by Jaime Raven
His phone buzzed at the same time and he snatched it out of his pocket to answer it. The gaffer had made two calls in quick succession after I’d shown him what I’d found on the pad. The first had been to the office where the team were told to check out what Carver had scribbled on the pad. The second had been to the Assistant Commissioner who had asked to be informed of any significant developments. And this was most definitely that.
I placed the pad on the worktop and studied it again.
Maria Rodriquez
Flight BA242
Terminal 5
Bridges
I’d discovered through a quick online check that BA242 was a scheduled service that ran most days between Mexico City and Heathrow. It departed late at night and, with the time difference, arrived in London just after four o’clock in the evening the following day.
Officers were now onto British Airways to find out if and when a Maria Rodriquez had been a passenger.
It might not have been conclusive evidence, but my gut was telling me that Maria Rodriquez must be The Slayer, and that she had come here at the behest of Roy Slack.
In a way it made perfect sense because he wouldn’t have wanted to recruit someone who might be on the radars of UK and European law enforcement agencies.
It was my guess he had exploited his links with the Sinaloa cartel to enlist the services of a seasoned professional. Someone who wouldn’t flinch at the idea of killing police officers.
And the woman known as The Slayer fitted the bill. From what I’d read online she was the stuff that legends were made of.
Had she really killed more than fifty people? If so then she was obviously a bloodthirsty psychopath. And she clearly enjoyed what she did because she must have been doing it for years.
I was well aware of how bad things were in Mexico and how the sheer scale of violence and corruption was beyond belief. I also knew that the wars between the various cartels had encouraged a large number of people, mostly men, to become contract killers.
But it was still hard for me to understand how any woman could embark on a career that entailed slaughtering dozens of strangers.
Maria Rodriquez clearly wasn’t her real name and we’d probably find that she had entered the country on a false passport.
So what was her real name? Who was The Slayer? Was she a wife? A mother? How old was she? What made her become a killer in the first place? The questions were snowballing in my head.
Drummond came off the phone and said, ‘That was the office. British Airways have confirmed that a Maria Rodriquez was on flight 242 that arrived at Heathrow from Mexico City on Tuesday. We’ve contacted the Border Agency and passport and landing card details are being sent over.’
‘Tuesday was when we received the first text message,’ I said. ‘And the day before Dave Prentiss was shot.’
He nodded. ‘It’s looking like the risk you took in coming here is paying off, Laura.’
‘Let’s hope so, guv. I just wish we could get Carver to open up. He must know we’ve got him bang to rights.’
‘And that’s the problem. He’s afraid of digging a deeper hole for himself. I’m having him sent back to the Yard. He might be forthcoming once he’s talked to his lawyer.’
‘What about the word Bridges?’ I said. ‘We still don’t know what it refers to.’
‘The team are all over it. They’re checking roads, houses, firms and names. I’ve told them to get back to me the moment they get a sniff of something.’
‘So what do we do in the meantime?’
He waved his hand. ‘We turn this place inside out. See what else we can find.’
Within half an hour the house was packed with people. More uniforms arrived along with scene of crime officers and techies from the cyber-crime unit, who got straight to work on Carver’s smartphones and computer.
When I realised it was almost eleven o’clock I felt a sudden pang of guilt and rushed outside to phone the hospital. Thankfully Aidan was awake, having slept for most of the evening, and he assured me that there was no need to apologise for not calling sooner.
‘I’ve heard about the police woman who was shot tonight on the South Bank,’ he said. ‘They’re saying on the news that it’s believed to be the same killer.’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘It’s dreadful. But at least we’re closing in.’
I filled him in on what had happened, skipping the gory details, and he said he was proud of me for using my own initiative.
I would have carried on talking but a uniformed officer appeared at my side and told me that DCS Drummond wanted me to go back into the house.
‘I have to go, Aidan,’ I said. ‘Please try to get a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘I love you, Laura,’ he said.
‘And I love you too.’
Drummond was waiting for me in the kitchen and I could see from his face that he was gagging to tell me something. He held up a plastic evidence bag containing what looked like one of Carver’s smartphones.
‘We’ve got the bastard,’ he said, a triumphant note in his voice. ‘The text messages to us were sent from this phone, which we’ve managed to get into. Carver hasn’t bothered to delete them and I suspect that was because he didn’t think this would ever fall into our hands.’
‘Is there any evidence to suggest that Slack put him up to it?’ I asked.
‘Not yet, but if we don’t find it I’m sure we can persuade Carver to rat on his boss. He won’t want to take the fall by himself.’
Drummond’s own phone rang again and he answered it. As he listened, I watched how his features tightened and his posture changed. I wondered if he was being given good or bad news.
When he hung up, he looked at me and said, ‘The team have had a result with the word Bridges. It’s not a person or a house. It’s a hotel called Bridges over in Vauxhall. It came up in an online search and someone had the good sense to ring the place to see if they had any guests named Maria Rodriquez. And they do.’
‘My God.’
