by Jaime Raven
‘Not quite,’ I said. ‘He obtained a sample of the lad’s DNA and got it checked out. And it confirmed what Chloe had said.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘It was one of the things that came up in a conversation between Fowler and Slack at Malone’s funeral.’
Fowler had explained to us that he approached Slack at the funeral to ask him if he’d revealed to Malone that he was his father.
‘Slack told him he’d broken the news just a couple of hours before Malone was shot,’ I said. ‘That was why they’d been drinking champagne at Slack’s club in the West End. He wanted Malone to look on it as a cause for celebration. He told the lad that when Amy gave birth to his grandchild he would make sure the family was well provided for. He also told Malone that he wanted him to be heir to his illicit empire.’
‘The timing is significant if you think about it,’ Tony Marsden said. ‘Malone was killed about the time Slack was diagnosed with terminal cancer. That’s probably why Slack decided to come clean when he did.’
It made sense and was enough to convince me that we were right to focus on Slack as our main suspect.
First he discovers he has a son and is about to become a grandfather. Then he finds out he’s not long for this world, which prompts him to tell Malone that he’s his dad. But on that very night Malone is gunned down by a police officer during a raid on his home.
All this was piled on top of a pathological hatred for the police that had been built up over many years.
The final straw.
Drummond and the rest of the team now believed, as I did, that the case against Slack was stacking up. That it was looking increasingly likely that he had decided to seek revenge against the police following Malone’s death and Amy’s miscarriage.
But Drummond was at pains to point out that we still had no hard evidence.
‘I’m reluctant to bring him in again just to tell him that we know that Malone was his son,’ he said. ‘There’s an argument that he should have told us when he was questioned about the disappearance of the officer who shot Malone. But it’s not nearly enough to bring charges against him.’
And that was the problem. Slack’s fat lawyer would walk rings around us if we sought to prosecute Slack with nothing but circumstantial evidence.
‘We need much more,’ Drummond told us. ‘Find out who the killer is and link him to Slack. Prove that it’s Slack or one of his people who is sending out those text messages. Get someone to grass him up. Without some solid evidence we can’t touch the bastard and he knows it.’
Marsden and I pulled together a detailed account of our interview with Eddie Fowler. After feeding it into the system, Drummond told us both to go home and get some rest.
‘I’m quite happy to stay for a couple more hours, guv,’ I said. ‘There’s still a lot to go through in Slack’s file, especially the personal stuff. If I can just find—’
‘That can wait,’ he said. ‘You look knackered, and I’ve told you before that you can’t survive on adrenalin alone. Besides, I want everyone in bright and early tomorrow morning even though it’s Saturday.’
It was four o’clock and already dark outside. I was glad I didn’t have to join the hordes of commuters on the tube. A few security measures had kicked in and one was that wherever possible we had to travel around London in marked police vehicles.
On the way home I phoned Mum and was pleased to hear that she had arrived safely at Sylvia’s house in Ringwood, and they were now sharing a bottle of wine.
‘It’s very festive here,’ she said. ‘Sylvia has already put up her tree and decorations.’
I was reminded that in just under three weeks we were due to fly to Spain to spend Christmas with Aidan’s parents. I honestly didn’t think that would happen now, even if by some miracle this nightmare ended suddenly. I mentioned it to Aidan when I arrived home and he suggested we leave it a week before cancelling the flights.
He started preparing a light meal for us. Cheese on toast with lashings of brown sauce. It was one of my favourites, and as I started digging in I realised I hadn’t eaten all day.
‘I got a call from Balham police station this afternoon,’ he said. ‘They asked if I had any concerns about security and then arranged to give me a lift home from school. It was weird.’
‘But necessary,’ I said. ‘The car that’s parked out front will now be there until there’s no longer a threat.’
‘Well, I have to admit that I do feel safer knowing that it’s there.’
I told him that I was concerned we hadn’t done enough to secure the house.
‘I think we should call a locksmith and get them to fix stronger locks on the front and back doors,’ I said. ‘And we should install some motion-sensor lights as well.’
He agreed and said he would sort it over the weekend as I had to go to work.
The conversation was somewhat stilted because I was tired and Aidan was understandably nervous and uncomfortable. The strain was getting to us both and it was impossible to relax.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Dave Prentiss and Marion Nash. And those vile text messages.
‘Do you think there will be another murder tonight?’ Aidan asked me.
It was the same question every copper in London would be asking themselves. There had been two killings over two days. Did that mean the perp was planning to carry on at that rate?
‘I just don’t know,’ I said truthfully. ‘But it must be less likely now that there’s some form of protection for all those who’ve been threatened.’
But no amount of protection could stop anyone from falling victim to a determined hitman. I knew that and I was sure that Aidan did as well. But I chose not to say it out loud.
Instead I told him about our conversation with Eddie Fowler and what he’d revealed to us about Roy Slack.
