by Jaime Raven
It was hugely significant, not just because it raised a question as to whether he remained a suspect in respect of the death threats, but also because we’d need to work out where the investigation into his firm went from here. Who would take over the reins? Would he wind down any of his illicit operations in addition to the legit businesses? Would his demise lead to a power struggle between rival gangs?
I found it hard to feel sorry for Slack. It seemed he was going to part this world without being punished for a life of crime. He’d built up and run one of London’s most powerful criminal empires. He’d been heavily involved in drugs, extortion, prostitution and money laundering. He’d established partnerships with Eastern European people smuggling gangs and at least one notorious Mexican crime cartel.
He had caused so much misery for so many people, but he’d be going to his grave content in the knowledge that he had got away with it. Two fingers up to the law. To all those officers in the Met who’d been unable to bring him down. It was wrong. Scandalous. Ridiculous.
Like hearing that a child killer has committed suicide in his prison cell while awaiting trial.
I rang Aidan just after seven o’clock and he told me that both he and my mother were going into work.
‘We can’t just sit at home all day worrying,’ he said. ‘For all we know this could go on for weeks.’
It was a frightening thought but I tried to play it down by telling him that it was very unlikely. I knew there would be no point urging him to stay at home behind locked doors. He’d already made it clear that he wasn’t prepared to.
He confirmed that a marked police car had been parked outside the house during the night but had disappeared about an hour ago.
‘They’ll come back later,’ I said. ‘And in the meantime I’ll see if I can get them to station a car outside the school.’
I then told him I’d stay in touch throughout the day and hung up.
There was so much going on that it was impossible for me to focus on any one thing. The morning papers, reviewed on the news channels, were all leading with Dave Prentiss’s murder. But they had gone to press before the media got wind of the death threat messages. Now it was an even bigger story and views were being expressed, and questions were being asked.
A politician interviewed on Sky News said it was essential that the Met did not close down the organised crime task force.
‘It would be like surrendering to terrorists,’ he said. ‘We cannot afford to let that happen.’
A prominent media pundit made a comment on the BBC that was picked out as a sound bite by every other news programme.
‘The police are there to catch criminals and protect the public,’ she said. ‘But who protects them when they become the targets?’
It was a question that resonated with all of us and the Home Secretary himself tried to answer it when he was confronted by reporters.
‘This has come as a profound shock,’ he said. ‘The murder of Detective Inspector Prentiss is being given the utmost priority. You can be sure that we will find whoever is responsible and bring them to justice. And we will also do whatever we can to protect other detectives and their families who’ve been threatened.’
Drummond got us all together again after he’d had a meeting with the Commissioner and other top brass. He announced that he’d be taking part in a press conference later in the morning and that the option of winding up the task force and suspending investigations into organised crime would not even be a consideration.
‘You must all realise that despite what has happened to DI Prentiss we can’t possibly throw in the towel,’ he said. ‘It would be like an army walking away from a war because a soldier has been killed. And make no mistake; we are at war with the criminals who are adopting terror tactics in order to remain in power.’
Janet Dean asked him if detectives would be allowed to transfer out of the task force. His answer was a categoric no.
‘It would be a major sign of weakness,’ he said. ‘And it would damage the credibility of the entire force. Once such a precedent is set who knows where it would lead?’
He then invited everyone to update him on all the interviews that had been conducted and the tasks that had been set. I was up first and began by playing the video recording of the interview with Roy Slack.
‘For those of you who don’t already know, his oncology consultant has confirmed that what he said is true. Plus, I’ve done some checking online. Pancreatic cancer has one of the highest mortality rates of all major cancers. It’s also difficult to spot in the early stages because often there aren’t any symptoms until after it’s become inoperable.’
‘So do we rule him out as a suspect on the basis that he’ll soon be dead?’ Drummond asked. ‘Even though he has a strong motive for wanting to see us disband the task force and leave him alone?’
‘Absolutely not,’ I said. ‘It could be that he wants to go out with a bang. Pay us back for hounding him over the years.’
Drummond mulled this over. ‘That’s an interesting theory, but the guy has had an easier ride than most villains. He’s always managed to stay one step ahead of us and he’s never been banged up. I can’t imagine that he bears grudges that are so strong they would compel him to do something like this.’
‘Then perhaps it’s someone else in his firm who’s behind it,’ Kate said. ‘Maybe the person who’ll be taking over from him wants to make life hard for us.’
‘But he told us that nobody knows about his condition,’ I pointed out.
Kate shrugged. ‘Well, he could be wrong, or he could be lying.’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me if Danny Carver was being lined up to assume control,’ I said. ‘By all accounts he’s the closest Slack has to a family and he’s also a complete psycho.’
‘He was questioned by detectives in Streatham,’ Drummond said. ‘He’s insisting he knows nothing about the threats. And we know that he was in his house when the murder was committed because he’s one of those we’ve just put under surveillance.’
