Just Kill Them

by Michael Leese

  With just the two of them the space in the passenger compartment seemed huge. Hooley had been on a helicopter on a few occasions but never anything so luxurious. The craft lifted off the moment they strapped in.

  The DCI loved helicopter rides, despite the noise, and he could tell by the way Roper was intently staring out of his window that he too was enjoying the flight.

  It was always a thrill to watch the traffic on the roads and motorways while high above, you swept effortlessly by. The helicopter flew over the Kent coast, crossing into French space close to Le Touquet before sweeping up towards Versailles and the huge sprawl of Paris itself. It wasn’t long before they left the French countryside behind and shot towards the heart of the French capital.

  Landing in Paris they were whisked towards the Gare du Nord without delay.

  The DCI had never experienced a trip like it. His heart beat harder as he sensed that events were moving to a denouement. His biggest fear was of more bomb attacks in London, but Roper seemed reassuringly confident that that was not going to happen. He was insisting his Rainbow Spectrum was quite clear on the issue.

  Chapter 34

  As he surveyed the French hit squad, Hooley was reminded of the Duke of Wellington’s famous comment when he observed a tough looking bunch of his own soldiers.

  “I don’t know what effect these men will have upon the enemy but, by God, they frighten me.”

  The assembled soldiers seemed to vary in size from massive to enormous. They were dressed in the black fatigues and had ski masks to cover their faces. Large hands clutched an impressive array of small arms. He recognised Uzi submachine guns and Heckler & Koch MP5s among them. The DCI realised that there were a few women among the team… all of them bigger than he was.

  Roper had assumed he would be going in with the hit team. That had been flatly rejected and Hooley had not objected. Roper had many qualities, being a fighting man was not among them.

  To his relief they had been given the opportunity to stress that the trio needed to be confronted by the Scotland Yard detectives and it was agreed that once they were suitably restrained that would happen.

  The discussion had continued as the pair had been taken to the mobile command vehicle, a huge purpose-built van parked close to the apartment that was about to be stormed.

  Roper had become quite cross at this, saying that he didn’t want to be shut away. Eventually a compromise had been reached where they were allowed to stand on a street corner, just out of sight. The moment the Diamonds and Pearls trio were safely restrained they could run to join the action.

  The whole operation was quite an exercise as residents were moved from nearby apartments. The normally bustling streets slowly becoming quieter and quieter as pedestrians were directed away and customers herded from bars and restaurants. No one thought there were explosives at the target, but neither did they want to take a chance. From their vantage point 100 metres away, Hooley and Roper studied the images playing out on Roper’s tablet computer after he had been allowed to access the French feed.

  “The quality of surveillance kit nowadays is just fantastic,” said the DCI.

  Roper ignored him, staring intently at the image as the French hit squad prepared to move in. He had split his screen; on the left, a clear view of the gathering forces outside and, on the right, another image showing what was happening inside the apartment.

  Emily Wong and Mark Savage were sitting on a settee, the woman apparently asleep and the man sitting forward, bouncing his leg up and down, clearly very agitated.

  His sister, her previously sleek hair now looking a mess of tangles, was slumped in a chair, listlessly reading a book. To Roper, it appeared that she was going back over the same page again and again.

  Their attention switched to the outside scenes. In the street, the intrusion team brought up a battering ram and smashed open the front door, before tossing in a flash bang for good measure.

  The effect of the sudden explosion of sound and light was like something out of a silent comedy.

  All three people jumped up, their mouths open and clearly screaming. They started running backwards and forwards, the two women colliding and hitting their heads. If he had not seen it with his own eyes, Hooley would not have believed it.

  The women fell to the floor, clutching their wounds, and missed the sight of Mark Savage being laid out by an enormous French soldier wearing full battle kit and a face mask.

  Even among his fellow giants he was a fearsome size, so it was probably a welcome relief for Savage that he was rendered unconscious almost straight away. At least he was spared making a fool of himself by trying to fight back.

  As the French officers had predicted, the whole thing was over in a matter of moments. With the trio failing to put up any sort of fight, it was only a matter of a short time before they were being led out of the apartment.

  Roper broke cover, ignoring entreaties to stay put from Hooley. The DCI followed more cautiously as the younger man reached the entrance to the building, still ignoring Hooley’s shouts to be careful.

  Two soldiers in the backup team were guarding the door, hearing the commotion they swung round, levelling their weapons at the onrushing Roper. For a terrible moment Hooley feared the worst but the French soldiers showed superb discipline, watching closely but not opening fire.

  Even Roper started to realise what he was risking, coming to a halt and holding his hands out to show he was unarmed. A brief stand-off before he was allowed forward to wait just outside. A good minute later Hooley moved up, albeit more carefully and slowly.

  At that moment two of the soldiers who had successfully breeched the apartment appeared, carrying a now semi-conscious Savage between them. He was dumped unceremoniously onto a stretcher that had been left in the street. A few hundred metres away a small crowd of Parisians broke into a ragged cheer. They might not have known what was happening, but they had already taken sides. After so many incidents in France, it seemed the crowd was delighted to see some “terrorists” getting their comeuppance.

