The Rebel

by Jaime Raven

  She’d already checked out DI Laura Jefferson’s house in Balham, but she intended to have another look this afternoon before returning much later to carry out the execution. And Roy Slack had sent her details late last night of someone else he wanted taken out. The name wasn’t on his list but he’d stressed that he wanted the job done asap.

  It wasn’t a big deal. Rosa had been given the target’s home address and fortunately it wasn’t far from where she was right now. So she would recce it after her visit to Balham.

  The wall-mounted TV came on as Rosa pointed the remote at it. The first thing they saw was the outside of Marion Nash’s bookshop in Clapham. Then it cut to a photo of her with her detective husband.

  After that there was a short clip of CCTV footage that showed a figure in a dark overcoat and baseball cap entering the shop. The reporter said that the person was believed to be the killer.

  Rosa had to bite her bottom lip to keep from smiling. The sequence would be completely useless as far as the investigation went because she couldn’t possibly be identified from it.

  ‘I hope whoever that is rots in hell,’ Alice said. ‘If I could send him there myself I would.’

  Rosa had already been to hell and back but she couldn’t tell Alice that. In fact she couldn’t tell Alice anything about herself. She could only lie. It was what she always did.

  ‘Will I see you tonight?’ Alice asked.

  They were both dressed and ready to leave the apartment.

  Rosa pouted her lips. ‘Are you sure you’re not fed up with me?’

  Alice grinned. ‘What do you think?’

  Rosa reached out and stroked Alice’s cheek.

  ‘I think we should make the most of these two weeks,’ she said. ‘And I want you to know that I’m having the time of my life.’

  Alice was clearly delighted. She grabbed Rosa’s arm, pulled her close, and gave her a long, hard kiss on the mouth.

  Rosa felt something stir inside her. It was a feeling she wasn’t accustomed to and she wasn’t even able to identify it.

  Was it a genuine crush? Or perhaps a more subtle form of affection for a woman who made her heart race?

  Whatever it was, it felt good as well as strange.

  ‘We should do something different tonight then,’ Alice said. ‘Why don’t we have dinner together? I know this lovely restaurant. It’s near here and it’s cosy and romantic and—’

  ‘It’s a date,’ Rosa said.

  ‘Fantastic. I’ll make the reservation for eight o’clock. Would that be OK?’

  Rosa nodded. ‘It should be.’

  ‘Well, if you’re held up just call me.’

  But Rosa was determined that she wouldn’t be late for the first dinner date she’d had in years. And to help ensure that she’d be on time she decided to visit Laura Jefferson’s house earlier than she had planned to.

  If the detective wasn’t home by then, she would simply kill the boyfriend instead. He was bound to be there.

  35

  Laura

  So Roy Slack apparently referred to the death of Terry Malone as ‘the final straw’.

  Naturally this had got me wondering. The first call I made was to the detective in the NCA who had mentioned it in his report.

  His name was Julian Wheeler and he confirmed that his informant had been adamant that Slack had said it at Malone’s wake. He added that the guy was one of his most reliable snouts.

  I chose not to believe that it was simply an off-the-cuff remark. It was too loaded. Too full of menace. It was what people said when they’d had enough of a situation or a sequence of events and had decided to do something about it.

  So the questions I now wanted answers to were:

  Did the death of Terry Malone at the hands of a police officer trigger an angry reaction from Roy Slack?

  Did he regard it as the latest in a catalogue of grievances against the police?

  And did he decide to vent his fury, first by arranging for the officer in question to be kidnapped or killed, and then through a final, desperate act of vengeance against the Met itself before the cancer claimed him?

  It would certainly explain why the task force had been targeted and we’d received that absurd ultimatum. He would have known that the Met wouldn’t dare close the unit down or allow the detectives to step back from it. But he would also have known that we’d be put in an invidious position once the killings began.

  Jesus.

  It might have been a pretty far-fetched theory but that didn’t mean it wasn’t entirely plausible. And the more I studied Slack’s file the more convinced I became that I was onto something.

  The old villain was on record as saying that he held the police responsible for the deaths of his wife and father.

  His wife died after she crashed her car into a bus on the way to see him at a police station after he was arrested. According to the detectives who broke the news to him, Slack flew into a rage and blamed them.

  Then after his father was stabbed to death in prison he told a newspaper that it was the fault of the police. He claimed his dad was serving time only because detectives had planted evidence against him in order to get a conviction.

  My thoughts were racing now and I kept coming back to the phrase that Slack had allegedly used at Malone’s funeral wake.

  The final straw.

  Did it mean that Terry Malone was more to Slack than just a low-level employee? Was that why he attended his funeral and said what he did? And was it also why the copper who had killed Malone in the raid had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared?

  I spent the next hour finding out as much as I could about Terry Malone. He’d been on the scene for a few years apparently. He had worked as a drugs dealer for the Romanians in North London before the task force snared his bosses. He’d then been recruited by Slack’s South London firm, ostensibly to work as a bouncer at one of his night clubs.

  He had a girlfriend, Amy, and she was pregnant with his baby before she had the miscarriage on the night he was shot.

