An Unlikely Killer

By CR Spencer

Feral street drugs runner, Darren Hope, finds himself in a load of trouble after being arrested when on a quick job late one night. He is facing jail time and the loss of his newly acquired family and apartment not to mention his violent supplier who wants compensation for the lost merchandise. In an attempt to raise some quick cash, he muscles in on some unfamiliar territory dealing wraps of cocaine in an upmarket night club. He meets the diminutive but very beautiful Jasmine Flores who, by day, is a restroom attendant but who soon shows her true colours as a clever drugs operator in London’s club scene.

Jasmine takes Darren under her wings and soon the pair of them make serious money. Along the way, a trail of bodies is left behind as they move up the food chain. Will Darren be able to persuade his reluctant girlfriend and their baby boy to return? Will he make it through the mayhem of sex, killings and drugs? Or, will it all end in tears as Detective Inspector Marcia Evans of the Drugs Squad gets on their case?

• Language: English
• Publisher: CR Spencer
• Release date: May 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463121313

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

An Unlikely Killer

By CR Spencer

© CR Spencer

Copyright notice.

This book remains the copyright of the author, CR Spencer. You may not republish or use the material contained therein for any purposes without the express permission of the author. 20 May 2019

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

London

A hopeless case?

She ran as quickly as she could; she could just see him in the distant streetlights. He knew the area well; he went this way and that way, through narrow streets and rundown estates. Occasionally, he turned to see his pursuer; was she gaining? No matter, it was only a woman; he’d take her out, no problem.

He could hear sirens in the distance.

He paused trying to catch his breath hiding behind some large communal dustbins. He was gasping for air; he could run no more. The bitch was coming up fast. He dropped the packet on the ground and shoved it under one of the containers with his foot; the knife went into the nearest bin. He heard it rattle as it found its way to the bottom through the assorted garbage of 21st Century urban living.

He crouched down trying to smother his panting.

The policewoman slowed; she was breathing hard. He could hear the chatter of her radio. It seemed to be very loud in the quiet and stillness of the night. Her hand went instinctively up to the set that was attached to her uniform. She lowered the volume.

He watched as she put her hands on her knees and bent down. Her head was up and her eyes danced from right to left. She slowed her breathing. She unclipped the extendable baton, carefully and deliberately. A quick flick of the weapon sent it to its full length. In the other hand, a police issue hand flashlight began sweeping the immediate vicinity.

The man had run into a dead end. The block of social housing apartments lay in front of the officer. She shone the beam rapidly across the front of the 1960s tower block. Two dim entrance lights gave off a waxy glow. There was no colour; it was a scene of black and white.

The officer shouted, Police! Give it up. There’s nowhere to run. A light flickered on from the first floor.

The man crouched lower as a large grey rat scuttled out of the garbage bin.

The woman turned sharply to see the rodent run quickly towards the broken drain. Her heart beat faster. She looked from right to left. I can stand here all night. Back-up is on its way.

Fuck off, bitch!

She turned to see the man slowly emerge from behind the rubbish bins. He was carrying a large, thick piece of wood. It was about the length of a baseball bat. He smiled as he tapped the weapon in one hand. He said,

I’m leaving, now, so don’t try and stop me. He walked slowly towards the female police officer. He went on, Hey! You’re too pretty to have your face messed up,

The policewoman smiled, The only things that’s gonna get messed up are your balls, if you step any closer.

He stopped, Yeah, right.

I’m about to arrest you.

On what charge? I aint got nothing.’

I dunno, but I’ll make something up but it will probably have something to do with that packet I saw you with and, no doubt, you had a knife with you as well?

The man smiled and took a step closer. The police sirens were getting closer; he needed to get away. He didn’t fancy the idea of being banged up again; once was bad enough.

I tell you what. You give me your phone number, let me walk and everyone gets to go home the same way they arrived.

He took another step; she backed up one step.

Why would I give you my phone number? You won’t be able to call me; you’ll be locked up.

Oh, I don’t know. In another life I could do something for you.

Hmm. In another life I would have bashed your head in by now.

Come on, lady. Be nice.

She shook her head,

I only bestow my favours on those who excite me and you’re just a pile of shite who emerged from those dustbins which is where we’ll probably find the little packet and your knife, if we search it carefully enough.