‘We have to go straight there,’ he said. ‘You come with me. Leave your car here and you can pick it up later.’
68
Rosa
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ Rosa said. ‘I can’t hold it in any longer.’
Alice rolled over on the bed so that they were facing each other.
‘I’m all ears, babe,’ she said, smiling. ‘What is it?’
They were both breathing heavily, and their naked bodies glistened with perspiration. That was because they’d been going at it since they’d arrived back at the apartment an hour ago. Another blast of sensational sex that had left them both satisfied but exhausted.
It was now almost midnight, and Rosa felt she couldn’t let the day end without saying what she’d wanted to say all evening. She knew it was a risk and that it might cause the most wonderful day of her life to end in disaster.
But she had to get it off her chest because if she didn’t she knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
‘So come on, babe,’ Alice said, her smile faltering. ‘What is it you want to tell me?’
Rosa put a hand against Alice’s cheek, and as she did so she felt the skin tighten at the back of her neck.
‘I’ve fallen in love with you, Alice,’ she said. ‘I realise we’ve only known each other for a few days and that’s why I’ve been afraid to tell you. But it’s driving me crazy wondering if you feel the same or if for you this is no more than a short fling.’
Rosa steeled herself for Alice’s response, and the nerves fluttered in her stomach.
For several seconds Alice said nothing, and Rosa feared that she had made a terrible mistake.
But then Alice spoke, her voice a soft whisper. ‘I can’t imagine why you look so worried, Maria. Surely it must be bloody obvious that I feel the same way about you.’
Rosa’s heart exploded. ‘Do you really mean that?’
Alice laughed. ‘I’ve
been smitten from the moment we met. I’ve never felt like this with anyone. And it’s scaring me because I’ve always been led to believe that it can’t happen so quickly.’
‘Then we have to decide whether we should trust our feelings,’ Rosa said.
‘Well, I can only tell you that if feels right to me. And if it feels right to both of us then surely that’s all that matters.’
Rosa felt the breath of Alice’s words on her face, the faint whisper of something sweet.
‘I thought I was in love once before,’ Alice continued. ‘But it wasn’t like this. I feel like I’m under your spell.’
Rosa grinned. ‘That’s because I’m a wicked witch.’
Alice shook her head. ‘I like to think I’m a good judge of character and I can tell you’re a kind and generous person. You don’t have a wicked bone in your body.’
‘But you don’t really know me,’ Rosa said.
‘So what? I see that as a good thing. It means there’s so much more for me to find out.’
And none of it will be the truth, Alice. Everything you’re going to learn about Maria Rodriquez will be a lie. It can’t be any other way. You can never know who or what I really am. I can’t tell you about the people I’ve killed or the lives I’ve destroyed. Or about the abuse I suffered as a little girl and what I did to the man who adopted me.
If you knew all that then there’s no way you would ever love me or want to be with me. You would probably hate me and I couldn’t bear that. So we’ll both have to live with the lies if this is to work.
But it won’t be a problem, Alice, because what you don’t know can’t hurt you.
‘So what now?’ Alice said as she snuggled closer to Rosa. ‘We’ve declared our love for each other and that’s fantastic. We now have to decide where we go from here.’
‘Actually I’ve already given that a lot of thought,’ Rosa said. ‘And I’ve decided to leave my job and move to London.’
Alice couldn’t believe it. She started shedding tears of joy as Rosa pulled her close and held her against her chest.
After a few minutes Rosa felt hot tears break free from her own eyes. She hadn’t cried in years and she saw it as yet another sign that she was becoming a different person thanks to Alice.
69
Laura
Bridges Hotel occupied a nondescript building on Kennington Lane, close to Vauxhall Bridge.
We arrived at the same time as an armed tactical support team. Officers wearing combat helmets and visors, and carrying automatic weapons, emerged from the back of an armoured van. They trooped along the pavement and into the hotel in a matter of seconds. Drummond and I followed them inside after they gave us the all-clear.
It was a typical no-frills establishment, providing three-star accommodation for tourists and business people on a budget. There was a small reception desk and behind it stood a young man wearing a smart white shirt and a shocked expression.
The officers spread themselves out around the room – in front of the lift, at the bottom of the stairs, next to a door leading to a dining area. There was no sign of any guests and that was a relief.
Drummond marched straight up to the desk and showed the receptionist his ID.
‘I’m Detective Chief Superintendent Drummond,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Lionel Wren, sir. I’m the night manager.’
‘Well, I’m sorry we’ve alarmed you, Mr Wren, but we’re here to arrest one of your guests. Her name is Maria Rodriquez. She’s dangerous and possibly armed. So tell me which room she’s in.’
Lionel Wren just stood there with his mouth open, his eyes out on stalks.
Drummond raised his voice and brought his fist down on the desk.
‘Please answer me, Mr Wren. Maria Rodriquez. Which room?’
Wren snapped to attention and said, ‘It’s room twenty-two on the fourth floor. But I don’t think she’s in. I haven’t seen her since I came on at five o’clock. Plus Miss Rodriquez instructed us not to go into her room, even to clean it, during her stay.’
