Thicker Than Water

‘It’s a demon,’ I said, getting my version in first before she could open her mouth.

Basquiat scowled, looking from me down to Bic and then back up at Trudie. ‘We’re thinking it’s a gang war,’ she said, ‘on account of the gangs. And the warfare. Castor, I thought I told you to stay where I could find you.’

‘You did,’ I agreed.

‘And yet you went away. I sent someone to collect you from the address you gave, and I get told you’re up north finding your fucking roots.’

‘I found something else too, Ruth. I found out what you’re dealing with here.

I think it was responsible for Kenny Seddon’s death. I think it’s killed a lot of people since. And I think it’s going to keep right on trucking if you don’t let me go in there and stitch it. Now would be good.’

Basquiat’s eyes narrowed. ‘Your brother killed Kenny Seddon,’ she said. ‘And if you call me Ruth again, I’ll break all your fingers. I bet that’ll limit your musical repertoire for a while.’

‘What’s going on in there?’ I demanded, pointing at the nearest towers.

‘Just teenagers rumbling on the walkways? You’ve got twenty cars on the street and a fire you can’t get in close enough to put out. It’s getting out of hand - sergeant.’

‘It’s already out of hand,’ Basquiat growled. ‘The gangs have barricaded the walkways two-thirds of the way along. The only towers we can get into are Barratt, Marston and Longley. The fire’s in Carlisle, way over at the south end of the estate.’

‘What about getting in at ground level?’

She shot me an exasperated glare.

‘You think I’m an idiot, Castor? The fire’s on the fourteenth floor, and they’ve dragged all the furniture out and dumped it in the stairwells. I’m not having my officers climbing over that mess with bricks and bottles raining down on their heads - let alone the poor bloody fire crews.’

‘Then what are you doing?’ I demanded.

‘We’ve got two anti-riot units coming down from Colindale,’ she said. ‘When they get here, we go in. And in the meantime, you keep out of my way.

’

‘No. Castor is with us.’ The dissenting voice was Gwillam’s, although I didn’t see him for a moment or two after he spoke. I could only see Feld, clearing a path for his boss through the cops and firefighters just by strolling unstoppably through their midst.

Basquiat turned as Gwillam hove into view, Feld clearing the last obstacles by courteously stepping aside and sweeping a couple of unwary firemen off the pavement into the street.