  With the situation under control, Hooley and Roper stepped over to the stretcher where Savage continued to groan. At first, he didn’t see the two detectives but when he did realise they were there he went pale.

  “Good to see you again, Mr. Savage,” Hooley was being icily polite. “We seem to have quite a bit of talking to do. We thought we’d pop over and fly back to London with you. Give ourselves a bit of a head start.”

  A few moments later the two women appeared. Julie Savage went very pale and Emily Wong looked resigned.

  Hooley had one more thing to add. “I’m pretty certain that you three are going to prison for a very long time. At the very least, you’re facing charges of obstructing a terror investigation, and there’ll be other charges more serious than that.” He paused. “On the way back to London, you need to think about that – and start talking to us. Your only chance is if you cooperate with us fully.”

  Forty minutes later the group, plus French guards, were waiting in a secure zone at Charles De Gaulle Airport, as they waited for the private Lear jet that was going to take them back to London.

  The plane touched down five minutes later and French security handed the prisoners over to the British team that had flown out with the plane.

  Take off was fast, and as they reached cruising altitude, Hooley had the two women placed out of ear shot at the rear of the plane. They would be able to see Savage being quizzed, but the cabin noise would drown out the sound.

  Strictly speaking they should have done this formally, with everything recorded for use as evidence, but Hooley was still worried about more bombs.

  Savage was handcuffed to a small, leather clad, settee running along the right wall. The two detectives took seats directly opposite. The prisoner looked sullen and had a swelling on his jaw. The DCI imagined it must be painful but had no sympathy. The whole scene seemed incongruous being played out against the luxury of the private jet. As the plane turned t
owards London. Roper took the lead.

  “What can you tell me?” As questions go it wasn’t the best, but it was a start.

  Savage surprised them both with a defiant response. “I can tell you that I’m going to sue you for every penny I can get. This is wrongful arrest. You are carrying out an illegal rendition flying me back from France.”

  Roper was unfazed. He was beginning to think Savage was the ringleader. The two women might be able to get reduced sentences if he was the most culpable.

  “I’ve got bad news for you,” he said. “We are quite within our rights. You were picked up on a European arrest warrant. That gives full rights to the participating countries of which France and the UK are leading members. You're also being held under the revised Terrorism Act. This allows us to hold you without access to a solicitor. If we want to hold you for longer, we just need permission from a senior police officer – and trust me when I say there will be no shortage of senior officers available tonight.”

  This seemed to knock all the bravado out of Savage, and he stared at a point between his feet. He stayed like that for almost a full minute, long enough to start irritating Roper.

  Finally, he looked up. “I want a deal.”

  “What sort of deal?”

  “I give you those other two and you let me off with a slap on the wrist, or maybe a bit of time in one of those cushy open prisons.”

  Chapter 35

  Savage had refused to budge from his position of demanding a deal and before long they were heading into London City Airport where armed officers would take the three to Victoria.

  After such a long and emotionally draining day even Roper needed a break and they had agreed to grab four hours sleep and then continue the interrogation. For Hooley it was an easy call. They were too tired to think straight and needed to recharge. The DCI would grab some sleep in the office. Roper was going for a run. It would help settle his mind which was in danger of “over loading.”

  His plan was to walk home first. Depending on your point of view, his penthouse apartment was either austere and lacking personal touches, or a temple to minimalism. Roper liked the lack of “stuff” and told Hooley that he found objects like flowerpots and paintings a distraction. He needed a clutter-free space to be able to fully relax.

  Once he was home, he stepped out of his work outfit, carefully folded it and placed it in the designated dry-cleaning bin. Other bins were for the clothes he cleaned in a washing machine and were labelled “white”, “dark, or “coloured” so that nothing got mixed up.

  Roper couldn’t abide any form of untidiness. At work, he had to constantly grit his teeth at the messy behaviour of colleagues – but at home he took no prisoners. His apartment was a haven where his few possessions were arranged with geometric precision.

  With two spare bedrooms, he was even able to afford the luxury of a dedicated “flapping room.” This involved a comfortable chair and piles of good quality A4 printing paper. The make and size were important as he liked to sit in the chair while carefully flapping the paper in a way he found instantly soothing. He’d discovered the technique in childhood and had been refining it ever since.

  Clothes for cleaning packed away, he decided he would double up on his “long shower” routine, taking one now and one after he had completed the run. This was a highly structured routine – he washed his hair and body to a precise formula – and it acted like a superior form of valium, calming the stress that was never far away, but without the side-effects.

  First shower completed, he walked naked into the bedroom and carefully laid out his jogging outfit on the bed. Here it was thoroughly inspected to make sure it was clean and free of blemishes.

  Satisfied, he put it on. Roper had never lost a passion for the sort of black plimsolls that no-one ever wore outside school. They were paired with baggy black shorts and a roomy white t-shirt. The first time Hooley had seen him in his outfit, he had laughed for several minutes. An indignant Roper had asked him what was so funny, and in turn Hooley had replied, “I don't know how to break the news to you, but with your white skin and you being so skinny, you look like a pipe-cleaner wearing a pair of black shorts.”

