by Jaime Raven
Before then Slack had some business to attend to in Dulwich. It was something he’d been putting off for a week because he’d had other things to deal with. But now seemed like a good time to get it done, since he had to go out anyway in order to rendezvous with The Slayer.
Before leaving the building he had lunch in the pub’s restaurant with some of the lads. After a few wines and beers with their steaks, they were more willing to express their fears about what was happening.
‘Most of my days are now spent making sure the plods are not watching or listening to me,’ Frank Piper said. ‘I know that a couple of Harry Fuller’s guys came unstuck because they didn’t know that the task force had placed bugs in their homes and tracking devices in their cars.’
‘They were fucking careless,’ Danny Carver said. ‘It’s not that hard to stop the snooping if you know how to.’
‘And we do know how to,’ Slack said. ‘That’s why they’ve struggled to get close to us.’
But he could see that whatever he told Piper and the others it was not going to ease their anxiety. So after a while he gave up trying and focused on his meal.
At three o’clock he told Mike Walker to bring the car around the front.
‘We’re going to the house in Park Crescent,’ he said. ‘And you need to make bloody sure we’re not followed.’
It’s only about six miles from Rotherhithe to Dulwich, but the route Mike took to get there added two miles to the journey.
He used to be a cabbie so he knew the area like the back of his hand. There was no way the Old Bill could have tailed them without being spotted.
Dulwich was one of the more serene parts of South London with a picturesque park and a famous college. It was also a good place to invest in property, which was why Slack had bought the house in Park Crescent a few years ago.
It was one of four the firm owned south of the river and three were being rented out. They’d been purchased through fake companies so they wouldn’t fall victim to seizure warrants if ever he was arrested and charged with an offence. The place in Park Crescent was currently occupied by two of his most reliable crew members – Johnny Devonshire and Pat Knowles. He let them live there for free because the place was frequently used for all kinds of activities, including the storage of drugs and stolen goods, clandestine meetings with corrupt coppers and officials, and as a safe house for those who needed to drop out of sight for a while.
It was a detached property close to the hospital, with an integral garage and a small front garden enclosed by high hedges that provided a degree of privacy.
Johnny and Pat were expecting him and, as the car pulled up at the kerb, the front door was opened and they both stepped outside.
They were tall, muscle-bound hard cases, and had worked as a team since sharing a prison cell at the Scrubs some years ago.
Slack told Mike to wait in the car while he got out to shake hands with Johnny and Pat.
‘Good to see you, boss,’ Pat said. ‘We weren’t sure you’d ever manage to get here.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s been hectic guys. Plus, I was playing safe because the Old Bill have been watching me.’
He entered the house and took off his overcoat, which he handed to Johnny.
‘Any problems with our lodger?’ he asked.
Johnny shook his head. ‘None at all. We’ve been feeding him sleeping pills so he’s been as quiet as a mouse.’
‘Right. Well after tonight he’ll be off your hands.’
Slack walked along the corridor to the door that led to the basement.
‘I’ll go down and sort him by myself,’ he said. ‘Do me a favour and put the kettle on. I’m sure I’ll fancy a cuppa when I’ve finished.’
He pulled the door open and stepped inside. The light was already on and as he descended the stairs he felt his pulse quicken.
The basement was large and gloomy and was often packed with illicit contraband. But now it was virtually empty except for the man who was sitting on a bare mattress with his back to the wall and one hand cuffed to a metal ring secured to the floor.
He was a sinewy guy with a crew cut and a face half covered with stubble. Pale and glassy-eyed, he was wearing a roll-neck sweater and jeans.
There were two blankets next to him on the mattress and the air around him stank of shit.
He opened his mouth to say something, but Slack spoke first as his face morphed into a mask of pure hatred.
‘So you’re the trigger-happy cunt who murdered both my son and unborn grandchild,’ he said.
It was the first time he’d laid eyes on Hugh Wallis since arranging for Danny and a couple of the other lads to snatch him.
That was a week ago, shortly after one of the bent coppers on the firm’s payroll had leaked his identity.
He’d been brought here to await his punishment, which Slack had been determined to administer himself.
‘Please let me go,’ Wallis pleaded, his eyes wide and bloodshot. ‘I have a family, for Christ’s sake.’
Slack made a sneering shape with his mouth.
‘Do you know who I am?’ he yelled.
Wallis nodded and a tear streaked down his right cheek.
‘You’re Roy Slack.’
‘That’s right. And I’m here to pay you back for killing Terry Malone when there was no need. And you did it only a few hours after I broke the news to him that I was his dad. That can’t be allowed to go unpunished.’
Wallis tried to respond, but Slack held up his hand to stop him.
‘I don’t want to hear what you have to say. This is not a fucking court of law where you get to plead your case. As far as I’m concerned you’re as guilty as sin. Terry’s girlfriend was there, as you know. She told everyone what happened. But your lot chose to believe you over her and that ain’t right.’
Wallis pulled himself up on one knee and started pleading for his life.