We were getting the same feedback from the teams who were interviewing all the other suspects who’d been rounded up. They all had alibis and they all denied any knowledge of the threats.
‘We have to keep plugging away,’ Drummond said. ‘Laura, you and Kate stay with Slack. He’s still my prime suspect despite the sob story. And let’s get access to everyone else’s phone records and online communications. And we need search warrants for all their properties.’
‘What about us and our families, sir?’ DCI Graham Nash said. ‘Will we be getting protection? My wife runs a bookshop in Clapham, and she’s insisting on going to work even though I’ve advised her against it.’
‘I can understand your concerns because we’re all in the same boat,’ Drummond responded. ‘The Commissioner has agreed that we can continue to station a patrol car outside each of our homes overnight.’
‘That’s not nearly enough, sir,’ Nash said.
Drummond nodded. ‘I agree, but it’s a start. And while we wait to see what else can be done I strongly suggest that you tell your wives, husbands and partners to be on their guard and to report anything that strikes them as suspicious.’
It wasn’t what I’d been hoping to hear, but it was what I’d expected. The issue of protection would have to be decided at the highest level and after a whole range of factors had been considered.
The Met did not have access to unlimited resources and manpower. Staffing levels were at their lowest for years and detective numbers had fallen dramatically. Plus, hundreds of officers were already involved in protection and surveillance duties as part of the severe terror alert that was in place across the country. Drummond had said earlier that we couldn’t expect every one of us to be given twenty-four hour protection. There were nineteen detectives on the task force, now that Prentiss wasn’t included, and the number of family members and friends who had received the death threat totalled twenty-eight. Personal round-the-clock protection fo
r all of us would require at least 250 officers working to a rota.
The sheer scale of such an operation, on top of everything else that was going on, was mind-blowing.
25
Rosa
She woke to the soft touch of Alice’s fingers between her legs.
‘I thought that would stir you,’ Alice said. ‘I was hoping we could have a little play before we both have to get up and go to work.’
Rosa was on her back. She turned to look at the face of the woman she was sharing the bed with. Alice Green, she’d said her name was, and she’d turned out to be a real star performer between the sheets.
In the early morning light coming through the windows she looked as good as she had the night before. Eyes wide and innocent. Lips enticingly moist. Skin so soft and clear that you just wanted to lick it.
She was everything that Rosa found desirable in a woman. It was no wonder the sex had been so good. So delicious.
‘I’ve been awake for ages just staring at you,’ Alice said. ‘My God you’re so beautiful. I can’t believe I struck so lucky last night.’
‘I’m the lucky one,’ Rosa said. ‘If the taxi driver hadn’t recommended that particular club I would never have met you.’
The memories came flooding back. Leaving the club. The cab ride to the apartment building close to Hyde Park. Undressing each other the moment they entered Alice’s luxurious apartment. Then falling on the king-size bed. Kissing. Sucking. Stroking. Licking. Probing. Going at it with total abandon.
Rosa had felt electrified by Alice’s stunning body, her unbridled passion, the things she did with her lovely tongue. It had been as though neither of them had made love for a long time and that was what had made it so good. So special.
With Rosa it was all about the sex. Always. She didn’t have what it took to form an emotional attachment with anyone. So all she could do was make the most of what did provide at least some semblance of meaning to her life. Such as the thrill of the kill. The power she wielded. The feel of another woman’s lips.
For most people it wouldn’t be enough. For some it would be more than they could ever hope for. So Rosa wasn’t complaining. She never complained. It was partly because she didn’t believe for a single second that she would live to a ripe old age. Eventually she would make a mistake and the cops would catch up with her. Or she’d become a target herself and fall victim to someone who was more cunning than she was.
So what was the point in fretting over what was lacking in her life? Best to cling onto what she had going for her and enjoy it while it lasted.
‘It’s eight thirty,’ Alice said. ‘The good thing about working for my dad is that nobody complains if I turn up late. So what do you say to us giving each other a couple more orgasms?’
Rosa moaned with pleasure as Alice inserted a finger into her dripping vagina.
‘I can’t think of a better way to start the day,’ she replied.
The morning sex lasted just over half an hour and it was more than satisfying. Rosa came twice, squirting her juices over the sheets. Then she experienced a full-blown orgasm that made her blood sizzle.
Afterwards, they showered together before Alice gave her a quick tour of the apartment, which had to be worth a fortune.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Alice said. ‘That I’m a poor little rich girl living off her dad’s generosity. Well, I suppose I am but there’s nothing I can do about it so I don’t bother trying.’
Rosa laughed. ‘I think you’re lovely, Alice. And that’s despite the fact that you’re a beautiful, sexy, spoilt little rich girl.’
They dressed together next to the window that offered up a view of Hyde Park. Rosa had got her bearings by now and she knew that beyond the park was South London. Vauxhall. Battersea. The area controlled by the man who was paying her to kill people.
She’d be going back there soon. Back to the hotel. Back to the garage containing the motorcycle and the weapons. Then to the place where she intended to claim her next victim.
