To my surprise, Maggie was no longer in the reception area. All that was left of her was a hint of perfume in the air near the body of Alice/Crystal. I burst out of the door and onto the street, already fumbling for my car keys.
There was no sign of Harrison. He was probably hiding in a nearby basement, but he’d been moving fast enough that he might have cleared the end of the street and lost himself in the crowds. Either way I didn’t have time to find him.
I reached the car and tore open the door. Leapt in and heard sirens approaching. Had Maggie called the police? And why did I feel such a desperate urge to be out of here before they arrived? I’d still not done anything that couldn’t be explained away with a bit of effort and some delicate fudging of the truth, but I had an overwhelming conviction that were I to wait until they got here then things would go very badly for me.
Flinging the bag in the passenger footwell, I started the car and pulled out, then reversed down the one-way street so that I didn’t have to pass Maggie’s. It was the right choice because the two men burst from the building I’d just left, one aiming a pistol that the other one smacked down.
As I reversed around the corner, the last view I had was of them arguing heatedly.
I didn’t hang around to see who would win. Spinning the car in a manoeuvre that almost took out a row of parked vehicles, I put my foot down and raced off with no particular destination in mind, just a fervent desire to get as far away from my pursuers as possible.
Chapter 31
Twenty minutes and half that many miles later I found myself in Portslade, tucked away in a back street where no one would think of looking for me. It was about as far from the nick as I could get without leaving the city, and even if a patrol car did happen by it was unlikely they would recognise me.
My phone hadn’t stopped vibrating since just after my escape. Whoever it was, it would have to wait.
I picked up the bag and all but tore it open, searching for the flash drive. I started with the front pocket, coming away with nothing but tissues and old tobacco flakes, then moved on to the main part of the bag. It felt empty, but I pulled the bottom plate out and then began a fingertip search, running the fabric of the entire bag between my fingers to check every inch.
By the time I moved onto the padded straps, squeezing them in the hope of finding something hard wedged into the foam, I already knew it wasn’t there. Cursing, I threw the bag back into the footwell and punched the steering wheel in frustration.
The movement caused a fresh stab of pain in my side, the endorphins fading as the pain leached through. Wincing, I opened my jacket and peeled my t-shirt away, breaking the scab that had started to form. Blood flowed once more, soaking my already saturated t-shirt. Despite that, the wound didn’t look deep, but the blade had been razor sharp and the two sides were struggling to knit together.
Taking the first aid kit from the glove compartment, I tore it open and pulled out the wound glue and quick clot that I had made sure were kept there since the last time I’d been stabbed. It was hard to doctor myself while sitting in the car, but after perhaps quarter of an hour I had a glued, bandaged wound that barely dotted the dressing with blood.
My phone began buzzing again and I worked it out of my pocket to see that Jimmy Holdsworth was calling me, presumably as he was one of the few who had my personal number. Sighing, I mentally gathered myself and answered.
“Jimmy.” I tried to sound cheerful but even to my own ears my voice was flat and robotic.
“Gareth, where the hell are you?”
“Nowhere interesting.” I glanced up at the rows of grimy terraced houses on either side of the road. “What’s up?”
“What’s up? Half the division is out looking for you, the other half are looking for the Russians, and the NCA directing from the nick. It’s a fucking shit-show, mate.” He lowered his voice. “And we’ve just had an anonymous report that someone saw you going into Maggie’s brothel not long before someone else reported shots fired. They found a body, Gareth, along with a Russian with a broken back. Please tell me you’re not mixed up in something again?”
Jimmy had been involved last time I’d gone off the rails, and had been kidnapped as a direct result of my trying to take down a drug kingpin. If anyone deserved a straight answer it was him, but the question still made me angry.
“Of course I’m not, those days are long gone.” I regretted the lie even as it passed my lips, but all that mattered was finding that damn flash drive and then using it to leverage the Russians into … into what, exactly? I was still floundering, with no idea what I wanted to do. The only thing I was certain of was that I wanted revenge.
“Then you weren’t at Maggie’s?”
“I was there, but the girl was already dead when I arrived.”
Jimmy was silent a long time. When he finally spoke, he sounded strangely hesitant.
“What happened?”
“When I got there one of Maggie’s girls had been shot. The Russians were torturing Craig Harrison upstairs and I distracted them for long enough for him to get free.”
“But you didn’t call it in?”
“No, I think I left my airwave in the ambulance.”
“What about by phone?”
“Why does that matter?” Suspicion began to worm its way through my gut. “What’s going on?”
Jimmy paused again before speaking.
“You need to come in, Gareth.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come back to the nick. You’re a key witness to a shooting that just happened right in the middle of the city, and you’re haring around doing God only knows what. Just get back here before someone else gets hurt.”
“I … I can’t, Jimmy. There’s something I have to do first.”
