“Ow. What are you doing? Let go of me.”
“Alice Madsen,” Marks said. “You are under arrest on suspicion of aiding, abetting, counselling, or procuring the commission of a terrorist offence. We have a warrant to search the property issued under Schedule 5 of the Terrorism Act.”
Fear coursed through her. She turned to Ian as if he could somehow help and make everything all right. Fingers dug into her arm with deliberate force and she flinched with the pain.
“I’ll call a lawyer,” Ian said. “Say nothing until you see the lawyer.”
Marks regarded them both with a condescending sneer, and before Alice could protest further, two officers bundled her into the hall. They hauled her out of the house towards a squad car. She looked up and saw a news crew filming her humiliation. Just to the right of the camera a familiar redhead shouted out, “Alice? Alice?” Even in the blur of motion and confusion, there was no mistaking the excited smirk on that powdered face. “Did you help with the South Kensington attack, Alice? Are you the champagne terrorist?”
Laura Bowman’s words rang in her ears to the thumping soundtrack of a rapid pulse, and despite Alice’s efforts, no denials, no protestations of innocence would surface. Within seconds the police shoved her into the squad car, and she gaped wide eyed at the staring faces of people on the street. As the car sped off, lights flashing and sirens wailing, she saw those bystanders holding their phones high, recording her arrest in pursuit of social media likes.
22
Cole met Birdy down the Red Lion pub in Bethnal Green. Because of the weather, most of the punters drank outside, leaving the inside emptier than normal for Saturday evening. The juke box still hammered out crap and Cole had to shout at the barman. “Mate? Mate? Can you turn that thing down? Can’t hear myself think.”
The barman cupped his hand to his ear. “What?”
“Christ,” Cole said. “No wonder you’re deaf.”
The barman laughed and lowered the volume. Someone in the corner cheered. The barman glared, then turned to Cole. “What’ll it be?”
“Two Fosters and a little QT.”
The barman didn’t laugh at that, but he was quick with the beers. Cole sat at a table and was halfway through his pint by the time Birdy arrived carrying a small package. Birdy sat and gulped from the beer Cole pushed across the table. “Go on then. Tell us about Daz.”
“They operated on him this afternoon. Opened his fucking head.”
“Wow. What did they find?”
Cole leaned into Birdy’s face. “You being funny?”
Birdy pulled back and raised his hands. “No, Coley. No.”
“He’s got a brain injury. Can't remember the medical term. Said he'd be in a coma for days.”
“But then he’s gonna be okay, right?”
Cole looked off into the distance. “Daz is gonna be all right. He will. Nothing’s gonna happen to him.”
“Fucking terrorists.”
“Scum,” Cole said. He pointed at the package. “That the burner?”
“Yeah.” Birdy slid it over to Cole. “Decent phone. You can use apps and get free net using wi-fi.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Cole. “The number. Memorise it and throw this away.”
“How much?”
“£50.” Birdy held out his hand.
“Really?”
“Top of the range.”
“Yeah, right.” Cole slipped the money across the table.
Birdy shrugged and pocketed the notes. “What do you want the burner for anyway? You up to something?”
“You oughta know better than ask that.” Cole gave Birdy what he hoped was a cold stare, but Birdy didn't get it.
Birdy leaned in closer to Cole. “I get you. You’re gonna do something about the guy what done it. You know, his family? His mates?”
Cole put his finger to his lips. “Don't be asking mate.”
“That girl, right? You think she’s one of them? You sure? Don’t look like it to me. Them Muslim women look like, what did that politician guy say, letterboxes was it? He’s funny.”
“Fuck’s sake, Birdy. They don't all wear them burkas.” Cole looked around and kept his head down. “She spoke to the Arab in foreign. Look what everyone’s saying about her on Twitter. The old bill are looking for her. Seen that on TV. You think they'd be looking for her if she was innocent? Huh?”
“Don't trust the old bill neither. You speak to them?”
“Yeah. This morning. Gave a statement. Wouldn't tell me nothing about arresting her. They said thanks, then more or less told me to piss off.”
Birdy scrunched his face. “If they didn't tell you, how do you know they’re gonna arrest her?”
“I told you. It was on the TV. And she’s on the front page of the papers.”
“Maybe.” Birdy didn't look convinced.
“And you know what mate?” Cole stabbed his finger at Birdy. “I blame her for what happened to Daz.”
“Why? You said if you had stayed where you was, nothing would have happened to Daz, eh?”
Cole looked around the pub and shrugged. “It don't matter. She dissed us. The bitch dissed us and we left.”
Birdy took a deep drink of his beer and set the glass down. “I dunno, Coley. Sounds like it ain’t the Muslims with you. Maybe you need to shag a slappers’s brains out?”
“Could do with that and all.”
“Well don't you worry about nothing. I don't care what you do. Just leave my name out of it, you know, when you do something stupid and get caught.”
Cole prodded Birdy in the shoulder. “I ain't stupid and I ain’t getting caught neither.”
“You want my advice?”
“No.”
“Don't listen then.” Birdy shrugged and leaned away. “Your brother is gonna be okay. You got the Muslim guy, gave him a bashing. Leave it at that. Relax. Have a few beers. You ain’t got no need to do anyone else.”