‘Oh, that’s awful,’ Alice said suddenly.
Rosa saw that she was staring at the wall-mounted TV that she’d just switched on using a remote control. A news anchor was telling viewers that a police officer had been murdered the previous evening on his own doorstep.
‘Who the hell would do such a thing?’ Alice said. ‘It’s so horrible.’
Rosa wondered how Alice would react if she knew that the woman who had just licked her vagina was the person responsible. The thought made her want to smile, but she decided it wouldn’t be appropriate.
‘This sort of thing happens all too frequently in Mexico,’ Rosa said. ‘There are murders every day. The drug cartels do terrible things. They’re a law unto themselves. Nobody is safe. Especially the police.’
‘I’ve heard about that,’ Alice said. ‘And I saw a documentary that claimed your country is, like, one of the most violent places on earth.’
‘It’s true,’ Rosa said, and she had to resist the temptation to reveal what had happened to her own parents. Alice didn’t need to know. Nobody did. It was her cross to bear.
A photo appeared on the screen. The victim. Detective Inspector Dave Prentiss. Shot dead execution-style at his home in Battersea, according to the anchor. The police were appealing for witnesses. And there was concern that other officers and their families had been threatened.
There was another TV in the kitchen, and Alice turned it on as she made coffee and toast.
‘Will I see you again?’ she asked Rosa. ‘I’d really like to.’
‘Well, I’m free tonight if you are,’ Rosa said.
Alice grinned. ‘Of course I am. We can go out or you can come straight here.’
‘Why don’t we meet at the club again? I really enjoyed dancing with you.’
Alice giggled like a child. ‘That’s a great idea.’
Rosa wrote down Alice’s mobile number and gave the other woman hers.
Then their attention was drawn back to the TV. Coverage of a press conference. All about the murder of detective Prentiss and the threats against his colleagues on the organised crime task force.
A man identified on screen as Metropolitan Police Commissioner John Saunders was saying, ‘Our thoughts are with Detective Inspector Prentiss’s wife and newborn baby. This is a shocking crime and I can assure you it will not go unpunished.’
Rosa held back another smile. That’s where you’re wrong, Mr Commissioner. You have no idea who killed him. Not a clue. You’ll be looking in all the wrong places. Chasing the wrong people. Working yourselves into a frenzy because you’ll be wondering who will be the next victim. And not even Roy Slack knows that. Only I do, which is why this is going to be such an easy assignment. I have choices. Options. If one plan falls apart I just have to move on to the next.
‘Oh, Jesus, did you hear that?’ Alice said. ‘The poor man’s wife has only just had a baby. That’s so tragic.’
Indeed it was, Rosa thought. But then tragedy was part of life. Part of the whole goddamn cycle we were all caught up in. It couldn’t be avoided, so there was no point making a deal of it. You just have to move on. Put it behind you. Accept that everything happens for a reason.
It was what they drummed into her after she found the blood-spattered bodies of her mother and father. And it was what she’d believed to be true ever since.
She was back in the hotel room by eleven o’clock. After changing out of last night’s clothes she spent the next couple of hours in her bra and panties going over the notes she’d made the previous day.
She crossed Dave Prentiss off the list of names she’d been given and reminded herself how she intended to approach the next two hits.
At the same time she worked out contingencies, knowing that she would probably have to adapt her plans as she went along. She could no longer predict where her targets would be because now they would all be worried and therefore taking precautions.
She left the TV on, tuned to the news, and
nothing she heard gave her cause for concern. And neither did it make her feel guilty. That was a pointless emotion, which in her line of work could not be indulged.
So what if the detective she’d shot had just become a father? She hadn’t known the guy so why should she care?
Plus, it was Roy Slack who bore responsibility for what had happened and for what was going to happen. He had issued the death sentences. She was simply acting on his instructions, upholding her end of the contract.
But she wondered how many killings he’d allow her to carry out before he called a halt. Did he have the balls to let it go to double figures? If he didn’t stop her, and she stayed for two weeks, that would be fourteen hits if she managed one a day, which was, in all honesty, pushing it.
By Mexican standards it wasn’t a lot. The murder rate in Tijuana alone was three a day. A year ago, during the course of just one week, thirty people were executed – ten cops, twelve cartel members and eight soldiers. And it wasn’t uncommon for the authorities there to uncover mass graves where all the victims had been decapitated.
But this was London. Not Tijuana. And not Mexico. And although it was evident that Roy Slack did not have much of a conscience, she wasn’t sure he had enough ice in his veins to let it go too far.
Carlos Cruz, on the other hand, had once got his people to slaughter an entire police unit of twenty men and women because none of them was prepared to take a bribe.
Rosa still couldn’t figure out why Slack thought that what he was doing was a good idea. Surely he would eventually come to his senses and realise that it could only be counter-productive in the long term. Even if the police never discovered that he was the man behind it, the repercussions for the city’s gangs were going to be dramatic.