by Jaime Raven
By the time I left the crime scene in Battersea, I was completely shell-shocked. I’d almost broken down while talking to Karen Prentiss. The poor woman had been in a terrible state and had barely been able to speak to us. She just kept repeating her husband’s name and saying she couldn’t believe what had happened. And all the time she’d clung onto her baby for dear life and he’d cried along with her.
On the way back to the Yard I called Aidan who’d been desperately trying to contact me. He’d seen the story on the news and had assumed it was connected to the death threat.
‘Your mother turned up here a while ago,’ he said, before I could get a word in. ‘She’s been in tears and is fucking terrified.’
My mum had met Dave Prentiss, of course, from the time he came to the school. So it didn’t surprise me that she was getting even more worked up.
I couldn’t lie to Aidan so I told him that we’d received another message. This one had simply said: You now know that it wasn’t an empty threat. Interestingly the latest text had not been sent to him or my mother, which probably meant that only the task force detectives had received it.
‘I won’t be coming home tonight,’ I said. ‘I have to go back to the office.’
Aidan drew in a loud breath. ‘So what if the killer turns up on our doorstep? Shouldn’t we be given some kind of protection?’
‘That’s something I’ll be pushing for, Aidan. I promise. In the meantime don’t answer the door to anyone you don’t know.’
‘But this is crazy. We shouldn’t be living in fear like this.’
‘I realise that and I can assure you that everything possible is being done to find out who’s behind this.’
His voice cracked with fury. ‘That’s the type of thing you say to the media, Laura. Not to me.’
DCS Drummond was sitting next to me in the back seat of the patrol car and I was sure that he could hear what Aidan was saying.
‘I’m sorry, Aidan,’ I said, wishing I’d held off calling him until I was back in the office. ‘But please stay calm and try not to worry. It’s extremely unlikely that the killer will strike again tonight.’
‘And is that supposed to reassure me and your mum?’
‘Look, I really do understand how you must feel,’ I said. ‘All I can do is to ask the local station to send a patrol car round to watch the house. I’ll call them straight away.’
‘Well, I appreciate that, Laura and so does your mum. She’s staying here for the night.’
‘That’s good. But I have to go. You should both try to get some sleep. I’ll ring when I can with an update.’
We said our goodbyes and I severed the connection.
‘I’m sorry about that, guv, but my boyfriend is really worried.’
‘There’s no need to apologise,’ Drummond said. ‘He’s right to be worried. We all are. And arranging for a car to watch the house is a good idea.’ He pulled out his phone. ‘In fact let me do it for you. I’ll call control and get them to send marked cars to the homes of all the detectives, including my own.’
‘I thought your wife was away in Scotland, guv,’ I said.
‘She got back earlier this evening. I think she might have gone straight to bed and doesn’t know yet about the shooting.’
While Drummond made the call I looked out of the window. My heart was booming in my ears. I was struggling to get a handle on my emotions. Dark thoughts were swirling through my head, each one adding to my anxiety.
Dave Prentiss’s murder. The warning that more of us were going to be targeted. The fear in Aidan’s voice. The fact that the killer was now on the loose in London. For all I knew he was already standing outside our house in Balham. Ready and waiting for an opportunity to kill Aidan. Or perhaps he would go after my mother next. Strike when she appeared at a window or left for work in the morning.
The thought of it was burning me up inside, making me feel sick. Surely more needed to be done to protect them. To keep them from being killed.
Getting marked cars to park outside our homes was only a short-term measure. It couldn’t go on indefinitely. But protecting all the detectives and our families was going to be a huge problem, given that we couldn’t all stay indoors until the threat went away.
As Drummond had pointed out earlier, providing round-the-clock protection for everyone would be a mega commitment. Small teams of officers would have to be assigned to each individual and for us detectives that would be completely impractical. We simply wouldn’t be able to do our jobs.
And the same would go for our loved ones. Would Aidan be able to teach? Would the school even want him to turn up for work, knowing he was on a killer’s hit list?
We had all been hoping and praying that we were dealing with an empty threat. That we wouldn’t have to confront all those difficult-to-solve issues. But now we knew it was real and that meant we had to deal with it, along with the inevitable tsunami of fear and panic.
‘We need to pull in all the likely suspects,’ Drummond said, coming off the phone. ‘And that includes the villains who have the clout to hire a contract killer. It’s my firm belief that Dave Prentiss was murdered by a pro.’
‘It has to be possible that the killer is the same person who sent the messages,’ I said.
Drummond nodded. ‘I agree it’s possible, but I think it’s unlikely. This doesn’t feel like the work of a one-man-band to me. It has to be someone like Roy Slack. He’s got the motive, the bottle and the money to pay someone to do his dirty work.’
‘There was nothing incriminating on his phones or laptop, guv,’ I said. ‘In fact they’d hardly been used. And we had a good look round his office and flat.’
‘The guy’s not stupid. He wouldn’t be sending the messages himself anyway and he’d have made damn sure there’s nothing to link him to them.’
‘I reckon that will apply to every face we put in the frame,’ I said.
