‘Look, I make a call and half of Kennington Station will be down here.’
They laughed together. ‘They don’t come around these streets, man, it’s not safe. Plus you ain’t got no backup. That’s not how you lot roll when you work. I’ll ask you again, who’s your relative? Cos you know what? My little brother come runnin’ to tell me there’s a man pressing every buzzer outside the block. No one visiting a relative does that. So what the fuck you doing here?’
Nothing for it. Boateng reached back for the Glock, but as he lifted his jacket the punch from behind hammered into his kidney. Pain shot through his back but he lashed out, caught something solid then lunged forward. Grabbed at clothing, threw the guy blocking his path into his mate and ran. Sprinted away, willing his legs to move faster. Could see the car about fifty metres off but a scrabbling noise made him turn. Drawing his pistol he saw the young men in pursuit flinch, but saw too late the pit bull in mid-air, launching itself at him. Boateng was knocked to the ground, head crashed into tarmac, but he kept hold of the gun. Dog was on top of him now, all noise, slobber and paws as he fought it off. Then a vice closed on his forearm and Boateng howled. The animal bit deeper, jaws locked on his sleeve. He pitched over but the dog’s teeth clamped down, pain spreading through his arm. Boateng rolled, saw the men advancing towards him. Two had drawn weapons he couldn’t make out. Quick. He shook his arm but that only hurt more. Smacked the pit bull’s head with the pistol butt. It pulled away for a second then attacked again, biting harder and into the flesh of his hand this time. Bellowing, he writhed on the ground, trying to twist and kick out at the beast, couldn’t get an angle. The men were closer now and Boateng could see a large kitchen knife glinting beneath the street lights. He spun again onto his back, the dog bounding on top of him. Fighting through agony, knew he had to get his arm free before—
A shot echoed between buildings and the pit bull’s body went limp on his chest. The men froze then began stepping back, scanning balconies and rooftops. Boateng wrenched his arm free, heaved the dog away. It’d been shot clean through the skull, inches from him. But no exit wound. What the hell? Didn’t matter. He scrambled to his feet, bolted. Still disorientated, horizon pitching as he made the final few yards to his car, popped the doors. Glanced back: his attackers had already disappeared. Boateng shoved the gun in the glove compartment. Noticed his left sleeve was drenched with blood. Hand shaking, he jammed the key in, revved and pulled away with a screech of tyres.
* * *
Etta couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
‘I’ve got to go, Mum.’ She hung up immediately and stood as her husband lurched into the kitchen, blood all over his jacket. ‘Oh my God! Zac, what happened?’ She rushed over, helped him into a chair.
‘I’m sorry,’ he croaked. ‘I’ve been such an idiot. Damn!’ Boateng winced as she rolled back the sleeve.
She shuffled closer, inspected his left arm. Touched the skin, blood slick on her fingers. ‘What the hell is this?’
He gulped. ‘It’s a dog bite.’
‘We have to get you to hospital.’
‘No, it’s OK, if—’
‘It’s not OK, Zac, you’ve got to get that cleaned up, checked for rabies. How on earth did it happen? Were you at work? Why didn’t your colleagues take you to A & E?’ The questions tumbled from her without pause for answer, each angrier than the last. ‘I’m calling an ambulance.’ She snatched up the phone.
‘No.’
‘What?’ she shouted, incredulous.
‘Listen, Etta. I— I’m so sorry.’ He reached out, touched her arm with his good hand.
She met his gaze, recognised the sadness. But the fear she also saw there was something her husband rarely displayed. She fought back her own frustration at him. ‘What’ve you done?’
Zac took a couple of breaths. ‘I know who killed Amelia.’
Etta’s mouth opened but no sound emerged. She let go of him, slumped back against the chair. When she spoke several seconds later, her voice was quiet yet firm. ‘I’m going upstairs to get the first aid kit. Then you’ll tell me exactly what’s happened, from the start.’
He nodded.
When she returned and began cleaning the wounds, Zac relayed the whole story to her: Scotland Yard’s informant vault, Night Vision, Agyeman, Optikon, Froggy, Mamba and Wallace. His Roy Ankrah journalist cover, the money he’d doled out for information. How he’d planned to spend those savings on a holiday for them. And how a pit bull had torn into him tonight before some guardian angel saved his life. All done solo with no backup. It was almost too much to take in, too fantastical to believe. She listened to the whole thing without interrupting her husband. At last there was an explanation for what had been going on these past ten days. It wasn’t an affair. But it was egoism and poor judgement and recklessness. In some ways that was worse: lies as well as putting his career in jeopardy, his life in danger. After disbelief her next reaction was anger, rising quickly. She didn’t hold back applying antiseptic into his cuts, her fingers taut and trembling.
‘What the hell were you thinking? Selfish bastard. How could you be so, so—’ She searched for adequate words, spat them at him. ‘So fucking stupid?’
Her husband didn’t respond, dipped his head in shame.
‘You lied to me, Zac!’ She jabbed his chest, left a bloodied fingerprint on the jacket. ‘Do you know how I felt? I was scared. Thought you were…’
‘Didn’t know what else to do.’ He shook his head, eyes moistening. ‘Started out as almost nothing and before I knew it I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to tell my colleagues because of what Thompson said about the cover-up, or whatever it was. If one of my own got in the way of that investigation…’ He shook his head, lips tight. ‘I’ll—’
‘You’ll what?’ She unwrapped another antiseptic wipe, dabbed the wound. ‘Take the law into your own hands? This whole thing is madness. Just—’ Etta held up a hand, but instead of more words a dam of tears burst and she wept, shuddering next to him.
He laid a hand on her back. ‘I’m so sorry, my love.’
She could feel him sobbing gently too, his broad shoulders shaking, and pulled herself into him. ‘You’re a fool, Zachariah Boateng. A damned fool. But I love you.’
His head bowed, touched the top of hers. ‘And I love you,’ he whispered.
They held one another a minute. Eventually she raised her head, the fury dissipating. ‘So, you’ve discovered this. What’s your plan now?’ She took a roll of bandage and scissors.
‘Find him.’
‘Not on your own.’
‘Course not.’ His reply was instant.
She studied him. ‘You can’t go on like this, Zac. You’ve got to own up, tell people. Longer you leave it, the worse it’ll get. Even if you personally find this guy, imagine what a defence counsel will make of your freestyling in court. And the others can help you catch him. After all, he’s the target of your team’s double murder investigation. Use their resources.’
‘I’ll bring him to justice, I promise, I—’
She tutted loudly, anger welling again. ‘I don’t want this me, me, me, Zac. It’s not all about you. Forget your ego for a minute. I lost a daughter too. Remember that. Not one day goes by I don’t feel her absence. The girl I gave birth to, breastfed, nurtured. Nothing’s been the same since that day. Like a piece of me’s gone forever. I still feel it now, same as every day since she died. I’m not losing a husband as well. Kofi’s not losing a father, do you hear me? He’s scared enough as it is that one of us might just vanish from his life, like his sister did. You and your team can bring Wallace in, make him stand trial, then we can live knowing the monster who murdered our daughter is locked up for life, not that he cost our family more…’ She tailed off, swallowed. ‘OK?’
He bit his lip, blinked agreement.
She reached for her phone, opened the minicab app. ‘Right now you need a doctor to look at your arm.’ He made to speak but her glare cut him off.
* * *