O’Connor interrupted again. ‘But if this has gone on for years why suddenly take this step up and attract so much attention?’
Harkins wanted to say that the reason the Chinese couple were dead was because the problem had always been in the ‘too-hard’ box, and if they’d done their job it would never have got this far. But he decided not to antagonise O’Connor.
‘What’s changed is that Billy’s wife died about a year ago, and despite what he is, they were close and from what I’ve heard, she was the only thing in this world that he cared about. They didn’t have any children. He’s not the same Billy Drew since she died. He’s an even bigger nutjob now. Other than that I’m not a psychiatrist but I’ve no doubt this is Billy’s team.’
Macallan interrupted this time. ‘Mick, according to the report from the murder squad they think that three men were involved, from the footprints outside and in the house.’
Harkins nodded and fumbled with a cigarette packet for comfort. ‘Well, I think that’s where we might finally have a chance as it seems Billy’s started to take his idiot brother, Frank, on the jobs. If that’s the case then he’s losing it – he’d never have done that in the past.’
O’Connor was now giving Harkins all his attention – rounding up a gang who were a problem across the country had everything the team needed to lift its profile. ‘What would it take, Mick, that we’ve not done before?’
Harkins knew this was a chance to salve an old wound. ‘It would take time but conventional surveillance hasn’t worked in the past and trying to follow him just won’t work. He’s wise to that so we need fresh thinking.’
O’Connor made some notes and the room waited for direction. ‘Okay, let’s get on this. Grace, I want you to lead, and Mick to support you given his previous knowledge. Set up a meeting with the Strathclyde murder squad and let’s see what we can do. On top of that, I’d like a meeting after this briefing with you and Mick, plus the senior analyst and DI Forbes from the surveillance team. I’ll sit in but you’ll be chairing, Grace.’
He looked across at her and smiled. She nodded and her brain started to rev up, trying to make sure she would cover all the angles. Her pulse jumped up a few notches, realising this was the test that she needed. Harkins winked at her and gave her that worn smile that meant he was with her on this.
She looked in the direction of Jack Forbes, who gave her an acknowledging nod, as did Felicity Young, the senior analyst. Young was the known as ‘the brain’, was slightly eccentric and easy to like. That’s what made her what she was – someone who could sift through a small mountain of crime reports, shreds of intelligence from good and sometimes uncertain sources and make sense of the whole mess. This could give the detectives a direction and on occasions steer them away from blind alleys.
Macallan’s office was cramped, and once they’d squeezed a couple of extra seats in, she got the meeting moving while O’Connor scribbled notes at her side.
‘Can I please ask that what’s said in this room stays in this room for the time being?’ She gave everyone in the room some serious eye contact to make sure they got it. ‘We know this is going to be difficult so we have to come up with a way of taking Billy Drew on. The MCT is in place to take on these “too-difficult” problems, and Billy and his team seem to fit the bill. We’re going to get the murder squad all over us for help, so let’s get going. Mick, you’re the man that seems to know them best. What police action tends to take place against Billy Drew, and where are we wasting our time when we start an operation against them? The other thing is, what will he expect us to do given that he knows that we’ll at least suspect him and his crew?’
Harkins had a headache and wanted a bacon sandwich so it was a normal morning for him. He knew this was an important moment for the team and the individuals in the team, including himself. For Harkins, it was securing his reputation and for the others it was about building futures, but in any case he had made up his mind that Billy Drew was a bit of unfinished business. He would make it his mission to see him pulling Christmas crackers in HMP Barlinnie – or Bar-L, as its customers affectionately called it.
‘It’s a waste of time getting a warrant to search his house and pulling him in. He won’t even admit he’s in the room and never keeps anything incriminating. You make a good point in asking what he’ll expect us to do. If we do nothing it’ll spook him, so maybe we should run through the normal script to cover whatever else we come up with.’
The coffee arrived and Harkins thanked God quietly.
Once they’d settled down, Macallan kicked it off again, feeling alive, even excited about the challenge, and the ideas were crackling through her mind. ‘So you think we should let the murder squad pull him in to give us cover?’
Harkins nodded and knew that they were entering difficult territory but hoped that Macallan had the balls to take this where it needed to go. He’d watched too many bad guys walk away because someone in her seat was more worried about their next move up the ladder than keeping Joe and Jessica Public safe in their beds. ‘I think we have to do that, but of course that means in part we have to restrict what we tell the murder squad before they do their job. We don’t want them dropping our interest into his lap.’
O’Connor had known Harkins long enough to feel uncomfortable at this, and despite his promise to sit in the background he asked Harkins what he meant.
‘I think we should keep our operation on a need-to-know basis because we don’t want one of the Glasgow gorillas letting anything slip when they speak to Billy or his team. I know we’re supposed to be all caring and sharing, but if Billy gets the slightest hint that anything else is going on, then we’re fucked before we start.’
