by Jaime Raven
I told my mother I’d call her back later in the day and just as I put the phone away Sergeant Wilks popped his head in. He said he was going off duty and a new security detail had taken up position in the corridor.
It should have reassured me, made me feel safer, but instead it sparked a fresh surge of anger. My chest started to feel tight, and a red mist clouded my vision.
‘What are you thinking, Laura?’ Aidan asked me.
I took a slow breath and said, ‘I’m thinking how much easier it would be to stop this if we didn’t have to abide by the law.’
Aidan frowned. ‘And if you were given free reign what would you do?’
I didn’t have to think about it. ‘I’d put thumb screws on Roy Slack and the heavies who protect him and I’d squeeze until they coughed up.’
If only to avenge the death of our unborn baby.
‘So why don’t your lot do just that if you’re so convinced he’s behind it – instead of spouting a load of bullshit about lack of evidence?’
‘Because we’re coppers, Aidan. Not criminals. And that’s a hard truth that villains like Roy Slack have been exploiting for decades.’
‘But it’s ridiculous. What if he’s too clever for you and you don’t find any proof? What then? Do you just accept that there’s nothing you can do about it? Christ, Laura, three police officers have already been murdered along with a woman whose only crime was being married to one. Another officer was shot and wounded just like me. And yet the bloke you believe hired the killer is free to orchestrate more carnage. It makes no bloody sense.’
To the general public, especially those who’d been victims of crime, it didn’t make much sense. It was the reason that as police officers we were often asked why men we knew to be major criminals were allowed to go on flaunting the law for years. They didn’t appreciate that reasonable suspicion and probable cause were not enough. In the UK you were presumed innocent until proven guilty.
One of the most frustrating cases I’d dealt with was that of a drug baron named Leon Fawkes who was acquitted of three gangland murders even though we knew he’d committed them. Each case fell apart because we failed to come up with sufficient evidence to convince the juries.
That was where we stood with Roy Slack. It was why I feared that there might be only one way to stop the killings – and that was for someone to take the law into their own hands.
I was also pretty sure that I wasn’t the only copper in the Met who was coming to the same conclusion in the wake of the Commissioner’s murder.
At 8am I went to the waiting room to check on the news.
I quickly discovered that quite a lot had happened overnight.
Detectives had established with a high degree of certainty that the sniper was indeed a woman, and that she had fired on Appleton Mews from a room on the fifteenth floor of the Sky Reach Hotel.
There was even security footage from inside the hotel of her walking up to reception and checking in. Predictably she kept her head down and avoided looking at the camera. But I didn’t need to see her face to know that she was the same woman who had shot Aidan. She had simply swapped her motorbike leathers for a dark raincoat, which she wore with the collar up.
There was also something not quite right about the blonde hair, which led me and others to believe that it was a wig.
A DCI Maurice Longford was interviewed by reporters outside the hotel and made an appeal for anyone who had seen the mystery woman to come forward.
‘A number of factors lead us to believe that she’s the assassin,’ he said. ‘She checked into the hotel a few hours before the Commissioner was shot and requested a room on the fifteenth floor facing Appleton Mews. She then vacated the room directly after the shooting and was seen leaving the hotel. We now know that the credit card that she used at check-in was a fake and the address she gave does not exist.’
I switched between the news channels. On Sky a reporter did a piece-to-camera outside 10 Downing Street and explained that the COBRA emergency committee would be meeting there soon to discuss how to deal with what was happening.
CNN carried an interview with the Mayor of London who described the death of the Commissioner as devastating.
‘This sustained attack on the Metropolitan Police is without precedent,’ he said. ‘The investigation into the shootings and the threats that have been made is now the biggest of its kind ever undertaken in London. During the night, officers carried out raids on dozens of homes and a number of arrests were made. We’re confident that inquiries will lead to the apprehension of the assassin and whoever she’s working with.’
I sat there, burning over his words, knowing that they gave false hope. Just because people had been arrested, it didn’t mean they’d be charged. They’d be questioned and held for a time before being released. And those with any connection to Roy Slack would be browbeaten and bribed.
But I was betting that Slack was playing this one close to his chest and that even most of his own people had been kept in the dark. It was almost certainly why no one had grassed him up despite the problems this was causing for the whole of the London underworld. The gangs had never been under so much pressure. They were all in the spotlight like never before. The disruption to their operations was costing them millions.
So surely if even a few knew the identity of the assassin at least one of them would have tipped the police off by now. Likewise if they could have provided us with evidence of Slack’s involvement we would have seen it already.
A number of senior Scotland Yard officers and politicians appeared on screen to pay tribute to the Commissioner. A statement was read out on behalf of his wife who said her grief was painful beyond words. And she described John Saunders as a devoted husband and loving father to their two daughters.
