“You don’t smell it do you? Carrie, come on, please, this is important, might be crucial…”
Gathering herself, O’Shea also sat down on the frigid pavement and joined in the activity.
“Close your eyes, try to rule out your other senses…it will come to you, trust me.”
Cade was one hundred percent convinced; he just needed the endorsement of his colleagues.
O’Shea slowly stood up and took a breath of what she considered to be cleaner air.
“It’s petrol, Jack. Were they going to burn her?”
“No, I don’t think so. They would have done that. Why go to the trouble of doing what they did? I’m not sure what they were doing, but it’s there, isn’t it? Just a hint? It’s in her mouth, for some reason they poured petrol into her mouth. The autopsy will confirm this but we need to start thinking about why they did this. Why would they be carrying fuel?”
Cade’s words drifted across the embankment as he searched his soul, trying to help the girl who had walked into his life some weeks before, a hundred miles to the north of where he now stood. Shivering in a breeze that blew off the Thames and clawed at his skin, he wondered where this would end.
An undertaker was given permission to remove Petrov to the nearby Westminster mortuary. Cade had said goodbye and was now walking to Roberts’ vehicle, as he dropped into the rear passenger seat, ever the gent, he caught O’Shea’s distant smile as she sat in the front. It was a look of compassion and pity, but there was genuine warmth there too, and he knew that he needed to exploit it before someone else took her away from him. He vowed it wouldn’t happen again. Penny was firmly in his past, Carrie was possibly, hopefully, his future.
“OK team, let’s head back to the Yard, get some refreshments and then we’ll start the debrief all over again. I’m expecting the Spanish Inquisition over this lot, so let’s all get our stories exactly the same. Jack, I can leave you a car, see you back there, you might want a minute?”
“No, I’m fine, mate, let’s just go. We are only getting in the way now.”
They had driven a mile when O’Shea said without warning, “Petrol! Arson! They needed to burn something.”
“Never?”
Roberts was a little too sarcastic and corrected himself swiftly.
“Jason, shut up, man. They needed to remove as much evidence as they could. What better way to do that than to destroy it with fire? The petrol was used to torch the vehicle they were in, and my money is on a van. Get the CAD room to run a search on all vehicle arsons over the last twenty-four hours. I would dump a vehicle on wasteland or in an industrial area – fewer capable guardians…”
“Capable?”
“Guardians. It’s what crime scientists call those people whose presence prevents crime occurring.”
“Right you are. I shall use it in my next briefing.”
He handed her his phone. “Here, ring the CAD room and let’s start work on that idea, it can be stewing whilst we head back to work.”
He smiled, “You’re a genius girl, sometimes we need to think small rather than big. Why not torch the vehicle? Makes sense. But why tip fuel into her throat…Jack? What do you think?”
He looked in the rear-view mirror. Cade was fast asleep. He left him to his dreams.
The team arrived at Scotland Yard within half an hour and were through the side staff door and racing up the many stairs to the unit, entering the main briefing room.
Roberts took control.
He gave those present a copy of the overnight log detailing exactly how Petrov had been located. Cade sat and tried to digest the detail, losing himself in the report. He felt nauseous once more; angry and responsible. He had made a promise to her, one which me meant but was unable to keep.
He folded the report, scoring the fold with his thumbnail and re-joined the meeting when he heard Roberts speaking.
“Thank you, team, grab a tea or coffee or whatever you want, grab a bacon sandwich too, I suspect the day is going to be long. We’ve got brass coming into the briefing room, so let’s look as lively as we can please. I know we are all knackered, me too, I hadn’t even got home when my phone rang.”
He looked around the room, counting the staff.
“Where’s Clive?”
“You stood him down boss, remember?”