‘Exactly. Which is why we have a serious fucking problem. We can’t give in to the absurd demand, but at the same time there’ll be public outrage if more of us are killed. The pressure will be like nothing we’ve ever experienced.’
‘So how do we handle it, guv?’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘We do the only thing we can do and that’s our very best. We drop everything else we’re doing and concentrate on finding the bastard responsible. We question every villain and every snout in London. It’ll mean working in tandem with Resnick and his team and any other division that gets drawn into it. And we do whatever we can to protect ourselves and our families.’
‘That’s a tall order, guv.’
He turned to look at me and his expression caused my stomach to do a swift somersault.
‘Don’t you think I know that, Laura?’ he said, and he didn’t try to disguise the tremor in his voice. ‘Why do you think I’m shitting bricks?’
The Met was used to dealing with the big events, including those appalling atrocities committed by terrorists. But the murder of Dave Prentiss was greeted with total shock and disbelief.
By midnight everyone knew about the threat to his colleagues and their loved ones. Inevitably it was leaked to the media and during the early hours it became part of the blanket coverage on the news channels.
Every member of the task force came into the office and Drummond briefed them on what had happened in Battersea. There was an outpouring of grief, followed by a verbal commitment to hunt down those responsible, whatever the risks. The reaction was predictable because it was all so close to home. But the outward displays of solidarity and determination masked an underlying fear that everybody felt. I could see it in their eyes and hear it in their voices. Indeed, most of the detectives said their loved ones had reacted badly, just as Aidan had.
At the briefing, Drummond announced that marked patrol cars would take up position outside the homes of everyone who had received the death threat. He also said that all potential suspects were to be hauled in for questioning.
But there were so man
y questions that he couldn’t answer. Like what would happen if the killings continued? What level of protection, if any, would be provided? Would detectives be allowed to resign from the task force and take up other duties? Would the top brass actually consider suspending the organised crime investigations? And what was being done to track down the rat within our midst?
There were five television monitors in the room and it was hard to ignore the footage that appeared. There were shots of the Prentiss house, the uniforms and forensic suits gathered in front of it. There were also several shots of Dave Prentiss and constant references to the fact that his wife had only just given birth.
‘Scotland Yard is saying very little at this stage,’ the Sky News presenter said. ‘But there are reports that Detective Inspector Prentiss and other officers attached to the organised crime task force had received anonymous text messages containing death threats. We’ll bring you more as and when we get it.’
As the morning progressed I kept thinking that I would wake up from a terrible nightmare. But it wasn’t to be.
As dawn broke over London I was convinced that the new day was going to bring more pain and heartache.
At six o’clock in the morning I had the dubious pleasure of interviewing Roy Slack again. He was amongst a bunch of high-profile villains who were rounded up across London overnight.
They included members of gangs that were on the task force’s target list and individuals who fitted the profile of a contract killer. Their names were provided by the Met’s Intelligence Unit and it was surprising how many there were and how many I’d never heard of.
Among them were those suspected of gang-related murders, those who’d served time for gun crimes, and former soldiers and mercenaries who had made names for themselves in the underworld.
One name stood out. Danny Carver. The Rottweiler. He was being questioned by officers at Streatham who had descended on his house in the early hours.
His boss had a lawyer with him this time – a fat, sweaty man named Darren Peacock – and the process was much more formal. We were in an interview room and Kate Chappell and I were facing Slack and Peacock across a table. The interview was being recorded and Slack had been read his rights.
We were late getting started because Peacock had only just turned up and he clearly wasn’t happy about being dragged out of bed.
‘I would like to state at the outset that I shall be lodging a formal complaint on behalf of my client,’ Peacock said. ‘It’s clear he’s the victim of an extreme case of police harassment. This is the third time in a week that he’s been questioned. And it was totally out of order to wrench him from his bed at four o’clock in the morning.’
‘The points you raise are noted, Mr Peacock,’ I said. ‘But a police officer was shot dead at his home last night. As you probably know, his name was Dave Prentiss and he was a member of the organised crime task force that has just launched an investigation into your client’s business affairs. For that reason it was deemed necessary to arrest him as quickly as possible along with a number of other individuals.’
Slack seemed far less stressed than his brief, whose face was shiny with sweat. He sat there, calm and composed, in a V-neck sweater that revealed a thatch of grey hairs on his chest. Sandpaper stubble coated his jaw, and there was plenty of baggage beneath his watery eyes.
‘My client had nothing to do with that poor man’s death,’ Peacock said. ‘He was at home in his flat when it happened. You can confirm it by speaking to the concierge at the block and by checking the security cameras there.’
The ghost of a smile crossed Slack’s face and he said, ‘But you know that already, Detective Jefferson, because you’ve got my flat under surveillance.’
I gave him a closed-mouth grin.
‘No one has accused you of actually carrying out the murder,’ I said. ‘I’m sure the days when you allowed your own hands to get dirty are long gone. But we believe the shooter was acting on behalf of someone who paid him. The same someone who’s behind the death threat text messages. And you need to convince us that it isn’t you.’
