The Aden Vanner Novels

by Jeff Gulvin

  Vanner opened his hands. ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘What’re we going to do?’

  ‘I’ll get Liverpool to put a tail on her when she gets back. Antrim Road’ll let us know when she gets on the boat. We pick her up at South Mimms and follow her.’

  Sammy smiled. ‘Getting somewhere at last. About bloody time.’

  The phone was ringing in Vanner’s office. He left them then and went through. ‘Vanner,’ he said as he lifted the receiver.

  ‘George Webb, Guv. SO13 Reserve.’

  ‘Ah.’ Vanner sat down. ‘Sid Ryan spoke to you.’

  ‘Slippery. Yeah.’

  ‘You know her up there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Non-player then.’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘What d’you want to do?’

  ‘About her? Nothing right now. We’ve got the word out over the water. Somebody might tag along for a while.’

  ‘Have a word with the Drug Squad on Antrim Road,’ Vanner said. ‘She’s over there now.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Webb said. ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘We’re letting her be for the time being, George. She’s very close to the main man and we’ve been waiting for something like this.’

  Webb chuckled. ‘We won’t tread on your toes then.’

  ‘I’d appreciate it.’

  Jimmy Crack waited for Sandra in the carpark by the playing fields in Sudbury. It had taken her till this morning to call him back. She had been very jumpy and even now he wasn’t sure she would show. When he had arrested her last year he had no idea she was in Young Young’s bed. That had been a bonus. She had been bailed and for a time fed him little snippets of information on the posse, but then she and Young Young had a fight and she had all but disappeared.

  He sat in the silence, engine off, April cold creeping into the car. Idly he flicked at the furry dice he had hung from the rear-view mirror in the vain hope it would make people think it was not a job car.

  A group of lads kicked a football about in the cold. Jimmy looked at his watch, then illuminated the screen on his phone. He put the phone down again and waited. Ten minutes later, half an hour after she should have shown up, he saw a car turn off the road and trundle over the ramps raised in the tarmac. He sat up straighter and stared. He could not see who was driving. One person it looked like but he could not be sure. She might set him up. She had been very nervous earlier. The car got closer and he knew he should have told somebody where the meet was. It was too late now. The car drew closer and he saw a black face, hair straightened and pulled back from her head. He shifted himself in the seat.

  She parked at the other end of the carpark, got out and pulled the hood of her jacket over her face. Carefully she looked around her and then made her way slowly to where he was parked. Reaching across he opened the door and she slid into the seat alongside him.

  He could smell her, the sweet scent of skin that black women had. He flared his nostrils and smiled. She looked at him, flat face, white teeth against heavily reddened lips.

  ‘How you doing?’ he said. ‘Long time no see.’

  ‘I ain’t got much time, Lofty. I didn’t ought to be here.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘We need to talk, Sandra. Where’ve you been? I had a hell of a job getting hold of you.’

  ‘I been working. I got me a job.’

  ‘Right. Good. Good.’ He smiled at her, the tingling sensation in his hands, the flutter in his chest that he always got when he spoke to an informant he hardly knew. He had to be so careful what he said.

  ‘You’re looking good.’

  She grinned then and took out cigarettes. Jimmy lit one for her and she sucked smoke through her nose. ‘What you want, man?’

  ‘Young Young.’

  Her mouth closed and she drew her lip back with her teeth. ‘I don’t see that fuck no more.’

  ‘Hurt you did he?’

  ‘Hurts everybody’

  ‘He killed Jimmy Carter, Sandra.’

  She shivered. ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘Irishman. Very bad. Everybody’s looking for Young Young. Us, Stepper-Nap. The Irish.’

  ‘He’s had it coming a long time.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Jimmy looked out across the park. Next to him Sandra flicked her gaze left and right and now and then behind the car. ‘You shout if a black face shows up,’ she said. ‘I didn’t ought to be here.’

  Jimmy nodded and swivelled round in his seat so he could look at her. ‘You know where he is, Sandra?’

  ‘Uh uh.’ She shook her head.

  ‘I really need to find him.’