He stepped forward again; the police radio squawked loudly. This time, the woman stood her ground; she was now in striking distance of the makeshift club.

Try me.

He tried it.

Contrary to police regulations, the young WPC probationer whipped the police issue baton up into the man’s groin as he stepped forward with the club raised high above her head…

Jesus, Rice. You’re not supposed to get him in the balls. Did they not teach you anything in basic training?

WPC Monika Rice was kneeling on the thug’s back as he whimpered, curled up in a foetal position retching quietly. She had his hands cuffed behind his back. She had him turned slightly on his side so he couldn’t choke out.

Sorry, Sarge, I was aiming for his thighs.

You were told to wait for back-up. You got a problem with following instructions? This bugger will now have to be seen by the medical examiner. Did you search him?

Yes, Sarge.

Did you find anything?

No, Sarge.

He shook his head. Well, guess who’s going in those bins?

He reached down and lifted up the thug who was now a whiter shade of pale.

Come on, sonny. I’m sure you’ve had a kick in the balls before? You’ll get over it. He pointed to the bins, Get in there, Rice, and watch out for sharps. The junkies around here are none too careful where they chuck their needles. He could have dumped the stuff anywhere as you chased him but you’d better take a good look in those bins. I’ll organise a search along the route.

The wagon stopped quickly and five officers jumped out. The sergeant handed over the thug.

A WPC winked at Rice. The sergeant said, Toss out a protection kit. Rice here is going in the bins.

There was laughter and a bundled package was thrown out; it landed at WPC Monika Rice’s feet.

The lights were on in the flats of the lower floors of the high rise; the door opened as the buzzer sounded. A small crowd began to gather speaking loudly about police brutality.

The sergeant shouted to his officers, Get over there and sort out that lot; come on, move! Rice; by those bins. You’re responsible for securing them. Wait until daylight; we’ll get the council over to tip them whilst you sift through the crap.

Rice looked at her watch, Sarge, it’s barely four. I’m supposed to go off shift at six.

Tough shit, Rice. You should have thought about that before you started playing Dirty Harry.

He looked at the other WPC, "Gwen, you’d better stay and hold Rice’s hand. She’s probably scared of the dark. Wait until those bins have been searched.

Sarge?

He smiled, It’s okay, Gwen, sisterhood and all that…

Another protection kit appeared from the wagon accompanied by sniggers.

The officers managed to shepherd the onlookers back into the tower block; they mounted up and trundled back to the station with their prisoner.

WPC Gwen Saar looked at Monika Rice.

Thanks, Monika. If you’d have waited for back-up we’d be on that wagon on the way home.

Monika Rice shrugged her shoulders.

I just followed him. He came at me. What was I supposed to do?

Saar shook her head, You don’t learn do you? Now, we have to stand here for the rest of the night freezing our tits off waiting for the bloody council.

Rice ignored her and went around the back of the bins; it stank of urine. She bent down and shone her torch under the one nearest the wall. She could see the packet. She took out her baton and fished it out.

You got an evidence bag?

Saar rummaged in her jacket. Here, don’t touch it with your bare hands.

Rice rolled her eyes, bagged the package and tossed it back to her colleague; she was already wearing plastic gloves.

Give me a hand.

Saar looked at the probationer suspiciously, What are you gonna do? She placed the bag on top of the protection kit.

Tip this bin over. If you think I’m gonna wait around here all night for the council you’ve got another thing coming. Besides, I want to keep my tits, they’re only small and I can’t afford to lose much.

She put her shoulder to the bin and rocked it. Fortunately, it was only half full.

Saar sniggered as she joined her colleague. They rocked the bin off one of its three wheels; a couple of hefty heaves later the bin went beyond the point of no return. It tipped over and crashed with a loud bang as the contents scattered on the cracked tarmac.

Rice calmly walked around to the front and poked the rubbish with her baton. Some of the black bags had split with foul smelling contents spewing over the tarmac. Something flashed as she shone her torch among the rubbish.

Gotcha! she said. She picked her way slowly through the strewn rubbish and pointed at the blade.

She lifted the blade carefully and dropped it into another stronger bag.

