Penance: Absolution

By CR Spencer

In the final part of the trilogy, Dagmar Johnson is forced to return to London upon the appearance of Angela/Angelica Jones who is seeking her assistance. Having given birth to her daughter, Dagmar Johnson is reluctant to leave the safety of her home and family but she realises that her past life is catching up with her. She must take action to resolve these issues and tie up loose ends. She still yearns for the lovely Rashmika Patel; this is one such issue that must be resolved. Along the way she encounters death, corruption and gratuitous violence. She must finally see off the gang that has been bothering her since she unclamped her car...Dagmar Johnson flirts her way through London, gets to shoot her customised Glock and makes an unexpected friend. Lucius and XTC set out on new adventures along the way as she finds herself promoted. Dagmar Johnson's steamy Teenage Tales complete the series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CR Spencer
• Release date: Nov 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463835586

CR Spencer

CR Spencer is a graduate of Manchester University and King's College, London and has worked in a variety of roles within the education sector including school principal and school inspector across the world from the Far East to Central America. He is the author of the Penance Trilogy and the creator of the character of Dagmar JohnsonCR Spencer lives in the Herault region of southwest France where he enjoys the peace and tranquility of the vineyards, the rolling hills and active village life. He writes almost daily when his unruly garden does not distract him...The author can be contacted on [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter 1

Meinecke Strasse, Düsseldorf, Germany

Late afternoon, October 2017

The appearance of Angelica/Angela Jones

Dagmar Johnson looked at Angelica/Angela Jones. She said nothing. In the background, she could hear Lucius shouting at her from the screen of the iPad, which was propped up on the kitchen counter. Johnson couldn’t quite get her head around this. She spoke in German.

What the fuck?...

Jones looked at her. You owe me. This shit storm is all down to you.

When you haven’t spoken English for several months it can be quite difficult to get your head around the nuances of the language but Johnson was a master of foul language so she got the meaning of this quite quickly.

Jones spoke again, You gonna let me in or what?

She pushed past Johnson and stood in the hall. The light was beginning to fade. Johnson could hear the twins chattering loudly up the road pushing Ajay with Mama and Nanny Adile who were deep in conversation as they approached the house.

The iPad was still squawking from the kitchen. The security cameras that Lucius had installed gave him a clear picture of the events as he sat in his high-rise apartment in Naklua, Pattaya. His shouting had roused Branka from the bedroom.

Jones stood in the hallway. She leaned against the newly painted white walls. She looked tired. Her clothes looked crumpled; she wore no make-up. Her hair was tied back in the short ponytail, as it had been when Johnson had last seen her on the video link from Dublin.

Johnson calmly walked past her and into the kitchen. She reached over to the iPad and turned down the volume. She spoke softly in German.

It’s okay, Lucius, I’ve got this. Keep watching though.

In Naklua, Lucius felt the restraining hand of Branka on his arm; he sat back. Branka said, She says she’s got this; stop worrying.

The garden gate clanked as it opened. Johnson went back into the hall and stood in front of the door. The twins fell silent; Ajay stirred as the motion of the pushchair came to an abrupt halt.

Nanny Adile stepped forward, Dagmar, is everything okay?

Johnson’s composure quickly returned. As an experienced detective sergeant from the East London Special Operations, otherwise known by its informal name of Penance Unit where officers were sent to serve out their time for varying misdeeds, she could handle herself. However, this was the first time she had faced a ‘person of interest’ since she had been shot in Notting Hill. She spoke loudly.

Angelica, what are you doing here?

Nanny Adile pushed her way into the hallway. She stood over Jones. Mama pulled the twins back who were hanging onto the pushchair.

Johnson took hold of Nanny Adile’s arm; she spoke quietly in German.

Nanny. Take Ajay and the twins back to the house with Mama. I need to deal with this. It’s just something from London.

She looked at Jones and back in English… "Are you gonna behave yourself, Angelica? My baby is out there.

Jones nodded.

Come on Nanny, this won’t take long. I’ll be over for dinner shortly. She smiled at her.

Nanny Adile reluctantly went out back into the front garden. Johnson quickly followed her, bent down into the pushchair and kissed Ajay who looked at her Mama with her big brown eyes. Johnson hugged the twins and shooed them away.

Mama said, Dagmar bring your friend for dinner. She looks as though she could eat something. Mama spoke in English.

Nanny Adile looked at her quizzically and muttered something in Turkish. They went out of the gate to walk the ten minutes or so back to the house in Goltzheim. Nanny Adile kept looking back as Johnson quietly closed the door.

Johnson pushed past Jones. She said, Come on Angelica. You’ve got some explaining to do.

Johnson pushed her medical books away that were cluttering the kitchen table. She flicked on the kettle and took two mugs out of the cupboard. She inserted a wireless ear bud and picked up her iPad. She placed it on the table. She unclipped one side of her hair and let it fall over the ear as Jones sat with her head in her hands.

Lucius growled in her ear.

‘Deejay. Get rid of the bitch, now!’

Johnson’s fingers danced over the keyboard as sent him a smiley face.

Johnson looked at Angelica/Angela Jones, onetime upmarket prostitute but now in fear of her life from some Turkish hoodlums who had mistakenly slaughtered her mother.

Johnson plonked the steaming peppermint tea in front of Jones. She picked up the cup and sipped carefully; she grimaced.

Do you have any coffee?

Johnson shook her head, Drink that, you look like you could do with a hot drink. Caffeine is the last thing I’m gonna give you. Stand up, please. I’m gonna pat you down.

Jones sighed and stood up with arms outstretched. Johnson patted her down. Where’s your bag, Angelica?

Call me Angela. I told you before I’m not working anymore. She paused. I haven’t got a bag. She gestured that she was going to reach into the pocket of her jeans." Johnson nodded. Jones placed about twenty-five Euros in screwed up notes and loose change on the table next to her mug.

That’s all I have left.

Johnson looked at her. Do I need to cuff you? She had reached into a bag under the table; it was her old workbag. She placed a pair of blingy cuffs on the table. Not exactly Metropolitan Police issue but effective enough in restraining assorted miscreants. She had last used them to cuff Patrick Trainer as he lay on his back in the loft back in Liverpool Street.