  ‘I don’t know. I ain’t seen him in ages.’

  ‘What about the others — Pretty Boy. Bigger Dan …’

  ‘Ain’t seen none of them.’

  Jimmy looked forward again. ‘Where could he be, Sandra? He’s not at Carmel’s. He’s not at his brother’s and he’s not in his flat. Who else does he know?’

  She drew her lips in again. ‘He got a baby mother.’

  Jimmy felt his pulse quicken a fraction. ‘Yeah?’ he said casually.

  She nodded. ‘Bitch stole him from me.’ She made a face then. ‘Okay so she had his kids already but she stole him back from me.’

  ‘Where?’

  She looked forward again, watching intently as a black lad on a mountain bike cycled across the grass in front of them.

  ‘You know him?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just a kid.’

  ‘Where’s the baby mother live, Sandra?’

  ‘Hackney.’

  ‘Where in Hackney?’

  ‘Don’t know exactly.’

  Jimmy felt his heart sink again.

  ‘I know it’s by a canal. Some fancy new flats or something. Park across the road.’

  Jimmy fumbled across her to the glove compartment for his weathered A-Z. He flicked through the pages till he came to east London. Sandra watched him turn the pages then she stabbed a finger. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Hackney Marsh.’

  Jimmy looked at the page, found the canal running under the Eastway and looked at her. ‘You said a park across the road?’

  She nodded. He found Hillington Park and the canal and, between them, Hillington Road E9. He looked at her once more. ‘You haven’t got an address?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Phone number?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Could you find one?’

  ‘Address, maybe.’

  ‘How come you found out about her?’

  ‘She phoned him one time on his mobile. Fucker was sleeping with me at the time. He told me about her, about the kids. I didn’t mind so long as he don’t go back with her. Bastard went back with her.’ She opened the car door. ‘I got to go now’

  Jimmy laid a hand on her arm. ‘Thanks, Sandra. If you can find out the address, I’ll get him off the street.’

  Keithley had already begun the afternoon briefing back at Hendon when Jimmy Crack arrived. He bumped into Ryan in the corridor. ‘Piccadilly Circus,’ Ryan muttered. ‘Holmes working overtime.’

  Jimmy grinned at him. ‘If I have my way we’ll be out of your hair in no time, Slips.’

  Ryan cocked his head at him. ‘Result?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Jammy bastard.’ He shook his head and swung his coat over his shoulders.

  Keithley was talking to the AMIP team. ‘The target is definitely Young Young,’ he was saying. ‘We have the car and the paint scrapings from the Escort match. The light is new but so is the screw and we know from the cell-site analysis that he made a mobile phonecall from within half a mile of the club at one thirty on the morning of the shooting. We also, unbelievably, have a positive ID. The bouncer, Bobby Simpson has fingered him for us.’ He looked up then as Jimmy slipped into the back of the room. ‘I’ve been on to Old Street and given SO19 the SP. They’re fully briefed on the background, pictures etcetera and the MO. They’re on stand by waiting to move.’

  J
immy put up his hand. ‘I might be able to house him, Guv’nor.’

  He told them what he had found out from Sandra. ‘I haven’t got an exact location yet but I’ve got the area. I think the snout’ll come up with the rest. She knows the address — she’s just not sure she wants to give it up.’

  ‘What if she warns him?’ Richard Hall, one of the AMIP detectives looked up at him.

  Jimmy twisted his mouth down at the corners. ‘No chance. She’s pissed off, Rick. The baby mother took him off her. You know what they’re like. As far as she’s concerned that’s over the side. She isn’t going to warn him.’

  ‘What d’you want to do?’ Keithley asked him. ‘If he’s laying low he’ll be there a while,’ Jimmy said. ‘I’ll drive over tomorrow and see if I can house him. I’ll keep on at the snout till she gives up the address. If I house him where I think he is we might be able to set up an OP on the canal bank. Plot someone up with fishing rod, put him to bed and let an SFO team dig him out.’

  Vanner toyed with his food and watched Ellie, quiet, across the table from him. Candles dripped wax between them.

