by Jaime Raven
‘We were instructed by the Commissioner to keep it to ourselves,’ he said. ‘But then yesterday evening the message was forwarded to our family members and people who are close to us.’
‘Holy Christ,’ Resnick said. ‘That’s fucking scary.’
He gave himself a moment to take in what he’d been told and then asked us if we were ready to view the body. Drummond said we were but first we had to slip on the white suits and shoe covers.
The scene in the hallway sucked the breath out of my lungs. Dave Prentiss’s body was covered with a sheet and when it was pulled back I saw that most of his face had been blown away.
He was sprawled on his back with his arms stretched out above him. The sheer, brutal sadness of what I was seeing brought me out in a cold sweat. I just didn’t want to imagine what it had been like for his wife when she came down the stairs and found him.
I’d encountered a disturbing number of murder victims during my time on the force. Men, women and children who’d been shot, stabbed, beaten and burned. But I’d never felt as traumatised as I did now. This was the first time I’d stood looking down at the body of someone I’d actually known. And it was a totally different experience. I had to fight the urge to give in to my emotions and cry, or throw up, or run back to the car. It wasn’t easy, but I stood my ground and focused on keeping my breath steady and even.
‘Mrs Prentiss started screaming when she saw him and then ran into the street to get help,’ Resnick said. ‘It was a neighbour who called the three nines. We’ve started going door-to-door, but so far we haven’t found anyone who saw anything.’
‘What about CCTV cameras?’ Drummond asked.
Resnick shook his head. ‘There are none in this street and I expect the nearest one will be on the main road, which is a bugger.’
He then told us that to get into the house we’d have to go through the kitchen so I tore my gaze away from the body and followed him and Drummond around the side of the house.
It was all so surreal and upsetting, and I found it hard to concentrate.
Inside it was a perfectly normal house except for the ghostlike figures and the low, strained conversations.
In every room there were things that had been bought for the baby. A cot, packs of nappies, a Moses basket, neatly folded vests and rompers.
There was a lead weight in my heart and it got heavier when we walked into the living room and I saw framed photos of Prentiss and his wife on the mantelpiece.
‘This must be hard for you guys,’ Resnick said. ‘I gather DI Prentiss was popular among his colleagues.’
‘Indeed he was,’ Drummond said. ‘He took today off so that he could pick his wife and baby up from the hospital.’
‘Will you want to speak to her, sir?’
Drummond nodded. ‘Of course. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, though.’
‘I’ll come with you, guv,’ I said. ‘Karen knows me. We’ve met a couple of times.’
Just then my phone pinged with an incoming text. I was going to ignore it because I assumed it was Aidan checking to see where I was. But then a similar sound came from Drummond’s pocket, and he said, ‘Let’s hope it’s a coincidence.’
A moment later we discovered that it wasn’t: the same message had been sent to both of us.
21
Slack
The BBC News Channel was the first to break the story. A young female presenter suddenly adopted a solemn expression and said, ‘We’re getting reports that a police officer has been shot dead in London. He hasn’t yet been named, but we understand he was at home in Battersea with his wife when he was gunned down on his doorstep.’
Roy Slack had been glued to the TV screen since Rosa had called him an hour ago to inform him that she’d claimed her first victim.
‘It’s done,’ she’d said, her voice clipped and devoid of emotion. ‘Tune into the news for the details.’
And that was all she had said before hanging up.
While waiting for the story to appear, Slack had phoned Danny to get him to send another message to the detectives. After telling him what to put in it he’d poured himself another Scotch and lit one of his Cuban cigars.
Now he sat with his feet up on the coffee table and savoured the warm sense of satisfaction that washed through him. His mission was properly underway now and there was no turning back.
For him revenge had always been sweet, but this time it was going to be sweeter than ever. Those smug, self-righteous detectives who were coming after him were going to pay for the sins of all those who’d gone before them.
And he was going to relish their suffering and the turmoil it was going to create.
Killing Hugh Wallis would never have been enough. This wasn’t about individuals. Wallis had been sent to Terry’s house by those above him, so they were just as culpable. And so were the slags who had covered up the crime by concluding that Terry was responsible for his own death.
It was just another example of the rank hypocrisy that prevailed inside the Met. As far as he was concerned Scotland Yard was a swamp filled with vermin. The coppers who weren’t corrupt were guided by a sickening sense of moral superiority. They were obsessed with bringing down villains who provided services that were much in demand. But they spent far less time and effort going after rapists, muggers, wife beaters, child molesters and jihadist fanatics who infested the capital.
Men like Harry Fuller did not deserve to go to prison for thirty years while paedophiles were as a rule sentenced to less than half that.
Slack’s own father had died in prison after he was stitched up by coppers who planted a gun in his car. They did it because they knew he was part of an armed gang that robbed a jewellers, but hadn’t been able to prove it. Ryan Slack, who was just fifty-four, was three months into his sentence when he got into a fight and suffered a fatal stab wound.
