Just Kill Them

by Michael Leese

  His gaze lingered on the now dead leader. “By the way, old chap, it’s bad form not to shake hands.”

  If he had a weakness it was this addiction to melodrama, but this particular audience was in no position to complain.

  He left, walking briskly to his car parked half-a-mile away. Before driving off, he sent a one-word text to a man in Paris. An hour later, this same man would send a text to the private number of the head of MI5. It would give them the address in Streatham.

  With digital hunters already starting to turn towards him, the man would abandon the mobile phone and slip away into the night. He had no time to waste.

  By then, Palmer would have completed his second rendezvous of the evening, this time with two men in a small flat near Waterloo railway station. That would trigger a second text, this time from Berlin, followed by another dash into the night.

  Palmer was working to a strict timetable since he wanted to be on his last train home from Waterloo, but he had left plenty of time to offer the next pair a toast as thanks for their work.

  Chapter 17

  Over cups of strong tea – it was going to be a long night – Hooley and Roper had a lengthy discussion about the relative merits of having the three owners of Diamonds and Pearls picked up tonight and brought to Victoria for questioning or leaving it to the morning.

  In the end, they agreed to wait until the following day, but for different reasons.

  The DCI was concerned the trio would-be legally entitled to refuse a night time interview and felt it would be better to start talking to them on their home turf – “You never know, it might mean they will let their guard down enough to give us something useful. If you’re right about them, bringing them in will definitely make them clam-up.” – while Roper argued for a delay since it would allow him to gain more data.

  “The more I know in advance,” he said, “the better it will be.”

  An hour later, Hooley looked up. He had been disturbed by a noise and he quickly realised it was Roper, hunched over an iPad, swiping continuously. Roper kept his nails long and they brushed against the screen with every swipe.

  He said, “I don’t know how you get through information so fast.”

  Roper looked up. “Its only messages taken from their phones, and some emails. All short stuff and none of it very interesting so far. Not even the stuff on WhatsApp. Mostly going on about how brilliant their store is."

  Hooley nodded and went back to his words. It took a few seconds but then he did a double take.

  “I thought WhatsApp was super encrypted, or something? Isn’t it supposed to stop people like us reading it?”

  “That’s what everyone wants you to believe,” said Roper, enigmatically. “If you think about it, no government wants you to know exactly what they are capable of. Even the so-called good ones.”

  Hooley was reminded, once again, that working with Roper was neither dull nor predictable. It wasn’t so much that he was a conspiracy theorist; it was just that he seemed to know things other people didn’t. And if he didn’t know them himself, he knew people who did.

  Roper’s unpredictability kept Hooley on his toes – he often needed to remind the younger man of what they were trying to achieve – but he could understand why so many of his fellow senior officers found him near impossible to work with. Roper was extremely independent and was barely on nodding terms with the concept of a chain of command. But their loss was the DCI’s gain. The important thing was solving crimes, and on that score, Roper was in a league of his own.

  “I hope you’re making sure to keep what you’re doing very discreet. And have you put in a formal request to access this data?”

  Roper looked impatient. “I put the request in as soon as we got back from the gym. We know the answer will be yes so why wait?”

  A few hours later, Hooley was lost in a complicated report on organised crime when a loud crash made him start. He knocked a cup of water all over his trousers.

  Muttering angrily, he looked at the clock and saw that it was almost 10pm. This only made him more irritable. He and Roper had been reading continuously since they had got back from the exercise class. No wonder he was getting an attack of the jitters. It had been a long time since they were on board the Eurostar.

  Concentration well and truly broken, he became aware of voices just outside the door. One clearly belonged to a woman and it sounded like she was apologising. He stuck his head outside and saw Fred, the night cleaner, trying to reload his trolley with various containers.

  A woman with dyed blonde hair was trying to help. She seemed familiar but Hooley couldn’t quite place her. She kept dropping everything she picked up. Fred flapped his hands in her direction. “Please. It’s not a problem. Much easier if I do it myself.” He was nearly pleading.

  The woman immediately stopped, her reaction suggesting that she was used to people telling her not to help. There was something about the resigned way she was behaving, as though this sort of thing happened all the time.

  As she stepped away, she noticed Hooley and broke into a big smile which chased away all the deep worry lines on her forehead. Tentatively, he smiled back. Encouraged, she rushed towards him at an alarming rate, causing him to back-pedal rapidly, holding his hands out in a warding gesture.

  “Detective Chief Inspector Brian Hooley,” she said, pronouncing his name very carefully and demonstrating that she knew exactly who he was. Despite her size, barely five feet tall, she marched right up to him, craning her head to make eye contact.

  He tried to make room by stepping back – but she followed him until he was pressed up against his desk and could go no further. She seemed quite oblivious to his obvious discomfort at having his personal space so thoroughly invaded.

  “My name is Susan Brooker. I came in to meet you nine months ago, but you don’t remember me, do you? Wait, I have something that will help.”