‘Which is for how long?’
‘She told us she’s not sure but the room has been booked and paid for in advance for two weeks.’
‘OK. Now I need a key to room twenty-two.’
Wren produced a master key card from a drawer below the desk and handed it over.
Drummond then said, ‘In sixty seconds I want you to call the room and let it ring until someone answers. It’ll either be Maria Rodriquez or one of us. Have you got that?’
Wren nodded.
I stepped forward and pointed to a security camera high up on the wall to the right of the desk.
‘How long do you keep the footage from the camera?’ I asked him.
‘A week,’ Wren said.
‘In that case while we’re upstairs we’d like you to look through the tape and cue it up on a shot of Maria Rodriquez. Can you do that?’
‘Sure.’
Drummond then turned to the officer leading the tactical unit, gave him the key card and said, ‘Over to you. Fourth floor. Room twenty-two.’
The firearms team went about their task with military efficiency. Four of them hurried up the stairs and Drummond and I followed. The rest of the team remained in the reception area.
On the fourth floor the officers moved quietly along the corridor and arrived at room twenty-two just as the phone started to ring inside.
It continued ringing for a full minute before the team leader signalled that he was going in.
He inserted the key in the slot and pressed down on the handle. Then he pushed the door open and stepped back while shouting, ‘Police, police! Stay where you are!’
There was no response from inside, and the only sound was the phone ringing.
The team leader peered into the room and then stepped inside and turned on the light. The rest were right behind him.
‘All clear,’ one of them called out almost immediately as the phone was picked up to stop it ringing.
I entered the room behind Drummond just as other guests started to appear in the corridor and the officers had to tell them to go back inside their rooms.
Room twenty-two was pretty basic. A double bed, fitted wardrobe, TV, dressing table and en-suite bathroom. The bed hadn’t been made properly but it didn’t look as though it had been slept in recently.
We donned our latex gloves and started looking around. And it wasn’t long before we discovered what Maria Rodriquez looked like.
We also found proof that she was indeed the female assassin who had brought terror to London.
70
Laura
It didn’t take us long to carry out a thorough search of the room. But the first thing that struck us was what was actually missing from it. There were no toiletries or make-up and no toothbrush in the bathroom.
But there were clothes in the wardrobe, along with a travel bag on wheels. It made us believe that the woman was sleeping elsewhere but planned to return before checking out.
‘Maybe she’s staying overnight with someone she knows,’ Drummond said. ‘Might even be in a hotel or apartment down near the South Bank, which is why she came across the officer in the patrol car.’
We didn’t dwell on this because our attention became focused on the small safe resting on one of the shelves in the wardrobe. It was locked and a combination number was needed to open it.
The night manager was summoned, and he unlocked it using an override code. That was when things became really interesting.
The safe contained an Apple iPad, three passports, two wigs, a key on a ring and a white envelope.
The passport photos were all the same and of an attractive woman with long black hair. But there were three different names, one of which was Maria Rodriquez.
I had to admit she was a stunner. She reminded me of those hot Latina girls who often graced the covers of fashion magazines. She had soft features, olive skin, full lips and sultry eyes. It was beyond me why someone lucky
enough to be so beautiful would choose to become a contract killer.
And the evidence to prove that she was indeed the woman we were looking for was laid bare on a sheet of paper inside the envelope.
It was a typewritten list of names, addresses and contact details of all the detectives on the organised crime task force, along with many of our relatives, wives, husbands and partners. My name was there and so was Drummond’s. And there were ink lines through two of the names – Dave Prentiss and Marion Nash. However, the Commissioner’s name wasn’t on the list and I wondered if it had been added as an afterthought.
Also, there was nothing to indicate who the next victim was going to be.
‘I’m assuming this was provided by the mole inside the Met,’ I said. ‘It’s terrifying to think that she was planning to work her way through it.’
At the bottom of the list was a web address. Drummond opened up the iPad, which wasn’t locked, and typed the address into the search engine.
What appeared shocked us both. There were several pages of photographs of most of those on the list, including me, Drummond, Aidan and my mother. It seemed they’d been copied from various social media sites and in the case of some of the detectives, from newspaper features.
The iPad also revealed that she had used Google Maps to check out the addresses, including my home in Balham. It was all very disturbing. I had to close my eyes and will myself to think clearly.
‘There’s still nothing to link the bitch to Roy Slack,’ Drummond said. ‘Except Danny Carver.’
‘I reckon this is enough to be getting on with, guv,’ I said. ‘Evidence will turn up, I’m sure.’
The investigation had taken a huge leap forward. The assassin was still out there, perhaps stalking her next victim, but we knew who she was. And what she looked like.
‘Why do you think she has this?’ Drummond said, holding up the key ring from the safe.
The plastic fob enclosed a photo of the outside of a pub and the words Three Crowns, Vauxhall.
The name rang a bell with me. ‘We drove past that pub on the way here, guv. It’s about two hundred yards along the road.’