Years later Slack was given another reason to hate the Old Bill after he was hauled in for questioning for the third time in a month. His wife was furious. She’d decided to drive to Camberwell nick to give the detectives a piece of her mind. On the way she’d smashed head-on into another car while overtaking a bus.
Everyone said that Julie had herself to blame but that wasn’t how Slack saw it. If the coppers hadn’t taken him in that day then she would in all probability still be alive.
Over the years the bastards had blighted his life. Now, at last, it was payback time.
The apartment was filling up with cigar smoke so Slack decided to go out onto the balcony. But first he topped up the Scotch and slipped on a cardigan.
It was a cold but calm night, and a slice of moon peeked through the clouds, silent and pale.
The view he had of South London was spectacular, and it was the main reason he’d splashed out two million quid on the apartment. From here he could see much of the territory he controlled. But it meant far more to him than that.
It was where he’d grown up. Where his father was buried. Where Julie was cremated. Where his son was murdered and where his grandchild was denied the gift of life.
There was a time when he’d dreamt of moving away. He’d promised Julie that once he had enough dosh in the bank they’d retire to a place where they could live out their lives drinking cocktails and enjoying the sun.
But no matter how much wealth he accumulated it was never enough to entice him away from the business. And that was something he bitterly regretted.
After she died he went on to make enough money to buy a house in Kent, a villa in Spain and a luxurious apartment here at Canary Wharf.
But he had come to realise a long time ago that without someone to share them with they were just meaningless possessions.
He hardly ever stayed in Kent or went to Spain because being in those big properties served only to compound his loneliness.
That was why he stayed in London most of the time. He was able to keep busy and surround himself with people. Plus, he got to enjoy the view as often as he wanted.
<
br /> Tonight the city seemed even brighter and noisier than usual. Lights were going up for Christmas all over the place and there was a constant wail of police sirens.
He looked over towards Battersea as he drew on his cigar and tried to imagine the chaotic scene outside the copper’s house. The street would be swarming with police, forensic suits, reporters, and members of the public.
Most of them wouldn’t yet know that it was the first of many. But they soon would, and then it’d be the start of a nightmare for all those cunts at Scotland Yard.
Slack knew that there was no way they’d disband the task force or allow any detectives to willingly step away from it. But that was the whole point of the exercise. He’d wanted them to be in an impossible position from the start. And he’d aimed to achieve that with the text messages – by forcing them to ignore the death threats. Now in the eyes of the public they would have to share some responsibility for the killings, and it was certain to fuel the crisis they were about to face.
He had every confidence in Rosa Lopez, and not just because of her fearsome reputation. There was something about her that set her apart from other people. It was an intangible quality that was impossible to define and yet marked her out as a grade-A psycho. And it told him that she would approach the task she’d been given with gusto, that the more people she killed the better she would feel about herself.
He was also pretty sure that in the unlikely event that she was caught she wouldn’t dob him in for fear of upsetting her boss back in Mexico.
But even if she did it wouldn’t matter that much so long as she’d racked up enough kills by then to have made it all worthwhile.
He raised his glass of Scotch in a toast to the woman they called The Slayer, the only person who could give him what he wanted before he bailed out.
‘There’s a lot riding on your beautiful shoulders,’ he said aloud. ‘Please don’t let me down, Rosa. Pay the bastards back for what they did to the only people who ever meant anything to me.’
He gulped down the rest of his drink and suddenly found himself fantasising about the woman. He pictured her in the hotel room thinking through the plan for her next hit. But, rather than hunched over a desk, she was lying on the bed with her legs apart and her mouth open.
She was indeed exceptionally horny, and none of his mistresses, including Jasmine, could compare. Given the chance he’d willingly pay a king’s ransom to spend the night with her.
22
Rosa
Rosa did not plan to stay cooped up in her hotel room. Having dispensed with detective Dave Prentiss she was ready to party.
Some of the world’s most celebrated gay clubs were in London, and no way was she going to miss the opportunity to visit at least a few of them during her stay in the city.
She’d been denied the chance to let her hair down in Acapulco, so she felt she deserved it now. She had already selected her next victim and carried out all the necessary research. So there was no need to spend the evening formulating a plan.
That first kill had been a breeze, but she anticipated that from now on things would get a little more difficult. She was OK with that, even welcomed the challenge, because there was only so much the cops could do to protect themselves.
In Mexico every police officer, journalist and judge knew they were potential targets of one or more of the cartels. Some went to extraordinary lengths to try to ensure they stayed safe. They hired armed bodyguards, moved house, cut themselves off from the rest of the world. But ninety-nine per cent of the time they still ended up dead.
Rosa had learned from experience that every line of defence could be breached. Usually it was down to human error or underestimating the guile of the assassin.
Rosa was proud of the fact that she had never failed an assignment, no matter how difficult it had appeared at the outset. She had a work ethic that put her peers to shame and would have made her an asset to any terrorist organisation.
Having spent so many years killing people she couldn’t imagine doing anything else for a living.
