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  For Aurora, the feeling that came over her was strange. On the one hand, she was pleased that at least a witness might come forwards with information. On the other hand, it was hard for her to see her daughter’s life and death summarized by an anchorman in less than a minute, before being passed over for more coverage of the war in Iraq, or Afghanistan, or wherever the world had decided to invade this time.

  She heard the front door swing open, and her mother walked in a few seconds later, followed by the police detective, Serena Patterson.

  “Hi Aurora,” Serena smiled, before glancing at the television, “You must have seen the appeal then?”

  Aurora nodded, “Yeah, I saw it.”

  Marlena went into the kitchen and Aurora heard the bottle of antidepressants pop open. Then a can of Strongbow being opened. She didn’t know much about chemistry, but she was pretty sure that alcohol and antidepressants weren’t a good combination. Still, her mother might sleep easier tonight.

  Aurora grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

  “I’m just going out mum.”

  “Where? Why?”

  “I don’t know where, mum, I just need to get some fresh air.”

  Marlena looked at her quizzically for a few moments, before she shrugged and return her attention to the can of cider.

  “I’ll walk down with you,” Serena said, smiling, “I’d better get back to the station anyway.”

  Aurora shrugged and held the front door open for the detective.

  “So,” Serena said, when they were out of earshot of the flat, “What did you think of the appeal?”

  “I’m not sure. It was good, I think,” Aurora said awkwardly, “I mean, I don’t know exactly what makes an appeal good or bad. But I think it might get anyone who knows anything to come forward.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping it’ll do.” Serena said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

  “But, it felt weird at the same time. Like, it was a bit insulting, sort of. To have my sister talked about for two minutes, and then for the news to go to something else.”

  Aurora was surprised that she had told the detective this. She had always grown up thinking that the police meant trouble. If they asked you something, you gave the minimal response and got out as quickly as possible.

  As if sensing her conflicting emotions, Serena stopped and turned to face her. They had reached Serena’s car by now. Aurora was surprised, looking into Serena’s face properly for the first time, how young she looked.

  “I really do know how you feel,” Serena said. “I grew up on this estate. I know what people think of the police, what they think of crime. But I promise you, Aurora, I will catch you sister’s killer. I promise.”

  Aurora felt tears welling up in her eyes. The detective had spoken so resolutely that she had no choice but to believe her.

  “That’s what I want, justice for my sister.”

  Serena smiled, though her face was serious, “That’s exactly what you’ll get, don’t worry.”

  And with that, Serena climbed into her car and angled out of the car park. Aurora stood on the pavement, staring after the car, letting her emotions wash over her.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and a familiar voice whispered in her ear.

  “Are you okay? I seen you with that woman, and wanted to make sure.” It was Clint.

  Aurora nodded, and then burst into tears. Clint put a gentle arm around her and led her over to the stairs, where he sat them both down, his arm still around her.

  Aurora leaned into his jacket and continued to cry.

  * * *

  Clint had seen the appeal on the news as well. His mother had instantly began praying for the victim’s family, had prayed for Aurora, eyeing Clint with caution, aware that he had been walking to school with her for the past few years. And then she had prayed for justice, and for the killer. The murderer, as the news reporters on the television had kept saying.

  So Clint had made excuses to leave the flat. It was starting to feel claustrophobic. He just wasn’t sure if it was the flat and the fact that the news and Shaniqua’s death had penetrated his home so suddenly, or the whole estate, and what happened here so often.

  Then he had seen Aurora. He had been going to call her over, but then he’d seen the woman detective with her. It looked as if they were having a deep conversation, and he hadn’t had the courage to go over and join them. So he’d lingered in the shadows of a nearby stairwell until the detective had driven off, before going over. When she’d started crying, his instincts had been automatic. He’d had his arm around her and led her to the stairs before he’d even thought about it. As she continued to cry into his Adidas tracksuit top, he felt himself stirring. He wanted to protect Aurora, not just from the estate itself but from her own feelings, but he knew that it would be hard. His own guilt meant he struggled to find the right words, let alone comfort her in the aftermath of her sister’s death, of which he’d been involved in.