But I was sorry I did because it provoked an angry reaction.
‘I can’t believe you haven’t locked the bastard up,’ he seethed. ‘If you think he’s the one behind this then you should have arrested him.’
‘It’s not as straightforward as that,’ I said. ‘We need proof and we don’t have it.’
‘You lock up suspected terrorists without proof,’ he said. ‘So what’s the difference?’
‘The difference is we know that Slack is not committing these murders. He’s under continued surveillance. And placing him in custody probably wouldn’t stop the killings or the threats anyway.’
‘Then how are you going to bring all this to an end, Laura? How high does the body count have to go before the police take some serious fucking action?’
I didn’t want to get into an argument so I stood up and started clearing the dishes. Aidan went to the fridge, took out a bottle of wine and poured some into a glass, which he carried into the living room. He was fuming and I didn’t blame him.
I decided to give him time to calm down before joining him. I filled the bowl with warm water and began washing up by hand since we’d only used a couple of plates.
And that was when I thought I heard something outside. It sounded like an object had been knocked over in the garden. My first thought was that next door’s cat had come through the fence and was skulking around again.
But then I suddenly experienced a twist of alarm. Supposing it wasn’t the cat? Supposing there was someone out there?
I felt every muscle in my body go stiff as I stepped quickly across the room to switch off the light, plunging the kitchen into darkness.
A few more steps and I was at the sliding glass door which gave access to the garden.
I looked outside and at the same time turned on the patio light. Doing that probably saved my life because the person who was out there on the lawn and pointing a gun at me was momentarily blinded.
He had to cover his eyes as he pulled the trigger, which buggered up his aim. The bullet tore into the door, shattering the glass, but it missed me.
My reaction was all instinct and panic. I
threw myself back across the room to where I’d left my pistol lying on the worktop.
I grabbed it and spun round just as the patio light was extinguished.
Without a moment’s hesitation I fired three shots in quick succession into the garden.
I heard the door behind me open and then Aidan’s voice.
‘Stay back,’ I screamed. ‘There’s someone out there.’
I saw flashes of light outside from the muzzle of a gun. I heard a bullet hit the cupboard door behind me. Another crashed into the front of the dishwasher.
The assailant couldn’t see me and was just firing into the darkness. So I crouched down behind the table and fired back. More glass shattered and the noise was deafening.
But suddenly I realised I was pulling the trigger on an empty weapon and that the assailant had retreated.
I gripped my fear and stood up. Then stepped forward cautiously. My shoes crunched on shards of glass and when I reached the door I peered outside and saw that there was nobody in the garden.
I heard shouting behind me and the sound of the front door being forced open. I assumed the two officers who’d been sitting out front in the patrol car were coming through. And I wondered why Aidan hadn’t let them in.
I got my answer a second later when two uniforms burst into the kitchen and one of them switched on the light.
I saw Aidan before they did. He was lying on his back on the floor and there was a big red stain on the front of his shirt where one of the bullets had entered his body.
38
Rosa
She was cursing out loud as she ran at full sprint along the alley.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
She could not believe what had just happened. Or how close she’d come to catching a bullet.
‘Fuck.’
Her breath thundered in her ears and hot bile burned in her throat.
‘Fuck.’
It should have been so easy. She’d checked it out two hours ago when the house had been empty. She’d discovered for herself that there were no sensor lights and no barking dogs to make things difficult.
She had then gone on to recce the location of the next hit. And in hindsight that had been a mistake because when she returned she vaulted over the wall at a different spot and landed on a pile of clay pots that had crashed to the ground and alerted Laura Jefferson to her presence.
So instead of creeping up to the kitchen and shooting the woman as she moved around inside, Rosa had been caught in the glare of the patio light.
It had distracted her, and as she fired that first shot she’d known it would miss the target. So she’d fired more but she hadn’t anticipated that Jefferson would herself be armed and able to return fire.
‘Fuck.’
So now she was having to run for her life back to where she’d left the bike, and she knew the cops wouldn’t be far behind. The two who’d been sitting in the car in front of the house would have been alerted and they would already be calling for backup.
The short alley opened out onto a residential street with lots of parked cars and thankfully no pedestrians that she could see. Rosa veered to the left and picked up speed along the sidewalk. Her breath came in short, painful gasps, and the blood thundered in her ears.
By running she knew she’d be drawing attention to herself, especially in her cycle leathers and woollen hat. But she had no choice. She had to get to the bike as quickly as possible.
If anyone was unfortunate enough to see her face then she would have to kill them. But she didn’t want to be forced to do that because she’d already made a big enough mess of things. And that was something she wasn’t accustomed to. She rarely made mistakes, which was why she was so highly rated. The best in the business.
But what had happened this evening would do nothing for her reputation. She had fucked up, and that had never happened before.
Luckily she reached the bike before encountering anyone. She jumped on it without bothering to get the helmet from the saddlebag.