‘My client doesn’t have to convince you of anything,’ Peacock said. ‘The onus is on you to back up your suspicions and accusations with proof and it’s obvious that you can’t. You’ve already seized his phones and computer and come up with sod all as I understand it. So it’s simply not good enough to claim that he’s so anxious to stop you probing his affairs that he would resort to slaughtering police officers.’
‘You’re talking as though your client is an upstanding member of the community,’ I said. ‘But we all know that he’s a ruthless gangster who’s almost certainly been directly or indirectly responsible for dozens of killings over the years.’
Slack’s smile got bigger but his lawyer affected an expression of pure outrage.
‘May I remind you, officer, that despite the best efforts of the Metropolitan Police, Mr Slack has never been convicted of any crime,’ Peacock said. ‘What’s more, you’ve never produced a shred of evidence linking him to any criminal activity.’
‘He’s been extremely lucky,’ I said. ‘But his luck is about to run out.’ I turned to Slack. ‘Isn’t that why you’re in a panic, Roy? You realise that this time we really mean business and that we won’t stop until you’re behind bars? So this is a desperate bid to cling onto your empire. You actually believe in the legend you’ve created – that you’re this godfather-like figure who controls a big part of London and is above the law.
‘In that respect you’re just like the Richardson brothers and the Kray twins who were here before you. They also thought they could get away with anything, including murder, until they were standing in the dock at the Old Bailey.’
Slack chuckled. ‘Nice little speech, detective. But you’re way off the mark. The truth is I don’t give a fuck about my so-called empire and I’ve no reason to be concerned about your investigation. None of it matters to me anymore and that’s because I’m not going to be around for much longer.’
‘So does that mean you’re planning to do a runner?’ I said. ‘Move away to that fancy villa you’ve got down in Spain?’
Before answering he took a slow, deliberate breath and fixed me with a stare that was so intense I could almost feel it.
‘No, Detective Jefferson,’ he said, slowly. ‘It means that I’ve been given at most six months to live.’
His lawyer was obviously just as surprised as I was. He started to speak, but Slack waved a hand to stop him.
‘It’s true,’ Slack said. ‘I have stage three pancreatic cancer. It was diagnosed just over three months ago and by then it was too late to do anything about. The doctors said it was inoperable.’
‘That’s bollocks,’ I said. ‘You don’t look ill.’
Although in truth he didn’t look a picture of health either. I remembered it was the impression I got when I first laid eyes on him the day before.
‘That’s the problem with this form of cancer,’ he said. ‘You often don’t get any symptoms at the start. I’m only now beginning to suffer from back pain, weight loss and a bit of jaundice.’
Kate leaned forward and said, ‘So are you having any treatment?’
He shrugged. ‘I take tablets to control the pain, but that’s about it. They offered me chemo but said it would only extend my life for a few months so I didn’t see the point.’
‘I’ll need the contact details for your doctor,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to check this out.’
‘His number’s on my phone and you’ve still got that,’ he said.
‘So why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday?’ I asked him.
He pursed his lips. ‘There was no reason to. I thought that you would realise I had nothing to do with the death threats and leave me alone.’
‘So who else is aware of this?’
‘Nobody, and I’d like it to stay that way. In the time I’ve got left I have to offload the businesses or close them down. If it gets out that I’m on my la
st legs it’ll only make things more difficult.’
It was certainly a turn up for the books. Something I hadn’t expected. Jesus.
There was a long pause while I tried to get my head around it. I looked at Kate and her face posed a question: What the hell do we do now?
I clamped my lips together and raised my brow, as if to say: I don’t really know.
Peacock leaned forward and whispered something in Slack’s ear. Slack shook his head and patted the lawyer’s hand.
Peacock then turned to me and said, ‘In view of what we’ve just been told I really feel that this interview should be concluded. It’s now even more evident that my client is not the person you’re looking for. You can’t seriously believe that he would risk his liberty by killing police officers – or even arranging for them to be killed – when his own life is almost over.’
It was a fair point to make but I wasn’t yet ready to go along with it. After all, Roy Slack was a vicious criminal, a man of violence, so how could we be sure that he wouldn’t embark on a murderous spree even with a death sentence hanging over his own head?
‘We’ll call it quits for now then,’ I said to Slack. ‘I’ll make enquiries with your doctor and speak to my superiors. But despite what you’ve told us you still remain a suspect.’
Slack and his lawyer stood up together and Slack shook his head.
‘You know what I hate about you fucking coppers,’ he said, looking from me to Kate. ‘You spend millions hounding people like me while letting scumbags who you know are terrorists roam around London plotting to kill innocent people. You should be ashamed of your fucking selves.’
And on that note he stormed out of the interview room with his fat lawyer trailing after him.
24
Laura
Roy Slack’s bombshell revelation became one of the main talking points during the rest of the morning. Drummond refused to believe it until I’d spoken to the guy’s doctor at St Thomas’s Hospital who confirmed it.
‘Mr Slack has asked me to provide you with all the information you require,’ consultant oncologist Peter Merrick told me. ‘I’m afraid that what my patient has told you is the truth. His pancreatic cancer will soon be at stage four and his life expectancy is no more than six months. But I suspect he’ll be dead long before then as his condition has begun to deteriorate quite noticeably.’