  Why did life have to be so complicated, he wondered sadly.

  He was stirred from his thoughts when Aurora let go of his jacket and looked up into his face, her green eyes wide and beautiful, entrancing almost. He kept his arm around her, as if this alone would be enough to protect her from everything. From life itself.

  “I’m sorry,” Aurora said softly, clearly feeling embarrassed, “It’s just, there was an appeal on the television, and, and –”

  “It’s ok, I saw it too.”

  “You did? Do you think it’ll work?”

  Clint felt his throat constricting. “I hope so.”

  It certainly had made him feel guilty. He just wondered whether anyone else would be moved by it, or whether he’d be the only person involved who had felt obliged, no certain, that he should come clean.

  “I hope so too.”

  “Who was the woman you were with?” He asked, “Was she a detective?”

  “Yeah, she’s in charge of the case. She’s really nice. Helpful. She’s from around here, you know. Brought up on the Goldsworth.”

  Clint was surprised. He hadn’t been expecting that. So she knew what to look for then, and she knew how to go about finding it.

  Sensing his surprise, Aurora smiled wanly. “Hard to believe isn’t it. I didn’t think anyone from the Goldsworth got a proper job, let alone in the police.”

  Clint shrugged, “I guess she got lucky.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe she was determined to get out. I mean, they don’t exactly come here to recruit officers, do they?”

  Clint grinned. That was the truth, they all knew. Aurora looked at his smiling face and giggled. It was a beautiful noise, Clint thought, and he felt himself stir yet again.

  A silence fell over them. It wasn’t awkward, Clint didn’t think. It was reflectory. They were both thinking deeply.

  After a few moments, Aurora broke the silence. “I miss her, you know. My sister.”

  Clint had been anxiously preparing for this moment, debating what he would do or say. Now the moment was here and he wasn’t sure he could even breathe, let alone respond. But Aurora continued talking, sparing him from having to answer. Perhaps she didn’t expect a response.

  “It feels like I’m losing people, first my dad, then Shaniqua. Even mum.”

  “Your mum?” Clint managed to ask, his throat hoarse.

  “Yeah, she’s started taking antidepressants. Since Shaniqua, it’s like she’s been in a world of her own. Sort of. As in, she’s still here, but her eyes are just empty. I’m losing her as well, and then what have I got? Who’ve I got?”

  “You’ve still got me.” Clint spoke softly, reassuringly, but firmly.

  Aurora looked up at him and smiled softly, her eyes twinkling. Clint suddenly became aware of how beautiful her lips were, her perfectly white teeth. The beautiful lips, with just a hint of lipstick. Set perfectly into her dark, flawless face.

  Time seemed to stand still. Clint felt the urge to move forward, touch her lips with his, to hold her body as cl
ose to his as he could, to keep her there forever. He suddenly became aware of his arm around her thin shoulders.

  Then the moment passed. Aurora smiled, and moved a wisp of hair from her face. She turned to look across the estate. Clint followed her gaze. It was a depressing sight, they both knew. A concrete scar.

  “I should probably get home now,” Aurora said eventually.

  “Me too,” Clint said, although he couldn’t face home yet. He’d probably go to Troy’s place for a few beers.

  They stood up awkwardly, and walked across the courtyard and up the staircase. They walked in silence up to Aurora’s flat, both lost in their own thoughts. Aurora was probably thinking about her sister, Clint thought sadly. He was thinking about her, Aurora, and how much he hoped she’d be okay. How he couldn’t wait to see her tomorrow, walk with her on the way to school.

  The door to Aurora’s flat opened and Marlena looked out. Catching sight of them together, her look turned weary. Clint saw her eyes were glassy, glazed over almost. Probably the antidepressants, he thought.