  She produced her phone and started prodding the screen energetically, finally finding what she was looking for. She thrust the phone straight towards his face, so close that it made him cross-eyed. Placing his hand on the mobile, he gently pushed it away so that he could focus on what she wanted him to see.

  “I’ve changed my look since then, so this is how I was when you met me.”

  He saw an unsmiling woman with dark brown hair. Looking back at Brooker, he realised she was studying him in an intense, almost feverish way.

  He couldn’t think of anything to say, but then the memory of the meeting floated suddenly to the front of his mind. She was the first person they’d spoken to when he and Roper were thinking about setting up the Odd Bods.

  The DCI was surprised he had forgotten her as he now clearly remembered the way she had managed to walk straight into the corner of his desk. She’d nearly fallen, and he had winced in sympathy at how painful it must have been. Roper, he recalled. had been untroubled by this – and, after quizzing her in depth, had announced she was perfect. It was agreed that she would be one of the first people called in if they got the chance to create the new team.

  “I do remember you, Susan. You made quite an impact, in all senses of the word, if my memory serves right.”

  She looked solemn.

  “It’s my dyspraxia. I often find myself bumping into people, or things.” She jerked her thumb at the doorway. “Things like that trolley belonging to the night cleaner. Some people think I do it on purpose, but I don’t. It’s like I can’t quite judge things. Anyway, Jonathan called me this evening and told me the Odd Bods were up and running. He said you’d be here until really late, so I cleared my desk and got straight over here. I’m ready to get started.”

  Glancing back at the clock, Hooley said, “Your enthusiasm and work ethic can’t be faulted, although I do try to make sure people don’t overdo it. At least I do normally, but with three investigations, all of them urgent, normal rules have gone out of the window.”

  He gestured at the empty desks. “You’re the first here so choose where you
want – but maybe that desk next to Jonathan might be best.” He paused, his memory filling in more gaps. “Am I right in saying you’re a civilian worker attached to the records department at the Met’s training centre in Hendon? Or at least you were until tonight?”

  She nodded vigorously. “That’s right. When one of the sergeants there heard that you might be setting up this new squad, he arranged for me to get an interview. I was the first person you two spoke to. After I spoke to Jonathan tonight, I told Sergeant Evans. He said the best thing was for me to get over here as quickly as I could – and that he would sort out all the paperwork.”

  Hooley hid a smile. He knew Sgt. Evans quite well and recalled that he had described Brooker as “very talented and very complicated.”

  He also knew that Evans would never have recommended her for such a high-profile post unless he thought she was up to the task. It was that which persuaded him to give her an opportunity to make her case.

  Roper thought she was terrific, saying her skills at data analysis would help him fine-tune the way he used his Rainbow Spectrum. Hooley was impressed. He liked the idea that things could only get better.

  While he was recalling events, Roper was helping her settle in and had given her a password that would allow her temporary access to the system. Realising the pair were clearly intent on a few more hours work, the DCI suddenly realised how hungry he was.

  “I think we could all do with coffee and something to eat. How about pizza from that place around the corner? They’re open until midnight. They also do a half-decent cup of coffee.”

  Brooker jumped up and said, “I’m happy to do that, just tell me where to go.”

  Hooley had an image of his food and drink ending up on the floor and waved her back into her seat. “No, it’s my treat! Besides, I could do with stretching my legs. I can’t keep going as long as you young people...”

  There was a short delay while Roper agonised about whether to order double portions but was talked out of it by the DCI, who pointed out that the extra-large pepperoni he wanted was described on the menu as being enough for three. Roper looked dubious but eventually relented.

  When he left the building, Hooley was surprised at how many people were still around. Even after three atrocities, it was good to see Londoners were still out and about. He also reflected that tonight was a significant moment. The Odd Bods were up and running. He just hoped he hadn’t taken on too much responsibility; he was beginning to suspect that being Chief Odd Bod was going to need a lot of thought.

  Just after midnight, the three were getting ready to head home for some badly needed rest when Hooley’s phone pinged. At this time of night, it could only be linked to the investigation. He grabbed his device and looked at the message.

  He read it, sat down and wordlessly handed the phone to Roper.

  Chapter 18

  The dying agonies endured by the men were reflected in the grotesque way their faces were contorted by pain, their lips drawn back from their teeth in a macabre parody of laughter. Dark red blood mingled with vivid yellow bile to create a sinister orange colour.

  As he looked around the dingy flat in Streatham, Hooley fought back a shudder. He knew the victims were most likely terrible men, but this was a bad way to die. Whoever had done this was quite without mercy.

  If he’d felt weary earlier, this had driven the tiredness away. When he’d read the message, Hooley had needed thirty seconds to decide he was coming to the crime scene. Roper had declined. It wasn’t because of the bodies; it was because he wanted to get Susan Brooker up to speed.

  The squad car had picked him and, with blue lights flashing, the journey had taken less than fifteen minutes. Now, at last, he had his “boots on the ground”.