Jones said quietly, You can do if you want. I’m not here to harm you. I need your help.

Lucius was in her ear.

‘Cuff her, Deejay.’

Johnson sighed, Put out your arms, Angela.

Jones complied and Johnson quickly had the blingy cuffs on her wrist. She didn’t over tighten them this time as Detective Tony Edwards had done when they caught her ‘entertaining’ in her flat.

Jones picked up the tea with both shackled hands, blew away the steam and carried on sipping.

Johnson had many questions in her head. She had difficulty in ordering them. Johnson thought she had left that life behind her. Being stabbed and shot and losing your best friend and lover was not exactly how she had planned her life. Yes, she was technically on maternity leave but she had no intentions of returning. Indeed, she was progressing nicely on her medical course. The police had put it about that the shot had killed her just like it had with the lovely Rashmika Patel. Rashmika was collateral damage. Ilker and Metin Denir had been responsible for that together with the death of Angelica Jones’ mother, Coral Solway and her boyfriend, Teddy, in the suburban house in Brentwood.

Johnson looked at the Esedra on her wrist. You had better start talking, Angelica. I have to go to the hospital at ten tonight and my baby needs to be fed and put to bed. She paused and sipped her own tea.

How did you find me? I’m supposed to be dead.

Jones carefully placed the mug on the table. She looked at Johnson.

As far as the Turks know, you are dead. But why would there be a lock down on a private wing at Chelsea and Westminster Hospital if you were dead? I have a friend who is a nurse there. She told Carol about the Metropolitan Police swarming over the place. Hospitals are not exactly gossip free. After all, how many black female officers do they have?

Johnson smiled. How is the lovely Carol? Still entertaining clients, is she?

Jones snorted. She still hates you. You humiliated her and made her walk in the cold with no shoes wearing nothing but a flimsy dress.

Johnson recalled the arrest…Well, she was engaged in prostitution and, as for the clothes, if I recollect, she wasn’t wearing any underwear when we arrested her.

Jones nodded, Yeah, sounds like Carol. Anyway, we are out of that business now. We run an Internet company. We are all legal. You remember Gloria Seddon, the accountant with the bad tempered grandmother? She’s our financial director. As I said, we are all legit and thank you for not crashing our website.

Johnson looked at her. She could see bags under Jones’ eyes. Gone was the vision of beauty she had first come across.

Come on, Angela. Your company took over from Turgay Denir. You supply prostitutes to wealthy businessmen and women, no doubt. Okay, you also run a dating agency and you also sell fashion clothes on line, oh, and let’s not forget that line of sex toys you import from China, shall we?

Jones raised her eyebrows. Carol says we had a visit from Revenue and Customs. They couldn’t find anything wrong. Gloria’s pretty good with the accounts. We are making legitimate money. We supply escorts. If the girls do a separate deal with their clients, that’s their business.

Johnson recalled that Vice were not interested in the operation as there was no gang related activity. She let it go.

Okay. How did you find me?

Jones looked at Johnson, It wasn’t easy but that wretched car of yours gave you away.

She was referring to the classic air cooled black Beetle that Papa had restored before he died. It was sitting in the double garage in the house in Goltzheim. It was the illegal clamping of the car that started this mess in the first place. Johnson hadn’t driven a car since her pregnancy was discovered back in February. She was interested.

Tell me.

There’s only a few specialists in West London that can maintain a classic like that. When you brought that car over and had it registered you used a restorer in Shepherds Bush. He took a copy of the German registration document. It is still sitting in his old filing cabinet. He was all too willing to let my friend see it who said he was trying to trace it for use in a film, and £50 for his time.

Back in Naklua, Lucius made a mental note to crash the restorer’s website…(Johnson had the same thought as well.)

She hadn’t used that restorer since Richie from Beatle Bitz had repaired the smashed window. It was the dreadlocked Richie who had brought the car back to Düsseldorf and reregistered it with the German authorities. Johnson counted Richie as a friend. She said.

So how did you get here? You are on an all ports and airport watch list purely for your own safety, of course. You need to go back to that safe house in Dublin whilst they sort out the Turks.

Jones shook her head, Not a chance. They’ll never get the Denirs. I have my girls with Carol. They want their life back and so do I.

Johnson thought for a minute, So you are here illegally. What’s to stop me calling the local police and having you taken back into protective custody?

I came in a lorry. They are too busy stopping people coming in to the UK to bother about who is leaving. You know those big trucks have sleeping compartments for the drivers? Well, I just buried myself in that under a duvet. I found a willing driver at the container terminal in Dublin. Cost me a thousand and some seasickness. We went to Liverpool and then to Newcastle. I got out at Amsterdam and took a series of local trains. The enquiries desk at the main station soon got me here to Goltzheim.

She paused and sipped the last of her peppermint tea. I knocked on the door but there was no one in. A passing neighbour told me to try here.

Johnson rolled her eyes. Lucius was in her ear.

‘If this woman found you just think how easy it would be for the Turks to get to you? There’s enough of them in Düsseldorf to raise an army and it wouldn’t surprise me if the Denirs have got some second cousins or so here willing to do their dirty work for them.’

Johnson nodded at the screen; this was a little serious…

What do you want me to do, Angela? You gave us duff information about Turgay. We never found his body.

You weren’t looking in the right place, then.

You told us he was buried in a disused car park at the north end of Epping Forest.

Jones retorted, And that’s exactly where he is buried.

Johnson said calmly, And just how do you know that, Angela?

Jones blushed and looked down. Johnson’s phone rang. She picked it up.

She was back in German. Nanny, it’s okay. I’ll be over in about half an hour.

She cut the call and stood up.

Time to go, Angela. There’s nothing for you here. I’m on duty at the hospital later and I need to take care of my daughter. She reached over and deftly unlocked the blingy cuffs; they rattled on the table.

Jones looked at her. They killed your girlfriend, didn’t they? Are you going to let that go?

Johnson sat back down. She didn’t want to talk about the death of the lovely Rashmika Patel.

Not your business, Angela. You need to take care of yourself.

I can’t do anything until your lot put the Turks away.

"Not my lot anymore, Angela. I quit and I’m training to be a doctor. She flicked over her nametag.