“What do you mean, you can’t? Gareth, this is a friendly warning and the only one you’re likely to get. I’ve just come out of a meeting where I had to argue my bollocks off not to have you treated as an armed suspect. PSD are practically pissing themselves with excitement and even Striker is having her doubts. For some reason I can’t fucking fathom she’s always been your biggest fan inside senior management. If you don’t get your arse back here in the next hour PSD are going to put out a warrant for your arrest.” He growled the last part, and I could hear the frustration in his voice. He knew it was bullshit as much as I did, but I knew how easy it would be for anyone looking at the situation from the outside to put two and two together and come up with whatever number they liked.
Intentions aside, my recent behaviour painted a picture of a man going off the rails, however inaccurate it might be. There was no real evidence, but it was still enough to get me arrested and off the street, which was something I couldn’t afford right now. I needed to be out and about, to track down both the Russians and the thing they were looking for. Trust PSD to go for the nuclear option though. They could have dealt with it quietly and calmly, but instead they were angling for a public arrest, ensuring my reputation would be in tatters even if they couldn’t pin anything on me.
“Don’t believe those wankers in PSD,” I said, “they’re just out for blood any way they can get it. I’ve got a few leads to run down before I come back, then I’ll get this all squared away. Thanks for the heads-up.”
I hung up before he could respond, tired of hearing the undertone of hurt in his voice. What I really wanted to do was confide in him, tell him everything and bounce ideas between us, but the Russians had already shown what would happen to anyone I cared about. I couldn’t bear to see him hurt again. If I could work out what was on that drive, they would come to me.
My best lead, I decided, was still Harrison. Something was bugging me about his escape from the loft, and I went back through it in my mind. He’d leaped from the bed as soon as they’d relaxed their grip, then charged out of the door. That was nothing unusual, most people would have done the same, but the image that stood out was his hand snaking out to grab his jacket.
How m
any people running for their lives stop to make sure they’re dressed appropriately?
No, there was something in that jacket that was important, which to my mind could only be that drive.
Harrison, however, would be buried so deep in Brighton’s underworld by now that I’d need an excavator to root him out. How in hell was I supposed to find him? It wasn’t like I could just walk into the nick and use …
The idea hit me like a train. It was stupid and dangerous, and it would likely end with me in a cell. But it was the only sure-fire way I could think of to find Harrison, without showing my mug all over the city and being scooped up by the police or shot by the Russians.
All I had to do was wait until nightfall and then break into a police station.
Chapter 32
John Street police station is manned twenty-four hours a day, but after midnight you can walk the length of the station without bumping into a soul if you know what you’re doing. By that time the late shift and all of the civilian staff bar the front office workers have gone home, it’s just the night shift and the odd stray from CID or one of the other departments.
A few minutes after twelve, I strolled out of the Milner Flats and across Carlton Hill, walking straight into the back yard of the nick with my hands in my pockets and my face obscured by the natty, dark blue cap I kept in the car for just this purpose.
There was no one in sight as I approached the old vehicle bay, where in days gone by mechanics had repaired abused police vehicles. Mostly used for storage and deliveries, it was, I hoped, still the easiest way into the nick without using the access control chip in my warrant card.
I walked up to the roller-shutter as if I had every right to be there, resisting the urge to glance around, and put a hand on the person-sized door to one side. Night-time smokers often used the door to sneak out for a crafty fag in the back yard, and I’d lost track of the number of times I’d found it on the latch.
I pushed the door but it didn’t budge. Cursing silently, I reached into my jacket and pulled out the holy grail of housebreaking, a curved piece of plastic carved from an old coke bottle.
Sweating from more than just the muggy night air, I slipped the corner into the space between door and frame, then wiggled it until it slid down between latch and receiver. A sharp tug later, the lock disengaged and I was in.
The darkness within was relieved only by tiny pools of light from the emergency exit signs dotted down the sides of the room, which turned piles of stacked crates into a shadowed labyrinth.
Just as I secured the door the main lights came on, and I threw myself behind a pile of boxes. A few moments later a pair of tired-looking coppers walked past, fags at the ready.
“You need to eat more protein,” one of them was saying. “After you train, there’s this protein window where your body …”
The rest of the conversation was lost as they stepped out into the yard. Moving quickly, I hurried towards the back of the room and the door into the nick proper. It was secured with a digilock, but they’d flipped the catch up and it pulled open silently.
I stopped outside the door, listening carefully, but no sounds came from either the stairs above or the corridor that branched left and right a few feet in front of me.
Moving quickly, I took the stairs, going up two levels to the back door of the CID office.
I had to be careful here. CID would have at least two detectives working, sat at their desks trying to catch up with their never-ending casework. I had to pass through the office though, as I was looking for something that would have been in my brother’s possession when he was killed, something in the SOCO office that was only accessible through CID.
Taking a deep breath, I punched in the three-digit code and let myself in. The office was lit but I couldn’t see anyone. There might have been a detective or two lurking behind the desk dividers, but I kept my head up and walked straight over to the door to the SOCO office and into the short hallway. Only to come face to face with one of the senior SOCOs, a corpulent man in his mid-fifties with a uniform that strained to cover his bulk and dark hair that was rapidly retreating towards his crown. We’d known each other for years and although we weren’t what I would call friends, we had a solid respect for each other.
