The Rule of Fear

by Luke Delaney

  17

  Marino bounded up the stairs towards the first floor of Millander Walk where he’d been told he’d find King. In the distance he’d heard the two shots being fired as he’d approached the estate in his unmarked car and knew he was probably already too late. In the background he could hear the wail of approaching sirens. As he rounded the corner he stopped in his tracks when he saw the prostrate figure of a man in black trousers and a white shirt on the ground – a young boy he didn’t know sitting next to him holding his hand. Susie Ubana stood outside her flat holding her teenage daughter close. They both flicked tears away from their eyes.

  ‘Oh Jesus, no,’ Marino implored quietly as he began to walk slowly towards the body.

  ‘You’re too late,’ Ubana accused him as he passed her. ‘You can’t help him now.’

  Marino ignored her and went to King’s side – kneeling next to him and taking his other hand. ‘Oh dear God, Jack,’ he said, looking down on his motionless, lifeless body. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

  ‘Is he dead?’ Billy asked.

  Marino looked up into the sparkling blue eyes of the boy. ‘Go home, son,’ he told him as kindly as he could. Billy began to stand, wiping the blood from his hands on his jeans as if it was just dust. ‘And thank you,’ Marino added. ‘You’re a brave boy.’

  Billy just shrugged. ‘I thought he wouldn’t want to be alone.’

  Marino choked back the tears and grief that threatened to swamp him on hearing the boy’s words of kindness. ‘No,’ he struggled to reply. ‘He wouldn’t have wanted to be alone. Now go. Go home.’ The boy nodded once and wandered off along the walkway, occasionally looking over his shoulder in case something miraculously changed. Marino watched him all the way until he disappeared into a stairwell then his gaze returned to the stricken King. The holes in the chest of his shirt told him all he needed to know – that King couldn’t have survived. But he knew he had to be sure – for the final report if nothing else. He held his middle and index fingers together and pushed them deep into King’s throat, close to his trachea. He was desperately struggling to detect even the slightest trace of a pulse when King’s body suddenly lurched as he sucked air into what remained of his lungs and his eyes sprang open as if from a nightmare – blood spitting from his mouth. Marino fell back with shock before recovering himself. Leaning over King, he tried to remember his first aid training – tried to remember how to seal holes in punctured lungs – but King chased all thoughts from his mind as he grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pulled him close, his lips trying to form words. Marino twisted his head and held an ear as close as he could to King’s mouth and waited for him to speak.

  ‘I saved her, Frank,’ he managed to say – his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. But Marino knew what he meant. The young girl in the white dress with the spreading crimson – he’d saved her and lost himself.

  ‘Yeah, Jack,’ Marino told him, holding his hand tighter than he’d held anything before, as if that could somehow stop him from slipping away. ‘You saved her. You saved her.’

  King smiled as peace washed over him and took away all the pain and anguish of being alive – his bloody lips even forming a slight smile. His eyes fluttered like the beating wings of a tiny bird before closing for the last time as his chest stopped heaving against impossible injuries and his heart fell still.

  Marino remained crouched and silent – still holding King’s hand as he tried to comprehend the magnitude of having watched the life of a young man he’d known so well end right in front of him. His trance was broken by the sound of feet running towards him. He spun round to see Kelly closing in on them, her face a mess of blood and bruises, her pace slowing to a staggered walk as she realized what she was seeing. She was already crying, but now her tears intensified as she covered the last few steps and collapsed to her knees next to King’s bloody body. Marino made no attempt to stop her, despite the fact he knew she was contaminating what was now a crime scene. None of that seemed important any more.

  ‘Jack,’ Kelly said, cradling his lifeless head in her hands. ‘Jack,’ she repeated louder and more desperately.

  ‘He’s gone,’ Marino told her.

  ‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘No. He can’t be. I love him.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ was all he could say.

  ‘He said something to you,’ Kelly almost accused him. ‘I saw you leaning over him. He said something to you, didn’t he? You got to tell me – you got to tell me what he said.’

  Marino sighed deeply and looked into the deep pools of darkness that were her eyes – now so stricken with grief and fear he knew he had to tell her something – something she could anchor herself to and stop her being carried away by a tidal wave of sadness. ‘He asked me to tell you that he loved you,’ he lied. ‘That was all he said: “Tell Kelly I love her.”’

  She raised her hand and covered her mouth as her heart-wrenching sobbing intensified, but Marino also registered a faint bright flicker in her oil-black eyes – a flicker of happiness, as if although he was gone, she could never lose him now.