  Aurora turned and said goodbye softly. With a gentle smile. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the cheek.

  She whispered in his ear, “Thanks for everything.”

  And then she was inside the flat, the door closed, gone. Clint stood there, breathless, for a few moments. He could feel the spot on his cheek where her lips had touched his skin. It felt magical. Then he pulled himself away, worried Aurora would come back outside and find him still standing there looking like an idiot.

  He made his way down the stairs, and across a large concrete courtyard to Troy’s block of flats. He wanted a beer, but more importantly, he wanted to see what Troy had to say about the appeal.

  * * *

  Back in her makeshift office at Scotland Yard, Serena Patterson sat at her desk, piled high with papers and files regarding the Shaniqua Curtis case, and shook her head.

  Casey, her assistant, whom she had grown to despise in the short time she’d been acquainted with him, was sat in an armchair in the corner of the room, watching her closely.

  “I know that those two boys were involved somehow,” she said aloud, maybe to Casey or maybe just to herself, “I don’t how I know, but I do.”

  Casey sighed, “You need better reasoning than that to make a case.”

  “I’m aware of that,” she responded coolly, “But I grew up on that estate. I know how to read people.”

  Casey shifted in his chair. “Times have changed since you lived there, remember. I did some background research into the Goldsworth Estate, not really necessary as it’s in the news every week, but I did the research anyway. When you were living on that estate, it was a crime hotspot, I can admit that. Drugs, prostitution, assault.”

  He paused, and Serena looked up at him. She knew all of this. Hell, she’d seen it all in her youth.

  “Nowadays though,” Casey continued, looking pompous and official as he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses further up his nose, “The estate is notorious. Drugs, prostitution, assault still happens. But now it’s more dangerous. Gangs, turf wars. Gun and knife crime. Murders. Hell, there’s more youths stabbed to death on that estate per year than in the rest of London. It’s not just a crime hotspot anymore, it’s basically a war zone.”

  It was Serena’s turn to sigh.

  “Look, I know we don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

  Casey nodded, smirking slightly. That much was plain to see, his facial expression alone told her.

  “But you have to trust me. I know times have changed, crimes have become more serious. But the people haven’t changed. That’s the point. The criminals back then were the same as modern criminals today. The youths back then were the same as the youths back then. The wives and children trapped on that estate, they were exactly the same back then as they are today.”

  “Really?” Casey asked, sounding bored and disagreeable, “Then could you explain, please, why knife crimes have risen by 300 percent in the past decade? Why gun crime, previously rarely heard of a few decades ago, has risen tenfold? Why youths, the majority black, are being killed, and killing for that matter, at younger ages today than in the past? I would just love to hear your theory on this.”

  His voice was sarcastic, almost demonic in its patronizing manner.

  “Mentally, everyone on that estate today is the same as the people were years ago. Mentally. The only difference, the reason why crime levels have risen, the age of criminals has dropped, the age of victims has dropped, is because of the time. Back then, youths were still in gangs. They still had turf wars. They used their fists, the odd knife perhaps, but not on the scale of today. Nowadays, because they have access to knives and guns, the same gangs of youths have the same arguments with other gangs as the youth gangs did years ago, they just have more dangerous, and lethal weapons to use. The criminals, same mentally as the criminals years ago were, they just have more advanced weaponry and technology to pull off bigger, more dangerous crimes. The women and children from the estate. They were trapped there years ago, scared to leave their husbands or boyfriends because they were handy with their fists, and they didn’t know who to turn to for support. Now, women and children from the estate are just as trapped as they were all those years ago. The only difference is that instead of being scared of their husbands, their boyfriends, their sons, because they’re handy with their fists, they’re scared because they know all their boyfriend has to do is reach under his mattress, pull out his gun and with one pull of the trigger her brains will be splattered halfway up the wall.”

