Isolation

by Jay Nadal

  He sat in his car and reflected on their encounter. Scott had hoped to get clarity, but had left more confused than ever. McCormick had been right. Why get rid of Janet as a warning, when he could have got rid of Ashman? McCormick had the resources to make someone disappear. Scott chewed on his bottom lip. If this was a one-off attack, then he may never find the perpetrator.

  He’d checked in with Matt earlier on today. The sweep of the house had uncovered no new forensic evidence. They had drawn a blank with Janet and Samuel’s clothes. Scott fought hard to push away that uncomfortable feeling that the case was slipping away as he started his car and drove off.

  No more than two minutes into his journey, he noticed the bright light of a vehicle approaching fast behind him. His eyes shot from the rear-view mirror to the door mirror, as the lights moved out into the road, and then alongside him before swerving in front. A black van screeched to a halt, and the back doors flung open. Scott braked hard and stopped only a few inches behind, giving him little room to take evasive action, as a further van hemmed him in from behind. A man in dark clothes ran towards him holding up identification.

  Scott’s mind raced as he weighed up his options, when he heard the words, “Inspector, police. We need a word.”

  17

  Scott jumped out of his car. “What the fuck is going on?” he replied, both startled and angry.

  The other man attempted to pacify Scott by raising his hands in the air. “I’m Detective Inspector Andy Quinn from SCD7 of the Metropolitan Police. I’m part of a joint task force initiative between the Met and the intelligence branch of the Police Service of Northern Ireland. What were you doing back there at McCormick’s place?”

  “Whoa, whoa, why don’t you start by telling me what the fuck you’re doing on my patch?”

  “Hop in the van and I’ll tell you. We need to move away from here.”

  The van pulled up a few streets away as Quinn flicked on the internal light in the rear compartment. Two wooden benches, some open bags containing cameras, radios and two flasks were scattered around them. Quinn was a thickset man, overweight, with several days of stubble, and several layers of clothes.

  “So what are you doing on my patch?” Scott reiterated again.

  “I’m part of a joint task force initiative, and we’ve had an ongoing operation on McCormick for the past two years. We’re investigating his business dealings. I believe he has an involvement in firearms trafficking, drugs distribution, human trafficking, extortion, and that’s just for starters. We’ve been conducting covert surveillance operations on him, and you going in there was the last thing we needed.”

  “I saw nothing on the system, on his file, and nor was I told I had officers from outside of the county operating covertly.”

  “Covertly is the keyword,” Quinn stressed.

  “Yes, I get that, clever Dick, but how was I supposed to know? Meadows, my boss, didn’t say anything to me.”

  “That’s because Meadows doesn’t know. The only person we needed permission from was CC Lennon. He gave us full authority to conduct our operations, and we had to touch base with him.”

  Scott fumed. He had visions of storming into Meadows’s office and all hell breaking loose. So much for cross-border cooperation, and the sharing of intelligence. He had heard of intelligence and classified police units working across the country outside of the remit of the police protocols. They had a clear mandate to go wherever they wanted to go, whenever they wanted to go, without informing local forces.

  “So, what were you doing there?” Quinn pressed.

  Scott went into the details surrounding the suspected murder of Janet Ashman, and the history between Samuel Ashman and Ryan McCormack.

  “And Ashman is still walking the streets?”

  Scott nodded. “Yes, sort of, he’s hospitalised.”

  “Ashman’s lucky. If this McCormick had anything to do with his wife’s death, then it was collateral damage. It sounds harsh, but anyone who crosses McCormick doesn’t often live to tell the tale.” Quinn changed direction. “Besides, you are lucky to get inside.”

  Scott grimaced. “It’s like Fort Knox. Several layers of security, CCTV and a couple of big heavies.”

  “Was there anyone else in there? Did he say much?”

  Scott confirmed that there wasn’t, and how McCormick appeared evasive in his answers. “One thing that bothered me, he appeared to know a lot about my movements. The places I frequent and the people I associate with.”

