Brotherhood of Blades by Linda Regan Read Free Book Online

pointed towards the flats. Georgia followed her direction of her finger. A few young males were leaning over the third floor balcony, watching with interest. Members of the Brotherhood, she thought; she’d bet real money that they knew who was lying under the tent. And why.
    She had made a promise to the murdered woman, and she intended to keep it. She took a step towards the girl called Chantelle. ‘What makes you think it’s your aunt?’ she asked, careful to keep her tone calm.
    Chantelle darted away, but Stephanie caught her by the arm. ‘It’s OK,’ she said, gently pulling the girl towards her. ‘This is Detective Inspector Georgia Johnson; she wants to help you too. We’re going to come up to your flat with you, and we need you to find a photograph of your aunt.’
    ‘Do you have a mum?’ Georgia asked her as they headed for the back stairs of the Sparrow block.
    Chantelle shook her head.
    ‘A dad?’ Georgia persisted.
    A laugh twisted Chantelle’s face. ‘Everybody has a dad,’ she said. ‘Don’t mean you knows who he is.’
    They walked up the graffitied, urine-smelling concrete stairway.
    ‘Any brothers or sisters?’ Georgia persisted, gritting her teeth in disgust as she stepped over a used nappy on one of the steps.
    Chantelle shook her head.
    Georgia and Stephanie exchanged glances.
    ‘Is there anyone indoors with you?’ Stephanie asked her.
    ‘My aunt should be there. I’m supposed to be at work.’
    Georgia caught Stephanie’s eye again. The tops of the girl’s black fishnet hold-ups were visible under the red mini-skirt, and her boobs were pushed up over the top of her ribboned bodice. It was getting on for midnight. She definitely wasn’t going to the office.
    They reached the third floor and Chantelle turned to walk along the walkway. Stephanie and Georgia followed. Four youths, fleece-hooded tops over their heads, approached from the opposite direction. As they passed, they asked Chantelle if she was all right. She turned her head and ignored them.
    Georgia and Stephanie looked at each other. ‘Who were they?’ Georgia asked, as the girl stopped in front of her flat.
    Chantelle said nothing until they all stood in the narrow hall. Then she shrugged and said quietly, ‘Just some boys from around the estate.’
    Georgia raised an eyebrow at Stephanie. It was obvious Chantelle was afraid of them.
    ‘Were they Brotherhood members?’ Georgia asked her.
    Chantelle shrugged.
    ‘Were they Brotherhood members?’ Stephanie repeated.
    ‘I’m not sure.’ Chantelle avoided the sergeant’s eyes. ‘I’ll look for a photo.’ She opened one of the doors off the hallway and walked into the room.
    Georgia followed, leaving Stephanie outside. This was obviously the aunt’s bedroom. It was clean and tidy, and smelt of furniture polish and potpourri. A picture of a younger Chantelle in a ballet tutu hung on the wall.
    Chantelle opened a drawer and rummaged for a few moments. As her hand emerged holding a photo, Stephanie called urgently, ‘Guv. You’d better look at this.’
    Georgia moved back into the hall. Steph was examining the door frame by the front door. She pointed to some reddish fingermarks, faint but fresh.
    Stephanie pulled out her mobile to request immediate forensic assistance. Chantelle stood behind Georgia, staring at the bloodied handprint, her eyes wide with fear.

FOUR
    W ithin minutes the walkway outside Chantelle’s front door was spilling over with uniformed police and forensic officers. A cordon was set up ten yards on each side, denying access to the flats further along the floor. Uniformed police woke up angry residents, and told them the only way in and out of their homes for the time being was via a fire exit. It did nothing to help already strained relations.
    Forensic officers scurried around like ants over sugar, swiftly covering every inch of the third floor walkway, looking for traces of fresh or dried blood from around the flat. They were aware of the