As I watched and listened, I could feel the anger building inside me, dangerously electric. I was the partner of one of the victims so I was expected to take time off and stay away from the investigation. But I now realised that there was no chance of that happening. Not in view of the miscarriage. And not with Aidan lying in a hospital bed, his life possibly changed forever by an assassin’s bullet.
I needed to get right back into the thick of it. Help find the woman responsible and the bastard who was paying her.
My original brief from DCS Drummond had been to go after Slack. So that was exactly what I would do – whether I was allowed to or not.
55
Rosa
They began their tour of London with a light breakfast at a café in Covent Garden. The sun was bright in the sky and it lifted the temperature a few degrees. It meant they were able to sit at an outside table.
Rosa was wearing one of Alice’s coats – a bright-red knee-length number with a designer label. Alice had also loaned her a scarf so she was more than comfortable.
Alice herself looked striking in a pale-blue puffer jacket and black jeans.
Rosa had never felt so content. This was a whole new experience and she was loving every minute of it.
Up to this point her life had been devoid of friendship and intimacy. She’d been a loner who had always preferred her own company. But now, for the first time, she realised what she’d been missing.
Already this morning she had done something that had blown her mind – it was the simple act of walking hand in hand with another woman. She’d never done it before because she’d never had a girlfriend. Never openly displayed her sexuality. Never felt the need to spend her spare time with anyone but herself.
Dispassionate sex in anonymous hotel rooms had always seemed enough, along with the thrill she got from her work.
It meant she had never had to lose control or have anyone discover the weaknesses that defined her. She’d adopted a simple philosophy early on and that was to embrace the fact that she wasn’t like most people. She was different. She had a lack of empathy for others, and no moral boundaries. It followed, therefore, that she had never been able to trust anyone.
But
now she was on the verge of doing just that. It felt both strange and exhilarating.
She looked across the table at Alice, who was nibbling delicately on a slice of buttered toast. Right now there was nowhere in the world she would rather have been. And no one she would rather have been with.
This woman with the boyish haircut and beautiful eyes had captured her heart and made her realise that she could be more than just a killing machine – that deep inside there was a whole range of feelings and emotions that had either been ignored or supressed for many years.
At last they were finding their way to the surface, but in so doing they presented Rosa with the biggest challenge she had ever faced.
‘First stop, Trafalgar Square,’ Alice said after they had finished breakfast. ‘Then we’ll walk along The Mall to Buck Palace. From there we’ll go to Oxford Street and I know a lovely restaurant where we can have some lunch. This afternoon we’ll visit the South Bank. How does that sound?’
‘Perfect,’ Rosa said. ‘And thank you for showing me around. I really appreciate it.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Alice said. ‘It’s my absolute pleasure.’
They held hands again as they walked from Covent Garden to Trafalgar Square. Rosa drank in the sights and sounds of London with all her senses.
Before coming here she could never have imagined herself doing something like this. But then she was no longer the same woman who had arrived from Acapulco a few days ago.
Then the only thing on her mind had been the assignment. How many people was she going to kill? How hard was it going to be? How soon could she return to Mexico?
Now she was focused on the future and the questions it raised were far more difficult to answer.
Was her love for Alice reciprocated? Would she be able to convince her that she was someone she wasn’t? Would Carlos Cruz try to stop her walking away from the cartel? And, if so, how should she react?
She tried to stop thinking about it and to just enjoy being with Alice. But it was like trying to push back against the tide.
Rosa fell in love again that morning, this time with London itself. The city had been growing on her since she first arrived.
Her initial impression had been less than favourable, but her opinion had changed. And as she walked through the West End she realised that she would like to live here.
It was such a diverse and vibrant city, drenched in history and teeming with life. There was no place in Mexico to match it.
Rosa was thrilled at the prospect of living here with Alice. What a time they would have together. There would be so much to do, to see, to share. The bars, the restaurants, the clubs, the stores. The very idea was enough to make her salivate.
‘Are you having a good time?’ Alice asked her as they approached Trafalgar Square.
Rosa laughed. ‘You may not believe this but it’s already turning into the best day of my life so far.’
Alice blushed, then pulled Rosa to a stop so that she could kiss her. It was meant to be a small kiss, a peck on the lips. But it lasted a good thirty seconds and drew attention from some of the people around them, including a uniformed police officer who actually stopped to look at them.
Rosa felt her body tense and for a moment she thought she might have to reach for the pistol that was concealed in her bag and use it before she’d planned to.
But then the cop smiled and went on his way, and Rosa breathed a huge sigh of relief.
She knew that he was just one of many cops she would see during the course of the day on the streets of London. All of them were potential targets, and one of them would soon become her next victim.
All Rosa had to do was seize the opportunity the moment it presented itself. And she was fully confident that it would at some point in the day.
56
Slack
He spent the morning nursing a hangover. But it wasn’t so bad that it stopped him gloating over the shitstorm he was causing.
It was all over the news. The tears, the grief, the shock, the chaos. It filled him with pride to think that he was responsible.