  Quinn’s chest rose as he took in a large lungful of air. “It’s not uncommon for him to keep tabs on senior officers on his patch. We’ve tracked him over to Ireland, London, Manchester and Spain. He would always put the feelers out to know what he was dealing with. All I’d say to you is keep checking for any surveillance operatives, and try to mix up your daily routines.”

  Scott felt a nervous twist in the stomach. “Am I in danger? Are those that I work or live with in danger?”

  Quinn smiled. “No. You’re good, mate. We’ve got your back covered.”

  “Well, it doesn’t feel like it.” Despite the reassurance, he felt unnerved.

  “What else have you got on McCormick? Because based on what you’ve said so far, it’s a weak, tenuous link.”

  Scott agreed. Any hope of McCormick rolling over and admitting to being involved was foolish. “For the time being he’s still on our radar. We’re pushing Ashman for further information. However, I can’t see McCormick being involved in something like this. Yes, he could put out the job for a price, but then that leaves him vulnerable to someone squealing.”

  “Based on the time we’ve been tracking him, I’d be surprised if you uncover anything. He’s got a watertight operation. All we’re trying to do is pick around the edges of his legitimate business interests. He’s got an army of lawyers that wrap you up in red tape and procedures. He also has an army of paid thugs doing all of his dirty work, so he’s as clean as a whistle.”

  “He talked about his business interests in Spain, but also mentioned the possibility of opening businesses in America and the Far East. Drugs? It seems plausible enough. South America to the UK, and another distribution route Far East via Spain to the UK?” Scott asked.

  “It’s something we are looking at. But we’re interested in human trafficking. As you know already, the south coast is a porous border, with hundreds of points of entry. And we don’t have the resources to monitor every boat, every ship, every yacht and every small plane. We believe he’s working with the Albanians, and bringing people through Sussex, before taking them up to London. It’s a very lucrative business up there, the rewards are high, the dangers even higher, and the gangs are protective over their assets. They’ll fuck up anyone who gets in their way, including the police. We’ve already lost one officer on covert surveillance duties. Disappeared off the face of the earth.” Quinn stopped to inhale and narrowed his eyes at Scott.

  Scott used the pause to ask a very important question. “And McCormick has the contacts and distribution networks?”

  “He’s well-connected. He is the go-between. He is fucking up by getting involved. The Albanians send and receive the goods, McCormick handles the distribution. Getting caught in possession is risky.”

  “You’ve heard of Ashman before?”

  Quinn confirmed that he had. They had already completed their preliminary investigations into the history between those two. Quinn surprised Scott when he mentioned that there was a point in the past where Ashman and McCormick mixed in certain circles and had a lukewarm friendship.

  Scott agreed to keep in touch with Quinn and to share information on the need-to-know basis. In reality, he doubted that they would. Scott’s mind filled with a heady mix of theories and motives. The evening hadn’t worked out as planned. Yes, he’d met McCormick, but having walked away none the wiser, stumbled into a covert operation which opened his eyes to a new cause for concern. The Met Police, Ashman and McCormick, a potent and deadly mix. The stakes had
just risen in his investigation.

  Quinn had given him strict instructions not to mention the conversation with any of his colleagues, including Meadows. Scott was in a bind. Could he tell Meadows? His mind felt as if it was going to explode. What happens if McCormick is involved in Janet Ashman’s death, and I don’t mention it to Meadows? A P45 would be on the cards.

  Scott was too wired to think straight. Against his better judgement, he headed to the nearest pub.

  18

  Scott’s mind buzzed as he thought about the events of the night before. A quick JD and Coke on the way home hadn’t helped to calm his nerves. He’d found McCormick unnerving and menacing. Having his private and working life exposed so easily alarmed him. He had too many questions, and not enough answers.

