Twin Towers Estate Riot Trilogy

By Chris Barraclough

The first three best-selling UK crime books in the Twin Towers Estate Series (25,000 downloads and counting), together for the first time in one great-value Nook thriller collection!

Experience the shocking beginnings of the Twin Towers Estate thriller series, with the complete Riot Trilogy (Crack, Kitty and Smack), from award-winning British crime author Chris Barraclough.

Five Stars for the Twin Towers Estate from Indie Ebook Reviewer: “This is seat-of-the-pants reading, so grab yourself a drink and snack and make yourself comfortable before you start. And remember to breathe occasionally...”

Crack (shortlisted, Page Turner Prize)

"I enjoyed every minute of it. Its pace is so frenetic and the events pile up one on the other so rapidly that you won't want to put it down." - eBookanoid Reviews

The tragic accidental death of a teenage girl in a notorious crime-ridden UK council estate leads to a bloody and shocking uprising, led by the girl's father and her ruthless boyfriend.

The man responsible, PC Nathan Pang, finds himself trapped on the thirteenth floor of Disraeli tower, traumatised and cut off from help. Facing the rioters head-on, he discovers the horrific truth behind the girl's death, but can he protect the innocents caught up in the violence and get out of the estate alive?

Kitty

From Amazon reviews: “Enthralling”... “Fantastic read”... “Fast paced”... “Ended up reading until the sun came up”... “Couldn’t put it down”... “Gritty and believable”... “Hard hitting”... “Every page is a nail-biting rush”

A young man doped up on ketamine is found dead in the street. His sister is hell-bent on revenge, convinced her brother was murdered...

A stressed and bullied Korean mother sees her corner store mysteriously burned to the ground. Threatened by the thug who was charged for the crime, she sets out to discover the real culprits...

An ex-teacher fresh out of prison is terrorised by someone from his past. His only escape is to confront those responsible...

In just one day, their lives will violently collide in the infamous Twin Towers Estate...

Smack

From Amazon reviews: “Another great read”... “Great British read”... “Gripping thriller”... “Fab twists”... “Could not put it down”

After moving into the notorious Twin Towers Estate with his older brother, eleven-year-old Adam soon starts hanging around with the wrong crowd. But when he’s knocked down by a hit-and-run driver, a chance at revenge turns into a life-or-death struggle with the very worst the estate has to offer...

This book contains very strong language and occasional violence and is intended for mature audiences only. Scroll up and click the cover image to read a sneak preview, and check out www.chrisbarraclough.co.uk for more info on Chris' Kindle novels.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chris Barraclough is a British journalist and award-winning UK crime author who bagged the UK Authors Award for his highly-praised debut suspense/mystery novel, "Bat Boy", following a blind teenage boy and his brother's search for their long-lost father (out now in paperback and on Kindle).

His follow-ups, "Crack" (shortlisted, Page Turner Prize 2011) "Kitty" and “Smack” are fast-paced crime thrillers set in the notorious Twin Towers Estate, while his mystery novel “Dead Dogs” was nominated for the Dylan Thomas Award.

More praise for Chris Barraclough:

"A great story, beautifully written...an excellent crime book. Once you start you will not stop, I promise you." - Graham Sclater's Book Review Show, Venture Radio

"Fast, funny, riveting...a glorious read" - Times Suspense

"A wonderful, gripping thriller, from the first words to the last. Marvellous!" - UK Crime Writers

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Barraclough
• Release date: Aug 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301948611

Chris Barraclough

Chris Barraclough is an award-winning crime writer and journalist from the UK. His debut novel 'Bat Boy' (told from the POV of a blind British boy searching for his father after a family tragedy) took him a sweat-inducing four years to write, but the pain was worth it. Bat Boy won the UK Authors Award 2011 and was published by the UKA Press, to great critical acclaim. 25% of paperback royalties are donated to the RNIB (so buying a copy makes you a wonderful person). His fast-paced crime thriller 'Crack', the first in his Twin Towers Estate series, was shortlisted for the Page Turner Prize and SpaSpa Award for Best Psychological Fiction. His second novel 'Dead Dogs' - a suspenseful but darkly comic portrayal of a family torn apart by Albania's archaic Blood Feud revenge laws - was nominated for the Sony Reader Award and his third novel, Devil's In A Different Dress, is out now and free for a limited time. See www.chrisbarraclough.co.uk for more news and info on upcoming books.

