For seven and a half hours, the CCTV stuttered and turned to static snow before the screen went black. The footage was corrupted. Which is how Lina came to be standing outside the closed bank, in the centre of Whitechapel’s rising criminal rookery, with a computer hard drive in her pocket, a CD in hand, and a phone in the other.
“C’mon…,” Lina huffed, watchful of the collection of overdressed Subaru with tag lines printed across their windscreens, the drivers dressed in knock-off Nike tracksuits, with ludicrously thick gold-plated copper chains ready to sell their illegal wares. “Answer the phone, damn it!”
Thomas driving that day meant Lina was stranded without a car, and by the hour, she knew the down and outs of society would be crawling out their hidey holes to ply their illegal trades. Not the ideal situation for a lone homicide DI to find themselves in. Not when Lina was carrying possible vital evidence that needed the tech lab back at Bishopsgate station.
The slip street that separated Spitalfields and Whitechapel was embroiled in the postcode wars, and knifings were weekly. Then, there was the fact that the areas had not changed much since the Victorian era. Crime was rife, prostitution was the biggest economy, second only to drugs, and more than a third of the population danced on the periphery of poverty.
Whitechapel was a living hell.
Once more reaching Thomas’s answerphone, Lina gave up, punching another number, the dial tone much shorter.
“Picking up where we left off?”
Lina sighed, “No. Though I do need picking up.”
Benji lost the playfulness, “From where?”
“The Rookery.” Using the local nickname for the town centre, Lina was hardly surprised by the jangle of keys and Benji’s rushed, “I’ll be there in a minute.” Before the line went dead.
It was a thirty-minute drive, but Lina knew Benji would do it in ten and get another speeding ticket. This once, Lina would not complain, not when the town was becoming packed with night walkers and their chaperones, the pushers taking up perch in their coveted spots that the police trawled by but did nothing further.
Corrupt as Vice was, they managed to maintain a sense of calm and minimise the bloodshed. This was a double-edged sword of policing that made the borough of Tower Hamlets look better on paper than in reality.
Tucking back in on the double doors of Huxley bank, Lina lit up, watching the sparrow-thin women draped in clothes that barely fit their drug-ravaged bodies prowl the curbs. Each woman had their spot. Some worked in pairs for safety, but they did not move for no woman or newcomer to the stretch of road nicknamed the East Ends drive-thru brothel.
Women of every ethnicity and race could be found, and no shortage of customers trawled the curb to pick up a woman.
Martha was on the game, which led Lina to consider speaking with them. None would willingly talk with the police, but…
Thumb under the lip, thinking, Lina was grateful Benji brought his own car when the ear-scraping screech of his breaks and the clump when it mounted the curb drew her out of Huxley bank’s doorway and down the steps, the passenger door open and waiting when she climbed in.
Window whirring to allow a slither for Lina to poke out the cigarette and flick the ash; Lina leaned over when Benji poked her cheek, giving a short kiss before informing him that he was temporarily hired as her driver.
“Where’s bitch boy?” Benji asked, easing off the curb and making an utterly illegal U-turn on the square.
“Wartime museum, but he’s not answering,” Lina chose to ignore Benji’s questionable driving as it wasn’t her car, “I need to get back to the station,” Which was on the other side of town, and required – if Lina walked – to pass through the roughest thoroughfares in London. “I spent all day watching CCTV because we didn’t have a search warrant, only to discover it has been tampered with at the precise hour our only lead was about to show up,” Frustrated was not the word, and Lina drew heavily on the cigarette. “So, unless it can be recovered, we are back to square one,”
Going on a short tangent, Benji stayed silent and listened, waiting until the pause came, and he mentioned, “I take it the chances of you slipping me a crafty one is a, no?”
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Side-eyeing Benji, who was catching his eye on her, too, Lina pressed back in the chair. “Actually, “she was about to return to her earlier thought, Benji’s eyes lighting up. Lina’s mouth closed when the phone rang. It was Thomas.
Batting away Benji’s hand when he tried to take it, Lina was practically squashed against the door to keep him from it when she answered and set it to her ear, “Eyes on the road,” jabbing to the window, Lina smiled when Benji’s whole body slumped, “Remembered what your phone’s for, sir?” Asked sarcastically when Thomas came to cheerily down the speaker.
“I was getting quite the insightful talk about our murder weapon,” Thomas reasoned, “Turns out the one we have in evidence was,” He emphasised strongly, “Stolen about a month ago.”
“From whom?”