Young moved uncomfortably in her chair at Harkins’ choice of expletives. She regarded him as a bit prehistoric but at the same time worryingly attractive, and Harkins knew this. He’d decided that before he left the job he’d show her what she was missing by spending half her life at a badminton club.
Macallan decided to get hold of the meeting. ‘Okay, that may cause difficulties but I’ll discuss that with the Super after the meeting and before we meet the murder-squad bosses.’
She looked at O’Connor and he nodded without looking too concerned. She turned to Harkins again. ‘Okay, that’s what’ll not get him a stretch, so if there’s a weakness, where is it and how can we exploit it?’
Harkins was encouraged and began to feel that they might get somewhere. ‘Well, Billy’s been doing it for years and survived, so he must think he has it cracked, but as I said in the meeting it’s because no one has really committed to getting him. What we do know is that he researches the jobs himself and spends a lot of time making sure everything’s right beforehand. If there was a way to keep tabs on him, we could at least get a head start. Just before a job they’ll steal a car and that’s disposed of right after the turn. Presumably they do the same with their other gear. The fact that he’s now got his brother, Frank, on the team is definitely a chance for us because that guy makes Terry Fuckwit look like Stephen Fry.’
Young shifted in her seat again and Macallan tried her best to look serious as Harkins steamed on. ‘Frank Drew talks in drink. We could get an informant onto him in short time. He’s a gambler, and we have a number of low-life informants in the area that could hook up with him without attracting too much attention. We’d have to be careful though, because Billy and Colin Jack are sharp – we’d have to concentrate on Frank.
‘The last thing is that if it was them for the murder then they probably didn’t get much out of it. Peter Yip was a straight shooter, not the type to hide his money round the house, according to the report from Strathclyde. So I can’t imagine they’ll wait too long for the next job. To sum up, following Billy is a waste of time, as is interviewing him without evidence or searching his property. Whatever we do though, we need to spend time on it and get serious about putting this team away.’
Macallan started to spin the options and problems and w
as certain it could be done. It just needed commitment. ‘Okay, we know the problems, so we need to agree how we do this. First of all could I ask you, Felicity, to comment on what you’ve heard? I know that you’ve looked at the reports of the previous jobs across the UK thought to be down to Billy.’
Young was still thinking about Harkins and how he disgusted and excited her all at the same time. She sat up and looked at her notes. ‘What we can confirm is that the victims are the length and breadth of the country. If they carry out an attack in the central belt of Scotland then the next could be in the Midlands or south of England. We’ve never had any information on how they select their victims other than that in the vast majority of cases they are restaurant owners and mostly ethnic Chinese, so the answer is there somewhere. The victims tend to live in large homes and affluent areas. As Sergeant Harkins has suggested, it seems they steal a car just before the job and burn it out after so we lose any chance of forensics. If we can track them, I think we should look for any cars stolen in the areas they’ve been in. If we could identify the car just before a job then it would at least be a start.’
Macallan thanked the analyst and turned to Jack Forbes, who was the DI in charge of the surveillance team and regarded as one of the best in the business. Surveillance was an art form, far removed from the TV detectives who carried out surveillance about fifteen feet behind the bad guy and yet were never spotted. It was hard work and took intensive training and selection with a high failure rate. It was about blending into the street and Jack Forbes was a good example. He was a hard leader but his team would jump through walls for him.
‘I’ve worked on Billy Drew before and confirm everything that Mick has said. It would be a waste of time trying to follow him conventionally. Even when he goes out shopping he spends his time doing counter-surveillance to test if anything’s there. We could get an OP set up to cover his house, and the same for Colin Jack and Frank Drew. At least it would give us an idea of when they were out and moving. We could take on Frank with conventional surveillance at least till he gets anywhere near Billy.’
Macallan had heard enough and knew what needed to be done. ‘Okay I’ll have a closed-door meeting with the Super as soon as we’re finished here, but what we’ll get going is a meeting with the murder squad, offer them all assistance within reason. Mick will arrange an informant to get onto Frank Drew, Felicity will do an in-depth analysis of all the information on the previous jobs including the murder, and, Jack, you’ll arrange visual coverage of the targets’ homes and the hard one – requesting the authority to get an electronic beacon on Billy’s car and bug his home.’
The room straightened up as one and Harkins realised that she was going for broke. It was ambitious and there would be a raised eyebrow or two and probably a comment in the chief’s office that this wasn’t Northern Ireland, but it was good.
Macallan turned to O’Connor, expecting a frown, but there was a spark in his eyes and a smile of encouragement. He put his notes down. ‘I said I wanted fresh thinking on this and that’s what I hear. We want success for the team and so, Grace, I want you to make the case for this on paper and I’ll do the fighting upstairs to get the authorisations. The rest of you know what you’ve got to do, so let’s get on with it – and the first round’s on me if we get this one in the bag.’
They all relaxed and Young decided that she might miss a night at badminton the next time there was team drinks. She felt conflicted by Harkins but wanted to get to know him. She could never take him home to her mother but that wasn’t what she had in mind.