Book preview

PART ONE: CRACK

1

The windscreen fractured, his face pricked by fragments which leapt from the surface and sliced into his skin. A scream died somewhere deep in his throat. With eyes squeezed shut, he slammed his foot on the brake. Agony ripped through his muscle, crippling him from thigh to toe. His body jerked forward as the car shuddered and shook, until the belt snapped across his chest and brought him to a breathless halt, just half an inch from the steering column.

Before he knew what had happened, he was crushed back into his seat. The world was silent again.

Pang’s fingers were bleach-white, still wrapped around the top of the wheel. Every breath was agony. His ribs shifted in unnatural ways and his skull was vibrating, like someone had sideswiped him. His eyes remained shut. Aside from a tender hiss, the only sound he heard was approaching footsteps. Several sets, all running - and now voices across to his side. They were warped somehow, almost monstrous.

Devils come to take me away.

He forced his eyes open and stared at the remains of the glass. For now it held firm, but in total ruins. The point of impact was to his left, directly level with his eye-line. Something solid, probably the size of a bowling ball, had struck it at a terrific pace. Pointed cracks spread from the centre, thick and jagged at first, then thinning out like veins.

What happened?

His own voice sounded distant, as if someone outside had mumbled his words for him. Through the cobwebbed cracks, Pang made out black and white shapes that danced before his car. More voices. He heard them clear enough now the ringing had subsided.

Fuck, man. Aww, no way.

Shit, look, Matty’s on his way.

Pang lifted a trembling hand and pulled on the handle by his elbow. He almost collapsed sideways out of the car as the door jarred open, but his foot found the tarmac in time. He heaved himself free. Miniature crystals leapt from his jacket and rained over his shoes. His fingers gripped the top edge of the door, his face creased at the agony that crawled beneath his knee.

Forget the pain. Find out what happened.

Someone darted past him, a man with skin as pale as milk. His long black coat billowed along behind him like Dracula’s cape, and an edge caught Pang on the cheek. As the man rounded the car, he began to scream.

Lindsey! Lindsey! Oh God, oh…

Pang inched around and stared at the cluster of people stood before him. They were gathered in a circle, their eyes fixed on the ground – except for the man in the black coat, who rocked back and forth on his knees, his hands clasped to his head. Pang dropped his gaze and noticed a leg protruding from the circle. The thing lay perfectly still, wrapped in a ragged stocking stained with dark crimson blotches. A perfect white trainer sat discarded on its side just a few feet beyond. Laces undone, the front of the sole hung open like a wide, gaping maw, frozen in a silent scream.

No…no…this didn’t happen…

Pang’s nails dug into the paint and scraped out deep trenches that gleamed silver underneath. The noise attracted the attention of the gathering. They turned and peered at him, four of them in total. The man in the black coat rose, his pale face drawn into his skull so his cheeks formed two hollow pits. He wasn’t a man at all. He must have been seventeen at most. The boy’s eyes were misted by tears.

You fucking killed my sister. You killed her!

No, Pang thought. No, you’re wrong. I couldn’t have. But nothing emerged from his throat. His body was rigid. He didn’t feel the icy breeze that whipped across his cheeks and smeared a strand of saliva down his chin.

What we gonna do with him, asked one of the others, another kid. They were all kids, every one of them. Their complexions twisted with horror and loathing. Pang’s focus drifted between them until dark spots spoiled his vision. He recognised them. Terrence, the boy he’d come here for.

Terrence and the whole fucking gang.

