team looked at one another before King answered for them. ‘Thank you, ma’am. But it’s only a start.’
‘Yes. Yes it is. I’m glad you understand that,’ Johnston agreed with her famous pixie smile. ‘But a good start all the same.’
‘Thank you,’ King said again, unable to think of anything else to say.
‘Good,’ Johnston replied, her clear, sparkling eyes boring deep into King’s. ‘I appreciate policing the Grove Wood can be very challenging and at times there may be a temptation to bend some of the rules to get the job done.’ She waited for a reaction, only continuing when none was forthcoming. ‘Just make sure bending doesn’t mean breaking.’ Again she waited for a reaction, but still the others just stared back at her until she gave up. ‘Keep up the good work.’
‘We’ll do our best,’ King told her with a look that let Johnston know he had nothing else to say.
‘Very well then,’ she smiled, looking satisfied with herself. ‘Before I forget – any progress with this sexual assaults on children business? The SMT wants him stopped before things become even more serious. Sexual assaults of this nature are not a Service priority, even on children, but serious sexual assaults are. So far he’s gone no further than exposing himself and touching them in intimate places. If he progresses to making them perform sexual acts on him, or worse, it’ll make the whole borough look bad.’
‘We’re on it,’ King assured her. ‘But it’s difficult.’
‘Spare me the excuses,’ she dismissed his plea. ‘I’ve had enough of those from the CID.’ She paused as she checked their faces for a reaction. ‘Just keep me informed.’ King nodded once as Johnston spun on her slightly higher than regulation heels and disappeared from the doorway. They stood in silence, as if they had been temporarily frozen for almost thirty seconds, before simultaneously breaking into stifled laughter, more with relief that Johnston had left than anything.
‘Some piece of work, that one,’ Brown said what they were all thinking. ‘Mind you I wouldn’t mind giving her—’
‘All right,’ King stopped him. ‘Just remember – you report to me. Not Johnston.’
‘I’m beginning to understand why they call her the Poisonous Pixie,’ Renita added, before looking more serious. ‘She’s sharp though. I wouldn’t be trying to take the piss with the pixie around. Remember – the more beautiful the snake the more poisonous it is.’
‘Enough fun and games,’ said King. ‘Let’s get out there. Like I said last night, the aggravated burglary arrests were good, but they weren’t locals, so let’s get on with harassing those who need to be harassed. I want everyone on the estate to know who’s running things now. Everyone.’
King walked along Millander Walk still nursing his hangover – trying to breathe in fresh air, but the air on the estate at the beginning of summer was anything but fresh. It was as if it had been permanently trapped by the surrounding buildings that never allowed a clean wind to blow away the stale smell of humanity piled too high on top of each other – the heat of the sun igniting the stench from the communal bins and rubbish chutes that were rarely cleaned. The odour of a thousand different meals escaped from seemingly every window and vented cooker hood, mixing with the smell of the dog excrement that sporadically littered the walkways and grassy play areas set aside for children, but which were only ever used by the local youth gangs and their cross-bull-terrier dogs who crapped where they pleased, undeterred by their owners who had no interest in cleaning the foul mess. King almost gagged on the stench until the sight of Susie Ubana standing outside her fortified maisonette distracted him from his sickness.
Her attractiveness and general appearance surprised him. He’d only ever seen her mugshot, which was from a few years ago and probably had been taken after she’d been in custody for hours, if not days. It was a stark contrast to the well-dressed, slim black woman in her early thirties he was looking at now. She stood casually smoking a cigarette, standing on the walkway looking over the wall at nothing in particular, staring in the direction of the grassed area and beyond, unbothered by his presence – whatever drugs she possessed being safely hidden away in her home. Her front door was open, but the metal grid across it remained securely locked. King knew Ubana wouldn’t be stupid enough to have the keys on her, which meant there was someone in the maisonette holding the keys for her.
King decided it was time he introduced himself to one of the estate’s better-known residents and walked the short distance to where she stood and leaned on the wall next to her, slipping off his flat cap and smoothing his hair.
‘Good morning,’ he told her with a smile. She neither looked at him nor said anything – smoking her cigarette as if he wasn’t there. ‘Thought it was about time I introduced myself,’ he persisted. ‘My name’s Sergeant King. Sergeant Jack King.’
‘I know who you are,’ she finally acknowledged him, but still wouldn’t look at him.
‘You do?’ King questioned.
‘News spreads fast in a place like this,’ she told him.
‘Like a prison, eh?’ he deliberately reminded her of her time behind bars.
‘That’s what this place is, isn’t it?’ she answered, surprising him a little. ‘We’re all trapped here.’ She gave a short ironic laugh. ‘That’s what this place does to you. It traps you. Maybe one day you’ll be trapped here too.’
‘I don’t see how,’ he argued. ‘Once my job’s done I’ll be moving on. Even now I arrive in the morning, do what I have to do then I go home to my nice flat and my nice girlfriend. All this,’ he explained, waving his hand across the entire estate, ‘means nothing to me. It’s just a mean to an end.’
‘Gets you up the next rung of the ladder?’ she smiled.
‘Exactly,’ he smiled back.
‘Well,’ she continued, ‘while you’re here people will just enjoy having a bit of law and order about the place.’
‘You telling me you’re happy we’re here?’
‘Of course,’ she answered, confused by his surprise. ‘Too many little bastards on this estate running wild. It ain’t good for living and it ain’t good for business.’
‘Even your business?’
‘Especially my business,’ she insisted. ‘The shit they pull brings you lot sniffing around and that makes the punters nervous.’
‘Is that how you see it,’ he asked, ‘as a business?’
‘Of course it’s a business,’ she laughed. ‘I just provide a quality product that people want. You don’t see me selling crack and heroin to fucked-up losers, do you?’
‘No I do not,’ he admitted.
‘I provide a leisure product that’s less harmful than alcohol,’ she explained. ‘Not my fault a bunch of public schoolboy politicians decide to keep it illegal. Won’t change nothing though. Where there’s a demand there’ll always be a supply.’
‘Law’s the law,’ he reminded her. ‘There are no good laws and bad laws as far as I’m concerned. Just laws and I’ll enforce them all.’