I think we’re done here, Gwen. Write up the labels on the bags whilst I throw some of this crap back in the bin.

A council bin lorry drove up.

Gwen Saar looked at Rice, The sarge was only messing with us Monika, she smiled.

The foreman got out pulling on his big leather gloves. He said,

Do you lovely ladies need some assistance?

Rice smiled at him, Please, do you have a spade? We’ll help.

He said, Nah, it’s okay. We’ll sort it out. He pointed at the evidence bags, You get what you wanted?

Yes. Sorry about the bin, Monika Rice tilted her head to one side and opened her brown eyes wide; she knew how to flirt.

It took the two of them twenty minutes to walk back to the station; they chatted as they went along the quiet East London streets. Early risers were beginning to go about their business.

Monika Rice plonked the two evidence bags on the duty sergeant’s desk.

He looked at her. He was in his early fifties and had seen it all before. What he didn’t want were smart arsed kids, especially women, telling him what to do and not this mouthy WPC…

What have you got, Rice?

One bag of a white powder and one large kitchen knife found at the entrance to the flats in Ramsey Street, Sarge.

Ah, yes. Property of one Darren Hope, previously of this parish but now based in Hackney but still running drugs for the locals. It seems he can’t tear himself away from this place.

He jerked his thumb at the evidence room. Get it bagged and entered correctly. You do know how to do this or shall I ask WPC Saar to assist you?

I’ll try to see if I can manage the tricky paperwork, Sarge, but if I get stuck on any hard words I’ll be sure to come back and ask you.

Piss off, Rice…

Monika Rice pissed off…

She was in the evidence room sat at a desk. She had logged on to the system and located the newly created case file. She looked up one Darren Hope.

His previous offenses were listed from a very early age; shoplifting, burglary and latterly possession of a Class A drug, namely heroin; nothing recently. Known associates included most of East London’s criminal aristocracy.

She requested the bag to be tested and fingerprinted; when she arrested Hope, he was not wearing any gloves. She didn’t doubt that his DNA would be on both the plastic of the packet and the knife. With a bit of luck they might even find blood from a victim on the blade.

Darren Hope was only twenty-five and recently the father to a little boy. His partner was an eighteen-year-old female. Rice rolled her eyes. At least the lass didn’t have any previous convictions; well, none that were recorded.

Monika Rice carefully boxed the items and sealed the container. She printed out an address label for the crime laboratory in Hertfordshire; it would be back in about three months, if lucky…drugs runners were not exactly high priority.

She added her notes detailing the chase, arrest and finds. She sat back. Darren Hope would be kept in overnight, interviewed and bailed to come back at a later date. He was not deemed a flight risk; Darren Hope rarely left his part of London.

Monika Rice went down the custody suite. Sergeant Jablow was chatting to his colleagues. He looked up.

I hear you tipped over the bins, Rice.

One bin, Sarge. The knife was in that and the drugs were stashed underneath.

I told you to wait for the council.

I used my… she searched for the right word…initiative, Sarge.

Sergeant Jablow shook his head and jabbed his finger at her, You’re a bloody probationer, Rice. You are not supposed to use your initiative. You do as you are told and keep that smart mouth of yours shut…

Monika Rice looked down at the dirty tiled floor of the custody suite that appeared to have had a busy night. She muttered under her breath.

The forensic medical examiner has seen the prisoner. She says there’s no lasting damage from your baton strike but his girlfriend will have to be a little patient with him for a few days. He won’t be able to manage until the swelling goes down.

There was laughter among the officers gathered around the desk.

I should have hit him harder then, Sarge,

Sergeant Jablow, raised his voice, Shut up, Rice, what have I just told you?

The suite went quiet…

Monika Rice stared him out; she said quietly, Can I see the prisoner, Sergeant? She addressed that question to the custody sergeant.

He replied, Don’t see why not but you’ll have to see him through the door. I can’t be arsed writing up the paperwork for a formal interview. Take the custody civilian with you.

Jablow said, Don’t mess it up, Rice and get yourself off home. I don’t want to see you again until tomorrow.

The custody sergeant said, Go on, bugger off before I change my mind about you seeing Darren Hope.

She muttered a quick, Sarge, and scuttled for the door.