  ‘You okay, love?’

  She smiled at him. ‘Tired.’

  ‘You want to go to bed?’

  ‘I said I’m tired, Aden.’

  He sat back, lifted his wine glass and rolled it between his palms. ‘You’re very quiet tonight.’

  She hunched her shoulders. ‘Are you going to Norfolk this weekend?’

  He nodded. ‘Will you come with me?’

  ‘Can’t. I’m working.’

  ‘Right.’ He looked at his plate. ‘What’s up, Elle?’

  ‘Nothing’s up.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  He nodded again. ‘I don’t want any more of this.’ He pushed his plate away and lit a cigarette. She watched him flap out the match. ‘I wish you didn’t smoke.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So why do it?’

  ‘I smoke, Ellie. I always smoked.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ He stood up and gathered up the plates, then dumped them in the sink. Upstairs the phone rang and he went up and answered it.

  ‘Jimmy Crack, Guv. Sorry to bother you at home.’

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘I think I’ve found Young Young.’

  Vanner sat down on the top step and settled the telephone beside him. ‘How?’

  ‘Snout came good. Sandra. The bird I nicked for intent. She’s housed him in Hackney. Baby mother.’

  ‘Nice one, Jimmy.’

  ‘I don’t have the exact location yet. Guv. But I will. I’m going down there tomorrow to check it out. If I can put him to bed I’ll set up a plot with my fishing rod. It’s down by the canal on Hackney Marsh.’

  ‘You want company, Jim?’

  ‘Like fishing do you?’

  ‘Never tried it.’

  ‘I’ll probably get surveillance.’

  ‘Let them catch cold.’

  ‘That’s what they’re paid for, Guv’nor. What’s the word on Eilish?’

  ‘Still over the water. Antrim Road Drug Squad have a spotter on her tail. Liverpool will pick her up this side and we’ll take it from the M25.’

  ‘Good. Speak to you tomorrow then.’

  ‘Right. See you.’ Vanner put down the phone.

  When he went back downstairs Ellie was still sitting at the table. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Jimmy Crack. He thinks we’ve found the killer from Kilburn.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Vanner looked sideways at her. ‘It’s my job, Ellie. It’s what I do.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I don’t do anything else.’

  ‘I know that too.’ She was quiet then. Vanner looked down at her and she glanced up. ‘What will you do if your father dies?’

  ‘Bury him,’ he said.

  She lay away from him in his bed. Tonight it felt like his bed. Not their bed. There was a coldness about her that he did not recognise. Not in her anyway. But he did recognise it and it chilled him. He could feel the old stifling sensation that he had put behind him. For the first time in months he thought about Lisa Morgan, a prostitute he had helped ruin last year and he wondered how she was. Throwing back the bedclothes he stepped naked onto the cold, wooden floor and walked to the window. Ellie lay very still in the bed. He leaned his forehead on the window and looked over the silent street. Nothing moved, parked cars, a fine layer of frost on the windscreen. He imagined his father lying in the made-up bed in his study with frost on the windows and frost on the lawn and frost on the fingered twigs of the sycamore tree in the garden.

  Fourteen

  JIMMY CRACK DROVE ALONG Victoria Park Road towards Hackney Marsh. Ten thirty, Thursday morning. He cursed his old Astra as it jumped out of third gear for the umpteenth time that morning. At the junction he turned onto Eastway and passed under the flyover before turning left onto Hillington Road with the canal on his right. He slowed as he came to the asphalt football pitch in the park. To his right a complex of modern town houses bordered the canal, separated by concourse parking areas with lock-up garages. At first glance they looked fresh and clean and well kept but as he looked more closely he caught sight of rusting cars and dustbins over full with rubbish.

  Parking the car he sat for a moment and looked the complex over. Then he took his mobile phone from the dashboard and dialled the informant’s number. To his surprise she answered immediately.

  ‘Sandra,’ he said. ‘This is Lofty. I really need that address.’

  He heard her sigh.

  ‘You on your own?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I really need it. I’m on Hillington Road now but there’s a dozen or so blocks and I can’t check them all.’

