by Jaime Raven
‘Then we should check it out. She’d have had this for a reason. It could be that she was booked into this hotel because of its proximity to the pub.’
We went back downstairs. By now more police had arrived, including detectives and uniforms from the local division who asked Drummond to put them in the picture. He did so in the back office while we all viewed the CCTV footage of Maria Rodriquez, or whatever her name was, on a monitor.
‘This was when she arrived at the hotel last Tuesday,’ the night manager said. ‘As you can see she was accompanied by a gentleman. He’s the one who made the reservation over the phone and popped in earlier that day to pay up front in cash for two weeks.’
The man was Danny Carver, and he stood to one side as the woman showed her passport and checked in.
The picture quality was excellent and so we had a very clear shot of her face. We got the manager to freeze it as she approached the desk.
Maria Rodriquez was indeed a looker and had a figure to match. She wore a leather jacket, torn jeans and a tight brown sweater, and I realised that her passport photo did not do her justice.
‘We have to make a decision,’ Drummond said. ‘Do we release this to the media or keep it to ourselves and wait here for her to show.’
‘We have to get it out there, guv,’ I said. ‘For one thing we can’t be sure she’ll come back here. And we don’t know if Slack will be tipped off by his mole, in which case she’ll be gone.’
He nodded. ‘I agree.’
He turned to one of the other detectives and told them to sort it.
‘I want a photo and video clip across every TV news bulletin as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘And see if we can get something in the late editions of the morning papers.’
After a quick conflab it was decided that forensics would move into room twenty-two, but that we’d maintain a low profile outside the hotel.
‘We watch and wait just in case she turns up,’ Drummond said.
Several armed officers were told to remain inside the hotel while others were instructed to take up discreet positions outside.
‘The rest of us are going down the pub,’ he added.
The Three Crowns was a typical London pub and looked as though it had been around for years. There were lights on inside even though it was almost one thirty on Monday morning.
The main entrance faced onto Kennington Lane and there was another entrance around the back. The team covered all bases before knocking on the door. They couldn’t take any chances because of the possibility that Maria Rodriquez was inside.
In the event the only people on the premises were the landlord, whose name was Jack Pickering, and his wife Mandy. They were still clearing up after a long day.
They were both middle-aged and plump. He had a hard, lined face and a beer belly, and she was painfully thin with skin that sat in folds beneath her eyes.
Drummond made them sit in the bar as officers searched the place. He then piled in with questions while they were still reeling from the shock.
They both denied knowing anyone named Maria Rodriquez. But the husband flinched slightly when he was shown the woman’s passport photo.
‘Think carefully before you answer, Mr Pickering,’ Drummond warned him. ‘The woman is wanted on multiple counts of murder. She claimed her latest victim – another police officer – earlier this evening not too far from here. If we find out later that you lied to us you’ll be in deep, deep trouble.’
Pickering hesitated, then looked at his wife before he spoke. ‘She was here a few days ago. But only the one time.’
‘Who was she with?’
He swallowed, took a deep breath, said, ‘Whatever’s going on I’ve not been involved. I just run this pub.’
‘So who was she with, Mr Pickering?’
He looked at his wife again, and this time she grabbed his arm and said, ‘Tell them, Jack. Don’t let that bastard drag you into something as bad as this.’
Pickering nodded and turned back to Drummond.
‘She was here with Roy and Danny,’ he said.
‘You mean Roy Slack and Danny Carver?’
He nodded again. ‘Roy owns this boozer. I just work for him. He was here alone and then she arrived with Danny. They were only here for about forty-five minutes.’
‘And then where did they go?’
He shrugged. ‘I dunno. They left.’
Drummond held up the key ring taken from the hotel safe.
‘The woman had this with her. What does it open?’
Pickering frowned. ‘It’s the key to the garage out back. I’m under strict orders never to go in there. So I don’t.’
I didn’t believe him, but that was something we’d come back to later. First we needed to look inside that garage.
The contents of the garage came as a shock to all of us. It was an assassin’s lair, and it caused a wave of nausea to wash over me.
‘This is fucking unbelievable,’ Drummond said, and he wasn’t wrong.
The motorbike took up much of the space, but my eyes moved directly beyond it to a large table. On it there was a semi-automatic sniper rifle, no doubt the one used to kill the Commissioner. There was also a large commando knife, a garrotte and three mobile phones.
The only thing missing was the person who had been making use of them.
‘There’s enough stuff here to keep forensics busy for a month,’ Drummond said.
But we didn’t need forensics to tell us that we’d hit the jackpot. We now had all the evidence we needed to arrest and charge Roy Slack and to make sure that he spent the last days of his life banged up in a prison cell.
‘Let’s go collar the lying bastard,’ Drummond said. ‘And if we get really lucky we might find that he’s shacked up with the biker bitch.’
71
Slack
He was dreaming about Terry Malone, the son he had scarcely known. They were sitting next to the pool at the villa in Spain, sipping beers while Terry’s wife Amy frolicked in the water with the baby.