  His mother had died about eight months ago and there was no record of his father.

  I realised that I needed to know more about him if I was going to establish whether or not his death had indeed played a part in triggering the nightmare that was now engulfing us.

  I decided to start by talking to his girlfriend. It took me half an hour to track her down. She was now living with her sister in Leeds but I managed to get her on the phone.

  She wasn’t very helpful, though. She said that as far as she knew Terry had not had a particularly close relationship with Slack.

  ‘He was just his boss,’ she said. ‘He had a lot of respect for Terry and Roy was good to him. He paid him well and Terry enjoyed working for the firm.’

  She then revealed something that I hadn’t been aware of – that Terry had returned home late on the night he was shot because he’d had a meeting with Slack at one of his clubs.

  ‘Terry was a bit tipsy because they’d been drinking champagne,’ she said. ‘And that stuff never agreed with him.’

  ‘Were they celebrating something?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Terry didn’t say. He just got into bed and that was when those crazy coppers barged in and shot him. And there was no need to. He wasn’t armed and he wasn’t a threat.’

  She was choking up so I brought the conversation to an end with a final question. Was there anyone else I could speak to who would know more about Terry?

  ‘You should try Eddie Fowler,’ she said. ‘He lived with Terry’s mum, Chloe. They were together for twelve years and he helped bring Terry up. They were pretty close.’

  ‘Any idea how I can contact him?’

  ‘Last I heard he was still at Chloe’s place in Stratford.’

  It didn’t take me long to get an address and phone number for Eddie Fowler. Or to discover that the bloke had form. A criminal records check revealed that while in his early thirties he did a stint in prison for burglary. He was now si
xty-one and on benefits. So I wasn’t surprised that he answered when I rang him on his home phone.

  I told him I was gathering information on Terry Malone and asked him if I could come and see him.

  ‘What exactly do you want to know?’ he said, and his voice had a northern lilt.

  ‘Anything you can tell me – in particular the nature of his relationship to the man he was working for at the time of his death.’

  ‘You mean Roy Slack?’

  ‘I do.’

  I sensed a moment’s hesitation before he said, ‘When were you thinking of coming?’

  ‘Right away if that’s possible. I can be there in half an hour.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting then.’

  I went straight to Drummond to tell him where I was going and what line of inquiry I was following.

  ‘I’m not sure where it will lead, guv,’ I said. ‘But nobody else has spoken to Eddie Fowler as far as I know. So he might be able to shed light on why Slack regarded Terry Malone’s death as the final straw.’

  ‘Go for it,’ Drummond said. ‘We’ve got sod all else in the way of leads. And get Marsden to go with you. DS Chappell is tied up making some calls on my behalf.’

  Tony Marsden was on his best behaviour as we headed towards East London in the back of a police patrol car for our own protection. He refrained from making any crude remarks or insensitive observations and listened intently as I filled him in on why we were going to see Eddie Fowler.

  ‘You told us yesterday that you thought it possible that Slack had decided to go out with a bang,’ he said. ‘So maybe you were right and it’s what this is all about.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s more believable than a bid to shut down the work of the task force,’ I said. ‘The guy’s no fool. He’ll know well enough that however many cops are killed we’ll still go all out to break up his empire and collar the scum who work for him.’

  We were still discussing it when we arrived at the rundown council estate where Eddie Fowler lived on the ground floor.

  He answered the door to us in his dressing gown and I wasn’t sure he was wearing anything underneath.

  ‘I was having a lazy day,’ he said as he led us into a small, untidy living room that stank of cigarette smoke.

  We introduced ourselves and he asked us why we were suddenly interested in Terry, and I told him we were with the task force that had become the target of a killer.

  ‘We strongly suspect that Terry’s former boss, Roy Slack, might be behind it,’ I said. ‘And if so then it’s possible that he decided to do what he’s doing because of what happened to Terry.’

  Fowler was a thin man who looked as though his best days were far behind him. His face had an orange tint and his eyes were patterned with broken veins.

  But he seemed pleasant enough, and after inviting us to sit down he explained that he was with Chloe Malone for twelve years and during that time got quite close to Terry.

  ‘He was always a bit of a handful,’ he said. ‘But I liked him. Both me and his mum tried to persuade him not to get into villainy but he didn’t listen. He enjoyed making easy money, and I could relate to that because I went down that same road when I was younger.’

  ‘We understand that Terry joined Slack’s firm soon after Chloe died,’ I said. ‘Is that correct?’

  He nodded. ‘At the time he was at a loose end. Your people had effectively cost him his job with the Romanians.’

  ‘And do you know if he approached Slack or Slack approached him?’

  There was a flicker of hesitation on his face. His eyes moved from me to Marsden and back to me.

  ‘What is it, Mr Fowler?’ I said. ‘Do you have information that you’re not sure you should share with us?’

  He cleared his throat and swallowed.

  ‘I can assure you that whatever you say will stay between us,’ I said. ‘This conversation is confidential.’

  He licked his lips. ‘OK, well, it was Slack who approached Terry because Chloe asked him to.’