Slack responded by stepping forward and saying, ‘You should count yourself lucky that you’re not being tortured. As much as I’d like to make you suffer I haven’t got the time to piss around.’
He thrust his right hand into his trouser pocket and when he pulled it out he was clutching a brass knuckle-duster with spikes.
The fear shone out of the copper’s eyes as Slack clenched his jaw and bared his teeth.
‘You took my son away from me before I had a chance to get to know him,’ he said. ‘I had big plans for that boy and you fucked them up. And because you’re a copper you thought you’d get away with it. Well, you were wrong.’
The first blow tore a chunk out of Wallis’s arm as he raised it to shield his face. He screamed and toppled onto his back.
Slack jumped onto the mattress and started aiming kicks at the man’s head. Wallis was too weak to put up a fight. He tried to roll onto his side and bring his legs up against his chest, but he wasn’t quick enough.
Slack dropped down heavily on top of him, and sat astride his stomach. And then he let rip with the knuckleduster, his weapon of choice for the past thirty years.
He smashed it against his victim’s face, head and throat, tearing flesh and crushing bone and teeth. And he didn’t let up for a full two minutes, by which time Wallis was unrecognisable. And he was dead.
He’d made a right mess, though, and there was blood everywhere, including on his hands and shirt. But that wasn’t a problem because there was a wardrobe full of spare clobber upstairs.
He dragged himself to his feet and used his hanky to wipe his blood and prints from the knuckle-duster, which he then slipped back in his pocket.
He paused to look down at his victim, or, rather, what was left of him.
‘That was for you, Terry my son,’ he said. ‘The bastard got what he deserved.’
Slack walked back up the stairs where Johnny and Pat were waiting for him in the hallway.
‘I’m ready for that tea now,’ Slack said.
‘Is the guy sorted, boss?’ Pat asked him.
Slack nodde
d, a little breathless. ‘It’s time to call the clean-up crew. I want the body to disappear, along with every last trace of the cunt.’
13
Laura
There was another briefing at four o’clock. By then our approach to the new investigation was taking shape.
Tasks had been assigned and everyone had been brought up to speed on what intel the Met had on Roy Slack’s firm.
There was a lot of hearsay and speculation, along with a list of all the known faces who worked for him. Most of them had criminal records and violent reputations. But what was lacking was hard, incriminating evidence against them and their boss.
There had been some successes over the past few years. Two of the firm’s drug dealers had been caught red-handed and sent down, but had refused to say who they were working for. And a major haul of cocaine from Mexico – with a street value of ten million pounds – was intercepted on a ship at Dover. But although we were certain it belonged to Slack and came from his cartel partners, we couldn’t prove it.
The London gangs had managed to grow and prosper partly because of the huge cuts imposed by successive governments on police manpower and resources. The Met in particular had often been stretched to breaking point.
But it was a different story now with the task force initiative and the government’s determination to get on top of the problem.
The tide had turned in our favour and we were now getting results. Of course there was no way we could ever entirely eliminate organised crime in the capital, but at least we could inflict enormous damage and reassure the public that we were doing our job.
And my job in respect of this new case was to focus on the main man – Roy Slack. It was the same brief I’d had on the last investigation, which was why I’d been one of the two officers sent to arrest Harry Fuller, the other being Martin Weeks.
This time Drummond had teamed me up with Kate Chappell because Martin had since moved over to the National Crime Agency. I was happy with that; Kate too.
‘I want you to dig up as much as you can on Slack’s private life,’ Drummond said to both of us. ‘For instance, we know he has at least one mistress. But are there others and can we get anything out of them? And what about his enemies? I’m struck by the fact that in the past so little was done to squeeze them for information. So draw up a list of those you think we should talk to.’
He told us to arrange for surveillance to be stepped up on Slack and his top henchmen.
‘We’ve been watching his flat in Canary Wharf and his office in Rotherhithe,’ he said. ‘But it hasn’t been round-the-clock because we’ve been short of people. From now on we need to know where he is and what he’s up to 24/7.’
‘What about the text message and the threat to kill us all?’ I said. ‘Shouldn’t we go and ask him if he knows anything about that?’
Drummond shook his head. ‘I don’t see the point at this stage. Even if he did arrange for it to be sent he’ll only deny it.’
‘But we could use it as an excuse to seize his phone and laptop.’
‘We had him in under a week ago after Officer Wallis disappeared,’ Drummond said. ‘As you know he was questioned for several hours and his properties were searched. If we haul him in again this soon without any solid new evidence then his lawyers will go ape-shit. So I think we should hold fire until we have something concrete to confront him with. Besides, the techies are still trying to find out where the message came from and it’s only fair to give them more time.’
I wasn’t happy with that and I could tell I wasn’t the only one. The threat we had all received was still hanging over our heads like a dark cloud – and there seemed no prospect of it going away anytime soon.
On the way home I saw my first Christmas tree. It lit up the window of a charity shop close to the tube station in Balham.