Dagmar Johnson BSc. MSc. Student Doctor.

Jones picked it up. She examined it slowly. You told me your name is Adile Yilmaz.

Johnson looked at her sternly. To you, that’s who I am. You don’t call me anything but that. Do you understand?

Jones nodded slowly. I need your help. Do you think that lot from North London can put the Turks away without you? Do you know that the area is flooded with drugs supplied by the Yardies from Harlesden? All you succeeded in doing was shutting down the girls and Turgay’s loan sharking.

As I keep getting told, Angela, not my problem.

Come on, Adile, don’t you want the bastards who killed your girlfriend?

Johnson said nothing. She stood up quickly. Time to go, Angela. If I were you, I would get myself back to Dublin under that duvet. If you go to the airport, you’ll be detained for an illegal entry into a Schengen country. The Germans are pretty hot at checking passports in and out not like your lazy Brits. I’m done with your lot now. You can keep your Brexit and that nasty country of yours. It doesn’t owe me anything and I don’t owe it either. So, off you go before my Nanny has a hissy fit…She’s pretty scary at times.

Jones sobbed, I’ve got nowhere to go. I came to you for help. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Johnson raised her voice, What the fuck do you want me to do? Go back and talk to the police.

Jones had her head on the table resting on her hands. She spoke quietly, Let me stay the night. I’ll be gone first thing tomorrow.

Lucius was in her ear.

‘Tell her to go, Deejay…’

Johnson didn’t respond as she pulled on her leather blouson and began packing some of her medical books and her iPad into a bag. She relented.

Listen, Angela, you can stay the night. Go upstairs and take a shower. You’ll find a tracksuit in the wardrobe. It’s the only thing that will fit, as mine are probably too small for you. Throw your clothes in the washing machine. There’s not much food in the fridge but there’s a little pizza place at the end of the road under the block of flats; they do deliveries. I’ll call them and get some sent over. You can pay the driver with that change you’ve brought. She pointed at the money.

Phone your girls but don’t tell them where you are. If you do, don’t bother staying. Sleep in the back bedroom. I’m working until six tomorrow morning. I’ll be back to see you off before I go to college at noon.

Johnson didn’t hear the whispered Thank you, as she closed the front door.

As she walked down Meinecke Strasse towards Kaiserswerther Strasse, she could hear Lucius giving her grief in her ear. He was now connected to her iPhone.

She spoke, now back in German.

Stop talking, Lucius. Just watch her. I’ll sort this mess out tomorrow. She cut the call.

In Naklua, Branka spoke to Lucius.

She’s just being charitable. The girl will be gone tomorrow. Now sort out that restorer in Shepherds Bush before he does some more damage. She held Lucius’ hand.

Remember, I’ve been where she has been and it’s not nice. She just wants a normal life. We’ve all made mistakes in life. Your girlfriend is safe and sound. Let her sort it out herself.

Lucius nodded slowly; he knew Branka was right.

As Johnson turned the key in the large front door of the house in Goltzhein, Lucius despatched XTC to lay waste to the restorer’s website. The unfortunate garage owner had left his workshop computer on. XTC destroyed that as well. It was a shame the computer managed all the electronic equipment in the garage. None of it worked anymore. For good measure the mendacious bug also took out the whole phone system…

Chapter 2

Goltzheim, Düsseldorf, Germany

Evening, October 2017

Special talents; whoring or programming?

Dagmar Johnson entered the kitchen of the family home in Goltzheim. Mama and Nanny Adile looked up as she removed her leather blouson. Mama spoke first.

Is your friend all right, Dagmar?

Mama, she’s not my friend, replied Johnson a little too forcefully. Nanny Adile glared at her.

Did you not bring her back to eat with us?

Johnson looked at her Mama. She said, Mama, I told her to stay in the house but she needs to leave first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll call the pizza shop for her.

Mama thought that her daughter was anxious and she had not seen her like this since she came back earlier in the year after being shot. Johnson had been quiet and introverted since then. The only person she really talked to was that Lucius on the Internet. Mama raised her eyebrows and returned to her dinner.

The twins had already gone home; Johnson was sorry she had missed them.

Nanny Adile spoke.

Ajay is in her cot; I just put her down. Go and see her before she falls asleep. Johnson could hear gurgles from the baby monitor sitting on the kitchen counter. She turned and went up the stairs.

Ajay seemed to sense her as she walked quietly in the room. Dagmar Johnson smiled as she picked up her sleepy daughter. She sat on the end of her bed and gently rocked her baby. With her husky voice, she hummed a few bars of a long lost and forgotten song as Ajay looked into her mother’s eyes. She was asleep in a few minutes with the fresh air of Nordpark having worked its magic.

Still sitting on the end of her childhood bed, Johnson crossed her legs and cradled her little girl.

She was taken aback by the appearance of Angelica Jones or whatever she called herself these days. Her mind went back to the trauma of recent months. She had been kept busy with two tricky cases. Who would have believed that Erlat Aquino had murdered her own daughter? She thought about Ajay’s father, the handsome accountant; she hadn’t heard from him since she left his apartment in the early hours of the morning after she had slept with him for the one and only time. An image of the lovely Rashmika Patel came into her head. She momentarily ceased rocking her baby. She missed Rashmika. She didn’t even see her die on the road in Notting Hill as she lay bleeding profusely from the gunshot wound to her shoulder and the shards of glass embedded in her scalp from the shattered glass door panel.

Dagmar Johnson sighed.

She felt the bed move next to her as Mama sat down. Give me Ajay, Dagmar. I’ll put her down.

Johnson let Mama take the sleeping baby and lay her down in the cot. She fussed with the little blankets and then sat back down. She took Dagmar Johnson’s hand.

She said quietly. Do you want to tell me about it, Dagmar?

Johnson shook her head and let out yet another sigh. It’ll go away tomorrow, Mama. She went to get up. I need to change my clothes for the hospital.

Mama was persistent. Is the girl connected to your injury?

Johnson nodded. She’s part of the problem.

Why is she here?

She wants my help, Mama.

Can you not help her?

It’s too painful at the moment, she instinctively massaged her healing shoulder.