Here, Matty, said Terrence. He pulled something from his jacket pocket and slipped it to the boy in the black coat. Stick the bastard. Only fair, right? He had a faded Union Jack tattoo above his left eyebrow, and it crumpled as he grinned.

The gathering parted and shuffled towards the car. Behind them, Pang caught a glimpse of the woman who lay in the road, her body contorted, arms splayed like an eagle stretching its wings. Although her face was swollen and purple, it was obvious she was younger than the boys, probably no older than fourteen. One glance of her lifeless features was enough. Pang’s stomach crumpled and a jet of bright yellow vomit shot from his lips and splashed across the tarmac. He coughed and spat, appalled at the taste.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

His words were a whisper, a mumble lost to the breeze. The smell of burnt rubber and vomit filled his nostrils and almost made him puke again, but even though his stomach buckled and groaned, there was nothing left to give.

Matty advanced a step at a time, his fist clenched in front of his chest, and Pang realised what Terrence had handed the boy - a switchblade, roughly four inches long. The blade shone in the fading light, except for two rusty streaks down each edge.

Wait, Pang said, stumbling from the car, his hand held out. Wait, this was an accident. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to.

Bastard, Matty screamed, his eyes narrowed to watery slits. Now he came with pace. His body shook so hard that the knife in his fist was a silver blur. Pang backed away, his heels dragging over the uneven road. He held the boy’s gaze, too terrified to turn, until his heel clipped the edge of the pavement behind him. He grunted and stumbled backwards, his arms flayed out at his sides. Matty chose that moment to strike.

The blade came up in one swift motion, aimed straight for Pang’s ribs. He had only a second to react. He swung his arm and batted the knife away before the blade sunk into his torso, and a flash of searing pain shot across his bicep. His other hand caught Matty by the throat and the pair collapsed onto the pavement. The back of Pang’s skull slammed into the ground. His eyes bulged at the agonising ripples that coursed through the bone and down the ridges of his neck. He gasped and sucked in a lungful of freezing air, the fog in his brain lifted by the shock, just as Matty brought down the knife. Pang snatched the boy’s wrist and the blade’s tip juddered to rest, half an inch from his throat.

Fucking die!

His arms ached like hell – more so the right, which seeped warm liquid down the insides of his jacket sleeve. He ground his teeth. A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye, then was lost on the pavement. Exhaustion had already set in. His limbs were numb. He felt his body sink into the concrete as if it was fresh tar, ready to swallow him whole. The pain drifted until a face appeared through the darkness, the drawn and innocent face of a child, and the agony and nausea returned in a rush. A wretched gargle gushed from his lips.

Pang twisted his body and threw Matty to the side, then rolled on top of him. The switchblade was still clutched in the boy’s hand, but Pang forced his wrist back. He felt the bones crunch beneath his fingers. Matty whimpered and the blade fell to the pavement, without a sound.

Shit, man, shouted one of the boys. They gathered close by to watch the fight, their hands thrust deep into their jackets. C’mon Matty, do the prick!

Less help ‘im, said another and the boys advanced. Pang heard them approach. He held Matty down with both hands while the boy struggled and screamed beneath him, knowing too well he had to move before the others pulled him away. He could already sense their hands reaching out for him, fingers curled like claws.

Pang lifted a knee from the ground and brought it back hard. The solid bone crushed itself against Matty’s groin. The boy huffed a ball of hot air and spittle into Pang’s face, his dark eyes wide and bloodshot. His struggle ceased. Pang released his wrists and rolled off, towards the fallen knife. He grabbed the smooth handle and pitched over on to his back as one of the boys - a tall, gaunt-faced kid wearing glasses beneath a black beanie - stooped towards him.

The blade slashed and the kid squealed and backed off, one hand wrapped around the other.

Fuck, he cut me!

Pang knew this boy too. His name was Adam, but everyone called him Nuts. Another bastard who’d taken the station ride countless times before.

Pang staggered to his feet with a grunt. One hand held the switchblade, the other gripped his shredded knee. He aimed the knife at the boys, waiting for them to pounce. For now, they held still and stared back with something resembling curiosity. Matty released a groan at Pang’s feet, his knees hitched up to his chest.