The custody sergeant looked at Jablow and shook his head…

Monika Rice spotted the pretty young Asian civilian she counted as her friend, messing with some paperwork at her desk in a little alcove before the first of the cells or detention rooms, as they were officially named.

Tanna Akhtar looked up as the door clanked open; she smiled.

Monika, you should be off duty by now.

The sergeant says I can see Daren Hope; is that okay?

Tanna Akhtar stood up; Sure; I’ll come with you.

She reached behind her and picked up a bunch of keys. He’s in twelve. I’ll follow you down.

She watched as the olive skinned WPC walked down the corridor.

Monika Rice stopped at the cell. She knocked on the door.

Darren, Darren.

A voice said, Piss off. I’m trying to get some sleep.

Monika Rice opened the little slide hole; she bent down. Darren Hope was lying on the bench with a thin, grey blanket pulled over him. His worn trainers were on the tiles at her feet.

Come on, Darren. I came to see if you are okay.

Why should you care?

Because I’m the one who rearranged your testicles.

Darren Hope slowly turned his face from the wall."

Oh, the pretty one with the baton…

Monika Rice smiled; she could feel Tanna Ahktar beside her.

Darren Hope stood up, Yeah, I’m okay; I’ll live.

He came to the door. You’re even more pretty in the light... he smiled. Give me your phone number and I’ll call you when I get out…

Monika Rice said, No, I can’t do that, can I Darren? It would break all the rules.

He paused, Can you call my girl for me? I’ll be bailed once I’ve been interviewed. Did you get the stuff?

Monika Rice nodded, Sorry Darren, got the Class A and the knife.

Shit, shit, shit… I owe for that stuff; there’s a grand’s worth there. He put his head in his hands.

Monika Rice could feel Tanna Akhtar pressing against her.

Akhtar said, Move, Monika, I’ll open the door. Akhtar spoke firmly to Darren Hope.

Darren are you gonna behave yourself? If you mess around I’ll get you put in a restraint. This nice lady just wants a chat with you. She sneaked a look at Monika Rice.

Darren Hope stood back; he had done this before.

Akhtar said as she opened the door, Sit on the bench, Darren and don’t get off it, okay? She spoke with authority in her voice.

Darren Hope nodded.

Akhtar stood back by the door with her arms folded.

Darren Hope looked at Rice and said, I wouldn’t have hit you, you know. I’ve never hit a woman in my life.

Rice smiled. Sorry, Darren, I had no choice.

He nodded, Will you call my girl? Tell her I’ll be home as soon as I get bailed.

Miss Akhtar can do it for you.

No, I want you to do it.

Rice looked at Tanna Akhtar who nodded. Okay. I won’t tell her what you got picked up for; I’ll leave that pleasure to you.

It was only supposed to be a quick job; out and back in an hour. It’s gonna be the longest hour of my life. He picked up a corner of the grey blanket; he stared at the tiles.

She sat on the other end of the bed. Who sent you out on the job, Darren?

He looked up and shook his head.

Rice said, "There’s nothing said in here that is admissible, is it Tanna? She turned to the civilian. Tanna Akhtar nodded.

Where was the package going, Darren?

He shook his head again.

Monika Rice sighed, Look Darren, you’re barely twenty-five and you have a little boy. Your lady is very young. They both need you. Get yourself a real job and join society.

I can’t get a real job, my criminal record is not good.

There are organisations that can help you.

What do I do about this mess?

Plead guilty and cooperate. You didn’t do any damage and I wasn’t threatened with the knife. Was it even yours? See what happens…

Will you be at court?

Yes, I’m the arresting officer.

Okay, I’ll think about it.

Monika Rice stood up; Don’t think about it too long. What’s your girl’s name? He told her. She made the call sitting on Tanna Ahktar’s desk swinging her long legs.

For Monika Rice it was just another shift on the relief at Bethnal Green police station. For Darren Hope it was the beginning of something else that would change his life…

The following day, Tanna Akhtar was waiting for Monika Rice after she had finished her shift in the front entrance to the police station. Under her coat, Rice could see the civilian uniform. Rice swept her up and they walked along the High Street arm in arm. It was dark and busy as they pushed past the crowds.