You’ve never told me what exactly happened, child, and I worry about you.

Dagmar Johnson would always be ‘child’ to her Mama and Nanny.

Johnson was unbuttoning her blouse. She looked at her Mama.

Mama. It’s all in the past. It’s done with. I’m here and that part of my life is finished.

Is the girl a loose end, child?

Johnson didn’t answer. Mama continued, You know what Papa used to tell you? Never leave loose ends. You have to tell me so I can help.

Dagmar Johnson looked at the Esedra. She was dressing quickly. Mama, I’ll be late for my shift.

Take the Beetle; it’s quicker than the tram.

Johnson shook her head. She hadn’t driven since she was told she was pregnant. She shook her head. The clamping of Papa’s restored car signalled the start of all her trouble.

Mama spoke again. I’ll call the pizza shop; the girl must be hungry. Has she got a change of clothes?

Johnson shook her head again. She reached into her wardrobe and extracted a long black coat; it was cold at six in the morning when the shift finished.

Mama stood up, reached over to her daughter and pulled her close. She hugged her tight. I need you to talk to me in the morning, child. You’ve hardly said a word since you came back, okay?

Johnson nodded, kissed her Mama on the forehead, bent down and touched her sleeping daughter and went down the stairs. Mama sat on the bed and looked at Ajay. She was proud of her daughter for all her faults; she only wished Papa was around to see how his beloved little girl had finally grown up. She heard the top step of the stairs creak as Nanny Adile slowly pushed the door open. Is Ajay sleeping?

Mama nodded. Is there plenty of food left?

Adile raised her eyebrows, Yes, your daughter didn’t take her dinner, as usual.

Mama responded quickly, Good. Stay here. I’m going to find out what’s going on with that girl in Meinecke Strasse and take that waif some food. Help me find some clothes for her; she’s got nothing. There must be something here that will fit her.

Adile smiled, Come on then; the girl must be starving…

Dagmar Johnson walked up to the tram stop at Theodor-Heuss Brüke. She could smell the river. She plugged in her buds, not to listen to music but to shut out the world. Her iPhone was switched off. She sat on the half empty tram and stared at her reflection in the window. She got off at Öberbilk and walked the rest of the way to the Heinrich Heine Universität Hospital where she was to do a shift helping in the Emergency Room with her friend Maryam. This refugee from Syria had been driven out of Allepo just before she qualified as a doctor. Johnson and Maryam were the only two students allowed to join the medical course halfway through because of their previous degrees.

Johnson liked Maryam who, despite the trauma of her life was a cheery soul full of good humour. It also helped that Maryam appeared to know a lot more than the first year doctors fresh out of university.

As Johnson changed into her scrubs her mind went back to Angela Jones…She was wakened from her daydream by a gruff sounding voice.

Student Doctor Johnson. Are you with us tonight? We’ve got a road traffic accident on the way in. I need you by my side.

Johnson looked up to see the owner of the voice; a rotund female in her early forties clutching a pile of charts wearing a white coat with a stethoscope dangling from her neck; Senior Doctor Franziska Bauer, dragon in charge of all medical students…

Come on, girl, we haven’t got all day.

She thrust the charts at Johnson, These need doing later…

Maryam smiled at Johnson; welcome to another shift in the Emergency Room…

About the time that Dagmar Johnson was stood behind Doctor Bauer trying to write notes and learn at the same time, Mama Johnson pushed open the garden gate of the house in Meinecke Strasse and inserted her key in the lock of the front door. She was carrying a bag in which was a collection of clothes gathered from the various female wardrobes in the house in Goltzheim together with a couple of plastic boxes sealed tight with tonight’s dinner carefully packed by Nanny Adile.

She opened the front door and called out in English, Hello! Hello. I’ve brought you some food.

Angelica/Angela Jones appeared at the top of the stairs. She was wearing a white bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her head.

Mama pointed to the bag that was now sitting on the bottom step. I’ve found you some clothes. There’s really nothing in here that will fit you. I’ll reheat the food whilst you get dressed.

Mama tuned back to the kitchen.

In Naklua, Thailand, Lucius saw Mama enter the house from the front door camera and decided that Mama’s business with Angelica/Angela Jones was none of his. He turned off the monitor and went and lay down next to Branka even though it was now getting light as the sun began to rise.

Mama was making some tea when Jones appeared at the kitchen door. A place had been set at the table. Mama noticed the blingy handcuffs next to a medical book.

She spoke, Sit down and eat this whilst it’s hot. I hope you’re not a fussy eater like my daughter, not that she ever appears to eat much anyway?

Jones shook her head. Thank you, Ma’am and for the clothes.

Jones was wearing grey loose tracksuit trousers, a white tee-shirt and one of Nanny Adile’s blue cardigans.

Call me Mama; that’s what everyone does.

I found some boxer shorts in a drawer. I put them on. I hope your daughter doesn’t mind.

No. That’s all she’s ever worn. She has hundreds of pairs of them. Keep them. Dagmar will never miss them.

Is that her real name, Mama?

Yes, don’t tell me what she told you her name is. Dagmar means ‘Glorious. Her Papa chose it. I wanted to give her an English name like her brother, Michael but Papa wouldn’t hear of it." She paused as Jones began to eat slowly.

Do you want to tell me your name?

It’s Angela Jones, Mama. It used to be Angelica but now I prefer Angela.

Hmm. Messenger of God, eh?

Jones looked confused. Mama went on, Angela; it means of the angels or messenger of God.

Jones smiled. Mama smiled and said, Eat. There’s plenty more.

Mama pushed over a cup of peppermint tea and sat with her arms resting on the table looking at Angela Jones as she ate.

Mama spoke quietly, Angela, why are you here?

Jones paused, her fork in the air. I’m in trouble, Mama, and I need your daughter’s help.

Mama changed the subject, Have you got children, Angela?

Jones nodded, Two girls; now four and six. I missed the older one’s birthday.

Mama said, What are their names?

The older one is called Alicia and the little one is Marcia.

Those are nice names.

My mum chose them for me; they’re Caribbean.

Is that where you are from?

No. I was born in London. She had finished the plate of food. Mama picked up the empty plate and went to the counter. She scooped up some more and handed the full plate back to Jones.