The big day was still three weeks away but the city was already gearing up for it. This year Aidan and I had made plans to spend it with his parents in Spain. The flights were booked and I was really looking forward to it. Usually we stayed home and had my mother round, but she’d made arrangements to spend Christmas with her best friend Sylvia who lived in the New Forest.
Mum had also arranged to come round to our house this evening and I’d completely forgotten. It wasn’t until I walked in and saw her sitting at the kitchen table that I remembered.
It was six o’clock and Aidan had already sorted the dinner – cheese-filled jacket potatoes – and he’d even poured me a glass of white wine.
‘You forgot I was coming, didn’t you?’ Mum said as I leaned over to kiss her. ‘I could tell from your face.’
‘It’s your imagination,’ I said. ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.’
She grinned and I wondered why I ever bothered lying to her. She could read me like a book.
I took off my coat and gave Aidan a quick cuddle.
‘Looks like you’ve had a tough day,’ Mum said. ‘Is everything all right?’
I’d decided on the way home to adhere to Drummond’s instruction and not to mention the threatening message, at least until the techies had spent more time looking into it. It was best they didn’t know. Mum, especially, would be unnerved by it.
‘We launched a new investigation this morning,’ I said. ‘That’s always a bit stressful. It means reading lots of files and attending long, drawn-out meetings.’
‘Aidan’s been telling me about it, and I saw your boss on the news,’ Mum said. ‘I’m really proud of you, Laura, and I know your father would be too.’
As she spoke I could see the glint of unshed tears in her eyes. The mere mention of my father always provoked an emotional reaction even after all this time. She had never really come to terms with his death and that was why she hadn’t been able to move on. She wore grief like a chain around her neck and the weight of it showed on her face.
She was fifty-eight but looked much older. Her eyes, which peered out through thick-rimmed glasses, had lost their sparkle, and her skin was stretched too tight across her bones. It was as though the life had been sucked out of her.
I walked over and gave her another kiss on the forehead.
‘It’s nice of you to say that, Mum. It means a lot.’
And then I quickly tried to lighten the mood by changing the subject. I told her about Dave Prentiss becoming a father. I knew she’d be interested because she’d met him not so long ago. I’d agreed to go along to the school to give a talk about careers in the police force, but had to pull out at the last minute. Dave had done me a favour by stepping in.
‘They’ve named him Josh,’ I said. ‘And he’s so cute.’
It did the trick. My Mum smiled and said, ‘What a coincidence. My neighbour became a grandmother yesterday as well.’
Babies were her favourite subject and she stuck with it as Aidan served up the potatoes. We both waited for the inevitable question and it wasn’t long in coming.
‘So have you two given any more thought to getting married and starting a family?’
It was always so tempting to tell her the truth, but now wasn’t the time to start building her hopes up, especially if, God forbid, I wasn’t able to have children.
‘I keep telling you, Mum,’ I said. ‘You’ll be the first to know when we do. I promise. We just want to wait for a while and concentrate on our careers. There’s no hurry, after all.’
She kept her eyes on me and pointed her fork at Aidan.
‘Well, let me tell you, young lady,’ she said. ‘You’ve struck gold with this one, and if I was in your shoes I’d tie him down with a wedding ring and children so he can’t get away.’
Aidan couldn’t help but laugh as he reached across the table and placed a hand over my mother’s.
‘There’s no way I would ever leave your daughter,’ he said. ‘She’s the best darn thing that’s ever happened to me.’
Aidan had a knack for saying things that stirred my emotions and made me want to make love to him. And if my mot
her hadn’t been with us I would have dragged him upstairs to the bedroom and done just that.
Instead it was going to have to wait until after he had taken her home.
But as always she was keen to be off as soon as she’d finished dinner.
‘Are you sure you don’t want a coffee?’ I asked her.
She shook her head. ‘It’s almost seven and you know I like to be in bed by eight during the week. But thank you for a lovely evening.’
‘It’s been our pleasure,’ Aidan said, as he pushed back his chair and stood up.
At that moment his mobile pinged with an incoming text message. It was lying next to me on the table so I picked it up and handed it to him.
While he checked it I started clearing the dishes but then stopped suddenly when I heard him gasp.
‘What’s wrong?’ I said, turning back to him with a plate in each hand.
He looked up, his eyes bulging, his mouth agape.
‘What in Christ’s name does this mean?’ he said and held the phone towards me.
I put the plates down and grabbed the phone. And as I started reading the text every muscle in my body went still.
This morning I sent the following message to every detective on the organised crime task force. Thought you should know.
It was the same message with the same unambiguous threat.
‘Is this for real, Laura?’ Aidan asked, thrusting his chin towards my mother. ‘Are our lives in danger?’
14
Slack
He was on his second pint when Danny called him on his mobile.
‘I’m sorry for the delay, boss. The plane got stuck in a holding pattern over the airport for ages. Then we had to contend with the bloody rush hour.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘I’m just checking her into the hotel. What about you?’
‘I’m in the pub. Arrived about half an hour ago.’
‘Great. We should be there in ten minutes.’