The Career Killer

by Ali Gunn

  Her voice crackled over the encrypted radio.

  ‘Ozzy! We’ve been made!’

  Chapter 39: Killer Date

  Matthews had never been somewhere quite so fancy. Her... man? (it was weird to think of him that way on only the second date) had invited her to an upmarket French restaurant in the middle of Holland Park. Live piano music was playing when she entered, a classical piece she didn’t recognise. When the maître d' took her coat and asked for her reservation details, she suddenly felt out of place.

  ‘My date should already be here. James, seven o’clock.’

  He sniffed haughtily and consulted a ledger resting on its own little raised table. She watched nervously as he ran his finger down the reservation list filled with mostly double-barrelled names, repeating ‘James, sept heures’ over and over again as he did.

  Finally, he said, ‘Ah oui, madame, this way please.’

  He led her through a maze of tightly packed tables to where her date was waiting. The moment he saw Matthews, he leapt to his feet to pull out her chair like a perfect gentleman.

  When he took his seat, Matthews smiled. He was too perfect. That impression was reinforced further when he produced a single red rose from underneath his seat. It was the long-stemmed variety, the kind that still smelled of roses. Simple, elegant, and classy.

  ‘How’re you, James? Long day in court?’

  He looked better tonight than he had on their first date. Perhaps the spark would come by the end of the evening. It wasn’t that he was unattractive. He looked almost the same as on his Review My Ex profile although it had obviously been created with some rather out-of-date photographs. Matthews didn’t mind that too much. The important boxes were ticked. James was tall, easily topping six foot, and almost, though not quite, as well-built as Seb Stryker. He had wrinkles and a few chickenpox scars that hadn’t been apparent in the photos. His hair had was greyer too. That was no big deal. Matthews liked the salt and pepper look. It made James look sophisticated. Her biggest concern was his age. He’d said he was in his late twenties and if he was willing to so blatantly lie about that, what else was he lying about?

  He smiled, splaying his palms as if it were no big deal. ‘Got a big settlement today. It was a door of the court deal.’

  ‘What’s that?’ The phrase “settled on the steps of the court house,” was familiar to her, but she’d never heard of that one.

  ‘Some solicitors are cowards,’ James said. ‘They don’t want everything coming out in court so they settle at the last second.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Maybe different areas used different idioms. Anyway, it would sound churlish to correct him, so she let it go. ‘How exciting. What kind of case was it?’

  There was a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘It’s okay if you can’t tell me,’ Matthews said. ‘I’m sure it’s confidential or something.’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Non-disclosure agreements and all that. How was your day? Making progress on catching The Lady Killer?’

  He had to ask, didn’t he? She shouldn’t have mentioned what she was working on during their first date. It was inevitable he’d be curious. It was all over the news. ‘Not much I can say on that front.’

  ‘No closer to catching him then?’ His tone was almost cheerful.

  ‘Can we talk about something else?’ Matthews said. ‘This restaurant is gorgeous. Do you come here often?’

  ‘I’ve wanted to for ages. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion... like meeting the woman of my dreams.’

  It was a bit strong for a second date. To hide her discomfort, Matthews made light of the situation. She craned her neck left and then right. ‘When will she be getting here then? Had I best get going?’

  ‘Ha-ha, very funny. Don’t be like that. You know I mean you and only you.’ He leant forward as if expecting to be kissed.

  ‘Look, James, I’m not meaning to be rude. I know you’re buying me a very expensive dinner – thanks very much for that by the way – but you’re coming off a bit desperate. You barely know me.’

  James blinked, his eyes narrowing to slits for just a moment and then he laughed. ‘I’m just messing with you.’ He turned away to look for the waiter. ‘Sommelier! Can I get a bottle of house red over here?’

  As he did so, Matthews slid her chair backwards.

  ‘You’re not going... are you?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Matthews said firmly, ‘to the ladies. I’ll be right back.’