  ‘Really? When was this?’

  ‘Three days before she died,’ he said. ‘She called him from the hospital and got him to go and see her.’

  I cocked an eyebrow. ‘Does that mean that Chloe knew him?’

  Another nod. ‘They went out together for a few months over twenty-five years ago.’

  ‘So did they stay in touch?’

  ‘No, they didn’t.’

  ‘So why did Slack feel obliged to do as she asked?’

  Fowler sucked in a breath. ‘Because she said she had something to tell him. Something she’d kept from him all those years. You see she never intended to break her silence but she wanted him to look out for Terry after she’d gone.’

  I felt my stomach muscles clench because I suddenly realised where this was going.

  ‘What was it, Mr Fowler?’ I said. ‘What was it she told him?’

  He left it a couple of beats before responding.

  ‘She told him that he was Terry’s father. And she gave him a letter that she wanted him to give to their son if he decided to step up to the plate and look out for the lad.’

  36

  Slack

  He was enjoying the view again, the one from his apartment balcony. The storm clouds had gone and the rain had eased to a fine drizzle.

  London was looking grey and damp. It was on days like this that Julie used to try to persuade him to move to somewhere abroad where it was always sunny and warm and the cops didn’t keep hassling them.

  He wished now with all his heart that he had taken her. They could have had many more years together. And she would have given him a reason to live now. A reason to fight the cancer and stay alive for even a few extra months.

  But she wasn’t here and neither was Terry, the son he had known for only the shortest time.

  Who wouldn’t be bitter in his shoes? Who wouldn’t be getting off on the mayhem and suffering he was causing?

  He imagined with glee the panic inside Scotland Yard, home of the Metropolitan Police. The top brass would be in a right old state and with every killing the pressure would mount. As they tried to hold things together the minions would be running around like headless chickens.

  They might well be convinced that he was responsible, but without proof there was fuck all they could do about it. And they weren’t going to get any proof. Just like they weren’t going to stop the bloodshed.

  Rosa Lopez, The Slayer, was too clever by half. She was making it seem so easy. He understood why Carlos Cruz described her as the best in the business. She was in a league of her own, streets ahead of all the other contract killers he’d had dealings with over the years. Those guys would probably have been reluctant to take on a job like this where there were multiple, high-profile targets.

  But Rosa Lopez had honed her skills in a country where mass murders were a feature of everyday life. Where assassins were tasked with killing entire families and large groups of people, including cops.

  So to her this assignment wasn’t so daunting, and he could not help but admire the business-like way she was going about it.

  The CCTV footage of her in the overcoat and baseball cap had made him laugh out loud. The Old Bill would be scratching their heads, unable to determine whether it was a man or a woman.

  He decided to call her up and tell her that she was doing a fantastic job. And to ask her how quickly she could eliminate the person whose name he had just added to the list. He was keen for it to happen as quickly as possible, but he appreciated that she would need time to plan it. He didn’t want her to rush it and risk making a mistake.

  She answered on the third ring and he said, ‘I just wanted to let you know that you’re doing a terrific job, Rosa. Keep up the good work and I’ll make sure there’s an extra bonus in it for you.’

  ‘That’s good to hear,’ Rosa said. ‘Is that the only reason you called me?’

  ‘No it isn’t.’

  ‘Then I’m guessing it’s about the name you sent to
me last night. The one you want added to the list.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I’m about to recce the target’s home. Once I’ve done that I’ll put a plan together with the aim of doing it tomorrow. Tonight’s hit is all worked out and in hand. It’ll happen in a matter of hours.’

  ‘You’re a star, Rosa,’ he said. ‘If there’s anything more you need then just let me know.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ she said.

  She hung up first and he went back inside, closing the balcony door behind him.

  He checked the time. One o’clock. He hadn’t yet decided how to spend the rest of the day. He was in no mood to do anything work-related. In fact he had already lost interest in everything other than his vendetta against the Old Bill.

  He could get Mike to drive him over to Jasmin’s place for a raunchy session with her. Or he could go and treat himself to a long lunch at one of his restaurants.

  But after giving it some thought he decided to hang around the apartment and watch the news reports of how the cops were struggling to deal with the crisis.

  A crisis that was set to get a whole lot worse over the weekend when Rosa delivered what would be a crushing blow to the very heart of the Met.

  37

  Laura

  It came as quite a shock to discover that Terry Malone had been Roy Slack’s son. But I had a feeling that it would have come as a much bigger shock to Malone himself.

  ‘According to Eddie Fowler, Chloe Malone broke her silence after all those years as soon as she learned she might have only a few days to live after her stroke,’ I told Drummond and the team when we returned to the office. ‘Fowler didn’t even know himself until she confessed to him in the hospital. She’d always insisted to him that she didn’t know who Terry’s father was.’

  ‘So why not take the secret to her grave?’ Drummond asked.

  ‘Because she was desperately worried about her son. She knew he’d never give up his life of crime and she felt he needed protection. And who better to provide it than the biggest face in the London underworld?’

  ‘So Slack just took her word for it that Terry Malone was her son?’