A car drove slowly by as she started the engine, but she was pretty sure the driver didn’t look her way.
A second later she was on the move and sirens were shrieking from all directions as she sped through the unfamiliar back streets of Balham.
She fixed her jaw like a metal clamp and gave the road ahead her full attention.
Suddenly there were more cars and more people as she approached the main drag. She had to swerve to avoid a red bus. Then she was forced to mount the pavement when a van braked hard in front of her. Several people leapt out of her way and a woman screamed.
She steered back onto the road, darting between slow-moving vehicles. Horns blared and people shouted, but she kept going until the road ahead was clear.
She eased off the throttle, feeling safer, knowing that all she had to do was disappear down a quiet street where she could pull over and catch her breath. She would also check her phone to get her bearings, and then look for the quickest way back to Vauxhall and the hotel.
There were traffic lights up ahead, showing green. But just before she reached them they changed to orange, then red. Rosa did not want to stop so she gave it some revs and tore into the junction. But it proved to be a costly mistake on a day of costly mistakes.
A sleek black Mercedes sports car shot out from the road on the left as though from a racetrack grid.
Rosa didn’t see it until it was too late. She tried to veer away from it but the front fender caught her rear wheel and sent her into a wild spin.
A cry erupted from her throat as the bike hit the kerb and she was flung into the air.
She landed on the road with a painful thud right into the path of a pair of fiercely bright headlights that were bearing down on her.
39
Laura
I finally stopped screaming, but only because I suddenly realised that Aidan wasn’t dead.
The bullet had gone clean through his left shoulder, making a large hole and producing lots of blood.
But he was still breathing, still conscious.
‘You need to stay awake,’ I pleaded with him. ‘I’m with you. You’re going to be OK. An ambulance is on its way.’
It seemed obvious, even to my untrained eye, that no vital organs had been damaged. But the loss of blood worried me. It needed to be stemmed, and quickly.
I was on my knees cradling his head in my lap. His eyes were open and he was looking up at me, but I could tell they weren’t focused.
He tried to speak but no words came out. The panic was swelling in my chest, and awful scenarios were racing through my mind.
I couldn’t believe that this was happening. That the man I loved had been shot, hit by a bullet that had been meant for me.
I was only half aware of the commotion that was going on around me. Shoes stamping across the kitchen lino. Loud, strident voices. Police radio static.
My mind flashed on an image of the assailant in the garden as the patio light came on.
It had been so fleeting that very little had registered. Just what looked like a shiny black body suit and dark woollen hat pulled down across the assailant’s ears and forehead.
And the revolver that had been held in both hands and aimed at the kitchen door. And me.
The two officers from the patrol car had run into the garden and then climbed over the wall into the alley. But by then the assailant had fled into the labyrinth of streets on this side of Balham High Road.
Had an accomplice been waiting around the corner in a car? Was that car now speeding away from the area?
Why the hell was Aidan lying on the floor with a bullet in him and not me?
An officer told me that a fast-response paramedic had arrived outside. Another knelt beside me and talked to Aidan, urging him to keep his eyes open while holding onto his hand.
A third officer leaned over me and said that units were converging on the area and could I give him a description of the assailant?
It wasn’t easy. My thoug
hts were swimming in feverish circles and I was desperately fearful that Aidan was losing too much blood. But I tried because I knew it was important. I closed my eyes and seized on the image again.
‘I saw a figure standing in the garden just beyond the patio,’ I said. ‘But only for a fraction of a second. There was a revolver and it was pointing at the window.’
‘What was he wearing?’ the officer pressed.
‘Something black, like a body suit or motorcycle leathers. And a hat. A woollen hat.’
‘And the face? Did you see the assailant’s face?’
I squinted in concentration, searching for definition in the smudge of flesh I’d seen beneath the hat.
And then it hit me and my eyes snapped open and I said, ‘I can’t be sure but I think … I think it might have been a woman.’
40
Rosa
She was lucky to be alive and she knew it. Watching those headlights bearing down on her had been like staring death in the face. She really hadn’t expected to survive.
But, miraculously, the car had skidded to a halt just inches from where Rosa was lying on the road.
She was battered and bruised, and the pain was beating through her body. But it would have been much worse if she’d landed on her head or face instead of her left shoulder.
It was the fourth time she had come off a bike in the nine years she’d been riding them, and once again it was down to her own recklessness. She should have seen the sports car coming from the left. She shouldn’t have jumped the red light. It had been careless. Stupid.
‘Are you all right, miss?’ a man asked. ‘Can you move?’
She was sure that she could so she went for it, rolling carefully onto her back and forcing herself to sit up. It hurt like hell and she had to stifle a cry. But it convinced her that no bones were broken.
‘Thank goodness you’re OK,’ the man said.
She raised her head and saw a middle-aged guy with a short, grey beard.
‘I really didn’t think I’d be able to stop when you fell in front of me,’ he added.