“A…, James Forsythe,”
“Sorry, repeat that?” Lina’s heart slowed painfully, waiting to be sure she heard correctly.
“James Forsythe, thirty-four, retired grenadier. Lives in--,”
“Number five, Bucks row.” Lina finished, quick to keep Benji from speaking with a shake of the head, “I know him. He has no previous; the burglary was reported after he returned from a night out.” Finishing what she knew, Lina didn’t like how closely tied to Benji the murder weapon just became, “I can swing by to speak with him, check it is his,” Stroking her temple, Lina guessed the answer before Thomas even said it.
Benji turned with a severe scowl at the mention of his best friend’s name, which was marred with wary curiosity. Unable to speak, Lina placed a finger to her lips, asking Benji to wait until she could talk freely with him.
“I’m in his kitchen now,” Thomas was obviously smiling, “How did you get on with the bank?”
“Dead end. It’s been tampered with, so I’m heading back to the station now,”
“Bugger! Alright, drop it in, then swing by we can take over from Laura and Ollie on the CCTV until the techies descramble the banks,”
“Or call the magistrate and get us a warrant?”
“Can’t. It’s potty Betsworth.”
Lina’s eyes rolled so far that she was sure she saw the back of her skull, “Where’s Lipwitch?”
“Holiday.”
Hearing that the only magistrate in Whitechapel who handed out warrants like they were sweets on Halloween was on holiday was not a great start to their investigation. Harold Betsworth was a by-the-book magistrate, and anyone who went to him would have to have undisputable cause for the warrant they sought. The murder of a prostitute with new banknotes would not get them a knock on the door, let alone a foot in it.
“Swing by Starbucks,” Lina lowered the phone, giving Benji’s mildly irritated smile a nudge with her finger, “I’m on the graveyard tonight,”
Thomas mumbled something but swiftly covered it by asking, “Grab me one?”
Lina scoffed, “I don’t think so. You abandoned me at the bank and owe me lunch.”
“I will get us dinner, grab me a drink,”
Throwing up one hand in frustration, Lina took a breath before answering, “Fine.” Then hung up.
Dropping her phone in her lap, Lina finally took the finger off Benji’s mouth when he started nibbling it, “The murder weapon is James’s,” more than enough to get him to stop, Lina placed her hand at the nape of his neck, stroking the small flicks and curls of hair, picking up the tenseness in him. “He’s being questioned now,”
Benji took a left towards the drive-thru Starbucks that backed onto George Yard, passing the luminous yellow sign posted detailing a serious incident that occurred a night ago and appealing for any witnesses or anyone with helpful information to call the anonymous tipline.
“He will jump on anything to stitch me up,” Benji grumbled.
Lina knew that Thomas and Benji hated one another, but she didn’t believe Thomas would fix a case to get Benji charged with murder. “We must follow up on any leads. The fact the murder weapon is stolen is favourable. Had it been at James, then turned up as it did, you would be in the hot seat,”
Still, it was looking too close to home again, and Lina knew why Benji turned a look on her that screamed he was not convinced. “Still no crafty one?” He asked again, managing to shift his concern and replace it with a single-minded lust.
“No.” Lina took back her hand. I don’t trust you not to park us in someone’s boot.” Benji tended to stop focusing on the road any time Lina paid him tender attention in the car. There is an alley up ahead, though, " she mentioned, head tilting softly when Benji’s brain ticked over and caught up. The disappointment from being told no three times in a day was missing when he cut across the road and drove into the unlit alley.
Lina was barely out of her coat before Benji reached between her legs and under the chair. Confused at first, Lina soon giggled when her chair fell back, thumping on the backseat, and Benji slid across from the driver’s side. Raising her hips when Benji latched to the waistband of her jeans, Lina met his kiss with equal fervour as he slipped the fabric over her thighs.
Benji’s breathing was hot against Lina’s neck as he sucked the skin, biting gently, his hands up and under the polo jumper, seeking his favourite place to rest his hands. His head came back to hovering over Lina’s when he cupped her breasts.
“They feel bigger?” Benji took extraordinary joy in examining Lina’s breasts, checking his theory quite thoroughly, “They usually sit in my palm with spare either side,” He adjusted his hands, “But you’re not complaining that they hurt, so…,”
Gripping Benji in hand, Lina moved his attention from his analysis of her breast size, “Fuck me, Benji,” Almost demanded with her growing impatience from the damp heat he stirred, Lina smiled when he stopped probing her breast, and with a grin to his kiss, said: “Yes ma’am,”