You’re dead, copper, said Terrence. Pang was sure he saw a glimmer of joy in his eyes. You ain’t getting off the estate, not with some poxy knife. We’ll make sure of that, eh lads?

Too right, said Nuts, a spit-string of blood dangling between his fingers. Pang glanced across the estate. Scattered people gathered to watch from afar, while others approached for a closer look.

Move you idiot! Get out of here, now!

He twisted and made off across the grass, keeping near to the road that led out of the estate. The boys gave chase.

Run, piggy! Run!

Gonna tear ya up, copper!

Every ice breath he sucked in burned the back of his throat, the flesh there still scarred from the vomit, but his knee had the worst of it. He wouldn’t make it far like this. The tower to his right, stretched halfway to the murky sky, was his only chance of refuge. Pang grunted and changed course, aimed for the weathered archway at the front of the building.

The stretch of withered grass that led to the archway seemed to grow as he staggered across it, as if he were running backwards. Every frantic thump of his heart echoed in his ears like a frenzied drum beat. He could just make out the boys’ footsteps behind him, dampened by the mud. They were toying with him, the bastards. Chanting and shouting and hanging back just out of reach, waiting for the right time to strike.

Pang glanced back over his shoulder, but didn’t slow for a second. Three of them now, Terrence, Nuts and a boy they called Virgin. Nuts screamed and flashed a bitter scowl while Virgin battled for breath just behind, but the one that terrified him was Terrence. That one grinned like the devil, lips curled back to show off sharp yellow teeth. His look was sheer madness - pupils stretched wide, eyelids so far drawn that his eyeballs seemed to bulge from his sockets.

He’s running into D-Block!

Dumb prick!

One of the boys got close, his footsteps almost alongside him now. Pang swung back with the knife and caught sight of Nuts. The blade missed the boy’s chest by no more than a couple of inches - a warning shot - and he dropped back with a snarl.

When I get that knife off ya, I’ll fucking carve ya right up, bait!

Pang didn’t reply. All he could see was the arch, and at last he burst through into the cracked and cobwebbed concourse of the Disraeli tower. He’d been here too many times. The lifts were straight ahead through the dilapidated garden, and that was where he headed. Shockwaves resounded across the open square as his feet pounded the broken concrete. The boys poured into the concourse an instant behind him, and the clap of their approach was like thunder.

He kept on going, past the dried up fountain and the daffodil remains. At the end of the concourse he saw them. Two lifts. The one on the left was open, the cramped interior dimly lit by a neon bulb that stuttered and whined. He had to make it.

He’s going for the lift!

Shit, grab him!

Only twenty feet away now. His leg burned. A hand grabbed the back of his jacket, but he twisted away and again slashed back with the knife, another warning swipe. Once more he caught nothing but air, but the hand shifted.

Pang turned as he hurtled into the lift and slammed against the back wall. His shoulder jerked against the steel and he almost dropped the switchblade. He tightened his grip and jabbed the blade back through the doors, while his other hand smashed the buttons at the side. The boys almost collapsed over each other, skidding to a halt just before they reached him. The battered grey doors groaned as they slid inwards. Nuts reached out into the closing gap, his fingers spread wide and stained with blood. Pang lurched towards him. For the second time, the edge of the blade sank into soft flesh. Nuts screamed and the hand withdrew and at last the doors slammed shut.

For a moment nothing happened. Pang stood rigid with the knife clutched before him, pointed straight ahead. He half expected the doors to pull open again. Muffled screams drifted in, and then a bout of desperate pounding as the boys kicked and threw themselves at the thin sheets of metal that separated them from their prey. Pang almost cried out when the lift shuddered upwards, headed for the floor his fingers had blindly selected. Floor thirteen.