“Yes, of course, silly me, first round is on me in The Sanctuary after work – everyone is welcome and I mean everyone, we’ll ‘ave a right old London knees up…”
Roberts was trying to lighten the mood, parading at the front of the briefing room, in the style of a Dickensian character when the assistant commissioner arrived along with Commander Waterman, two superintendents and another male wearing a dark grey suit, white shirt and navy tie. He had a good head of hair and was naturally tanned. In a completely heterosexual way, Cade thought he was a handsome man. Of the four, he also looked the most approachable.
“Sergeant Roberts, I presume?”
The humourless voice belonged to Superintendent Phil Jenkinson, a product of the East End of London and an ex-Royal Engineer who had risen quickly through the ranks and had lost not only countless hours of sleep in his quest for early promotion, but almost every hair on his head too.
“Sir, yes I am Jason Roberts.”
“Good, well stop fucking about and get the briefing underway. Some of us are busy trying to police this Godforsaken city. Where are we at with this bloody charade?”
Jenkinson glared at Roberts, drilling holes through him with his overly bloodshot anthracite eyes.
“Sir, I just want to apologise, it’s been a long night, the team are all…”
Jenkinson was about to tear Roberts apart once more when Waterman pushed his chair back and stood up, about to speak, his face darker than a thunderhead when the assistant commissioner cleared his throat.
“Thank you, Frank, I’ll sort this with your blessing?” He paused, allowing his own seniority to sink in.
Waterman nodded, aware of the political posturing and the danger of undermining a senior officer in front of junior staff, but found himself guessing where this opinionated bald barrow boy had come from. Jenkinson would have to wait for another day.
The assistant commissioner continued.
“Phillip, I’m sure Detective Sergeant Roberts meant well, he is after all only looking after his troops and that is commendable. Agreed? Good. Proceed please, sergeant and let’s not mince our words here, I want honesty. If we cocked up then say so, if anyone deserves a medal, tell me. If we are looking at war on the streets of London and we’ve missed the clues, then again, hold no punches. Forget the media. They can get their snouts in the blood-soaked trough tomorrow. Right now, all I care about is ensuring no-one else gets shot at or drowned in my city. Fair enough? Good, pass me a coffee, would you?”
He gestured towards Cade, who leaned to his left and grabbed a mug.
“Sugar?”
“No thank you, Mrs Johnson says I’m sweet enough.”
It was clichéd, but it broke the ice.
Johnson was a good operator, a team player and a natural leader. Cade handed him the coffee and at risk of rebuke in the pub later that day placed his hand out in the time-honoured fashion.
“Jack Cade, sir. Seconded from the frozen north.”
Malcolm Johnson scratched his exaggeratedly brown hair and smiled.
“Aha, yes, your reputation precedes you, Sergeant Cade. I understand we have you to blame for bringing the circus to town?”
Cade thought for a second or two and replied, “Sir, with all due respect I only put up the tent. The tigers were already loose.”
Johnson, who was chewing the end of his expensive bi-focals, cracked a half smile and countered, coldly, continuing the analogy, “Do you take me for a clown Mr Cade?”
“No sir, only the Ring Master.”
Roberts was looking for somewhere to bury his head. This was all he needed.
Jenkinson was visibly furious, his lips whitening over h
is teeth,
Johnson exhaled. “It has been a very long night, Sergeant Cade, so I shall forgive the ‘with all due respect’, as I think we all know what that means. However, your circus analogy was brave, I’ll give you that, especially in this exalted company. So, crack on, why don’t you and give us the best show on earth right now?”
Cade looked at Roberts, who was still licking his wounds. Roberts nodded, giving Cade the air time he needed.
Cade stood at the front of the room. It offered him a greater view, and standing opened up his lungs so he could deliver a polished and measured briefing.
He looked quickly towards O’Shea. She smiled a knowing smile. It gave Cade the impetus he needed.
“Sir. The situation is not good. We have three people dead on the streets, two of whom we believe to be members of a crime syndicate from Romania and the third an innocent civilian. Another occupant of the initial target vehicle is in hiding somewhere and…”
“For Christ’s sake, sergeant, we know all this, press on man, I’ve got a meeting in half an hour at the Home Office – facts!” Jenkinson clapped his hands together, patronisingly to emphasise the urgency.
