitor spoke without turning. ‘You don’t have to answer that. One incident isn’t necessarily linked to the other.’
‘Do you believe that, Irfan?’ Jessica asked. ‘Is that how you think a jury will see it when they see the photo of you with Priestley?’
He shook his head.
‘What does that mean?’ Jessica asked.
Another shake.
‘Let’s say I believe you – you’re not a murderer, you’re a shoplifter and a thief. A pretty shoddy one at that.’ She opened a cardboard folder and started to read. ‘We’ve got possession of cannabis, possession with intent to supply cannabis, a dozen shoplifting offences, an attempted burglary, disturbing the peace, drunk and disorderly, blah, blah, blah.’ Jessica looked up. ‘How do you graduate from that lot to smashing someone out of a prison van?’
‘It weren’t my idea.’
Archie snorted, unable to control himself any longer. ‘Believe me, pal, of everything we reckon you’ve been up to, being the brains behind the operation is not on the list.’
Jessica let it go, before again taking control. ‘Which bit wasn’t your idea? The break-out or the murder?’
He shrugged. ‘I dunno.’
‘Okay, let’s go backwards. First of all, who was the other person under the balaclava?’
‘When?’
‘When you broke Owen Priestley out of the prison van.’
Irfan shook his head.
‘What does that mean?’ Jessica asked.
‘No comment.’
‘Are you really going to do this? You’re looking at conspiring to assist an offender’s escape from lawful custody – you can do ten years for that alone, and that’s before we talk about Owen Priestley being murdered.’
‘No comment.’
‘If you’re not going to say who you were with, then who was the person that hired you?’
‘No comment.’
Jessica tried to stay calm. ‘Come on, Irfan. Think of Falak, think of your mum and dad and your brothers. Ten years is a long time. If you work with us, I’ll see what I can do.’
‘No comment.’
Shite.
Jessica nudged Archie with her knee. Time to throw off the leash.
Archie leant forward, top lip curled. ‘I know who your mates are,’ Archie said, taking the file from Jessica. ‘There’s Scroaty McScroat, Jermaine Hipkiss, Ali Tambe, Dante Jacobs.’ He paused, shaking his head, peering up at Irfan. ‘Is he really named Dante? Seriously? Dante?’
Irfan was unmoved, gazing at a spot on the wall behind them.
‘Then there’s Jamar Sarwan – he’s your best mate, isn’t he? If you don’t give us the name of who you were with when you broke out Priestley, we’re going to pick this lot up . . . well, not Scroaty McScroat, but the rest of ’em. Every time they ask why they’re being nicked, I’ll make sure I’m there, telling ’em you’ve been talking. They’ll think you grassed.’
Irfan shook his head rapidly from side to side. ‘It’s nothing to do with them.’
Jessica cut in: ‘So who is it to do with?’
Another headshake.
Jessica slipped her chair backwards and put a hand on Archie’s shoulder, offering a quick glance to the camera in the corner above them. ‘I haven’t got time for this. Charge him and stick him back downstairs. We’ll have him in front of the mags tomorrow and they’ll refuse bail on the basis of the scar photo alone. He’s going to sit in a prison cell for the next six months as he waits for trial.’ She turned back to Irfan, raising her eyebrows. Last chance.
He shook his head, locking his fingers into one another, eyes fixed on the table, looking like a very frightened young man. She wondered if he was scared of prison, or worried about what might happen if he actually gave up the names.
8
There was a buzz and a crackle, then the words ‘thirty seconds’ fizzed through their radios. Archie leant forward in the passenger seat of Jessica’s car, a kid on Christmas morning.
‘This should be fun,’ he said.
‘More like a waste of time,’ Jessica replied.
They’d been bluffing when Archie listed the names of Irfan’s friends; she hadn’t expected Topper to turn around and tell them to pick up all his mates. Still, it wasn’t as if she, or anyone else, had a better idea. Irfan was one of the duo who had broken Owen Priestley and Kevin Jones out of the prison van. No one thought he’d murdered Priestley, but it could have been his accomplice, or whoever hired them. With Irfan unwilling to give them any details, it was desperate times – and everyone knew what desperate times called for: stupid ideas.
The flats in front were three storeys high, the once-red bricks giving way to dirty, dark stains along the height and width. Of the thirty flats, Jessica could see broken or boarded-up windows in at least six, with another half-dozen up for letting. Pity the poor bastards that ended up here. If you couldn’t abide the radioactive toxins of winter in Chernobyl, there was always this dump on the border between Salford and Eccles.