11
About the same time the MCT were deciding what to do about Billy Drew and his team of hooligans, the man who’d beaten Pauline Johansson into a life of pain was finishing shaving. He ran the razor down his face and splashed it clean. His skin was plump, well nourished and he knew he looked good. His grey eyes were clear and his teeth were good, almost too straight, and had cost a fortune in private work. He held out his hand and marvelled that there wasn’t even a hint of a tremor. He felt calm and doing the whore had gone according to plan.
He smacked some Italian cologne round his neck, smiling at the memory and the pleasure he’d felt in the act. That was what had surprised him most: the original plan had not been about pleasure, but once he’d hurt the first one, the feeling of power had almost overwhelmed him. It was as if something was growing inside him and needed feeding, but for now it was all good – he had his day job to take care of and perhaps a visit to the gym later to work on his pecs.
He pulled on his shirt and fixed his tie into a Windsor knot. As he left for work, he picked up his briefcase and, although it was cold, a watery sun was lighting the shadows on the city streets.
While he walked, he ran the whole thing through his head again; he had to learn where to improve the plan if possible. He felt light and well, studying the faces drifting by him, wondering what their particular secrets were. What would they have thought if they’d known that the man who brushed past them to buy his morning paper was going to be headline news for punishing the dregs of society? Most of them would be shocked of course, but there would be friends in the crowd somewhere, people who’d understand what his mission was really about.
Pauline Johansson had relaxed when she saw the polished Merc cruise past her for the second time. She was out of her tree but knew a nice set of wheels when she saw one, stoned or sober, and the dark shape driving the car was wearing a suit.
She turned and looked to see if there were any other girls nearby but the street was empty. She’d no idea what time it was, other than late, and she’d been planning to call it a night, but if it was a business type then she might hang on to see if he was up for it. Most of the other girls would be away so he was limited for choice. She whispered to herself, which was a habit she’d picked up on the long, lonely waits for punters. ‘Business type, that’ll do for me. Come on, my son.’
The Merc pulled into the kerb and the window slid down noiselessly. ‘You working?’
She stuck her head in the window – it smelt nice, was warm and she just wanted to climb in before she froze to death. ‘I was just going to finish, honey, but if you’re up for it then I’m available.’
It was dark but she could see that this one was money. The downside of these guys was that they made her realise exactly how cheap and fucked up her life was. When it was the average punter in his clapped-out wheels trying to get the thrill he wasn’t getting at home, then in a way it was okay. They were all just circulating in the same vat of pigswill. These business types paid well and really didn’t want anything too daft, but it was as if they’d come from another planet.
She tried to focus her eyes but she was zombied after the hit she’d taken earlier. She inhabited a place where every single day was a struggle to get enough together for powder that would keep the stomach cramps away for another few hours. The powder came first and that would be bought before toothpaste or toilet paper. She felt like one of those hamsters that just ran on a wheel to get absolutely fucking nowhere. She needed this punter’s money so she gave it her best smile and ran off the prices, hoping it would all be straightforward and he’d drop her off back at her flat. She wondered what his wife was like and what she would think of her husband being with a junkie who was frightened to go to the doctor because of what he might tell her.
He handed over the notes. She tried again to focus on his face, but the heroin and exhaustion reduced the man to a mushy shape rather than a set of features and expressions.
‘Where’s the best place to go?’
She could hear enough in his voice to know he was educated and it occurred to her that if Danny Fleming hadn’t managed to fuck up her head, she could have had the life she deserved and ended up with a man like this. She guided him to an old industrial estate where the local police wouldn’t bother them. She thought he was unusual because the normal punters were always a bit nervy, but it was like this guy was going for a walk in the park. She liked him,
but then she liked everyone after finishing a packet of brown.
They pulled in behind the old warehouse, she told him they’d be better in the back of the car and she opened the door. She didn’t see him pull the tyre jack from under the seat as he stepped out of the car. She was half into the back seat when he’d walked round behind her and grabbed a handful of her long blonde hair.
His first job was to shut the bitch up. He snapped her head back, tightening her throat, pulled her round and hit her as hard as he could just under the rib cage. She collapsed, struggling to get the air back into her lungs and moaned into the wet muck under her face. She was in too much pain to focus or make sense of what was happening but felt the man turn her over. He was strong and she was helpless.
Johansson had been hurt before by the odd punter, but the way this guy had put her down was enough to tell her there was more to come. She saw him take his jacket off and put it in a bag then roll his sleeves up. She managed to say the word ‘please’, but when he produced the tyre jack she tried to curl up into a ball.
He looked round; it was dark and quiet apart from the bitch moaning on the ground. He got to work – although he didn’t want to finish this one, only take it as far as he could.
Johansson lapsed into unconsciousness as the dark shape above her grunted with the effort of ruining her face.
At 9 a.m. the following day he strode into the office and shouted good morning to the whole room. At least two of the women working there spent a good percentage of their working days wondering how they could get the man who had visited Pauline Johansson into their lives. Most of the others regarded him as a creep.
Cause of Death Page 8