  Chapter 40: Going South

  It took barely a heartbeat for Ozzy to reply. His hoarse tones crackled as he broadcasted to the entire team. ‘Belay last order. Go now. I repeat. Go now.’

  The whole street was abuzz with action within seconds as the teams descended on the alleyway from every direction. All pretences dropped, they were no longer tourists milling around but highly trained plain-clothes officers. From her vantage point in back garden, Knox could hear movement in the alleyway that ran along the back of the row of houses. She assumed that was one of the other teams taking up position to cut off the northern escape route. The tiny garden behind the walk-up was overgrown with rubble strewn everywhere. A rusty old pushchair took pride of place by the back door.

  A crack rent the air swiftly followed by another. If Knox hadn’t known better, she’d have mistaken the sound for gunfire. Crack, crack, crack. In quick succession, each of the six walk-ups were struck as door rams splintered wood.

  OZZY HAD BEGUN MOVING as soon as he gave the command. His target was the hardest and the most important. Because there was no glass panel on the front door, he was going in blind. Unlike the other walk-ups, there was no fluorescent sign that read “MODELS” nor, once he had broken through the front door, was there a whiteboard with today’s price list. Instead, a security door made up of thick metal bars barred his way.

  It was a blessing and a curse. He wasn’t getting through the door in a hurry but nor was anyone coming out this way.

  ‘Knox!’ he said. ‘I’ve hit a barrier. Pincer movement. You’re going to have to go in from the back. See if you can flush them this way.’

  As he spoke, a gargantuan man came bounding down the stairs. He was unarmed but someone his size didn’t need a gun to do serious damage. Behind him was a squat, older man cowering in his shadow. He had a briefcase and a laptop bundled up in his arms.

  The moment they saw Ozzy, they doubled back.

  ‘Target is fleeing the drum on foot. ARV team one, we need urgent back up. Two male IC4 are fleeing the scene unarmed,’ Ozzy broadcast to everyone before switching to the private channel. ‘Knox, they’re probably heading your way. Be careful, the big guy’s easily six five. Backup is on the way with a TOA of two minutes to your location – don’t do anything stupid.’

  The armed response vehicle was parked south of the alleyway just out of sight. Ozzy’s estimate of two minutes was a best-case scenario. Until then, Knox was on her own.

  IF OZZY WAS RIGHT, she had seconds until they headed her way. Time slowed as her heartbeat quickened. Knox kept her eyes fixed on the back door expecting the two men fleeing the scene to burst through at any moment. For that reason, she hung back – getting smacked in the face by the door would be a rookie mistake. She crouched low, ready to spring into action.

  She had to stop the two men no matter what the cost. From Ozzy’s brief description, she imagined a pintsize Mr Big with his freakily oversized bodyguard. The large man would be a challenge to take down especially as she couldn’t afford to let the trafficker escape.

  Seconds more passed. Still nothing. Her heart thundered in her chest, the adrenaline making the pain of crouching for so long tolerable. Come on, she thought. This was the worst of it – the moment before the confrontation.

  Realisation dawned on her. They weren’t coming out – they were going up.

  ‘Ozzy! I’m going in. They’re headed for the rooftop!’

  His voice came back immediately. ‘Don’t do anything stupid. I repeat. Don’t do anything I w
ouldn’t do.’

  She shut him out as she approached the door. She turned her back on it, leant forward so that her weight rested on her weaker, left leg, and then mule-kicked the door, driving her heel into a spot just below the handle which she knew was the weakest point in the door. The door cracked but didn’t break. Sweat prickled her brow. Knox tried again, and again threw all her weight into the kick. Rewarded by the smallest of cracks, Knox gritted her teeth and tried a third time. The door cracked around the lock allowing Knox to shove against until it swung on its hinges to create a gap barely big enough to admit a small adult.