  ‘Why did you come back, Jack?’ she asked through her tears. ‘Why did you have to come back?’

  ‘I think he came back for you,’ Marino told her what he thought she needed to hear.

  Suddenly she stiffened slightly – drawing on a hardness that lived within her, nurtured by years of living on the estate. ‘Nothing good survives here,’ she told him. ‘I’m leaving. I’m getting as far away from here as I can and I’m never coming back. Never. The people who live here are already dead, but I’m alive. He showed me that – told me I could be anything. Now I’m going to be all I can be and this place can’t stop me any more.’

  A few days later

  Inspector Johnston stood in silence in Superintendent Gerrard’s office at Newham Police Station, watching him as he silently read a thick report wrapped in a pink cardboard jacket that marked it as ‘Confidential’, only occasionally pausing to shake his head or make disapproving tutting sounds. Eventually he closed the report and pushed it away from him across his desk as if its mere presence offended him.

  ‘This is an absolute fucking disaster,’ he finally declared. ‘Rogue, corrupt police officers on the streets of London. Worse – rogue, corrupt uniform police officers. Christ, you almost expect the odd detective to go bad, but a uniformed sergeant selected for accelerated promotion? This could rock the Met to its very foundations. And all this about King suffering from post traumatic stress disorder – a condition, and I quote …’ He scrambled for the report, skimming the pages until he found what he was looking for … ‘“a condition his senior officers failed to recognize or act upon”. Let me tell you, Joanne, this does not look good for you … or me.’

  ‘Sir,’ Johnston interrupted, clearing her throat before she began in earnest. ‘I should remind you that at this stage the report is merely a preliminary and confidential report.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Gerrard snapped impatiently.

  ‘Meaning,’ Johnston explained, ‘the Senior Investigating Officer into the matter has not yet submitted his findings to the CPS or anyone else for that matter. Turns out he’s an old training school friend of mine – also on the accelerated promotion scheme.’

  ‘So?’ Gerrard asked – more interested now.

  ‘So it’s fair to say he understands the possible implications of an open and undiscriminating investigation,’ Johnston told him. ‘He’s the sort of officer who is … aware enough to understand the damaging implications a fully disclosable investigation would have on the reputation of the Metropolitan Police and all the hard-working and honest officers who carry out their duty daily with self-sacrifice and no thought for their—’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Gerrard stopped her. ‘Save the rambling job-speak for your Chief Inspectors’ Board and tell me what we’re suggesting here.’

  Johnston smiled her pixie smile before speaking. ‘Although there is no solid evidence yet, as such, there are sug
gestions that a local family engaged in organized crime called the Campbells could have been involved in King’s death.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Gerrard hurried her along. ‘I heard the rumours.’

  ‘Well,’ Johnston calmly explained, ‘it appears they are not without their connections.’

  ‘Connections?’

  ‘People,’ Johnston answered. ‘Legal people.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And these people have been in contact with my friend and his investigating team,’ Johnston explained, ‘by way of sounding us out, so to speak.’

  ‘Sounding us out?’ Gerrard asked. ‘About what?’

  ‘It appears they have information in their possession – information about Sergeant King’s activities that could be very damaging. Even more damaging than we first thought.’

  ‘Christ,’ Gerrard declared, stroking his short brown hair. ‘Then we’re all royally fucked.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Johnston told him.

  ‘Really?’ Gerrard asked suspiciously.

  ‘The people acting on behalf of the Campbells have made a suggestion,’ she explained. ‘An offer, you could say.’

  ‘An offer?’ Gerrard encouraged her, his eyebrows arched high in his forehead.

  ‘They are aware that eventually any investigation into King’s death would lead to their clients’ door,’ Johnston went on.

  ‘You mean the Campbells’ front door?’ Gerrard huffed. ‘Good. About time we nailed that family for something.’

  ‘And if that was to happen,’ Johnston spoke quickly to dampen Gerrard’s appetite for revenge, ‘then they would not hesitate to release the information they hold to any media outlet that would want it – which of course means all of them.’

  ‘This sounds more like blackmail than an offer to me,’ Gerrard complained.

  ‘However,’ Johnston continued, ‘if the investigation was to head in a different direction, one that led away from the Campbells—’

  ‘You mean one that led nowhere,’ Gerrard interrupted.

  ‘One that was eventually to be inconclusive,’ Johnston corrected him, ‘then they see no reason why any such information relating to King’s activities should be … made public.’

  ‘Christ,’ Gerrard shook his head, ‘and you think this could actually fly?’

  ‘I can assure you, sir,’ Johnston told him, ‘my friend leading the investigation has the ear of some very senior officers. As do I.’

