The Goldsworth Series Box Set Page 2

  “Night, Clint.”

  Clint smiled to himself, “Night, bro.”

  A few minutes later, the sound of Kojo’s gentle snoring reached Clint’s ears. He smiled, pleased that Kojo could sleep so easily. At least his brother had a clear conscience. He knew the same wasn’t true for himself. As the images of the night’s events drifted back into his mind, as clear as if they were being re-enacted in front of him, he realised it was going to be a rough night. Really rough. And the worst part was, he didn’t know what to expect tomorrow. Would they all be arrested? Could they get away with it? Before now he had never believed people when they said that the scariest thing was the unknown. Now he knew that the unknown was truly terrifying.

  * * *

  Aurora Curtis sat up in her bedroom, looking at the empty bed on the other side of the room. It was her older sister Shaniqua’s and she still wasn’t home. She had no idea where she was, just that she had been going to the JZ Club and that she had said she would be home by midnight.

  Her mother was frantically pacing about the kitchen, a fag in one hand and a can of Strongbow in the other.

  A knock on the door made Aurora jump. She flew out of the bedroom and down the hall. Her mother Marlena was a few steps behind her.

  They opened the door to two police officers, their expressions unreadable and Aurora felt apprehensive.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Marlena groaned, “What do you lot want?”

  “Sorry to disturb you ma’am, but we’re here about your daughter, Shaniqua Curtis?”

  “Well she ain’t here,” Marlena said gruffly, the fag hanging precariously between her lips.

  “We know, Mrs Curtis, but –”

  “What, you telling me she’s been arrested?” Marlena asked, hands on hips.

  “No, but –”

  “Well, what then? Knocking on our door in the middle of the bloody night -”

  “Mum, will you just shut the fuck up and listen to them?” Aurora shouted, turning on her mother. Marlena looked about to protest, but decided against it and kept quiet.

  “Can we come in, please?” the officer asked, “You may need to sit down.”

  Marlena and Aurora exchanged concerned looks, but led the way into the kitchen. They both took a seat at the kitchen table, and Marlena made an awkward attempt to hide the can of Strongbow.

  “What’s going on?” Marlena asked, “She been arrested?”

  “No, Mrs Curtis,” the officer responded, “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  Feeling the seriousness of the situation, Aurora looked anxiously from one officer to the next. “Is Shan alright?”

  “I’m afraid that, earlier tonight, we responded to a call reporting a young woman had sustained serious injuries. I’m afraid it was Shaniqua. She died before we got to the scene.”

  “Oh my God,” Marlena gasped, her body beginning to shake violently, “My baby. No, there must be a mistake.”

  “Mrs Curtis,” the officer said consolingly, “She was stabbed. She sustained a single wound to the abdomen and died from blood loss before any paramedics could arrive.”

  As the news sank in, Marlena stubbed her cigarette out and immediately lit another. Aurora felt bile rising in her stomach. Dots began appearing, obscuring her vision. She felt a sense of dread. Her head began to spin.

  One of the officers looked at her, concerned.

  “Do you need some water?” he asked.

  “No, no, no,” Aurora stammered, before standing up. Her chair scraped across the floor, and Aurora fled from the room, the corners of her eyes stinging. She slammed her bedroom door shut and buried her head in her pillow, before bursting into tears.

  It was a few hours before Aurora stopped crying. She felt empty inside, and as she looked in the mirror, she saw her normally beautiful green eyes were bloodshot and looked awful. She examined her face. She looked so similar to her older sister, they both shared the same deep green eyes, perfectly shaped lips, small noses, and the same curly black hair and dark skin that they had inherited from their mother.

  She heard the front door open and close. It would be her mother. She had been to the mortuary to identify Shaniqua’s body. Aurora had wanted to go, but Marlena had for once made a sensible decision as a mother, and decided that the mortuary was no place for a teenage girl. She heard the light in the kitchen hum to life, and knew her mother would remain there all night, unable to sleep and numb with grief. Aurora sighed and turned her bedroom light off. She lay on the pillow, unable to think of anything but her sister and how much she would be missed. How could anyone have done this to her? She was harmless and never caused trouble. She felt sick.

  She looked at the door, half expecting Shaniqua to walk into the bedroom, laughing about something that had happened at the club. Even as she thought it, Aurora struggled to accept that this wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. Shaniqua was in the morgue. Still, the thought that she wouldn’t walk in, smelling faintly of vodka and her favourite perfume couldn’t register in Aurora’s mind.