  The team gathered around the whiteboard. A shiver raced through Scott as his mind drifted back to his conversation with Quinn. He hoped Quinn had his back covered, because the first slivers of fear crept down his spine.

  “Okay team, I hope you all had a good night’s sleep? We’ve got a lot to cover today.” A low ripple of murmurs reverberated around him. “Abby, what have you got for us?”

  “Guv, I went to see the senior librarian yesterday. She told me about a man loitering outside the library for a few weeks in the summer.” Abby summarised the main points of the conversation and the basic description.

  “But no actual contact?”

  Abby confirmed that. “I’ve got her with a profiler constructing a facial and physical profile. The main distinguishing feature is that he’s an IC1, heavy with broad shoulders.”

  “He could be a dosser?” Raj suggested.

  “She didn’t seem to think so. His clothes were clean, and far from tatty. Mike’s checking nearby stores for CCTV.”

  “Okay, Abby, look into that. It may be nothing, but it’s the first lead we’ve got. What else have we got?”

  Raj spoke next. “I spoke with the owners of Funked. They rent out their venue when it’s not a normal club night. Shirley and Dave Jenkins, rent the club once a quarter, and host a fetish night. It’s a ticket only event for adults, where anything goes.” Raj raised his brows like a pubescent teenager hearing something naughty.

  “When are we going, Raj?” Mike jumped in. “Purely as part of our investigations.”

  “You free tonight?” Raj joked, before continuing. “Shirley mentioned that Ainscough is bisexual. She was keen to point out he engaged in sexual activity with both male and female partygoers. She raised a concern with me, Guv. At a previous event, he ended up being heavy-handed with a whip, and lost it. He’d tied a woman to a bondage chair, which Shirley pointed out costs more than a thousand pounds. He appeared to enjoy the domination element too much.” Raj handed out photos of the chair.

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” Scott said. Neither were the rest of the team as he looked at their surprised faces.

  The chair looked identical to those used in execution chambers in US prisons, with a range of sturdy leather straps comprising a face mask, padded neck strap, chest and waist straps, four arm straps, two thigh straps and two ankle straps.

  “He likes it rough, then?” Mike added pulling the image closer to inspect the finer details of the chair.

  “Worth getting him in, Guv?”

  “No, we can hold off for the moment. Let’s see what else we uncover on him. Raj, speak to Shirley again, and find out if Ainscough hung around at these events with anyone in particular, male or female. I’m sure he’ll be more cooperative when we reveal what we know.”

  Scott would not shoulder this burden by himself. He needed to spread the risk. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on Meadows’s door. “Enter,” Meadows replied with a tone that suggested he didn’t appreciate the interruption.

  “How’s the investigation going, Scott?”

  Scott filled him in on the limited progress they had made. The absence of forensic evidence and CCTV footage hampered their investigation. As yet there was no clear motive, which didn’t impress Meadows.

  “So as far as we know, a person or persons unknown, entered the Ashmans property unseen, committed a murder and left. We’ve got three suspects: Ashman himself, Ainscough her ex-lover and Ryan McCormick.” Meadows ran his hand through his hair as he blew out his cheeks.

  Scott shifted and cleared his throat. “Sir, on the subject of Ryan McCormick, did you know that the Met Police are running a joint covert operation, and have been for the past two years? They’ve been on our patch for a few days.”

  Meadows leant back in his chair, a look of curiosity on his face as his eyes narrowed. He shook his head unaware of the fact. “How do you know this?”

  “I went to see McCormick last night. When I left, I got pounced on by the team running the op. They had a bloody van parked outside. They’re running a twenty-four surveillance operation on him, right under our noses.”

  Meadows bolted upright in his chair. “You sure? Because this is the first I’ve heard.”

  “There’s a joint surveillance operation between SCD7 and the intelligence unit of the Police Service of Northern Ireland.” Scott filled him in on the conversation he’d had with Detective Inspector Andy Quinn, and the reasons behind their operation.