Before his death her father had started sharing all the hopes and dreams he’d had for his only child. But those memories had been distilled by the passage of time so she couldn’t remember what he wanted her to be.
Of one thing she was certain, though – that neither of her parents would have been proud of the fact that she had turned into a killing machine. And that she’d earned the dubious distinction of being rated as the best in the business.
An hour after leaving the hotel Rosa walked into a lively little nightclub in the heart of London’s West End.
The place was heaving with men and women who all seemed to be in their twenties and thirties. Some were gyrating on the dance floor while others were standing at the bar or sitting at little round tables. Rosa was delighted to see that a good many were by themselves. No doubt they were hoping to get lucky just as she was.
Back at the hotel she had replaced the navy polo sweater with a tight pink T-shirt and the black jeans with her favourite pair of designer ones.
She knew she looked a million dollars and so she wasn’t at all surprised that she drew so much attention as she walked purposefully up to the bar.
A couple of women smiled at her and she smiled back. One guy in a string vest and white arse-hugging shorts blew her a kiss and she returned the gesture.
At the bar she dug into her shoulder bag for some cash and ordered a tonic with ice and lemon.
In response to the look the barman gave her, she said, ‘Alcohol makes me crazy. Too much too soon and I’ll be ripping off my clothes and dancing on the table tops before the night is over.’
The barman laughed, but someone behind her said, ‘Well, I for one don’t think that would be such a bad thing.’
Rosa turned and found herself looking into the smiling face of a stunning woman in a white blouse that hugged her slim form. She had fair hair cut in a boyish style and beautiful eyes under thick long lashes.
‘My name is Alice,’ she said. ‘As soon as you walked in I knew that I had to buy you a drink. And after what I’ve just heard I’m really hoping you’re going to let me.’
Rosa could not believe her luck. She’d struck gold with this pretty little thing and in record time.
‘I’m Maria,’ she said, pushing the fringe out of her eyes. ‘And of course you can buy me a drink but only if you allow me to buy the next one.’
Alice’s smile got wider and her white teeth positively sparkled.
‘Are you sure you don’t want a vodka with that tonic?’ she said.
‘I’m sure.’
Alice turned to the barman and said, ‘A tonic for this lovely lady and the usual for me, Henry,’ she said. ‘And you can put it on my tab.’
‘So you’re a regular here,’ Rosa said.
Alice nodded. ‘I work in London and I’m lucky enough to have my own flat here. But I’m guessing that this is your first visit to the Vichy Lounge.’
‘It’s my first visit to London,’ Rosa said.
‘Wow. From your accent I take it you’re Spanish.’
‘Mexican.’
‘Well, your English is perfect.’
‘I spent many hours studying,’ she said. ‘It’s a beautiful language.’
‘I’m glad you think so. But yours is so much more sexy.’
Rosa laughed. ‘So tell me about yourself, Alice. If we’re going to spend the rest of the evening together then I’d like to know more about you.’
Alice took a step closer to Rosa and touched her arm. Rosa felt her pulse quicken and she started to imagine Alice’s body up against her own. They were about the same height but Alice was less curvy with small, pert breasts and pale skin.
‘I’m twenty-four years old and work for my father’s advertising agency,’ Alice said. ‘I went with boys up until the age of nineteen and then realised why they never did anything for me in the sack. I’ve recently come out of a long-term relationship with a bitch who cheated on m
e and for the foreseeable future I plan on staying single and having a bloody good time.’
It was Rosa’s turn then and the lies came naturally. She was twenty-three and worked for the Mexican government’s tourism department. She was in London to promote her country at various travel seminars.
‘And while I’m here I thought I’d find out if it’s true that English women are among the world’s best lovers.’
It was all so easy, Rosa thought. But since they were both after the same thing there was no reason for it not to be.
The rest of the evening went spectacularly well. They retreated to a booth where the banter continued and Alice turned out to be one of the most flirty and tactile women she had met in a long time.
Desire was already thick in Rosa’s veins before they kissed for the first time. Alice’s lips were warm and salty and her mouth tasted pleasantly of vodka with a dash of mint.
Rosa stuck with the tonic and enjoyed watching Alice getting slowly drunk.
They had a couple of dances and at one point Rosa slipped her hand under Alice’s blouse and felt her nipples harden. She knew then that this was all leading up to the perfect end to a perfect day.
At 11pm Alice invited Rosa back to her apartment.
‘It’s a short cab ride from here,’ she said. ‘And from the bedroom there’s a fantastic view of Hyde Park.’
Rosa’s luck just kept getting better. She was relieved that she didn’t have to take Alice back to the hotel, and not only because it was a shithole. There was always a risk that she would see something that she shouldn’t. It had happened once before in Miami Beach when a girl who spent the night in her suite opened a drawer and found a machine pistol and a photo of the man Rosa had gone there to assassinate.
Rosa had been forced to kill the girl by slitting her throat, which was a shame. But there was no risk of that happening to beautiful Alice in her own apartment.
23
Laura
Needless to say I did not intend to go home to bed. There was no way I’d be able to sleep anyway.