Jones said, Mama, please excuse me for asking but your English is very good. Where are you from? You have a funny accent.

Mama laughed. I’m a scouser from Liverpool! I came her over forty years ago with the British army and never seemed to leave. I met Papa, Dagmar’s father, on the American Base in Wiesbaden and that was it.

Where’s Papa now? enquired Jones not thinking.

He passed away some time ago before he got to retire. The USA Army has been very good to us. His death hit Dagmar hard; she was his little girl. He was tough with her even sending her to London when she got into trouble to live with my sister. She never wanted to come home until earlier this year when she became pregnant. I’ve been here so long that I gave up my British citizenship. I’m now a German.

Jones gently pushed away her plate.

Sorry, Mama. I’m stuffed.

When did you last eat properly?

Two days ago. I had some junk food but nothing proper. I was watching my money.

Mama looked at her as she sipped the peppermint tea.

What are you running from, Angela?

Jones looked down. Some people are trying to kill me…

Mama paused and said quietly, Are these the same people that tried to kill my daughter?

Jones nodded and began to sob.

Mama pulled her chair up close and dabbed Angela Jones’ face with a piece of kitchen roll and calmly said,

Well Miss Jones, you had better tell me all about it.

An hour or so later, Angela Jones had told Mama Johnson just about everything. Mama sat there impassively and said nothing; she just took in the information wondering what kind of life Dagmar Johnson had lived. Jones recounted her experiences in the Blue Lagoon massage parlour where, as a sixteen and seventeen year old she was forced to service a variety of clients when her mother, Cora Solway, couldn’t or wouldn’t work for the Turks. At least the Turks had not forced Angela to have full sex; that dubious pleasure was to await her.

Jones was thrown out of school for disruptive behaviour and soon worked out that her good looks could open doors for a cost, of course.

Eventually, much against her mother’s wishes, Jones began to offer a full service to her clients. She moved up market when she signed on with an escort agency in the West End; the money was too good to turn down. When the Turks set up the on-line escort agency, she joined up under a little pressure from Turgay Denir who had a thing for her. Denir protected her from the excesses of his drivers. She no longer had to work in the pit, as the girls called the Blue Lagoon, but Denir soon took her under his wing; she was his favourite girl. He seemed to have a thing for the black girls in the stable, which was being run by his wife out of the family house in Highgate.

Cora Solway deemed herself too old for that life and retired. Jones became the top-earning girl and was clearing over £2,000 on a good week which was laundered through a couple of banks thanks to some slightly corrupt banking officials all to willing to turn a blind eye in exchange for ‘special’ services. But, she was at Turgay Denir’s beck and call and had to service him whenever he turned up at her flat in the high-rise council block. Her mother had taken the girls to a house Jones had bought in Brentwood.

She didn’t tell Mama Johnson how she delivered herself from the clutches of Turgay Denir. She didn’t kill him but she set it up with the brother of the dead Afghan chemist who was out for revenge. She also omitted to tell Mama that she helped dispose of the body.

Mama reached out and touched her when she recounted the slaughter of her mother who clearly had pretended to be her.

Mama pressed her about Dagmar’s involvement. Jones told her it all started when three of Denir’s soldiers tried to clamp the Beetle; that was how they located Johnson’s apartment in Notting Hill.

Upon the disappearance of the youngest brother, Turgay, the two elder brothers Ilker and Metin, returned from Northern Cyprus to find out what had happened. The brothers knew that Tugay had a thing for Jones so she was first on the list. Dagmar Johnson had so disrupted the operation and caused the incarceration of two of his trusted workers that she was next on the list.

When the brothers discovered they had killed the wrong Jones they were out for her which is why she had been placed in protective custody in Dublin.

She told Mama that they thought they had killed Dagmar Johnson as well as the other officer. At this point, Mama stood up and went to kitchen counter. She placed her hands on the counter, stared out of the window into the darkened garden and said quietly,

So, they believe that Dagmar is dead?

Jones nodded. Mama went on.

What will happen if they find out she is still alive?

They’ll kill her and then kill me if they haven’t done that already….

What were the circumstances of Dagmar’s shooting?

I only know what I read and saw on the news. By this time they had murdered my mother and her friend and I was in Dublin. They attacked her as she was leaving her apartment.

Who was the other officer?

There was a silence. Jones eventually spoke.

You’ll have to ask your daughter, Mama. It’s not for me to say.

Mama looked at her, came and sat down again and reached out her arm to Angela Jones.

Don’t worry, I’ll ask her myself.

Jones asked, Was she badly hurt?

She’s had worse; bullet through the shoulder that chipped a bone and some lacerations to her scalp caused by flying glass when they shot through the door. She’s tough on the outside. She put herself in a coma when she was sixteen and then was stabbed when she wasn’t at her best. That one nearly killed her as it nicked an artery.

Jones looked up at Mama Johnson, How did she put herself in a coma at such an early age?

Mama replied quickly, Now you’ll have to ask her that yourself…

Mama went on, Just exactly how you think my daughter can help you? She’s left the police service.

Mama, she has special talents. She can just about do anything with a computer.

Mama snorted, So I’ve heard although she doesn’t display them here but just look at this house. It’s wired up so that she can work everything from her phone. She was a brilliant programmer at university. I just wish she had gone to Münster when she should have done to study to be a doctor. It broke Papa’s heart when she didn’t come home but he couldn’t say no to her.

Mama paused and stared into space; she went on, Well she’s doing the right thing now and I don’t want her distracted from that. Besides she has little Ajay to think about now.

The last time I spoke to her she told me she was pregnant but I didn’t believe her; she looked too thin.

Well, there you are. I have my third granddaughter.

How old is the baby?

She was born in early August.

Why do you call her Ajay.

Mama laughed. Dagmar has always been called Deejay by her friends after her initials D and J. She named the baby Ana after me, and Adile after her Nanny. So, Ana Adile Johnson became Ajay and it just stuck.

Was that her Nanny who was here earlier; the scary lady?

Mama laughed again, That’s her. She looked after her since she was born. She took care of her brother, Michael before that. She is part of our family and she was always much stricter with Dagmar than Papa or I was. She did a good job but she is still a little over protective sometimes but Dagmar loves her as much as me. Just don’t get on the wrong side of her.