Over the years he had achieved a great many things. He’d built a criminal empire, made a fortune, avoided going to prison, dispensed with most of his enemies. But in terms of sheer satisfaction nothing compared to this.
It was the purest and sweetest form of revenge because it was on a grand scale. It would impact on every copper in the country. Cause widespread suffering. Make the bastards regret what they had done to his son, his grandchild, his wife, his father. And to him.
He could easily stop now and know that he had done what he’d set out to do. One call to the murderer from Mexico would put an end to it. But he’d been completely honest with her when he’d said he was having too much fun. He wanted to enjoy the last rollercoaster ride of his life for just a little longer. A few days maybe, or a week at the most. Then it’d be time to bow out.
He didn’t care that in the meantime his businesses would go on suffering, along with those of the other London firms. They were losing money big time as the Old Bill took out their anger and frustration on every villain in the capital.
Slack had already been contacted by several of the other bosses who had begged him to stop what he was doing. It was clear that none of them believed him when he’d said he had nothing to do with it.
He didn’t give a shit what they thought, though. They weren’t his friends and he didn’t owe them anything. It actually amused him to think that once Rosa started killing cops at random the pressure on the other outfits would probably increase tenfold.
He saw it as an inspired move on his part. Extending the bloodbath beyond the organised crime task force would generate even more panic and confusion.
On Sundays he always went to the restaurant below the office in Rotherhithe for a slap-up lunch. As far as he was concerned their roasts were the best in South London.
He arranged for Mike to pick him up at twelve o’clock. Then he had a shower and got dressed.
When he checked himself in the mirror he saw that his eyes were booze red and the pouches beneath them were darker than ever.
The hangover was all but gone, but the cancer was giving him some grief again. There was a gnawing ache in his stomach and lower back, and it felt like the blood was boiling in his veins.
He would try to ignore it as usual, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult even with the medication.
He called Danny to make sure he’d be joining him at the restaurant. Sunday was when he and his most loyal lieutenant got together to discuss any issues that had cropped up during the previous week. But today they’d be talking about things other than business.
‘The lads don’t know whether they’re coming or going,’ Danny said. ‘What happened to the Commissioner has freaked them out. They say everyone is pointing the finger at you, boss.’
‘So what have you told them?’
‘That it’s bollocks. I’ve said you wouldn’t be stupid enough to sanction such a high-profile hit that would cause enough heat to burn all our businesses to the ground.’
‘Well done, mate,’ Slack said. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘You’d be in trouble,’ Danny said. ‘Right now I’m the only friend you’ve got.’
‘And I appreciate it, Danny boy. I knew I could trust you, which was why I got you involved. And it’s why I want you to leave the country as soon as you can get yourself sorted. This’ll be over in a little while and I don’t want you around to take any of the flak. I’ll be transferring the other half million I promised into your offshore account tomorrow.’
‘Are you sure about that, boss?’
‘One hundred per cent. We can talk about it over lunch. But first there’s one final message I want you to send out. Have you got a pen.’
After dictating the message to Danny, Slack went out onto the balcony while waiting for Mike to arrive in the car.
It was a beautiful day. The air was cold and thin, sh
arp in his lungs, but the sun was shining with a vengeance.
He knew he wouldn’t see many more days like this. But that was OK because he was ready to close the curtains on his life before his deteriorating health made it insufferable.
As he looked out over London, he thought about the contents of his hidden safe. The suicide note and the gun. Ready and waiting for him to make his move.
He was quietly confident that when the time came he wouldn’t hesitate to put the pistol to his head and pull the trigger. It’d be quick and painless and would add to the mess he was going to leave behind.
It was a shame he wasn’t going to live to a ripe old age so that he could continue to enjoy the fruits of his labours – the fucking, drinking, gambling and lording it over his empire.
But fate had conspired against him and he’d been put on notice. Fortunately he still had control over the time and manner of his exit from the world. And at least that was something to be grateful for.
He started making a mental list of the things he wanted to do in the days ahead, such as visit his son’s grave and the park where his wife’s ashes were scattered. Shag Jasmine at least one more time. Have a final drink with Danny at one of the clubs. Write a letter in which he’d reveal that he killed Hugh Wallis in revenge for what he did to Terry.
That was as far as he’d got before Mike phoned him to say he was waiting downstairs.
Slack put on his overcoat and went down in the lift to the lobby. Samuel, the ageing concierge, bid him a good day. So did the burly doorman who received a regular retainer from Slack for tipping him off about anyone behaving suspiciously in or around the building.
Mike had the grey Merc today and he was standing next to it with the rear door open.
Slack paused on the pavement before getting in, squinting against the sun as he looked around for any sign of police surveillance. But he didn’t see anything and it made him wonder if they had given up the ghost. It wouldn’t have surprised him since they would have desperately needed the manpower elsewhere.