He collapsed back against the wall. His eyes were fixed straight ahead as he tucked the knife into his jacket pocket, focused on the graffiti scrawled in pink across the inside of the doors.

welcum to D block

2

Pang winced and lifted his leg, then stretched it out. His knee let out an audible crack and the pain sent him straight to the ground, squeezing the joint and roaring until his throat burned. When his voice gave in altogether, he lay limp on the blackened floor and rocked back and forth, a layer of grime smeared across his skin. A puddle of drool formed by his cheek. At first there was only on the pain, but when it subsided he became aware of a smell of soured milk.

The lift shuddered again after half a minute, then the doors slid back to reveal a pale concrete walkway with a waist-high railing on one side and a faded yellow wall on the other. A fierce gust of freezing air gushed across his body and roused him. He coughed, again and again. Acrid air in his lungs, corroding him from the inside out. He shook the coughs just long enough to push himself up the back wall of the lift, and with a deep breath stumbled outside.

The narrow concrete walkway ran three quarters of the circumference of Disraeli building - D-Block as the locals called it - and the view from the thirteenth floor was impeccable. You could see clear across to the power station in the East, and the landfill over to the West. Straight ahead stood the tower’s identical sibling, Gladstone, otherwise known as G-Block. Two enormous fingers that poked crudely through the heart of the city, throwing an enormous ‘fuck you’ to everything and everyone around.

Pang snatched the railing with his free hand and peered at the distant ground, a swirl of grey and muted greens. His gaze rolled across the patchy sketch of grass to the road, where his car stood. A gathering obscured it. Some of the cluster peeled away, moving with a certain urgency towards D-Block.

Come for the lynching, no doubt.

Pang staggered along the walkway, away from the lift. His eyes were held on the concrete beneath his feet, while his thoughts lingered on a leg sheathed in torn stockings. He barely noticed when a door ahead eased open, and a woman stepped out with a young girl wrapped in her arms. When he glanced up and saw her, she stared back, her mouth hung open like a trap.

Oh God, what happened to you?

He paused, unsure what to do, but didn’t get the chance to think. First there came the hollow pounding of footsteps from somewhere behind, then raised voices, whooping and cursing.

The bastards were on their way.

Get inside, Pang said, his hand outstretched. He pushed himself forward and grabbed the woman by her arm, then forced her back through the open doorway. The voices behind had already formed into a bloodthirsty roar. He dared a second’s glance back before he followed the woman inside.

Another wave of nausea hit the moment he staggered into the oppressive heat. He collapsed against a nearby table and hurled and a trickle of bile hit the tablecloth, a puddle that steamed and spread through the dull grey material.

Shit, that was just washed! The woman glared at him, her fingers tense against the edge of the door. Her kid peered his way, not a glimpse of fear in her large brown eyes.

Close it, quick. He spat out the last of the vile liquid, then lifted himself on trembling arms as the woman slammed her door shut. She turned to him with a look of disgust.

So, what the hell happened to you? Get in a fight with the locals?

Something like that. Pang shivered. Please, help me draw all the curtains.

You got people coming after you? Is that what all the shouting was about?

The voices were clear now. One of the boys - Terrence, from his high-pitched tone - shouted in triumph.

Here’s the lift! Bastard must be here somewhere.

Shit, should’ve sent it to another floor.

Please, Pang said, his eyes fixed on the nearest window. The glass, divided in half by a meandering crack, was separated from the room by a row of thin steel bars. A set of creased beige curtains hung limp either side, drawn back to reveal the darkening clouds.

Okay, okay.

She slid a pair shut at the far end of the room while Pang pushed himself from the table and snatched the curtains nearest him. He pulled them back over the bars, then pressed himself against the wall to the side of the window.

The room was darker now, so only the outline of the woman’s furniture was visible. A stretch sofa lined the wall straight ahead, beside a haggard old relic of a television. The wall to the left was dominated by a tall kitchen counter and a stove that seemed to lean against a narrow fridge. That just left the table, which now reeked of vomit. Toys were scattered here and there, dolls and stuffed animals that lay lifeless across the ground. Two interior doors were built into the right wall, the only exits apart from the front door. Bedroom and bathroom, Pang guessed.