  For a few moments, they sat there in silence, Serena struggling to control her emotions. Her anger, at Casey and society in general. She put her head in her hands and tried to focus on the case. It didn’t matter right now what her personal opinions were regarding the way crime had evolved, changed, in the past few decades. What mattered was resolving Shaniqua Curtis’ case. If not for her own sense of justice, then for Aurora Curtis’. She had seemed a pleasant girl. A clever girl, with a bright future ahead of her. She’d been beautiful too. But she’d seen the boy lurking in the shadows under the stairs, trying to stay out of sight until she’d gone. It was the same boy as she’d seen talking with another, taller boy, the ones she suspected were involved in Shaniqua’s death. Murder, she corrected herself.

  If he was somehow involved with Aurora, that complicated matters. Not for her, Serena reminded herself, as she had a job to do, and that was find a killer. But for Aurora.

  Serena felt sadness for Aurora, and other girls like her. Beautiful, smart, with a bright future ahead of her. If only she’d been born somewhere else. As it was, the Goldsworth would destroy her. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t get pregnant until she was in her late teens, but that was doubtful. If she was involved with that boy, she’d most likely be pregnant within a few months, if she wasn’t already. Then, if Serena found evidence connecting the boys to Shaniqua’s death, Aurora would be left pregnant, betrayed and alone. It was a vicious cycle that Serena had seen all too many times before.

  “Listen, I need to know the names of those two boys.”

  Casey looked up from the file he was reading and met her eyes. He realized, for perhaps the first time, that Serena Patterson was beyond determined. She was a woman on more than a case. It was if the case somehow represented everything she hated about the estate, about London society, and about her own childhood, probably.

  “The taller boy, his name is Troy Banks. He was arrested about a year ago, for fighting and underage drinking. I remembered his face, because I helped put together a high-risk file regarding persons of interest on the Goldsworth Estate after the shooting of a twelve-year-old Nigerian immigrant.”

  Serena looked at him, mouth wide. Casey shrugged.

  “I have a good memory,” Casey replied, grinning slightly at his own excellence, as Serena scrabbled for a pen and paper, “The other boy. He’s not in the file, he’s never been arrested. But he was present at the f
ight, seems to be Banks’ buddy. I guess you’d call him the right-hand man if you were talking gang terms.”

  “So his name will be in Troy’s file? Witness statements?” Serena asked.

  “I would think so.”

  Serena picked up her desk phone and called down to the archives, beneath the ground floor, where all records were kept from high-profile cases. An assistant picked up on the fifth ring.

  “Hello, Detective Patterson here, I need to look at the folder containing high-risk cases on the Goldsworth Estate.”

  “No problem, I’ll have someone send them up to you straight away.”

  Serena replaced the handset, and turned to face Casey, who for the first time since she’d met him seemed actually excited, or at least mildly interested.

  “So do you think Banks is involved in a gang?” Serena asked.

  Casey smirked again, “In my opinion, he doesn’t have enough credentials yet to have his own gang.”

  Serena frowned. Credentials were what made a person capable of maintaining a gang. It was the amount of times the person had stabbed, shot or assaulted somebody. Sometimes, as was seen so often in USA, it was the amount of times a person had been shot and survived, or how many people were killed. Of course, anybody could start a gang, but on the streets, respect was what made the difference between a gang rising to the top, or being wiped out by a tougher gang.

  “So he could’ve killed Shaniqua Curtis to boost his profile, perhaps start a gang?”

  “Perhaps,” Casey shrugged, clearly not agreeing, “He’s got a group of friends, perhaps they could start a gang. But I think I’ve got a more likely theory. His brothers, Tyrese and Trent Banks, run a gang. The police know they’re involved in drug trafficking and turf wars, in which a young woman was caught in the crossfire and killed. They know all this but haven’t got enough evidence to convict either of them. My guess would be that Banks and his homies are trying to get enough kudos to get into the brothers’ gang. That way, they automatically get the respect they want, and it’s easier than starting up a gang of their own. As far as I know, none of the others have criminal records, besides Banks.”