  ‘And he’s already run this by them?’

  ‘That is my understanding.’

  ‘And they believe this is the best way to go?’

  ‘They believe it would be best all round,’ Johnston assured him. ‘For the good of the Metropolitan Police.’

  ‘My God,’ Gerrard shook his head in disbelief. ‘What’s it all come to?’

  ‘It’s for the best, sir,’ Johnston added.

  ‘Maybe,’ Gerrard played along, ‘but we still have a murdered police officer on our hands – who has a family and friends who want answers.’

  ‘And what do we tell them?’ Johnston eased herself into a position of control. ‘That their son was rotten to the core? That he was gunned down by a rival gang protecting their turf from his expanding criminal endeavours?’

  Gerrard said nothing for a while, Johnston’s words bouncing around inside his mind like jumping beans in a can. ‘No,’ he finally agreed. ‘I suppose not. But we have to tell them something.’

  ‘We …’ Johnston began before stalling – remembering her place in the pecking order, ‘the SIO and the people he’s spoken to have suggested that perhaps Sergeant King was the victim of a gang who were apparently planning to commit an armed robbery at a betting shop on the edges of the Grove Wood Estate. It’s possible he disturbed the gang as they left a flat in Millander Walk prior to committing the intended robbery. The estate is, after all, notorious for producing armed robbers. It is believed that Sergeant King challenged the gang and was mercilessly gunned down in the line of duty. No doubt his actions saved several members of the public and the staff at the betting shop a terrible and violent ordeal. My friend, the SIO, thought a Commissioner’s Commendation for bravery would be the very least he deserved.’

  When Johnston was finished Gerrard just sat in stunned silence – as if he’d been shot in the head with an invisible bullet.

  ‘Sir,’ Johnston tried to bring him out of his trance.

  Eventually Gerrard showed signs of life. ‘Christ,’ he said shaking his head. ‘Is all this really … doable?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir,’ Johnston told him – trying to suppress a smile of satisfaction. ‘I can assure you it’s very doable.’

  ‘Then so be it,’ Gerrard sighed, looking down at the file on his desk – the life and death of Jack King. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a short unpleasant laugh.

  ‘Sir?’ Johnston asked, confused by Gerrard’s unexpected reaction.

  ‘Ironic really,’ Gerrard replied – only serving to further confuse Johnston.

  ‘Ironic?’

  ‘The King is dead, Inspector,’ Gerrard told her, as he closed the file. ‘Long live the King.’

  Acknowledgements

  A big thank you to all the team at HarperCollins for supporting me in my latest venture and allowing me to do something quite different from the DI Corrigan series. It’s still quite early in my writing career, so it’s very brave and admirable of them to go for it. A special thanks to my editor – Sarah Hodgson – who worked very hard and showed a lot of patience and skill. Also the Publisher – Kate Elton – who has always backed me. And a big thanks to Hannah Gamon from marketing, Jaime Frost in publicity, all the guys on the wonderful Killer Reads team and everyone in sales.

  More thanks to my talented agent – Simon Trewin at WME – who continues to look after me – and my wife and children who continue to stand by and encourage me, not to mention motivate me.

  And lastly, I want to acknowledge all the cops I’ve ever worked with each of whom have shaped me into the person I am and given me the best, funniest and most valued years of my life. I miss you all and the job I loved. I see each and every one of you in the characters in my books.

  LD

  If you enjoyed The Rule of Fear, try the DI Sean Corrigan series:

  A KILLER WHO’LL NEVER STOP.

  A DETECTIVE WHO’LL NEVER GIVE UP.

  Click here to buy Cold Killing

  HE’S GOING TO SAVE HER.

  WHETHER SHE LIKES IT OR NOT.

  Click here to buy The Keeper

  HE SEES YOU WHEN YOU’RE SLEEPING

  Click here to buy The Toy Taker

  HE SELECTS THE VICTIMS

  YOU CHOOSE THEIR FATE

  Click here to buy The Jackdaw

  About the Author

  Luke Delaney joined the Metropolitan Police Service in the late 1980s and his first posting was to an inner city area of South East London notorious for high levels of crime and extreme violence. He later joined CID where he investigated murders ranging from those committed by fledgling serial killers to gangland assassinations.

  He is the author of the DI Sean Corrigan series and The Rule of Fear is his fifth novel.

  LukeDelaneyOfficial

  @lukedelaneyuk

  www.luke-delaney.com

  Also by Luke Delaney

  Cold Killing

  The Keeper

  The Toy Taker

  The Jackdaw

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