Cade erased his internal monologue and ignored the interruption before continuing.
“…a police officer in hospital with injuries and this morning…”
Cade swallowed visibly and sighed before continuing.
“And this morning, the reported tragic death of Miss Nikolina Petrov a Bulgarian…”
Jenkinson stood and pointed at Cade before talking to Waterman.
“Commander, is this the best we’ve got? Seriously? A sergeant from a foreign force standing here telling me a love story. I want a briefing that is true to the word; brief. I don’t give a damn about any Eastern Europeans, whether dead or alive, quite frankly they deserved what was coming to them from what I have read…”
This time it was Cade who interrupted without his usual caution.
“And what exactly have you read, Superintendent?”
“I beg your pardon…sergeant.”
Cade was riled now. Roberts shook his head, but O’Shea nodded, thinking almost out aloud, ‘Go on Jack. Tell this arrogant bastard how it is. Go on, for me, if nothing else.’
“I said, what exactly have you read…Superintendent?” Cade was picking an obstinate piece of food from a back tooth, if nothing else displaying a total lack of respect for the senior man.
Jenkinson had disliked this man the moment he had introduced himself to the AC – how dare he? Bloody northerner.
“Well to be fair, sergeant, not a lot from your end of the woods. All I am hearing about is an amateur three-ring circus since the moment this girl arrived into East Midlands Airport.”
“And there was I thinking that the circus analogy was between me and the assistant commissioner…”
“Jack. Steady now…let’s not let this descend into a bar fight.” It was Waterman.
“Sir. I’ll continue if I may? My point is that the group that calls itself The First Wave is most likely behind the biggest financial crime spree this city has ever seen, and in fact may ever see. We are only starting to scrape the surface. I was fortunate enough to meet Miss Petrov, who in turn became my source and steered me towards the group. She gave us information that enabled us to implement Operation Breaker and in doing so it cost her…her life.”
He paused again, visibly upset at the loss of the operation’s greatest asset and someone who Cade had grown to be very fond of in a short space of time. He admired her for far more than her good looks.
“If Miss Petrov hadn’t been so courageous, this operation would not have continued. There is no doubt we would not have infiltrated until much later, then at worst it would have been lower-level disruption, at best a few pieces of low-hanging fruit…”
Jenkinson was once more on the offensive. His peer had not said a word since they arrived, choosing instead to make notes. The ex-army officer was now bristling.
He was smiling a fabricated smile.
“Commissioner, if you expect me to sit here and be lectured by some northern monkey about how heartbroken he is about the loss of a Russian girl who died with the word whore written across her bikini line…then I’m sorry but you don’t know me very well at all. For the record I don’t give a fat rat’s arse about this bunch of gypsies, I do care about my city and above all I care about my crime stats and…”
Cade walked towards the superintendent, his knuckles whitening. His rigid index finger poked Jenkinson in the chest. “She was Bulgarian, and she wasn’t a gypsy. And there’s more to this than we know. This is just the start. You mark my words. She had information – seriously damning information, but we never managed to extract it from her. She risked her life, left her child behind to face an uncertain future, and ultimately gave up her life for a person she trusted, me.”
He could feel bile rising and a solitary tear welling.
“And yes, she died for you, and me, and everyone else in this room. Is that not enough, Superintendent?”
He slowly removed his finger and wrapped it back into his fist.
O’Shea stood to speak, holding her arm across in front of him.
“Boss, Carrie O’Shea, Strategic Analyst for Op Breaker. What Jack, Sergeant Cade is saying is one hundred percent accurate. Without Petrov’s information and Jack’s passion and knowledge, this team would be ten steps ahead of us instead of two. That girl gave her life for something she believed in, she died in a frigid river, alone and terrified and the least you can do is hear us out. Please.”
And having delivered a short but impassioned speech, she sat down.