The voices outside continued.

Oi, pig! Where ya hiding, eh? Where ya hiding yer snout?

Pang lifted his hand to his vest, but he already knew that the pocket was too light. His radio had snapped free in the accident, or perhaps while he struggled with Matty. He squeezed the straps and shut his eyes.

Telephone. She must have a telephone.

What’s your name? he asked, his voice hushed. The woman stared back through slits.

My name’s Kate. Now, you going to answer some of my questions, before I kick your arse back out there?

Mam, the girl said, her hand wrapped around Kate’s hair. He smells funny.

Okay, baby. Kate lowered the girl to the ground and held her by the shoulders until she was steady on her feet. Lizzie, go play in your room. I’ll be there in a second, after I deal with the man. The girl nodded and slipped her thumb into her mouth. Her legs drove her like miniature pistons to the furthest door on the right. It was open a sliver, just wide enough for the girl to wedge in her free hand and prise it open. She smiled at Kate, then disappeared inside.

When her daughter was out of sight, Kate turned back to Pang and folded her arms across her chest.

Well then? What happened to you?

There was an accident. Pang rested his head back against the wall. His breath was forced, as if someone had slugged him in the gut. He gasped for air and swallowed back the spit that filled his mouth. I hit a girl with my car. Those boys chased me up here.

Jesus shit. Is she okay, the girl?

I…I don’t think so. I think she’s dead.

Kate shook her head, her fingers entwined in a strand of hair that dangled down her shoulder. Pang watched her. He wondered what was running through her mind. Resentment? Anger? Maybe she just wished she had run inside and bolted the door the moment she saw his pitiful frame stagger towards her.

Before he could ask about a phone, Terrence’s voice resounded from outside the window.

Everyone knows what you did, pig. They’re all looking for ya. Might as well come out from where yer hiding!

He ain’t a pig, he’s a fucking chicken! A shadow crept across the curtains, the outline of a head and a pair of shoulders. Another followed close behind.

I didn’t see her! It just happened. Jesus, if I could bring her back I’d do it in a heartbeat, can’t you see that?

Them two.

Kate had crept up on him, and her delicate whisper startled him. He turned to her, eyes wide.

What?

Terrence and Nuts. Just a couple of dumb-arse kids who hang around the back of the estate. Terrence thinks he’s this big gang leader, has the others call him Dog. They’re all scared of him for some reason. I just think he’s a little prick, and I’ve told him so.

You should be careful with him, Pang said. I wouldn’t put it past him to hit a woman.

You know him, then. Yeah, probably done him dozens of times. Not that it does any good, little fuckers are always back the next day, twice as cocky. Kate stared at Pang, her lips twisted in a thoughtful frown. What’s she look like, this girl you hit?

She’s called Lindsey. He turned back to the curtains. That’s the name her brother called out. Lindsey. She has black hair, same as yours, and… and she couldn’t be more than sixteen. He fell silent, his head bowed.

Lindsey Davenport. Yeah, I’ve seen her hanging ‘round with those creeps lately. Shame, she was a nice girl.

She was a nice girl. She still would be a nice girl if it wasn’t for me.

How’d it happen? Kate asked. Pang recoiled as if bitten. Those words threw him back into the driver’s seat, with the smell of burnt rubber pinching his nostrils and a blanket of glass spread over his body. An ice cold hand crushed his heart.

I just didn’t see her. One moment the road was empty, then the next…it was already too late. He bit into his lip and tasted blood. Do you have a phone I can use? he asked, his head half-turned towards her. I need to call the station, tell them what happened.

Used to, till I got cut off.

You don’t have anything? Now he looked her in the eyes, so black in the faded light. Landline, mobile, anything?

I can barely afford diapers for my little girl, she shot back. Who’m I gonna call anyway? Even my mother won’t talk to me.

Okay, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any offence. The voices outside had faded, but he heard others approaching on the stairwell. The bars are good, he said, nodding to the window. Just a throwaway comment, to kill the silence and take his mind from the search parties outside. Kate brushed a long, red fingernail over the bridge of her nose and sniffed.