  Once inside, the smell of weed assaulted her nostrils. The back room was a sitting room which had obviously doubled as both an office and a bedroom. A laptop lay next to a bong on a low coffee table in the middle of the room. If there hadn’t been a stream of light coming in through the crack in the door, Knox would have tripped over it. Bedding lay on two sofas on either side of the room. It was damp, decrepit, and tendrils of black mould snaked up the walls.

  She pressed on to find herself in a long hallway which was dimly lit at the other end where she could see a metal security door, all slatted bars running top to bottom. It was here that the natural light was creeping in, partially blocked by the shadow of a man. As she drew closer, the man came into focus. Ozzy was trapped on the other side of the security door.

  ‘Knox!’ Ozzy shouted.

  She sprinted towards the end. As she reached the halfway point, it quickly became obvious that she wouldn’t able to open the door without a key. She had no choice but to ignore Ozzy and press on. She nodded at him as she ran. There was no time to stop and explain. She swung right and then right again, doubling back on herself to climb the stairs running parallel to the hallway. She bounded up them two at a time while keeping her eyes peeled for people. It was quiet. Too quiet.

  The first floor only had a small kitchen and was empty at a glance. No time to clear it properly, not if she wanted to catch the traffickers. The second floor had a bedroom door closed. She had to clear it. Leaving a closed door at her back would be madness.

  She paused long enough to get her breath back and kicked the door open in one smooth move.

  Screams erupted from inside. Two women were sprawled on mattresses. They wore rags and looked as if they hadn’t seen daylight for months.

  It called for Knox to make a quick decision – stop and try to help the women or carry on up the stairs in pursuit of the bastards that did this. It was no decision at all.

  Once she ascended again, Knox emerged onto the roof. This building, like several of its neighbours, had undergone loft conversion to add precious square footage. The result was a flat roof which left only a small gap between it and the next one over. Eight feet, Knox could jump that far.

  The men had a significant head start. Knox could see them running across a rooftop two buildings over. How on earth had they managed to get that far? The rooftops were slick with rain which slowed the big man down. The short man shuffled along behind him, clutching a briefcase in one hand.

  Knox took the first jump at a run. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut as she took the leap of faith. She made it easily. Her momentum carried her forward almost too quickly, the soles of her Merrell’s only just finding purchase on the roof. Every fibre of her being told her to slow down, to stop, to find safety. She couldn’t. If she slowed down, she wouldn’t make the next gap. The two men had made it so she could too. Trusting to momentum to keep her from slipping, she took it at a sprint, the pavement below flashing into the periphery of her vision as she approached the edge. It was a long way down.

  She leapt. In the air, time seemed to slow down. It was too far. She stretched her fingers and toes, willing herself forward. She made it. Just. She rolled as she landed. As she did, her radio crackled again.

  It was Ozzy coordinating the team. ‘India nine nine has visuals.’

  Ahead of her, the two men were tiptoeing precariously along the next roof. This one wasn’t flat, and the bigger man swayed dangerously in the wind.

  ‘Stop! Police! You’re both under arrest!’ she called out.

  He turned, his face a mixture of determination and terror. His hands shook as he tried to balance. The briefcase slipped from his fingers. It slid down the roof and into the gutter. He stopped and crouched down, leaning precariously with his fingers outstretched. It was just out of reach. He glanced up to see Knox closing in. If he stayed still for too long, Knox would catch him. Did he have time to retrieve it?

  Her shadow loomed large over the roof as she prepared to make the leap.

  She took a deep breath, eyed the gap, and fumbled with the secure radio. The damned thing wouldn’t clip back onto her belt like every other police radio she’d used. She finally managed it, precious seconds wasted. She opened a direct channel to Ozzy. ‘Ozzy, he’s dropped a briefcase. I’m four rooftops north of the original target. Wish me luck.’

  ‘Four what?’ Ozzy replied. ‘Knox! You’re almost forty! What the hell are you doing?’