They sat in a coffee shop in a crowded shopping mall that had seen better days. Tanna Akhtar and Monika Rice sipped lukewarm herbal tea. Akhtar said,

Darren Rice was released on police bail. He asked for you. I said I would pass on your message.

Rice sipped her tea. I can’t help him anymore; he should know that.

Akhtar said, He quite fancies you, you know. She smiled at Rice.

What’s he gonna be charged with?

He’s bailed on suspicion of possession only, pending the results of forensics when and if they ever come back. That’ll be at least three months. If his DNA is on the knife he’ll get done for that as well.

Monika Rice shook her head and thought about the damage done to three lives.

I believe him, you know. I don’t think he would have used that club.

As they parted at Bethnal Green station, Monika Rice said, Text me Darren’s number from the log tomorrow; I’ll give him a call.

Tanna Akhtar hugged Monika Rice and kissed her on the cheek.

Chapter 2

Hackney, London

The food chain

Darren Hope stood at the window of the two-bedroom apartment in Martello Street. He was clutching a mug of tea. The railway line to Liverpool Street was behind him; the worn and muddy grass of the area’s only open space, London Fields, was in front of him.

Three teenage boys kicked a ball around with little enthusiasm; the scene was as grey as the March sky. It was all rather depressing. Darren Hope was depressed.

He had been given a cursory interview by some bored civilian investigator who yawned more than he did. He was then kicked out to return fortnightly pending the results of forensic tests. He’d been here before…

His young girlfriend, the mother of his one-year-old baby boy, was not speaking to him and he had to sleep on the battered sofa in the living room when he finally returned home. He was only supposed to be out for an hour making that rapid delivery. Now, not only had he lost the package but, he was facing serious charges. Technically, he owed for the package. Even in its cut state, Darren Hope was down about a grand…where was he going to get that sum of money?

This was not the life he had promised himself since his mother drank herself to death when he was barely fourteen.

Darren Hope never caused any trouble at school; he didn’t go very often…

Social Services gave up trying to get him there. A series of foster homes also gave up on him. The last straw at school was a dim-witted teacher who had taken to getting cheap laughs at the expense of young Darren by referring to him as ‘Hope-less.’

Young Darren took a sharp blade to the teacher’s new car on his way out the last time he bothered to attend.

Darren Hope preferred to spend his time with the big boys running errands from street corners on a stolen bicycle. He earned himself a reputation for reliability. He could usually make deliveries on time and without attracting the attention of the boys and girls in blue who patrolled the area. It helped that he was not black. Young men of colour were usually the subject of ‘stop and search.’

The police were not interested in a scrawny white youth riding on a bicycle through the streets of East London.

As he grew older, he got in on an unofficial franchise for a small territory. Darren Hope was the middleman; he bought off the suppliers and traded the merchandise on to the street dealers. It all worked. The agreement, under pain of broken bones, was simple. He purchased on credit and then knocked the stuff out at a small profit. Then he paid what he owed.

Profits were not great because there was so much competition in the area. The problem is that the pretty lady policeman had taken his package. Not only would he have to find the money but he could easily lose his buyers; they would just go elsewhere. It was dog eat dog in the adulterated drugs trade.

There was much more money in selling coke to the city boys and girls just up the road but he needed to get started and whenever he seemed to be acquiring the funds, something always came up.

The girlfriend needed money for the rent, food and a constant demand for baby resources.

Darren Hope had never lived off the state; he saw what it had done to his mother. He took pride in his independence. Now, there was a problem…

Darren Hope was facing jail time for the drugs and the knife. He wondered if he could talk the nice lady policewoman with the olive skin into going easy on him? Darren Hope was not a grass…but….

His mind went back to the previous evening. He had been sitting on the sofa watching television with his girlfriend curled up next to him when his cell phone buzzed. Could he do a quick drop? Of course he could…

He had the packet stuffed in his jacket pocket; the knife, purely for protection, of course, was down the back of the waistband of his knock-off Levi jeans. He was walking along the High Street in Bethnal Green when he was greeted by an old school acquaintance. He didn’t know that there was surveillance on his friend who was about to be picked up for a series of robberies.