Mama looked at her watch.

Angela, you need to go to bed. We can talk again in the morning. Thank you for being honest as far as you can but I know you haven’t told me everything. You have to make a better life for your girls.

Jones stood up and said quickly, Mama, I’m scared to be on my own.

You don’t need to worry. This house is monitored 24/7. Look at the security system and there’s a camera in every room including the bedrooms but you can turn those off. These here… She pointed to the downstairs ones, You can’t turn these off. The front and back are monitored with motion detectors and bright lights.

Mama paused, I’ll stay with you if you want? Nanny Adile is at home with Ajay. I have everything I need here.

Jones nodded; she was relieved.

Mama went on. I’ll call Nanny. Go and find a toothbrush from the bathroom cabinet. There’s always new ones in there. I’ll stay in the front bedroom. I’ll clear up down here.

She pointed to the blingy handcuffs that were sitting forlornly on the table next to a medical book. She said, Did she cuff you?

Jones nodded, Not for the first time, either.

Mama rolled her eyes and shooed Angela Jones up the stairs who was protesting she hadn’t called her daughters.

Too late, child. Do it tomorrow, was the abrupt reply…

Jones thought it best not to argue.

Mama made the call, looked in on the sleeping Angela Jones and went to bed herself.

Chapter 3

Düsseldorf, Germany

Morning, October 2017

Starting to pick up the pieces

Dagmar Johnson and her friend Maryam Akalia, lately of Allepo, Syria, walked out into the cold early morning air. Johnson could see her breath as she shivered. Maryam put her arm in hers and shivered as well. It was gone six on the morning.

Maryam Akalia was practising her English on Johnson as they walked to the tram stop.

Johnson asked her as they turned a corner, Did you get to do anything interesting? She was back in German.

I had to insert an IV line for that nervous first year resident; he couldn’t find a vein on that old lady. What did you do apart from those charts for the Dragon?

All I get to do at the moment is blood pressure and temperatures not forgetting having to write up all the Dragon’s notes? She chuckled. You‘re lucky. You get to do real medicine. Did they let you do lots back home?

Maryam nodded. They didn’t care I was still a fifth year student. As far as they were concerned I was a doctor. It’s amazing what you can do with someone holding a torch whilst bombs are going off all around you. It was all trauma stuff patching up broken bodies in makeshift underground hospitals. She paused as if deep in thought. We should have left earlier but they needed me. We lost everything.

They went silent as they walked. Maryam Akalia spoke first.

We are back on at twelve today. I have to get home and make sure the others are up for school. She was referring to her thirteen year old sister and her ten year old brother."

Johnson asked her, "How are they getting on?

Oh, they love it here especially going to school. They speak better German than me. Are you going to try to sleep, Deejay?

I wish I could but something came up last night that I need to sort out.

They parted at the top of the escalator with Maryam going back to the two rooms her little family calls home in the temporary building the Städt rapidly constructed to house the Syrian refugees. Maryam was grateful for the hospitality she had received.

It was just gone seven when Dagmar Johnson pushed open the big front door of the house in Goltzheim. Nanny Adile was sat at the kitchen table feeding little Ajay. Nanny Adile spoke, Go and take a shower, child, I’ve got this.

Where’s Mama, Nanny?

She’s over in Meinecke Strasse and don’t get uppity about it.

What’s she doing there? I told the woman to go first thing this morning.

Nanny Adile pointed upstairs. Shower! she said firmly.

Dagmar Johnson knew better than to argue with her Nanny.

She stood in the shower in the large family bathroom, which was opposite her childhood bedroom and let the hot water stream over her. She should have been tired but the adrenalin was still coursing through her veins; a combination of the appearance of one Angela Jones and her shift at the hospital. She loved the emergency room; you never knew what would come through the doors. The Dragon, Franziska Bauer, had stopped a thirty something female from bleeding out after the patient had slit her own wrists whilst under the influence of some substance or other. Johnson admired the skill of this doctor. She was learning a lot from this practice but she was still considerably behind the others in her class who had much more hospital experience than she did. She knew the theory better than any of them but she was short of practice.

However, something else was on her mind; Angela Jones…

Half an hour later, Dagmar Johnson was sitting on the carpet with her back to the sofa between Nanny Adile legs bouncing a gurgling Ajay Johnson on her knee whilst her Nanny fought with her shock of hair.

Lorraine Hillaire had removed Johnson’s plaits after she had been shot. She wore an Alice band to keep her Angela Davis hair in place.

Are we going to get this mess plaited, Dagmar?

Not just yet, Nanny, but soon…

Nanny Adile raised her eyes and swore silently, in Turkish, of course.

"Are you going to tell me about the lady in Meinecke Strasse, child?’’

Later, Nanny. Let me sort it out, please…Ouch!

Nanny Adile pulled her hair. Get it plaited, child, otherwise I’m not going to do this again.

Johnson smiled at her baby; that’s what Nanny Adile always says…

They fell silent. Nanny Adile smiled at the baby.

The front door opened; Mama had returned. She came into the lounge.

Mama, has she gone?

No, Dagmar, she hasn’t and she’ll stay with us as long as it takes for her to straighten out this almighty mess she’s in, whether you like it or not.

Mama reached over and took the baby from her daughter.

She told me what happened back in London. They murdered her mother and her innocent friend. She’s separated from her two children. She’s scared and so would I be. These evil people will kill both of you if you don’t put a stop to it.

Nanny Adile froze and stopped her brushing.

Mama, I’ve left that all behind me. I told you last night.

So are you just going to let them kill her and you, when they find you, which they will once they work out you are still alive. She found you pretty easily. How long do you think it will take them?

Nanny Adile started brushing again.

Dagmar Johnson looked at the fireplace. She said,

She was a prostitute, Mama, having sex with the man who started all this.

Mama raised her voice, Is she still a prostitute, Dagmar?

I don’t know.

Did she have a choice?

I don’t know, Mama.

Is she a bad person, Dagmar?

"I don’t know,

The baby sensed the tension and started to whimper. Mama put her on her shoulder.