  Meadows threw his pen across the desk. “Need-to-know basis? My fucking arse.”

  Scott hadn’t seen Meadows so angry in a long time. When he discovered that CC Lennon had authorised their operation and kept it from them, his face reddened and his lips tightened to form a thin line.

  “Quinn said we’re to leave McCormick alone?”

  “In not so many words. He was annoyed that I visited McCormick. He wants information to flow both ways, can you believe that?” Scott said, rolling his eyes. “I’m still including McCormick in our investigations. Quinn pointed out that McCormick and Ashman go back a long way. He suggested that at one point they were friends. So there’s more than meets the eye.”

  Meadows pondered the situation as he looked up towards the ceiling. They were in an impossible situation. “This stays between you and me, understand? You keep digging around, but keep it low-key. We have got too many loose ends already. If we’re not careful, this will turn into a farce with you and I looking for a job before we’ve even had time to clear our desks.”

  Meadows’s endorsement bought him some time.

  Scott grabbed a not so desirable coffee from the machine before settling down in front of his PC. His familiar pad and pen that he relied on in most of his investigations had never looked so bleak. He’d normally have some form of forensic evidence such as hair, blood, semen or paint samples, as well as email or phone records trails. So far he had none of the above. The techy team had begun the process of working through Ashman’s email accounts and phone records. Early indications flagged up nothing of interest.

  The search on McCormick threw up a whole list of charges and investigations stretching back forty years. At fifty-nine years old, he was a serial criminal. He had early convictions for petty theft, car theft, breaking in and entry, and handling stolen goods. Scott noticed how his charge sheet became more violent as he grew older. There had been numerous investigations many of those coming in the later years of his life. Scott imagined that by then he had mastered the art of staying below the police radar and avoiding capture, no doubt assisted by high-paid legal representatives.

  Scott realised who he was up against. Most of the man’s activity had been around London. Extortion, armed robbery, prostitution rings, drug trafficking, arms trafficking and murder appeared to be the common elements amongst most of the investigations.

  As so often is the case with large criminal organisations, convictions had only been secured on junior members of the organisation. They would take the fall and be rewarded for it. Scott moved on to exploring the other members of his network. The scale of the organisation, and the criminal activities were far bigger than he had expected.

  Scott leant back in his chair and chewed the end of his pencil. Police i
ntelligence reports had compiled information on McCormick’s legal team that comprised of three lawyers. Additional information on the system detailed other key members of his organisation from the accountant, through to his security detail, down to his gardener, housekeeper and cook. He printed off all the relevant paperwork.

  His mind buzzed and swirled. His lips felt tinder dry. Dehydration sent waves of nausea through him. Scott’s stomach growled, and he squirmed in his seat to silence the rumbling. Glancing at the clock, he needed lunch. He dropped Abby a text to say he was popping out for some fresh air.

  Scott made the most of the fresh sea air as he walked along the seafront. He grabbed the baguette from the sandwich bar along with a bottle of water and consumed both. The seafront was busy as usual. A mixture of residents and tourists taking in the sights, and enjoying a pleasant stroll, as a light sea breeze whipped and swirled around them.

  There seemed to be so much happening around the case that at times Scott struggled to find a clear path through. McCormick’s parting words played on his mind. Every hundred yards or so Scott stopped. He rested his hands on the railings, and pretended to take in the sights around him, his eyes scanning for any evidence of a tail. Even if he was being followed, he couldn’t be certain whether it was one of McCormick’s men, or Quinn’s. But his own vulnerability left him on edge. His thoughts turned to Cara and Abby. Their safety concerned him.

  19

  The afternoon break in his schedule offered the opportunity to relax and focus his mind. He shut the door to his room and took off his clothes. He needed the freedom to move as he spent the next fifteen minutes going through a sequence of moves he had learnt many years ago. His knowledge and training meant that he could execute any one of these moves and disable an opponent in a matter of seconds.