Wasn’t my idea. My husband thought it’d be good protection for us. We were broken into twice when we moved here. I’ve got to hide my valuables in a dirty sock under the bed, case it happens again.

Yeah, your husband’s right. Can’t be too careful. Pang thought back to his countless visits to this estate. Many of the flats had bars just like this one, including the homes he’d visited on arrests. Around here, not even the criminals felt safe.

Well, he ain’t around no more, so I’m glad for them.

I’m sorry to hear that.

He didn’t leave me. He’s in jail. Just so you know. Her spite pricked him like a needle. He studied her close, her face suddenly familiar. Some time before, terrified and drawn, her ashen features untouched by the halogen glow cast from a ceiling bulb. A more youthful appearance, less wrinkled and haggard but just as troubled. Her eyes pleading with him.

He doesn’t…didn’t used to hurt you two, did he?

Hurt us? She shook her head. God, no. He knows if he laid a finger on Lizzie, I’d bite it right off. Pang didn’t doubt it. She’s one of the few good things left in this world. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to her. Her cold gaze lingered on Pang, until his face burned and swelled. You have any children, constable?

Yes. I’ve got a boy. A son.

That’s good. He must be a handsome lad, huh? Does he have your big, brown eyes? Something in her tone unsettled him.

He’s a good looking boy, but it’s nothing to do with me. We adopted him.

Oh. Can’t have kids of your own? He didn’t answer. His focus hovered on nothing at all, through a crack between the curtain and the wall. She was a good girl, that Lindsey. Conflicted though. Maybe in another place she’d have made something of herself, but this estate, huh. Kate sighed. It’s no good. She fell in with one of the gangs from Gladstone first. Used to see her all the time, smoking ‘round the back of the cut with that lad. A pause. Edward Carr, that’s his name. Then something must’ve happened between ‘em, ‘cos she started loitering down in the court with Terrence and those other hooligans instead. One bad lot to another. She never stood a chance.

Pang’s nails dug into the curtain. Two more voices drifted from the stairwell, distracting him. One of the voices sounded just like Lindsey’s brother, Matty. Pang shifted himself as close to the window as he dared, their words only just coherent.

What if she calls ‘em while we’re up here?

She won’t. The other man had a gruff voice, but his words broke apart as if he had something lodged in his throat. Just leave her to it, and we’ll deal with this cop.

Their shadows passed by the window, but the footsteps dragged to a halt a moment later. Pang waited, not daring to breathe. One of the shadows returned and paused just outside the flat.

Dad, look!

What, what is it? Now both of them were stood on the other side.

See those red spots? That’s blood, eh? The bastard was bleeding from where I cut his arm.

Pang’s hand shot to his wound, which throbbed beneath his sleeve. The skin was still slick. He swore under his breath and gripped his chest, pleading for his heart to cease its violent pounding.

Right, go get the others. Matty’s footsteps disappeared down the walkway while his father stepped up to the door. Three solid knocks came in quick succession. Copper! You in there?

What are you going to do now? Kate whispered. Pang watched her face, her lips pressed tight together.

Mocking me. She’s mocking me!

He was trapped, nowhere to go, nowhere to run to. A cold chill swept through his body and his vision faded to grey.

Police smash gang brawl in new estate

By Damon Gregory

23/07/09

Police were called out last night to the controversial new Hightide council estate after a mass brawl disturbed local residents.

Several residents dialled 999 after witnessing two gangs of youths fighting in the street, shortly before 11pm. The youths dispersed before the police arrived, but it is thought that up to 20 people may have been involved.

Witnesses say that the fight followed an argument between two gangs, one from the Gladstone tower and the other from the nearby Disraeli tower. The brawl was apparently caused by an unidentified youth, who threw a beer bottle at a rival.

PC Warren Davis was the first officer on the scene, but the fight had already broken up.

