‘You need to read General Orders more often: there was a warning about it. You can get hepatitis from an infected person’s blood, semen, or other bodily fluids, and it will badly damage your liver. The stupid bastards are sharing and reusing the same needles. If you see any of them with yellow, jaundiced-looking faces, sure bet is they’ve got it.’
A relieved Jane thanked him for his timely intervention. In reality she was so taken aback by the squalor she was unsure what she should or should not be doing.
Bradfield had seen enough and eager to get his hands on O’Duncie headed out into the corridor to go up to the next floor. Jane checked out a bathroom: the smell was worse than that of the decomposing body at the mortuary. She retched as she saw that the toilet was filled with unflushed faeces and urine, and the bath full of vomit. From the rust-stained taps and filthy washbasin it was obvious the water had been turned off for some time.
Jane went onto the landing as DS Gibbs came out of another bedroom and jerked his thumb back towards the room. ‘Two more teenagers out for the count in there. Looks like they were making clothes or something – lot of cut-up material and sewing stuff. I told ’em to get dressed and go down to the front room with the others.’
The music was still blaring from the room on the top floor, though the song was now Hendrix’s ‘Voodoo Child’ and the volume had been turned up slightly.
‘That’s my favourite of all his hits – the guitar licks are just unbelievable. He could even play the thing with his teeth, you know,’ Gibbs said and started to do a bit of air guitar, making Jane smile. She was getting to like him more and more: he was quite a character.
They both heard a short shrill whistle and looked up to see DCI Bradfield leaning over the balcony crooking his finger for them to come up to the top floor. As they joined him Jane noticed the carpet was much cleaner and the landing window had old red drapes like theatre curtains still hanging on the original rail. Bradfield told them he had checked out two of the three rooms and found them empty. When the first Hendrix song had stopped he had heard a male and female voice in the room at the end of the corridor.
Bradfield crossed to the closed door. It was fitted with a Yale lock, but it didn’t look like a professional job. He turned to Gibbs. ‘Come on, stuff this softly-softly approach. Do your Bruce Lee bit and kick the door in, Spence.’
Gibbs took three paces back then two quick steps forward and, raising his right foot, kicked hard on the Yale causing the door to fly open and the lock to splinter away from the frame.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ a deep voice said from inside the inky dark room.
As the natural light from the hallway filtered in they could make out a naked black man lying on top of a young white girl with blonde hair braided in two long plaits.
‘Police, stay where you are,’ Gibbs shouted above the music as he ran over and pulled the curtains open letting the light flood in.
They all recognized O’Duncie from his mug shot, even though his face was contorted with rage. He rolled off the woman and stood up. She screamed and instantly pulled the orange bed throw over her naked body.
O’Duncie in the flesh was a very handsome, broad-shouldered man with a well-defined muscular body and collar-length wavy Afro hair tied with a multicoloured bandana, Jimi Hendrix style. A heavy silver neck chain attached to a black studded cross hung from his neck and his wrists and fingers were covered in silver bangles and gold rings.
‘Sit down on the bed now,’ Bradfield shouted as Jane blushed at the sight of his naked body.
‘It’s not true what they say: my dick’s bigger than that,’ Gibbs said in a demeaning way.
‘Get the fuck outta here!’ O’Duncie shouted.
‘I hope you’re talking to the teenager,’ Bradfield said, nodding at the girl lying on the red-velvet-framed bed. She was terrified and pulling on some underwear and a kimono under the bed throw.
Bradfield went over and turned the stereo off. It had two large speakers and seemed expensive and new. He could see a power cable extension lead that went up through an open hatch into the loft and he suspected O’Duncie was stealing the neighbours’ electricity.
Jane looked round the room. The ceiling was black with stuck-on gold stars, the walls painted in psychedelic colours and adorned with pictures of rock stars like Jimi Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple. Sheepskin rugs were scattered over the floor; crimson and blue silk throws hung from a pole at each end of the bed so that it looked like a sheikh’s tent. There was an array of expensive candles stuck in various gilt candle-holders more suited to a church and a wooden cross was fixed to the wall above the bed’s headboard.
