‘There’s one for you,’ said Phil from the passenger seat of his Audi A4.
DC Imani Oliver looked to where he was pointing. A white bed sheet had been draped and tied to the side of a footbridge over the road. Painted on it was:
Jack, are the Villa really more important than our marriage? It’s over, Jess.
Imani smiled. ‘Don’t blame her,’ she said.
‘Thought you were a fan?’ said Phil.
She shook her head, eyes back on the road. Lips still pulled up in a smile. ‘My dad was. Long-suffering. Any time anything exciting happened he always said the same thing. Better than watching the Villa. I picked it up from him. It still applies. Although these days just about anything’s better than watching the Villa.’
Phil had decided to let his DC drive. He could have allowed the sat nav to give him directions, or he could have been stubborn and pig-headed and tried to find his way without it. Or he could let Imani drive. It didn’t mean he had given in to Sperring, let the bastard win. It just meant they would get to their destination as quickly as possible. That was all. He nodded. Yes, that was all.
‘You OK, sir?’
He became aware that DC Oliver was looking at him.
‘Yeah, fine. Why?’
‘Just… nothing, sir. You were talking to yourself. Your lips were moving.’
‘I’m fine, DC Oliver.’
He cleared his throat, looked round. They were headed eastbound on the A41. Phil watched urban areas become suburban. Balsall Heath and Sparkbrook were all old terraces and small estates, the houses crammed together and overspilling on to the streets. The extensions, columned porches, gated fronts and concreted-over front gardens with parked cars made it seem as if an area twice as large had been squeezed in. The grocers’ shops were similarly expansive, awnings and stands taking over the whole pavement. Too many cars and not enough road.
‘Khan’s house is down here,’ Imani Oliver said as they passed the end of another crammed-in terraced street in Sparkhill.
Phil looked where she indicated. ‘Surprised,’ he said. ‘Not what I was expecting.’
Imani frowned. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘I thought he’d have some place in the city centre. A flat overlooking the canal, something like that. A bit more Grand Theft Auto.’
She smiled. ‘He’s a good family boy, is Nadish. Still lives with his mum.’
‘His dad was a copper, wasn’t he?’
‘Yeah. He’s dead now.’
‘Sperring said the job claimed him.’
Imani gave a snort. ‘Yeah, you could say that.’
‘What d’you mean?’
She immediately looked like she had said too much. ‘Oh, you know…’
‘No, I don’t. But I think I should.’
‘OK then,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It was all a bit before my time, but I know the story. Nadish’s dad was a good copper. At first. Then he went over to the dark side. Got caught.’
‘What happened?’
‘Short story? Attached a hosepipe to the back of his car, stuck it through the window. And that was that.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Yeah. And now Nadish is the family’s main breadwinner. Pushed himself to do his dad’s old job, looks after his mother.’
‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
Imani risked a glance at him. ‘No such thing as a stereotype,’ she said.
They drove on. The cramped houses began to develop space between them as they reached the more suburban environs of Acocks Green.
‘What about you, then?’ Phil asked. ‘What’s your story?’
‘What makes you think I’ve got one?’
‘Everyone’s got a story.’
‘Or a journey. Makes it sound like X Factor.’
They both laughed.
Imani shrugged. There was a coolness to her, a composure that Phil liked. She weighed words out before answering him. She was guarded, only letting him see what she wanted to. It might make her difficult to get to know, but it would make her a damned good copper.
‘What about your name?’ asked Phil. ‘Where’s that from?’
‘Imani? It means “faith” in Swahili.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Phil. ‘You’re… what? African, then?’
‘I’m from Druid’s Heath,’ she said, emphasising her Birmingham accent.
They laughed again.
‘My family’s from there. On my mum’s side. My dad’s family’s all Jamaican. I’m a hundred per cent Brummie.’ She shrugged. ‘Everyone’s got to come from somewhere.’
They lapsed into silence. Phil wished he had put some music on when they got in, or even the radio. But out of deference to his DC he had given her the choice. She had opted for nothing.
The roads widened once more. Greenery became more abundant. Phil sensed they were nearing their destination.
‘Ron Parsons,’ he said. ‘Tell me about him.’
‘What d’you want to know?’ she asked.
‘I know nothing about him. Everybody clams up when his name’s mentioned. Why? He’s a villain, isn’t he?’
‘Yeah, one of the old firm,’ she said. ‘Before my time. Bit of a legend, by all accounts. The usual stuff, prostitution, protection, clubs, the lot. If it was bent and there was money to be made, especially through violence, he was involved.’
‘And then prison?’
‘Well, it was a bit more than that. You see, the West Midlands force had a bad reputation at the time. Corruption. And Ron Parsons was right in the middle of it. He got caught and went down. But he made sure he went down with casualties.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Tried to take half the force with him. If he was going to do time, he wasn’t going to do it alone. Was going to name names.’
‘I don’t remember much of a fuss. Was there one?’
‘A bit. It was hushed up mainly. Most of them took early retirement or were moved where they couldn’t cause trouble. There was a lot of bad feeling. Coppers protecting their own and all that. Some wanted it all out in the open, the guilty named and tried. Everyone was tarnished.’ She sighed. ‘All ancient history now, though.’
‘Was Sperring involved?’
She shook her head. ‘No. But he’s often talked about it. Came in on the tail end.’ She looked at Phil, then quickly away, weighing her words again. ‘But you know who was involved.’
‘Let me guess. Khan’s old man.’
‘Exactly. He was caught. Given a choice. Turn evidence on Parsons and his lot, or go to jail for a long time.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Neither. Killed himself. Couldn’t live with the guilt.’
‘Jesus…’
‘Yeah. I know. Didn’t matter really. Not to the case. Parsons still went down.’
Phil rubbed his chin. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘And now he’s back. How does Khan feel about that?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said. ‘We’re not close.’
‘Right. But Parsons is working legit. Does that strike you as odd?’
‘A bit,’ she said. ‘From what I hear, he still thinks he’s got his empire. I mean, while he was away, there were others came and took his place. He created a vacuum. The Pakistani gangs and the Yardies moved in and filled it. And Parsons can’t accept that.’
‘Like a king who doesn’t reign any more but still wants to be treated like one,’ said Phil.
‘King Lear,’ said Imani. ‘But without the madness and the daughters. Well, without the daughters. We’ll see about the madness.’
Phil gave her a sideways look. ‘You’re not like the rest of the team, are you?’
Again she weighed her response before giving it. ‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘I was fast-tracked. Graduate programme. I think I’m good at what I do – not being immodest; I just wouldn’t be able to do it if I didn’t think that – but some people don’t agree.’
‘You mean Sperring.’
She nodded. ‘Just because I didn’t come up through the ranks. The hard way. I didn’t pay my dues, apparently. And he mistrusts me because of that. Told me so.’
‘It’s not because of that,’ said Phil. ‘It’s because you’re going to have his job one day.’
She pulled the car to a halt. Phil looked at her.
‘We’ve arrived,’ she said.