  Proving I’ve still got it, Knox thought. She jumped. The tile split under her heel with a crack almost as loud as the door rams. She felt the tile give way throwing her forwards. She splayed her arms wide to grab hold and landed with a thud face first on the roof, her chest slamming down and a ripple of agony radiated across her chest. The gap had closed. The two men weren’t far ahead. If only she could get up. A sharp pain emanated from her ribs. This was getting to be too dangerous. Desperately, she shouted again, ‘Stop! You’re under arrest.’

  As she struggled to her feet, the tiny man hesitated, his eyes wide with fear, and then he made his decision. He left the briefcase behind.

  She thumbed her radio. ‘Ozzy,’ she said, ‘they’re heading north. I can see there’s a fire escape they’re probably heading for.’

  ‘On it.’ With a great heave, she wrenched herself up to a sitting position. The briefcase was almost within her reach. She lay forward, her ribs objecting as she did, and then shifted left through ninety degrees so that her head and torso lay down the slope towards the briefcase. She reached forward, her arms fully extended. Inches short.

  She glanced up to see the big man swaying. His centre of gravity was too high, and while the morning’s hail had subsided, the strong winds had not. Gusts whipped across the rooftops as she stretched down again.

  One last try, she thought. She let more of her weight hang forward until she was as far down the roof as possible. Her fingers clasped around the handle. She had it.

  By the time she’d hauled herself back to a standing position, the men were almost out of sight, silhouetted against the sky by the bleed of streetlights.

  ‘Ozzy,’ she said. ‘I’ve got the case. I can’t keep up. Has India nine nine still got eyeballs?’

  As she spoke, she saw the big man stumble again. This time, he didn’t recover his balance. He slipped, falling somewhere on the other side of the building. She thought she could hear him hit the pavement, a sticky thud that sent a shiver down her spine. It had to be her imagination.

  His voice came back strong. ‘We’ve got visuals on the little man. Yohann and I are on the way to intercept. It’s too dangerous, Knox,’ he said.

  ‘I think the big man fell.’

  ‘Copy that, India nine nine confirms they saw him go. He’s not moving. It’s too dangerous. Don’t be a hero, Knox. Abort now – we’ll send India to bring you down when the winds die down if there isn’t an easy way down.’

  She backtracked to the edge of the fourth roof and looked for a safe way down. There was a window ledge that looked large enough to stand on approximately six feet below the roofline. She debated hanging down, kicking the window in and swinging inside so she could re-join the others in the pursuit.

  Fuck that. ‘I’ll sort a lift down. Don’t worry about me, Ozzy. Good luck! Roger.’

  She was safe. Now all she had to do was wait for a lift down off the roof. Perhaps she’d even meet a nice fireman at the same
time. Today was starting to look up.

  KNOX REFUSED TO SEE a doctor until she knew if the chase had been worth it. One of Ozzy’s team had patched her up as best he could. Her legs were lacerated and bloody but the pain was bearable so she told anyone who would listen that it wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked. Within half an hour, she was back at New Scotland Yard with a cup of tea and a thermal blanket when a shadow came between her and the light.

  ‘Ozzy!’

  ‘Hey, heard you took a few knocks.’ Ozzy beamed at his own joke.

  ‘You’re as hilarious as ever,’ Knox said. ‘What happened?’

  From the twinkle in his eyes, it had to be good news.

  ‘The big man’s dead – the fall got him.’

  ‘Bugger.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Ozzy said. ‘He was just the muscle. Call it instant justice.’

  ‘What about the other guy?’

  Ozzy paused, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. ‘His name was Xiang Min Shieh.’

  He waited for the penny to drop. ‘Hang on... that little old fella was the accountant?’

  ‘The one and only.’

  The accountant – a former accountant turned Triad leader – had been on Interpol’s Red List for the better part of two decades.

  ‘Hang on, you said was.’

  Ozzy’s glee subsided. ‘Bastard killed himself when we cornered him. He doubled back up when I got to the stairwell and then jumped off of the roof before I could stop him. He face-planted the pavement right in front of a bunch of tourists. It was lucky no one else got injured.’