  Roper had treated the remark with the contempt it deserved – although he did add, “At least I can be bothered to take some exercise… which is more than can be said for you.”

  For reasons that were quite beyond Roper, this reply had made the DCI laugh all the more, so he’d given up in disgust, using the run to ponder, not for the first time, why it was that he found people so unpredictable.

  As Roper set out, the moonlight was making shadows merge as the darkness held sway. Roper set off on a looping path heading roughly east. His route took him past Southwark Cathedral and along the busy main roads towards Peckham Rye, a green space ringed by residential properties that had become more popular with the middle classes over the years.

  Roper’s running style was best described as “unusual”, since it looked as though he had modelled it on a newborn calf, with legs, knees and feet pointing in multiple directions as he trotted along with his hands clasped in front of him. One wit had once announced that Roper was “praying he doesn’t fall over.”

  Despite looking awkward, he could really move – as a would-be mugger discovered when he tried to ambush him, along one of the backroads that was taking him towards the green spaces of Dulwich. The would-be thief was a fit teenager, but his pursuit left him gasping for air and he gave up, telling himself there would be easier prey later.

  But Roper was concentrating so hard on running that he was oblivious to it all.

  He carried on in the direction of Tulse Hill before making a right into Dulwich village.

  Moving steadily, he was soon loping through Camberwell and decided to head for Waterloo. Here he could get onto the South Bank and jog the rest of the way home.

  Finally, back in his apartment, it was time for his second shower, followed by a double portion of microwaved food.

  Despite regularly eating enough for two grown men, Roper never seemed to gain an ounce in weight. Sometimes he even needed to pile on extra calories – chocolate muffins were the current favourite – just to maintain the weight he had been since he was 18 years old.

  Demolishing his food, he dressed and headed back to Victoria. It was just after 4am when he walked into the office to find that Hooley was already there.

  The DCI shrugged. “Susan has gone to get us all coffee from an all-night place.” He rubbed his hands together in a way that said he was ready to go. “As soon as we’ve got our drinks, we can start. The smell of freshly made coffee should wind them up nicely.

  “I’ve been thinking about the best way to handle this and I think that this time we should both question them one at a time. Susan’s going to watch everything from the observation rooms and get involved as she likes.”

  As if on cue, Brooker arrived with coffee – and, from Roper’s point of view, a very welcome bag of chocolate muffins.

  All three agreed they should start with Emily Wong. Together, they spent a few minutes studying her through the two-way mirror. Alone in the cell, she was wearing a police issue boiler suit which swamped her petite figure. Though she had lost the air of composure she’d had before, she still seemed alert, her eyes darting at the cell door.

  “What do you think?” said Hooley.

  Roper was first to respond. “She is doing her best to appear calm, but you can tell she is quite close to breaking. She’s breathing in a shallow way and her forehead is quite shiny, suggesting she is sweating, even though it’s not that hot in there.”

  “What about you, Susan?”

  Brooker hesitated a moment as if having an internal conversation, then squared her shoulders.

  “I’ve noticed she keeps looking at her nails. My guess is that they’re badly chipped. She’s wealthy and unused to being anything other than well-groomed – so that would be bothering her. It will make her feel more vulnerable than usual.”


  The DCI was impressed. “Well observed,” he said. “Even I get the feeling she’s ready to talk. But… I’ve made the mistake of being overconfident in the past, so I’ve got an idea about how to approach this. If Susan keeps a close eye on things, she could come in after a few minutes with a hand-written note and hand it to me, make it seem like it’s really vital information.” He stopped, to make sure both Roper and Brooker were taking this in. “I’m improvising here, but say I read it, nod, hand it to Jonathan – who does the same thing – and then leave. That would put some pressure on and make her think she needs to look out for herself.”

  Roper looked inscrutable. “We persuade her we have more information than we're letting on. Clever of you – it takes away the need for her to initiate the confession and makes her feel there is no choice.”

  The DCI blinked back his surprise at this unexpected praise and saw that Susan was giving him a thumb’s up.

  “So that’s both of you backing my idea – I must be doing something right! To be honest, I expected you both to complain about the subterfuge.” He smiled but noted neither Brooker nor Roper were smiling back. “Seriously, I do feel she’s the best chance we have of finding out what’s going on. So far, they’ve been spinning us pre-prepared stories. Nothing they’ve said can be taken at one hundred per cent face value, but each has enough of the truth in it to distract us, at the very least.” He looked back at Emily Wong, still sitting there through the two-way mirror. “I want to impress on her that this needs to end. We need the truth and we need it fast.”

  He went to go inside, then stopped with his hand on the door handle. “I nearly forgot. One of the custody officers who was with Mark Savage reports he has slash marks all over his torso. We might need to quiz her about that – but keep it up our sleeves for a moment. She might even come out with it.”