  All the victims looked the same, relatively short at well under six foot, with muscular builds, powerful shoulders and big hands. One man was lying on his back by an armchair, his eyes wide open. The eyes themselves had a disturbing reptilian cast.

  He looked up and spotted the Duty Inspector who had just walked into the room. it was a face he knew well. Hooley and Mike Bell had worked together on several occasions, and Hooley liked the man's quiet competence.

  The DI nodded at the bodies. “South Americans, most likely from Chile. Tough little sods, they get flown in for specialist crimes, usually burglary. None of them has ever been arrested here so they never show up on border controls. We’ve sent their details over to Chile and I just know they’ll come back with records as long as your arm. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find some have military service. Their Special Forces guys are said to especially tough.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “So, what brings the great DCI Hooley to our humble crime scene? I heard you did everything long range nowadays, not wanting to get your shoes dirty.”

  His enormous grin showed he was just teasing, but it still stung.

  “I spend too much time behind a desk. I missed the first three crime scenes because I was on a train.” He held up his hands. “It's a long story. Anyway, I needed to get out to this one. Sitting indoors is an easy way to forget that murder is always nasty and smelly.”

  DI Bell nodded in sombre agreement. “Anything you need just ask.”

  “Thanks. In fact, you’ve already been a fantastic help with the tip about South America. We've had a very smart researcher joined us today - tonight actually - so I can get her working on that straight away. Anything coming from door to door?”

  Bell laughed. “Amazingly, everyone round here goes to bed early – at least that’s what they told us – so no-one saw anything. We’ll be back first thing but, somehow, I doubt we’re going to get very much more. Everyone keeps themselves to themselves round here.”

  “Anything from forensics, or medical?”

  “Nope, nothing there either. There was a bottle of Pisco, a sort of Chilean firewater, so I’m led to believe. The lab boys have taken it. The smart money says it was laced with whatever the poison was since there are seven shot glasses and six victims.”

  “So there was one other person here. The poisoner? He - or she - must have been known to them, which makes all of this all the colder.”

  The DI nodded. “You can probably bet your mortgage it was a man who was here. Really big fingerprints apparently. Otherwise, there was enough weaponry here to start a small war. We’re obviously optimistic that the forensics match up with the attack on the Ferrari woman.”

  With nothing else to do, apart from get in the way, Hooley organised a lift back to Victoria. It would take a while for all the information to get into the system so coming here had been a good call. Plus, it gave him a vital sense of engagement. Now it felt personal.

  On the journey back, he thought back on all that he’d seen. Something was still bothering him: why – and how – had someone alerted senior figures at MI5, using contact details that were supposed to be highly classified? The whole thing was a mystery, in the same way that the group claiming responsibility for the earlier attacks had been able to access a protected email account belonging to Mayweather.

  It was just after 1am when he walked back into the office. Roper and Brooker still looked as fresh as daisies and were eager to hear the details. Before long, Brooker was chasing up the South American angle, keen to contact any law enforcement people who might know these guys.

  Hooley had already given up on the idea of going home. He’d snatch a few hours’ sleep at the office instead. They had day beds in a couple of unused rooms and there was access to showers, plus he kept a change of clothes in his desk.

  Best of all was that, when they pulled all-nighters, Roper had nominated himself the official bacon sandwich provider. He’d found a little place that made the best bacon sandwiches he’d ever eaten. They made up for lost sleep.

  In the event, Hooley managed four hours, and after a shower, he was feeling surprisingly chipper. Just after 6am he found Roper ordering breakfast and Susan Brooker going strong.

  “A couple o
f them were ex-Chilean Special Forces," she called out as he sat down. “I should be getting details soon. At least one of them has connections to the UK.”

  Roper was also looking pleased.

  "I may have a picture of the back of the poisoner’s head.”

  “Yay,” was all Hooley could think to say.

  “I’ve been checking CCTV in the area and it’s mostly out of action – but there are a couple of cameras operating. One of them has a man walking away from the street where the flat is at about the right time.”

  He tapped his phone and called up a picture. It was the back of someone’s head. But it was very grainy and quite dark.

  “Brilliant work Jonathan, but I can’t see a jury getting too worked up about that.”

  For some reason, this conversation filled him with renewed enthusiasm, and he surprised Roper by jumping up and purposefully pacing round their office. He stopped in front of Brooker’s desk.

  “Have you got what you need, Susan?”

  “I’m fine, sir. Jonathan has got me all the access I need. Actually, it’s very exciting as I can get on to a load more databases than I could at Hendon. At the moment I’m just looking for anything unusual or things that might connect all three incidents. We can refine that as you get more specific information.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “I’m banning the use of sir; it makes me feel old. But that’s all great – because Jonathan and I need to go out in about an hour from now.

  We can talk to the people behind Diamonds and Pearls. The main squad is going to be spending all of today either with the IMF people, the head of security at the O2 or at the two poisonings – so that gives us a small window to talk to the store owners.”

  Roper piped up, “That will be Mark and Julie Savage, brother and sister, and her friend Emily Wong. I think she put the money up for the initial investment.”