He said: No arrests were made, but we’re taking statements from some of the locals who saw the fight. This sort of thing can’t continue, for the sake of public safety.

Since the estate opened last month, there have already been 14 separate reported incidents involving gangs. The previous incident was just two days ago, when three youths were caught breaking into the Shop N Carry Mini-Stop on the estate.

It’s been like this since the first day, said a witness who wished to remain anonymous. Really, it’s absolute madness. These kids pick fights with each other just because they live in a different tower. I mean, where’s the sense in that?

3

The thumping was relentless, the door shaking violently in its frame under the onslaught. Kate repeated her question: Well, what you going to do? Pang stared back, his mind numb.

Does she hate me like the others? Would she watch them tear me apart, right here in her home?

I don’t know. Maybe I should just give myself up.

You know what’ll happen if you go out there.

Yeah. I’ve got a fair idea.

Every thud against the door made his head throb, same as his goddamn arm. Still the man called out. Open up, we know you’re in there. The same crap that Pang had yelled at dozens of these doors.

Mam? Mam, what’s that noise?

Lizzie had returned. Her head poked around the edge of the bedroom door, a curious expression fixed on her slightly chubby features. Her eyes caught a glimmer of light and for one brilliant moment they shone like diamonds. Kate rushed to her and knelt so their faces were level.

Stay inside, honey. And keep the door closed, okay? She ran her hand through Lizzie’s hair, then pulled the door shut again. Pang stared after the girl. Those gentle, innocent tones stirred his stomach, reminding him of Michael. She had the same eyes as him, the same curly mess of hair. What’s your name? Kate asked.

Huh?

Your name, Kate repeated, loud enough to be heard over the pounding. You haven’t told me your name.

I’m Police Constable Pang.

Forget that, what’s your first name?

It’s Nathan. He felt his cheeks flush.

Nathan? That’s not very Chinese.

I’m not very Chinese either.

You look Chinese.

My grandfather was Chinese. I’m British.

Right, fine. So, Nathan. What you gonna do? I’d say you’ve only got a minute at most before that moron busts my door down.

He returned her stare, but her face misted over. He only saw Michael’s shivering complexion, the way he had looked the night before. So brave. So vulnerable.

Why did I have to lose the fucking radio!

I…I’m sorry, I can’t go. Not just yet. Kate was silent at first. He turned from her like a naughty child.

Well then, she finally said, and she crossed her arms. You better shift something heavy behind that door, cos if he gets in, I’m not gonna stop him from dragging you out of here.

Pang nodded. The side of the door was lined with an array of bolts and locks, but he doubted they could withstand a determined attack. For all the security measures, this was the weak point. He glanced around the room. On the second sweep, his eyes fell on the fridge that stood against the wall, just a few feet away.

I won’t let them hurt you or Lizzie, he said as he crossed the room. I promise. He stopped beside the fridge and sized it up, then crouched at the back and followed the power cord to the socket. His arm squeezed into the narrow gap, just far enough to prise the plug free. Once more he rose, ready to embrace the bulky appliance. His fingers gripped the smooth edges. He sucked in a breath and held it, then his back braced and with a terrific grunt he forced the fridge away from the wall.

If anyone’s in there, last chance before I kick this door down!

When the gap was large enough, Pang wedged himself in. His hands spread against the hot surface and again he tensed his muscles. Inch by painful inch, Pang worked the fridge towards the front door. He ground his teeth, tears fresh in his eyes. The burning in his arms and knee was impossible to ignore, but he swept the sensation away and concentrated on the growing threats outside.

Five feet away…four feet…

The first kick came, so violent that the door splintered at the edge, right where it was bolted. The wood trembled in its frame.

Shit, three feet…not gonna make it…

Lindsey’s father huffed on the opposite side of the door, then his breath fell silent and Pang crushed himself against the fridge. The next kick did it. A hideous crunch like the snapping of bones echoed around the room as the door exploded inwards. A second later, it rebounded off the edge of the fridge and creaked shut again.

What the hell? came a muffled voice. Pang slid his