Cade was exhausted. His mind was like a centrifuge. He knew that O’Shea had probably just prevented him from leaving the field of play and having an early, lonely bath. He owed her, and he would repay her when the moment arose.
The briefing continued for another ten minutes, covering what they knew and importantly what they needed help with. Roberts stood – his confidence recovered.
“Team, thank you. Gentlemen, any questions?”
Superintendent Barry Brown spoke for the first time. He had a broad Yorkshire accent. In his early sixties, he was on an annual contract to the police, having officially retired some years before.
He looked around the room, turning his head silently, not unlike a Barn Owl, sat on an elevated roost and watching an oblivious mouse scurry across a hay-strewn floor.
“Detective Sergeant Roberts, Sergeant Cade, Miss O’Shea. Commander Operation Breaker team. I for one am happy that you are doing what you are doing. I retire at the end of the month and frankly, I haven’t seen a more passionate and engaged bunch of people in thirty years. In fact, I haven’t seen people so excited since I worked on Operation Magician a few years ago.”
Cade knew that he was referring to a massive operation that the Metropolitan Police Flying Squad had conducted to apprehend a well-organised team of jewellery thieves who had planned to target the iconic Millennium Dome and steal the flawless Millennium Star, at the time the single most valuable gem on earth, worth two hundred million pounds.
He continued, “So my point is folks, keep on doing what you are doing, you will get there and rid this city and the country of this insidious cancer that is spreading towards us from Eastern Europe. That way Mrs Brown and I can retire in peace.”
He gathered together his paperwork, stood up and waited for the assistant commissioner to join him.
“Oh, and Sergeant Cade.”
Cade waited, expecting another reprimand.
“Sir?”
“In my day I would have punched his lights out for calling me a northern monkey.” He winked at Cade before walking towards the door.
Jenkinson was incensed, following Brown out of the door without a word to Roberts, shuffling, trying to keep pace with a swiftly exiting assistant commissioner who had shaken hands with Waterman and told him to put whatever resources he needed into Operation Breaker.
; As the lift door closed he said, “Crack on Frank, shout if you need anything and hang onto Cade with all your might, keep the secondment going for so long that they forget he’s here. I like him, a lot. With respect indeed! Shame he and Phil didn’t see eye to eye! I’ll try not to let him interfere again, problem is the commissioner thinks the sun shines out of his arse. Off his head, more like. Leave it with you.”
The door slid to and the digital readout tumbled as the lift headed down to the foyer.
Cade sat back at the briefing table, transfixed and beyond exhaustion, O’Shea sat next to him, quickly and discreetly rubbing his leg. Roberts was busy tasking his team. He needed to remain busy or he would fall asleep on the job. Like Cade and O’Shea, he had noticed that the distinguished and suited male had remained behind. Quiet and unassuming, he stood looking out of the elevated and tinted window across at the vista before him until his eyes stopped on The Mall and finally, Buckingham Palace.
He waited for the energy of the room to cease and then spoke.
“I wonder if she’s home?” He said to no one in particular.
Roberts was first to answer. “Sorry, who? You wonder who is home?”
The male smiled, “Why the boss, of course. I wonder how HRH would have dealt with Jenkinson? Off with his head!”
Roberts, ever the genial host, was laughing, oblivious to who his guest was, he too was wearier than he could ever recall. The male slid a chair back and sat down. The four people looked at one another before O’Shea decided she needed to introduce herself.
“Carrie O’Shea, I’m…”
“A senior analyst. I know Carrie, I heard your impassioned speech, remember? And you Jack, are you going to shake my hand too?”
Cade exhaled, blowing air across his lips. “Of course, apologies, no excuse, I’m getting too old for all this. Jack Cade, northern monkey and acting inspector from…”
“Nottinghamshire. Yes, Jack, I know. I’ve done my homework, I’ve read your files, spoken to your force. Eddie sends his best, he asked that I came on board to try to round up the tigers…”
Seventh (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 1) Page 51