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Authors: Linda Regan
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the police van. Georgia gave instructions to call for the armed response unit as back-up. The record of violence and firearms around here meant she could take no chances, and the safety of the large number of police officers on this estate was her responsibility. PC Elvin had been shot for a lot less than pulling in the most notorious criminal in South London. Reilly himself bred vicious dogs, and his Brotherhood gang ran into many dozens on this estate alone; it was quite possible they would outnumber the police.
The odd stone had already been hurled from a balcony somewhere high up on the Sparrow. It had hit the ground this time, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed. The police were nervous, and very wary.
Something nagged at Georgia as she stood in full body armour, ready to arrest Reilly for the murder of Haley Gulati. The Brotherhood gang were known for torturing their victims. Reilly had earned his street name of Yo-Yo through his habit of repeatedly driving a knife in and out of his victims and watching them writhe in agony. Phoebe Aston had said it was likely the victim had been stabbed more than once, and had been raped.
But this killing didn’t have Reilly’s personal stamp on it. Other victims had been found with no fingers, and a couple of corpses were headless. Haley Gulati’s murder didn’t have the hallmarks of a trophy Brotherhood killing – and that gave Georgia a niggling doubt about Reilly.
For now she put it to the back of her mind. The Brotherhood would be involved somewhere, and locking Reilly up would take a significant load off the police. The whole of the Met wanted the bastard off the streets, and Chantelle’s statement gave them enough to pull him in for at least a day or two, until the DNA testing came back. If it turned out it was one of his Brotherhood thugs committed the deed, not Reilly himself, they would find him too, and then two of them would be behind bars.
She wondered if the killing might be an initiation into the Brotherhood of Blades gang. She had been told that they had to stab someone brutally in order to become members; then they were given a permanent tattoo of a sword on their forearm. Reilly’s rules again.
The whole estate would be a better place once he was locked up; and once that was sorted, she’d go after the rest of them. With luck they’d get the dogs too. That was something else he’d got away with until now: the dogs were illegal pit bulls, but no one had ever been able to prove it. This time she would; she’d call in an expert, and make sure they were taken away from him for good. Wherever they ended up they’d be better off. She’d witnessed his steel-cap boots kicking their underbellies raw, and heard them whimper and moan in pain before attacking on his command.
As the CO19 team arrived on the estate, a volley of stones, sticks, and bricks rained down from the high balconies above them. The armed officers jumped from the van and moved in, firearms loaded and pointing, to cover Yo-Yo’s door. Georgia instructed the uniformed sergeant to gather half a dozen of his most reliable officers to knock on Reilly’s door. As they moved in she followed close behind with Stephanie and trainee DC Peacock. Hank was over six feet tall, skinny as a broom, with hair that stood upright from his smiling, amenable face. He had told her a few days previously that he wanted to get straight into the action. This estate, at three thirty on a freezing Saturday morning, with missiles and unthinkable liquids raining down in their direction from Sparrow block, was Hank’s baptism of fire; she would be interested to see how he fared. She noticed Stephanie was watching the young DC closely, too – she hoped with a professional eye.
‘Police! Open up!’ Georgia shouted as the uniformed officers banged on the door. Without waiting for a response, she nodded to the officer holding the bright red battering ram, and he swiftly took the door down.
As the door caved in, more bricks
The odd stone had already been hurled from a balcony somewhere high up on the Sparrow. It had hit the ground this time, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed. The police were nervous, and very wary.
Something nagged at Georgia as she stood in full body armour, ready to arrest Reilly for the murder of Haley Gulati. The Brotherhood gang were known for torturing their victims. Reilly had earned his street name of Yo-Yo through his habit of repeatedly driving a knife in and out of his victims and watching them writhe in agony. Phoebe Aston had said it was likely the victim had been stabbed more than once, and had been raped.
But this killing didn’t have Reilly’s personal stamp on it. Other victims had been found with no fingers, and a couple of corpses were headless. Haley Gulati’s murder didn’t have the hallmarks of a trophy Brotherhood killing – and that gave Georgia a niggling doubt about Reilly.
For now she put it to the back of her mind. The Brotherhood would be involved somewhere, and locking Reilly up would take a significant load off the police. The whole of the Met wanted the bastard off the streets, and Chantelle’s statement gave them enough to pull him in for at least a day or two, until the DNA testing came back. If it turned out it was one of his Brotherhood thugs committed the deed, not Reilly himself, they would find him too, and then two of them would be behind bars.
She wondered if the killing might be an initiation into the Brotherhood of Blades gang. She had been told that they had to stab someone brutally in order to become members; then they were given a permanent tattoo of a sword on their forearm. Reilly’s rules again.
The whole estate would be a better place once he was locked up; and once that was sorted, she’d go after the rest of them. With luck they’d get the dogs too. That was something else he’d got away with until now: the dogs were illegal pit bulls, but no one had ever been able to prove it. This time she would; she’d call in an expert, and make sure they were taken away from him for good. Wherever they ended up they’d be better off. She’d witnessed his steel-cap boots kicking their underbellies raw, and heard them whimper and moan in pain before attacking on his command.
As the CO19 team arrived on the estate, a volley of stones, sticks, and bricks rained down from the high balconies above them. The armed officers jumped from the van and moved in, firearms loaded and pointing, to cover Yo-Yo’s door. Georgia instructed the uniformed sergeant to gather half a dozen of his most reliable officers to knock on Reilly’s door. As they moved in she followed close behind with Stephanie and trainee DC Peacock. Hank was over six feet tall, skinny as a broom, with hair that stood upright from his smiling, amenable face. He had told her a few days previously that he wanted to get straight into the action. This estate, at three thirty on a freezing Saturday morning, with missiles and unthinkable liquids raining down in their direction from Sparrow block, was Hank’s baptism of fire; she would be interested to see how he fared. She noticed Stephanie was watching the young DC closely, too – she hoped with a professional eye.
‘Police! Open up!’ Georgia shouted as the uniformed officers banged on the door. Without waiting for a response, she nodded to the officer holding the bright red battering ram, and he swiftly took the door down.
As the door caved in, more bricks
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