Dagmar, she wants her life back and I want my daughter to be safe and see this baby grow up.

Johnson made to get up but Nanny Adile held her firmly between her legs.

Listen to your Mama, child, she hissed.

Ajay quietened.

Mama looked at her daughter. I’m sure she’s done lots of things she wouldn’t want to talk about but she’s helpless.

Johnson shook her head; she received a sharp tap from her Nanny for that.

Dagmar, you’ve done lots of things you’re ashamed of. Correct?

Johnson said nothing; she stared ahead. Her Mama said quietly,

Who was the other officer killed when you were shot?

This time, Johnson froze…she said nothing.

A prod came in from Nanny Adile, Answer your Mama, child.

Johnson’s eyes filled up; a tear rolled down her cheek.

She was my friend, Mama.

Nanny Adile looked at Mama Johnson and shook her head imperceptibly. She relaxed her grip on Johnson. Ajay turned to look at the light from the window.

Mama reached over and stroked the back of her fingers on Johnson’s cheek gathering up the tears. Okay, let’s see what comes of all this. What time are you at college?

Johnson brushed the tears from her face, Twelve today, Mama.

Okay, are you going to sleep?

I’ve got some stuff to do first back in London.

Mama looked at her. Good. We’ll take Ajay. I left Angela sleeping. We need to take her out and get some things for her. She looked at Nanny Adile, How do you fancy a run to the shops, Adile.

Nanny Adile smiled, I thought you’d never ask…

Johnson helped strap the baby chair into Michael’s Touran. It seemed to be permanently parked on the drive since Ajay had come home. He only lived ten minutes away and him and his wife Anka would come and get it whenever they needed it for the twins.

Lucius was badgering Johnson to get a second car as she was not driving the Beetle anymore. He suggested something similar to the Touran.

She went up to her childhood bedroom, sat on the floor with her back to the bed and dialled Detective Chief Inspector Rob Brines back at east London Special Operations, the Penance Unit. He picked up straight away.

Hey! Deejay. What’s happening?

She told him…

Chapter 4

London

Morning, October 2017

A garage in Shepherds Bush

Detective Chief Inspector Rob Brines sat in his little glass office. He was troubled by what Dagmar Johnson had just told him. He peered over his glasses at the now half empty squad room. His East London Special Operations Unit, otherwise known as the Penance Unit, was scheduled for closure in a few months; a victim of the swingeing cuts imposed on the Metropolitan Police. No longer would there be a second chance for officers who have fallen foul of police regulations. No longer would he be able to dispense absolution for past sins. This was now a case of one strike and you are out.

The Unit was gradually being run down. DCI Brines could not take on any new cases, which was just as well as many of his officers had already been moved on, or more likely, moved out to collect their reduced pensions. The Unit was now serving as an extension of the police station over which it sat in East London. Serious crimes were farmed off to specialised units. Brines looked at the white board through the widow on the wall of the squad room; a list of petty stuff that the uniforms could easily handle.

Brines had not yet decided where his future would lie; there was currently a shortage of positions for a DCI and he was not ready to move to headquarters to exercise nothing more than a pen behind a desk.

He was only able to hang on to Dagmar Johnson because she was technically on maternity leave. Even so, she was still formally attached to Internal Investigations under the watchful eye of Superintendent Aiden Heaney as an acting detective inspector. She would have been confirmed in that position if she had bothered to turn up for her final review…

He picked up his desk phone and called Heaney.

Heaney picked up straight away; Rob; what can I do for you.

Sir, we have a problem…

Call me Aiden, Rob, we both come from the same old school. What’s the problem?

Dagmar Johnson,

Heaney put down the pen he had been using and rolled his eyes.

What’s she up to now, Rob?

The missing Angelica/Angela Jones turned up at her home in Düsseldorf.

There was a pregnant pause. Brines could hear Heaney breathing down the receiver.

Heaney spoke quietly.

Just how did that happen, Rob?

That blessed black Beetle of hers, apparently.

Brines recounted the tale of the restorer in Shepherds Bush; Heaney listened.

Aiden, I need you to sort this joker out. I don’t have sufficient officers anymore. Can you do something today? If Jones found her then Johnson’s at risk.

Heaney replied immediately. Leave that with me. I’ll do it straight away; text me the address. What are we looking for?

Deejay says the guy kept a copy of the German registration document and it seems he was a little too willing to flash it to a young fellow who claimed to be looking for the car to use in a film, or some such nonsense. Can we get a conference call together for later in the day with Murphy over at North London because Angela Jones is still his case?

Okay, Rob. You call Murphy and see what he wants to do with the delightful Miss Jones, as, technically, she’s his. Text me when you want to do the call.

Heaney cut the connection. It was times like this when he wished he were still downstairs in his little glass office next to his staff. He grabbed the jacket that was on the back of his chair and left his office quickly.

Heaney pushed open the double doors of the squad room and strode purposefully down the middle of the floor acknowledging the greetings of the detectives who were all sat at the pods in groups of four either on the phone or tapping away at their keyboards. His old office was at the end of the room just next to the one that had Dagmar Johnson’s name on it even though she had hardly ever used it. At the side was a glass door that led onto a small squad room that had been kitted out with all kinds of technology, largely at the instigation of one Dagmar Johnson.

He opened the door to find the Senior Civilian Investigator, Neeha Bhatti staring at a monitor.

She looked up at him and made to stand up. He waved her back down.

Neeha, where is everyone?

Sir, the CPS has them running around tying up stuff from the Clancys.

Heaney rolled his eyes, Get them all back asap, please, and get two uniforms and a van ready.

Bhatti reached for her phone, What’s up, Sir?

Inspector Dagmar Johnson, that’s what’s up. I’ll be with the Divisional Commander. I want them all back within the hour. I’ll text you an address; get as much info on it as you can ready for a briefing. He turned abruptly and left.

Just over an hour later Detectives Constables Tony Edwards, Paul Robbins, Lorraine Hillaire and Nadia Grubnic sat around the large table in the small squad room. A live feed from a CCTV camera had the garage in Shepherds Bush up on the whiteboard.

Heaney relayed the information about Dagmar Johnson.

