Luke Delaney - The Rule of Fear

‘I will,’ King assured him. ‘I appreciate it. Anyway, much to do and all that.’

‘Of course. See you around.’

King headed across the custody area and tapped the security code into the pad that unlocked the main door leading into the rest of the relatively small station. As he was making his way to the Unit’s office, Renita intercepted him, her face a picture of seriousness.

‘Sarge,’ she began, steering him out of the way of the passing human traffic.

‘Something up?’ he asked.

‘Just had a call from one of my friendlies on the estate,’ she explained, impressing him with the fact she already had informants in place, even if they weren’t official or registered. ‘They’re saying there’s an older man hanging around with a group of young kids.’

‘This happening right now?’ he checked.

‘Yeah,’ she confirmed, ‘a guy called Alan Swinton, male, IC1. I ran an intelligence check on him and he comes back no convictions for anything, but lots of suspicion around possible sexual involvement with minors.’

‘Well if it’s happening right now,’ King nodded thoughtfully, ‘then I guess we’d better check him out.’

Kelly Royston stood outside her maisonette on the walkway of Millander Walk enjoying the sun on her face, her eyes closed as she smoked a cigarette, her mind wandering wherever it wished – far from where she stood. Such moments of simple pleasure came rarely on the estate. Her finely tuned survival instincts alerted her to people approaching and her eyes fired open, but her manner remained relaxed as she scanned the two figures, a bounce in their step that told everyone they considered themselves players . Kelly groaned inside as she recognized Tommy Morrison and Justin Harris striding quickly towards her, as if they had a real purpose, although she knew they almost certainly didn’t. Both had made it plainly clear to her in the past that they desired her, albeit only in the crudest of physical senses, and neither ever missed an opportunity to reinforce their intentions towards her. She always acted bored by their lewd, clumsy advances, but she enjoyed the attention.

Morrison, the more dominant of the two feral youths, sprang up to her, moving deep within her personal space. ‘All right, Kel?’ he asked, quickly glancing at Harris for moral support and grinning. ‘Fancy sucking my cock yet?’

‘Fuck off, Tommy,’ she told him, pushing him away with a two-handed shove in his chest. ‘I wouldn’t suck it if it was the last cock on earth.’

‘Yeah?’ Morrison asked, half smiling, half snarling.

‘Yeah,’ she made it clear, leaning into his face for emphasis.

‘Then what about sucking his cock,’ he continued, motioning towards the grinning Harris, ‘while I fuck you from behind.’

‘Fuck off, Tommy,’ she repeated. ‘You wouldn’t know how.’

‘Oh yeah,’ he smirked as he took a few steps backwards and began to unzip his dirty jeans.

‘Jesus, Tommy,’ she shook her head as if he was nothing more than a disappointing child. ‘You’re wasting your time. I wouldn’t fuck you even if you were a millionaire and, anyway, how come you two haven’t been nicked by these new cops yet?’ Her words turned their faces to stony seriousness. ‘You’ve heard about them, int’ya?’

‘Yeah, we’ve heard about them,’ Morrison told her.

‘Got most of the villains on the estate scared of their own shadows, I heard,’ Kelly baited them.

‘Yeah well, not us,’ Harris bluffed. ‘Old Bill. Fuck the Old Bill.’

‘Yeah,’ Morrison pumped himself up. ‘We’re too fly and sly for any copper.’

‘Is that right?’ Kelly smiled in her special way – a mix of flirtation and condescension. ‘Well I suppose we’ll see,’ she mocked them. ‘Find out if you’re as fly and sly as you think you are.’

‘Fuck you, Kel,’ Morrison snarled, aggrieved at her apparent admiration for the Unit. ‘You need to remember where you’re from.’

‘What?’ she asked indignant. ‘I’m supposed to have some sense of loyalty to this …’ she rolled her head and eyes at her surroundings, ‘toilet – just because I’m unlucky enough to have to live here. You know what the difference between me and you is?’ she continued. ‘This is as good as it’s ever going to get for you. But I’m getting out of here. One way or the other, sooner or later – I’m getting out of here. You won’t see me pushing a screaming baby round before my eighteenth birthday. I know where I’m headed, but you’re never gonna escape .’

‘You ain’t that special,’ Morrison spat. ‘See you round, Kel.’ He motioned with his chin to Harris that it was time to leave, their legs springing to life as they scampered off along the walkway, moving at an almost frenzied pace like the habitual thieves they were – heads and eyes darting every which way, always on the look out for a window left open, a door left unlocked.

‘See you round too,’ Kelly whispered to herself. ‘If you last that long.’

King and Renita walked through an ancient railway arch built by the Victorians in the early years of steam trains. Although a road still ran through it, it was rarely used by traffic and endless fly-tipping had all but blocked it. The graffiti daubed on the dirty bricks made it clear the favoured football team in the area was West Ham, while other tags, both new and old, some crossed out and replaced with others, enhanced with threats of death and acts of sexual violence, suggested the arch lay on the border territory between at least two street gangs.

‘You sure about this?’ King asked.

‘Yeah,’ Renita reassured him. ‘I’ve been through here a few times. The wasteground’s on the other side and that’s where my friendly says she saw Swinton and the kids heading.’

‘OK,’ King went along with her, casually reading the graffitied messages of impending doom from one gang to another. ‘If you say so.’

As they exited the arch they immediately heard the sound of laughing children, but it still sounded distant. They skirted around the tall wild grass that hid their approach, heading towards the young voices that grew ever louder, until they heard the voice of a man mixing cheerfully with the others. King automatically held his hand up to stop Renita.

‘Hear that?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ she whispered. ‘Looks like the friendly was right.’

‘Come on.’ He led them off, moving slowly until they reached the end of their cover, the wasteground stretching out beyond their hiding place. He slid his hand into the tall sheaves of grass and moved them aside just enough to enable him to spy on the children. They were all between ten and eleven years old, he guessed, sitting and lying on the floor, using whatever they could as makeshift chairs and sofas. In the middle he could see the figure of Alan Swinton, a unattractive white man in his early thirties with unkempt greasy brown hair and thicker-than-normal spectacles. His thin arms and legs contrasted badly with his swollen pot belly and made him appear like some sort of hideous spider-type creature. It was if he was trying to make himself perfectly fit the public’s stereotypical idea of what a paedophile would look like.

‘Is that your man?’ King whispered to Renita, leaning away so she could take a look, as if they were big game hunters spying their quarry through the long golden grass of the savannah. She looked through the parted stalks and began to nod slowly.

‘Yeah,’ she confirmed. ‘That’s him. He certainly looks the part. What do you want to do?’

‘Give him enough rope,’ he told her. ‘You say he has no convictions, then let’s wait until we have him bang to rights.’

‘But they’re kids,’ she warned. ‘If we wait until it’s too late for him, it might be too late for them too.’