They were having such a great time, away from killer cancers and trigger-happy coppers.
He was telling the boy about his life, about his wife Julie, about his mum and dad, and about how he had built his vast criminal empire from scratch.
‘This villa will be yours one day, Terry,’ he was saying. ‘Along with the firm and everything else I own. And you can pass it all on to my grandchild.’
But as with most of his dreams it ended suddenly and unpleasantly.
He heard Amy scream, and darkness replaced the sunlight. Then he saw himself standing over Terry’s grave as the coffin was being lowered into the ground. He felt the anger rise up inside him and the tears gush from his eyes.
And then he was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by coppers in uniform who were laughing at him, taking the piss, telling him he’d got what he deserved and they hoped his cancer-riddled body would rot in hell.
But in response he just sat back against the pillows and smiled at them, because in the end he knew that he would have the last laugh.
The ringing of the phone woke him, and he was surprised to find that he was still on the armchair in the living room. The lights and the TV were on and his dressing gown was sprinkled with ash from the cigar he’d smoked before falling asleep.
On the coffee table in front of him was an empty glass and the bottle of Scotch with the top still off.
He looked at his watch and groaned when he saw that it was only one thirty in the morning.
The phone was on the carpet next to the chair so he had to lean over to get it and stretching send a bolt of pain shooting up his arm and across his shoulders.
He realised then that he hadn’t done himself any favours by dozing off in the chair soon after Rosa had messaged him to say that she’d taken out another cop. He should have gone to bed, stretched out, and made himself as comfortable as possible.
‘Hello,’ he barked into the phone.
‘It’s me, Roy. Tha
nk God you answered.’
It was his mole in the Met and he felt a burst of irritation.
‘Do you know what fucking time it is?’ he ranted.
‘Just listen to me, Roy. They’re on their way to arrest you. They know everything.’
Slack felt his heart plunge in his chest.
‘What do you mean by everything?’
‘They’ve taken Danny Carver in and they know who you hired to carry out the killings. They raided her hotel room in Vauxhall and they found her bike and weapons in a garage next to a pub that you own.’
‘Has she been nabbed as well?’
‘No. They don’t know where she is.’
‘Well, that’s something at least.’
‘Look, Roy, I’m begging you to keep me out of it. I’ve done everything you asked me to. So please don’t drop me in it.’
‘Do you think I give a fuck about you?’ he raged. ‘You’re one of them. You’re a copper and you’re as fucking corrupt as they come. So I’m gonna make sure that it all comes out, including the fact that you got me to kill someone for you.’
‘Roy, please. Don’t. I can’t—’
He cut the connection. He wasn’t prepared to listen to any more pathetic drivel. There were more important things to concern him now. If they were coming for him then this was it. Time to bow out. He felt sorry for Danny and he was curious to know how the Old Bill had put it all together. How the fuck had they traced Rosa to the hotel in Vauxhall? And how had they found their way to the pub?
It was a bummer, but at the end of the day it didn’t really matter. He’d got his revenge on the Met and that had been his aim.
He decided to use his phone one last time and sent a brief message to Rosa.
The police are onto you. Good luck and thanks for everything. Sorry you won’t get the bonus I promised. Suggest you disappear.
He went out onto the balcony and hurled the phone into the Thames so that the police wouldn’t get their hands on it.
Next he hurried into the bedroom and put on his most expensive shirt and a pair of smart trousers. He then went into the kitchen and opened the safe hidden behind the tiles.
He took out the gun and two envelopes. He left his knuckleduster inside, along with a plastic folder with documents pertaining to all the properties he owned, some of which the cops knew nothing about.
Finally he returned to the living room and placed the gun and the envelopes on the coffee table.
Before sitting back in the armchair he picked up the framed photo of his late wife from on top of the drinks cabinet and gave her a kiss.
‘I’ll be with you soon, sweetheart,’ he said.
When he was seated again, he held the photo in one hand and the gun in the other.
And waited for the filth to arrive.
72
Laura
Our convoy of police vehicles covered the six miles from Vauxhall to Canary Wharf in just fifteen minutes.
My blood began to race in anticipation as we approached Roy Slack’s luxury apartment building overlooking the Thames.
I was praying that the woman would be there with him so that we could seize them both in one fell swoop and prevent further bloodshed.
But I wasn’t overly optimistic because I just couldn’t imagine someone who looked like Maria Rodriquez sharing a bed with a slug like Roy Slack.
There was no messing about when we arrived at our destination. Officers armed with assault rifles and pistols immediately sealed off the building and entered through imposing front doors with stained-glass panels.
The concierge and a liveried doorman were asked about Slack and both confirmed that he was his apartment on the top floor. When shown the passport picture of Maria Rodriquez they both said they hadn’t seen her, and it sounded to me like they were telling the truth.
There were two lifts and we used them to carry us up through thirty floors to the top.
A plan of action had already been agreed – which was to batter down the door and burst right in. In the best-case scenario he’d be in bed and wouldn’t put up any resistance. If he wasn’t then they would have to react to whatever situation presented itself.