  She hesitated. ‘What if he ever found out?’

  ‘How can he? I’m not about to tell him.’

  ‘He’ll get put away?’

  ‘For life.’

  Again she hesitated.

  ‘Sandra?’

  ‘Hang on then.’

  She put down the phone and Jimmy heard her rummaging through a bag, then the phone was picked up again.

  ‘It’s Block K. Flat 2.’

  ‘Nice one, Sandra. I owe you.’

  ‘Yeah, you do.’

  Jimmy pressed End and then made another call to the incident room at Hendon. ‘DI Keithley,’ he said as it was answered.

  Keithley came on the line. ‘Guv, it’s Jimmy Crack. I’ve got the address. I’m going to wander over there now and see if I can house him.’

  ‘Be careful.’

  ‘Of course. You got the Ninjas on standby?’

  ‘They’re doing a Recce as soon as he’s housed.’

  ‘Good. I’ll see what I can do then bell you back.’ Jimmy hung up and got out of the car.

  He made his way through a parking area to the metal-railed fence that bordered the canal, then checked the letter on the block. C. That meant K was much further down away from the motorway flyover. He walked along the bank, hands in his pockets and noted two hopeful fishermen on the far side of the bank. Sunlight glinted on oil-coloured water and Jimmy wondered what on earth they hoped to catch. But they were there and if needs be that would be his observation point till it got dark at least.

  K block was the second from the far end before the complex ended and 1930s’ terraces took up the remainder of the street. As he moved between the parking areas he noted two black men fixing a car, further on a white man in a jogging suit coming out of the main door to G block. K block was silent. Jimmy felt his heart beat gather pace in his chest as he moved to the front door. Security locked. He had to get inside. He waited, looked up at the window of the first-floor apartment and wondered. Flat 2 would be upstairs, one on the ground floor and another above. He moved back to the bank once more. And then a man came out of the front door to K block, middle-aged, white. He carried a black dustbin liner full of rubbish to the bin and walked back a
gain. Jimmy caught hold of the door as he was about to close it. The man looked at him and grunted. Jimmy grinned and followed him inside. He disappeared into Flat 1 on the ground floor. Jimmy unclipped his phone from his belt and started up the stairs. He paused at the landing and saw a second short flight and then another front door. He dialled Young Young’s mobile number and waited. And then he heard it ringing in the flat above his head. He started down the stairs once more. He was outside when the phone was answered.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Joey?’

  ‘Naw.’

  ‘Sorry, man. Wrong number.’

  At his car Jimmy got back on the phone to Keithley. ‘Got him, Guv’nor. He’s housed. Flat 2, Block K, Hillington Road.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Absolutely positive. I called his mobile from the stairs and heard it ringing in the flat upstairs. Young Young answered it.’

  ‘Brilliant. How d’you want to play it?’

  Jimmy glanced at the fishermen on the far bank of the canal. ‘I want an OP with a fishing rod opposite K block now.’

  ‘Sorted,’ Keithley said. ‘If he doesn’t move we’ll hit him tomorrow morning. If he moves we’ll take him out on the street. I’ll ring Old Street now’

  The briefing took place at Hackney. The Specialist Firearms Officer team from SO19 had been briefed already and had carried out their Recce. The Hackney brief was to impart the tactics of the attack.

  Keithley and his AMIP officers were gathered in the canteen, together with 3 Area Territorial Support Group. The SFO team mingled in their black one-piece coveralls. The team leader stood at the front with Keithley and the duty officer from Hackney. The team leader was a sergeant named Graves, tall and slim, his age indeterminate as his head was completely shaved and eagle-blue eyes inspected the room over a hooked and broken nose. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing tight sinewy arms. Vanner sat down next to Jimmy Crack. ‘The men with many pockets,’ he said and nodded towards Graves. ‘Now if he asked you to stand still you’d take root wouldn’t you.’

  ‘Instant tree, Guv’nor.’

  Vanner smiled. ‘Cuddles.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s what they call him.’

  ‘You know him, Guv?’