  In the kitchen, Marlena stared down at a picture of herself as a younger woman. She had once been pretty, young with fresh-looking skin and no wrinkles. In the picture, she was stood with her husband, and her two daughters, just after Shaniqua had started primary school. Aurora had been a toddler, and was in her father’s burly arms. Marlena poured herself a large glass of vodka. She didn’t bother mixing it, she knew she wouldn’t care about the taste. The picture seemed to remind her of everything she had lost. Her beauty, her youth, and her husband. And now Shaniqua. It all seemed so unfair. As she took another long gulp of vodka, she wondered how long before Aurora too was lost to her, and then she would have no-one. She lifted the glass of vodka and took another long drink, her tears burning her face almost as much as the vodka burnt her throat. But she didn’t care. Now her eldest daughter was gone, and there was nothing she could do to get her back. She had failed her, failed to protect her, failed to be there for her when she had needed her the most. She thought of her daughter, alone and dying, in pain, lying on the floor. She thought about what Shaniqua had been thinking as she lay dying in the street. The policeman had been unable to answer that question for her, they had arrived too late.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The weather was exactly how she had always remembered it to be in London. Although it was sunny, almost warm, the clouds loomed with the threat of rain. As the car slowed down for a red light, Serena Patterson finally had a chance to look properly at the buildings surrounding her. Tall, glass structures filled with suited men and women she had never seen before, nor would again. She wondered at a society that seemed so open, with its glass buildings and laws regarding publication of private government documents, but which, in reality, was as closed-minded as anywhere else.

  The people of London had always intrigued and despised her in equal measure. On the one hand, she had always been fascinated as a child, to see so many people crossing each other’s paths without even noticing it. It had made her feel anonymous as a child, which under the circumstances, she had been extremely grateful for. On the other hand though, she had been horrified for the same reasons. It seemed that it was the city of anonymity. Nobody knew anyone else, nobody knew their neighbours. Or cared. She still hadn’t decided which was worse. She had been dismayed, disappointed, that neighbours no longer had that community spirit which some programmes on TV, such as EastEnders, tried to suggest still existed in this modern, fast-paced society. Serena knew from past experience that a child could be lying dying in a flat, and even the neighbours wouldn’t notice until it was too late. If they noticed at all…

  And now she was back. Back in the city which for so long she had tried to forget about. Some parts of the capital were better, she relented. But her experiences in some of the places, the dark corners of the city that the majority of people tried to pretend didn’t exist, had taught her not only to be tough, but to be suspicious. Everyone was a potential threat. Anyone could do you harm, whet
her intentional or not. Everywhere could be a danger zone if you let it be. And that was why she made such a good police officer.

  The car began moving again, and the taxi driver turned to face her.

  “So what business you got with Scotland Yard?” the taxi driver asked pleasantly.

  “I’m a Detective,” Serena replied, smiling, “I’m here to help out on a case.”

  “Really?” the driver commented, “Which one?”

  Serena shook her head, “Sorry, I can’t discuss open cases.”

  The taxi driver shrugged and directed the taxi down another main road.

  The truth was, even Serena didn’t know the details of the case. This was partly what was causing her to have doubts. She liked being prepared, so not knowing which case she’d be working on was troubling her. Questions filled her head. Why hadn’t they specified the details on the phone? Why had her boss been so adamant that she should go? She had no answers, and no details, and her discomfort was rising as they neared Scotland Yard.

  “Well, here we are, Missus,” the taxi driver said as he stopped the car outside a large building, fronted by a sign indicating that they had reached Headquarters.

  Serena glanced in her compact mirror and was satisfied. Her dark skin was complemented by a light eye shadow and minimal lipstick. Her hair was still in place in a tight bun at the back of her head.

  “Thanks,” she said, snapping the mirror shut and dropping it into her bag.

  Serena paid the man and climbed out of the taxi. The previously clear skies had clouded over, and she pulled her coat closer to her chest. It was January, and she had expected the cold. She knew how bad the weather could be in London and had dressed accordingly.

  She made her way to the main entrance and gave her details to the receptionist manning the front desk. A few minutes later, a balding man with a grim expression and faded grey suit joined her in the lobby and introduced himself.

  “Good morning, Detective Patterson,” he said, offering his hand, “Pleased you could make it. I’m Superintendent Jenkins. I’m in charge of the case you’ll be working on.”

  “I’m pleased to be here,” she lied, shaking his hand, “So, about this case?”

  “I’ll give you the details up in my office, if you’ll follow me.”

  Serena followed Jenkins out of the lobby and up the stairs. After three flights of stairs, they turned out of the stairwell and passed suited officers surrounded by coffee cups and stacks of paperwork. Nobody looked up at her from their desks. A man walking down the corridor in the opposite direction didn’t even look at her.

  Eventually they reached Jenkins’ office. It was a small room, containing a desk, three chairs and a large filing cabinet which, Serena guessed, contained files of all currently open cases that Jenkins was in charge of. Jenkins took his seat behind the desk and motioned for Serena to do the same.

  Serena sat and folded her hands in her lap, as she always did when she was preparing for a briefing. Jenkins scrutinized her for a moment before speaking. Up close, Serena noticed the thin lines spreading from Jenkins’ eyes like roads on a map and his teeth were stained yellow, no doubt from a lifetime of smoking.

  “You had a good trip?”

  Jenkins struck her as a man who got straight to the point and the question surprised her.

  “It was fine,” she replied cautiously, “Just relieved I came by train and not plane.”

  Jenkins muttered an agreement as he pulled a file towards him and opened it.

  Serena instinctively leant forward fractionally and Jenkins’ eyes snapped up. She wondered whether she had been presumptuous in thinking that the file was related to the case she would be helping out on, but Jenkins passed the file over to her.

  She took it and scanned the first page.