All persons in contact with the villain were routinely stopped and searched. Darren Hope was not keen on being stopped and searched which is why he took off at speed. That female copper was fit in more ways than one…

It was nice of her to visit him in the cell. His balls were a little sore but he’d had a lot worse than that growing up on the social housing estates of East London. And, he did come at her with a block of wood…

She did call the girlfriend as well, just as she had agreed. You can’t complain at that, can you?

Darren Hope didn’t have a downer on all coppers. There were some good ones and some bad ones. The good ones had either given him a quick slap and sent him on his way or turned a blind eye. The bad ones had hurt him, robbed him and taken his money. This lady policeman seemed to be in the former category.

He had meant what he said. He’d never hit a woman in his life. He had seen enough of that with his drunken mother’s train of useless boyfriends. At least they gave him some money to make himself scarce…

He turned still clutching his rapidly cooling tea. Lizzie Grace had red eyes. She said,

Darren, you messed this one up as well. What are we gonna do when you get sent down? We only got this flat because we promised the council we could make the rent. Lizzie Grace sat down on the end of the sofa.

You got any ideas?

It won’t go to court for at least six months if I plead not guilty.

Jesus, Darren, you are guilty. Never mind the cash you owe for the drugs.

He sat down, placed his empty cup on the little coffee table. Lizzie Grace started to cry again. He put an arm around her, I’ll figure it out; don’t worry.

She pushed away his arm, My mum says I can bring the baby with me and go home back to High Wycombe.

If you leave here and I’m inside, they’ll take the flat back. It’s the first real home I have ever had. He was anxious; he’d never seen Lizzie Grace like this before. Usually, she just shouted at him and then it would pass.

I’m gonna call that lady policeman and see if she will help me.

Lizzie Grace snorted, She’s a copper; why should she help you?

He put his head in his hands, I don’t know. I have to try something. If I take a plea, I might only get six months. If I work hard, I can get the money together for you and Billy whilst I am away.

Lizzie Grace looked at her boyfriend, Darren, this is not what I signed up for when I got pregnant. If I go home, I can get help from my mum and go back to school and maybe get a good job or even go to university. Anything has got to be better than this lifestyle. Her voice had gradually gotten louder.

Let me sort this out; just give me a chance, please?

Lizzie Grace folded her arms and stared at the silent TV screen that was playing some rubbish daytime programme.

Give me until the court case. I can do this.

How are you gonna do that? Callie won’t give you sod all till you pay off for what you owe.

I’ll have to get supplies from elsewhere; I have a week to raise the grand.

Where are you going to get the stuff from? No one will give you credit until you clear O’Callaghan.

I’ll go up to Palmers Green. The Turks will sell for cash…. He raided the spare cash in the biscuit tin in the kitchen cupboard.

Darren Hope picked up Monika Rice’s call whilst he was on the bus going up to Palmers Green to buy from the Turks. He said, Hello,

Darren? Is that you?

It depends who is calling?

It’s WPC Rice from Bethnal Green. You wanted to speak with me.

Ah yes, the pretty one with the baton.

Darren, I don’t have all day. Say what you have to say and then we can both get on with our lives.

Meet me.

What?

Meet me. I need you to help me.

Darren, I’m not a detective. I can put one in touch with one if you want to cooperate.

Nah; they’re all bent.

Monika Rice could hear the bell sound on the bus.

Where are you, Darren?

On the bus.

How can I help you?

I need this arrest to go away.

Not my decision, Darren.

Yes, but you can put in a good word for me, can’t you?

I’m a nobody, Darren. I’m barely three months into the job; I know nothing.

But I think I can trust you.

She shook her head.

What have you got for us, then.

I’ll tell you if you agree to meet me.

What happens if you are setting me up? I don’t know if I can trust you.

Bring that Asian tart; she was alright with me.

Who? Which Asian?

The one who locked me up.

It dawned on Rice, You mean the custody officer?

Yes; she’s pretty as well and I think she can handle herself.

Monika Rice smiled; Tanna Akhtar had been ‘handling’ drunks, pissheads, wife beaters, druggies and general villains for over a year without a problem. She had dealt with three boisterous older brothers in her time…

I’ll have to ask her.

Can we meet tomorrow?

"Maybe, I’ll call you if she agrees but I’m not promising anything. You should talk to the detective