‘A gang thing?’ Janet said.
‘No idea.’
‘Worth asking about,’ Janet said, ‘see if we can get names. I’ve spoken to the launderette, that’s where Mrs Muhammad works, and I’ve done the tancab. I’ll do the hairdresser’s if you take the off-licence and the chip shop.’
The off-licence cum newsagent was staffed by a young white guy with elaborate tattoos on both forearms and around his neckline. Rachel had noticed the CCTV camera outside the shop overlooking the entrance, and another behind the counter. ‘The cameras working?’ she asked him once she’d flashed her warrant card and noted his name. Liam Kelly.
‘Yes.’
‘We’ll take any recordings from last night.’
‘Sure,’ he said.
She asked him about the fire but he couldn’t tell her much. The shop was open until ten so he had heard about the fire but not seen anything till after he’d locked up.
‘You know anything about the Old Chapel, people breaking in there?’
‘No.’ He looked up as the door buzzer went and a woman came in. She picked up a copy of the Sun, asked for twenty fags, paid and left. Once they were alone again Rachel asked him about trouble in the area.
‘What, like the shop being done four times in as many months?’ he said.
‘Your community policing team-’
‘Is a fucking joke,’ he interrupted, ‘and you lot couldn’t catch a cold.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way but I’m dealing with a major incident.’ Before he could moan any more Rachel said, ‘We’d like to talk to two individuals who wear matching hoodies, eighty-eight printed on the back and a picture of an eagle.’ Something like dislike slithered through his eyes, the Celtic knot at the base of his throat rippled. ‘The Perry brothers,’ he said, ‘twins.’
‘They live around here?’
He nodded. ‘Beaumont House, the tower block.’
‘They trouble?’ Rachel said.
‘The community policing team will tell you all about it.’ She gave him a grin.
‘They don’t come in here,’ he said, ‘they’re banned.’
‘How come? They nicking stuff?’
‘Not that so much,’ Liam Kelly replied, ‘threatening people, nutters, idiots the pair of them.’
‘How old?’
‘Nineteen, twenty,’ he ventured. ‘Look,’ he gestured to a stack of boxes, crisps and fizzy drinks, ‘I’ve stuff to sort.’
‘Nearly done,’ Rachel said. ‘You got that tape?’ He fetched it for her and she was about to leave when she heard a door out the back being unlocked and then a slam. A black woman with dreadlocks, wearing combat pants and a green vest, came in, saying, ‘Liam, that stuff’s still out there, shall I chuck it?’
‘Give him another hour, then take it to the food bank.’