  “Last night, a young woman was stabbed,” Jenkins explained, as she flicked through the case notes in the file. “Not even out of her teens. No murder weapon has been found and forensics couldn’t find anything that could identify the killer.”

  “Motive?”

  “They’ve ruled out sexual assault and robbery,” Jenkins replied. “The victim still had her purse and mobile phone in her bag. Someone found her unconscious and called an ambulance, but it was too late. Family have been notified. They think it’s a case of black on black violence. Perhaps gang related, but maybe not. She hasn’t been flagged up on the system so she doesn’t seem to be connected to any gangs.”

  Serena looked up at him and he held her gaze.

  “What are the press saying?”

  “You can imagine,” Jenkins said, running a hand through what remained of his hair. “They’re having a field day. The usual headlines: the police have no control any more, youth violence is out of control. Gang culture. You know how it is.”

  Serena nodded. She knew how the press liked to lead the public to believe that the streets were in anarchy and that young people were all involved in gangs and drugs and murder.

  “It’s a big headache for us all,” Jenkins continued. “Especially so soon after that spate of gang violence that’s been well publicised in the papers, and the stabbing over in Hackney.”

  Serena continued skim reading through the case briefs. Shaniqua Curtis. Nineteen years old. From a single parent family. She froze as a familiar name caught her eye.

  “The Goldsworth Estate,” Serena said, comprehension dawning on her. This explained why she had been brought in. “The victim was killed on the Goldsworth?”

  “Yes, and she also resided there with her mother and sister.”

  “She was black.”

  “Yes,” Jenkins said, frowning. “Is there a problem?”

  Serena took a deep breath as she fought to keep her temper under control. She knew her instincts had been right. She should never have come back. She had half hoped to be part of a big case that would make her career, but now she knew the real reason she had been drafted in.

  She had been raised on the notorious Goldsworth Estate until the age of eighteen. Her youth had instilled in her a fierce sense of survival, and a stronger sense of right and wrong. The things she had seen during her childhood had influenced her decision to join the police force and she had risen through the ranks due to determination and strength of character.

  Yet she had refused to take a job at an innercity station. The memories of the past were too fresh in her mind and so she had opted for a career as Detective Inspector in a part of the CID department in Cornwall.

  She liked Cornwall, with its community spirit and country landscape. It was so unlike London.

  After all her hard work, it seemed that the colour of her skin and her roots were all that mattered to the bosses. She would be the Scotland Yard poster girl. A black woman tackling gang violence in the estate she grew up in. She could see the appeal, could see how it would stop the talk of racism and sexism that had been bandied around by the media about the police for years.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Jenkins said, leaning forward in his seat. “Yes, a part of the reason for bringing you in was to get the papers off our backs for a while. That was upstairs’ decision, not mine. But you have to see why you have an advantage over other detectives.”

  Serena remained silent but she had already foreseen this side of their argument.

  “You know the area,” Jenkins said, when Serena didn’t speak. “You know the people on that estate like no other detective does. Not only that, but you can gain their trust and confidence in a way that others couldn’t.”

  “I know I have some advantages,” Serena said, relenting. “But if you think anyone will give me answers just because I grew up there, or because I have the same skin colour, then you’re wrong. I’m just another pig to them, like any other.”

  “I appreciate it won’t be an easy case. And I understand that you’d normally prefer not to involve yourself in cases like this, but we’re talking about a young woman’s death. Your assistance could be the difference between a successful res
olution and a killer going uncaught.”

  Serena sighed. She was beaten and they both knew it. If she turned down this case she would effectively be ending her career. The career she’d worked so hard for. And Jenkins was right in what he was saying; a young woman was dead and no matter her personal feelings about the Goldsworth Estate. The killer deserved to be caught.

  “I’ll help anyway I can,” she said. “Who is taking lead in the case?”

  “You’ll have full control of the investigation. I’ll just need updates for the press.”

  There was a knock on the door and a young man walked in. He had short blond hair that contrasted with his brown eyes, and he wore a black and white uniform. He nodded towards Serena.

  “Detective Patterson, this is PC Casey McMillan,” Jenkins said, as the man stood by a chair, unsure whether to sit or stand. “He’ll be your assistant on this case.”

  Serena stood and held out her hand. McMillan shook her hand but Serena thought she saw a flicker of resentment cross his face. Perhaps he was going to be one of the officers who felt reluctant to take orders from a woman.

  “If that’s all for now, I need to check-in to my hotel,” Serena said, turning to Jenkins.

  Jenkins nodded. “Just keep me informed of any progress. If you need extra resources, I’ll do my best for you.”

  Serena thanked him and nodded to McMillan, before picking up the case file and leaving the office.

  When she was back outside the building, she took a deep breath and lit a cigarette, drawing the smoke into her lungs and feeling her anger slipping away. She made a mental note to herself that she would have to keep her temper in check in the future.

  As she leant against a low wall and smoked, she reflected on her meeting. Jenkins seemed capable but she doubted he could handle being back out on the streets. He had the worn look that many detectives got when they had spent a few too many years behind a desk rather than on the beat. He would expect results from her and she had to provide them.