“Gareth,” he nodded at me. “What you doing in here this late?”
“Wanted to see how the investigation is going into my brother’s …” I couldn’t say the word out loud. I wanted to, but what came out was half word, half sob and I think it surprised Derek as much as it did me. From nowhere, tears pricked at my eyelids and I blinked rapidly then cuffed them away. This wasn’t the time to start mourning, grief would have to wait.
“Sorry, Derek,” I continued, fighting for calm. “I need to see my brother’s personal effects.”
The sympathy on the other man’s face almost brought the tears back.
“National Crime Agency bods have got all of that,” he said gently. “They’ve taken over the briefing room on the fourth floor, using it as a command centre.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
“Er … You know PSD have got a warrant out for your arrest, right?” His jowls began to wobble as his face fought to look sympathetic and nervous at the same time.
“Yeah, I’d heard they wanted to talk to me. It’s all bullshit.”
“I’m sure it is, but now that I’ve seen you …” He looked down at the floor and I felt a stab of sympathy for him. If anyone realised I’d been here and started checking CCTV footage, Derek could lose his job for not disclosing that we’d spoken.
“I get it, don’t worry. You tell whoever you have to tell, but just do me one favour? Give me ten minutes before you raise the alarm.”
“That I can do.” He nodded. “Now bugger off before someone sees us talking.”
He turned and disappeared back into his office, and I walked towards the central stairwell, exiting the office without seeing anyone. I paused again and listened carefully, then hurried up the stairs to the top floor, confident that I was alone but knowing I could be discovered at any moment.
I’d just reached the final landing when I heard voices coming up the stairs behind me. Running past the lift, I opened the first set of double doors outside the briefing room and hurried through them, but instead of going into the room itself I took a left and hid in the corridor that flanked it. I would be spotted instantly if anyone came this way, but I thought it unlikely as none of the offices there were manned past 5pm. The only place up here that might cause me a problem was the multi-faith prayer room, but most of the people who used that did it to get some shut-eye, so it was probably a safe bet.
“… no idea where he is. Where are we on the girl?”
“Looks like she was just unlucky, no connection we can …”
The door to the briefing room swung shut, cutting the voices off. Moving quietly down the corridor, I stopped at the side door to the room, careful to stay out of the twin beams of light shining through the narrow glass panels.
Taking my cap off, I leaned against the wall and slowly rolled my body so that I could look in.
I was rewarded with a gradually widening view of the large room, desks and computers filling a space normally lined with chairs.
Three men sat at desks, two clearly the newcomers as they still had their coats on, the third in front of a small mountain of takeaway coffee cups with his eyes locked on his computer screen.
On the desk in front of him sat the very thing I was looking for. Attached to the PC via a USB cable was a battered phone that could only be Jake’s, nestled on its evidence bag but removed so that they could interrogate it. From the look of the numbers scrolling down the screen, however, they still hadn’t cracked the passcode.
I needed that phone. More precisely, I needed Craig Harrison’s number. Once I had that I could, with a little help, track him down.
Looking around for inspiration, I found salvation in the shape of a small red box. Before I could second-guess myself, I
crossed the corridor and hit the break glass in the fire alarm, causing an ear-splitting wail to sound from hidden speakers.
It was loud enough that I had to clap my hands to my ears, but it had the right effect. When I looked through the window again, all three men were heading towards the stairs. I’d banked on the simple human foible of people always taking the route they know, no matter what, and instead of using the fire exit that would have taken them past me, their lack of familiarity with the building took them back down the main stairs.
The moment the main door swung shut I was in the room. The doors should have been locked, but as a safety feature the fire alarm disabled all but the most important locks in the building. Had they been keeping the items in the store downstairs, I wouldn’t have had a chance, but briefing rooms are not high enough priority to remain locked. And so within seconds I was at the desk with the phone in my hand.
The first number I tried was Jake’s old pin, but the phone remained stubbornly locked. I went from that to his date of birth, but still no joy. Then inspiration struck and I reversed his date of birth, tapped in the code and grinned as the phone opened. Scrolling through the menu, I found Craig’s number and copied it into my own phone, then locked it again. I dropped it back on the desk and ran out through the side door before anyone came up to investigate the broken call point.
Now I had what I was looking for the adrenaline hit me. My mouth went dry and my fingers began to shake. I sprinted down the corridor towards the nearest fire exit, spurred on by an overwhelming fear that I was about to get rumbled.
I slammed through the door, the alarm still blaring loudly enough to cover any noise I might make, taking the stairs three at a time on the way down. At the bottom, a grumpy-looking copper I didn’t recognise was waving people out and into the car park of the court house next to the nick, and I nodded my thanks as I passed him.
Closer Than Blood Page 13