Tony Edwards spoke first. It was him who had first put a pair of over tightened cuffs on Angelica Jones in the high rise. He was concerned.

Is she all right, Boss? he asked.

Heaney replied, As far as I know, Tony. I tried her cell phone but it went straight to message. I’ll get her later. He turned to Neeha Bhatti. What have you got, Neeha?

She turned to the whiteboard, I tapped into local CCTV. You can see it’s a typical used vehicle repair shop. The proprietor is someone called Darren Ashton; specialises in classic restoration when he’s not on the usual stuff. I ran him through the system. He has a couple of previous offences when he was a teenager for taking and driving away without the owner’s consent but that was over twenty years ago. He’s been off the radar since. He employs three other mechanics.

She paused and pointed to the screen. Main entrance at the front where there is a small forecourt but there’s rear access at the back that leads to a small yard but the only way to that is through the back of the garage; there’s large double doors on the front and back of the building big enough to drive a bus through.

Paul Robbins stood up and went to the screen. We can pull up on the forecourt, Boss. There’s a small white van parked there but that shouldn’t cause us any problems. Darren won’t be expecting us so there shouldn’t be any trouble. What’s the story, Boss?

VAT fraud will do. That way we can get into his files and computer. Neeha, are okay you with that? She nodded.

Heaney turned to DC Edwards, What’s with this Jones woman, Tony?

We picked her up as part of the Turkish gang investigation. She was one of the call girls. We literally caught her on the job with the bank clerk who was laundering cash for her and some of the other girls in the stable. She’s a bright lass, Boss, and has a mouth on her as well. We are pretty sure she knows what happened to the missing Turgay Denir as she was one of his bed partners. We could never prove it but we think she was with Denir when he was killed. She confirmed he was dead but we never did find the body as she claims he’s buried somewhere in Epping Forest. Anyhow, Turgay’s brothers want her badly, which is why she was banged up in a safe house in Dublin until she chose to abscond. She has two young children currently living with another one of the girls, a part-time nurse and hooker called Carol Chambers. He paused.

The Turks probably killed her mother over in Brentwood looking for her and DCI Murphy is convinced it was the same crew that shot the inspector.

Lorraine Hillaire and Paul Robbins were with Dagmar Johnson when she was shot. Lorraine Hillaire had cradled the dying Rashmika Patel as Robbins faced down the killer.

Heaney said, Okay, let’s go and do this. Tony, this is yours. Edwards nodded.

The two uniformed policemen, closely followed by Tony Edwards went in first, as Paul Robbins tried to squeeze the wagon in next to the British Telecom van that was blocking the forecourt.

Hillaire and Grubnic stood back. Neeha Bhattl watched the pictures up on the screen from the CCTV and the body cameras of the uniformed officers.

Edwards shouted, Police! Everybody just stand still. Where’s Darren?

Two of the mechanics were bent over the bonnet of an old Vauxhall, the other was over in the corner fiddling with some dead piece of equipment. There was a car up on the hoist. The mechanics froze.

In a little office at the side of the garage Darren Ashton was quizzing a BT engineer as to why all his phones were dead together with the server that controlled all the garage equipment. He stood up as the garage went quiet.

Robbins appeared at the door of the office behind Tony Edwards. He spoke to the engineer.

Is that your van on the forecourt?

The engineer nodded.

Move it, please. It’s causing an obstruction and you can leave as the garage is now closed for the day.

Ashton said quickly, Whoa! You haven’t fixed my phones.

The engineer beat a hasty retreat; he didn’t want to know. The garage would just have to reschedule…

Hillaire appeared next to Robbins as Heaney casually sauntered into the garage. The uniforms stood quietly; it made a change from walking up and down Wembley High Street.

Tony Edwards spoke first. Daren Ashton, we are going to search your premises in connection with some VAT irregularities. Do you have any objections?

My VAT is all good. The accountant does it. Let me get him on the phone for you. He reached into his pocket and extracted a Samsung.

No need for that Mr Ashton. We’ll just go through your files and invoices. We want sight of your paper files and your electronic data.

Ashton jerked his thumb at the old grey filing cabinet. You can help yourself to that. Good luck with the electronic stuff. The whole bloody system has gone down. It was working okay last night; came in this morning and its all dead.

Edwards looked at Robbins and smirked…

Superintendent Heaney said, Do you want to step outside with me for a few minutes, Darren. This won’t take long.

Ashton shuffled past the officers. Hillaire caught the smell of old oil on his clothes as he came out from behind the untidy desk. She went straight to the cabinet and handed Grubnic a load of files. Edwards also took a handful and passed some onto Paul Robbins.

Heaney was engaged in a quiet conversation with the proprietor as they stood in the weak October sunshine at the entrance in front of the forecourt.

Edwards put his hand to the ear bud in his right ear; he pressed a little micro switch. Neeha. What do you want to do with this server? He looked at the little box on the floor under the desk.

Back in Westmoreland House, Bhatti said, Can you take out the hard drive, Tony?

Ashton says it’s not working.

Bhatti snorted, I wonder why that is Tony?

Beats me, Neeha.

The other officers laughed as they could also hear the conversation through their earpieces.

He put down the files and began taking the server apart. He had the little hard drive out of the case in about five minutes. He said, It’s out Neeha.

She said, Attach it to your phone. He used the ribbon cable to link it via a mini USB to his phone. She went on It will take about fifteen minutes to up load the data, Tony. Better get on with the files. I’ll shout when it’s complete.

Back in Westmoreland House, the screen began to scroll lines of code down the screen. Bhatti didn’t understand what this code meant but she knew someone who did…

Ten minutes later, Nadia Grubnic found a manila file with Dagmar Johnson’s car details inside. The officers looked over her shoulder as she carefully turned over each page. It contained invoices for general servicing and maintenance with her Notting Hill address and there at the back was a photocopy of the German registration document, the fahrzeubrief. She picked it up slowly; it gave the registration number; D AJ 4551. On the back was the address of the house in Goltzheim.

Robbins said, The D is for Düsseldorf. She will have that plate back on the car now if she has reregistered it at home. We need to take this file. Do we know what’s on the server?

Bhatti was in his ear. "Not a chance, Paul. Someone will