I drew a tremulous breath when we stepped out of the lift into the corridor on the thirtieth floor. Then as I watched the team take up positions, my heart started drumming frantically.
This was the moment I’d been waiting for. When we finally came calling on London’s most ruthless gangster with enough evidence to put him away.
But we weren’t there yet, and until we put the cuffs on him I feared it could all still go wrong.
‘We move on three,’ the team leader said quietly.
An officer with a steel battering ram stepped up to the door and on the count of three he swung it against the metal lock. It took two blows to force the door open and officers stormed in, yelling at the tops of their voices.
Then suddenly they fell silent and I thought that was because they’d caught Slack unawares and he was being restrained.
But I was wrong. After a few seconds word came back to us that a stand-off situation had developed.
Drummond was asked to go into the apartment and I simply followed behind. We walked along a tastefully furnished hallway to the living room where two officers stood just inside the doorway.
My stomach clenched as tight as a knot when I saw that they were pointing their rifles at Roy Slack.
He was sitting on an armchair with the muzzle of a pistol pressed against his chin. And he was grinning.
‘Seems to me that you lot are making a habit of barging into homes uninvited,’ Slack said, and his lungs sounded rusty.
‘We’ve come to talk to you, Roy,’ Drummond said. ‘So be sensible and put the gun down.’
‘Now why would I do a stupid thing like that? I’ve been told that you’ve finally got the evidence you’ve been looking for, which means that if I go with you now I’ll end up dying in prison. And that was never part of the plan.’
‘So what was the plan, Roy?’
Slack ignored the question and looked at me. I noticed then that he appeared worn out, as though he’d been drained of energy and emotion. His eyes were dull and opaque, and blood vessels were throbbing at his temples.
‘I wondered if I would ever see you again, Detective Inspector Jefferson,’ he said. ‘You made such an impression on me when you came to the office the other day that I really felt like giving you a slap.’
I chose not to react other than to give a small, tight smile, which he didn’t seem to like. His face became taut suddenly, brimming with hate.
‘I bet you weren’t smiling when that boyfriend of yours took a bullet,’ he said. ‘I thought it was a bloody shame that it didn’t kill him.’
I didn’t rise to the bait for fear of making a bad situation much worse. So we stared at each other for a short while before he shifted his gaze back to Drummond and said, ‘For your information this was always part of the plan, although I didn’t imagine I’d have an audience.’
‘Where is she, Slack?’ Drummond said. ‘Where is Maria Rodriquez?’
He laughed. ‘You mean The Slayer. Well, you must know that’s not her real name.’
‘Then what is?’
‘I have no fucking idea.’
‘But you do know where she is.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t actually, but I suspect she’s out celebrating her latest kill, which I’m sure you know all about by now. A bitch copper this time, I gather.’
‘We’ve seized the weapons that were in the garage behind the pub.’
‘Well, obviously she’s still armed and still has unfinished business.’
One of the armed officers stepped to one side, prompting Slack to tighten his grip on the gun.
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to blow my brains out before you’ve heard my confession,’ he said.
Everybody froze, and the tension in the room became stifling.
‘I thought not,’ Slack said.
‘So here goes. I believe you’ve sussed already that this was all about revenge. It was never about stopping the task force from probing my affairs. I just started with that to make it more interesting. No, this was me getting my own back on you lot for what you did to my son, my wife, my dad and my unborn grandchild.’
It felt like a fist was clenching my heart, squeezing it tight. I thought about the baby I’d lost and wanted to tell him. But I didn’t because I knew he’d be pleased that he’d done to me what the police had done to his son’s girlfriend.
So I bit down on my lip and listened to the bastard try to justify his actions.
‘The Old Bill fucked up my life good and proper,’ he went on. ‘When I was told I only had months to live I decided to make you pay. I knew I had nothing to lose so I reckoned it could be my swansong.’
He pointed to the envelopes on the table in front of him.
‘One of them contains my suicide note which spells it all out. When you read it you’ll understand why I hate you all so much. The other envelope contains a little surprise for you guys.’
‘Please put the gun down, Roy,’ Drummond said. ‘Let’s have a proper conversation. You don’t want to take your own life. Surely.’
‘But I do. I thought I’d just made that clear. I’ve got fuck all to live for. I was only delaying this moment so that I could punish you lot of parasites and I’m satisfied that I’ve done just that.’
With his free hand he picked up the photo frame that had been lying on his lap.
‘It’s time I was reunited with my Julie,’ he said.
He looked at the picture and his nostrils flared like he’d picked up a scent.
I was sure I wasn’t the only one who considered rushing across the room to wrest the gun from him. But he was a good five metres away and that made it too risky.
Tramlines gathered on his forehead and he said, ‘There’s one other thing I want you to know. That copper who murdered my boy Terry is dead. I killed him myself. I don’t know where the lads dumped his body and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you.’
He then held the photo frame to his chest and it struck me that the expression that came over his face was one of pure contentment.