Soft Target ss-2

by Stephen Leather

  As he put away the phone he saw Liam standing at the front door. Katra was behind him, her hand on his shoulder. Shepherd could see from the look on Liam’s face that he knew what he was going to say. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘Work?’ said Liam.

  Shepherd nodded.

  ‘You can drive me to school, can’t you, Katra?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll get changed,’ said Katra. She went inside. Liam walked over to the CRV.

  ‘Liam, I’m sorry,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I’ll take you to school tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday,’ said Liam.

  ‘Well, we’ll do something tomorrow. It’s my day off, too.’

  Liam climbed into the back of the CRV. He fastened his seatbelt and deliberately avoided his father’s eyes.

  Shepherd waited at the front door until Katra came downstairs. She was wearing the green parka and sand-coloured cargo pants she’d had on the first time they’d met.

  ‘I’ll phone you later,’ he said. She waved and got into the car. Shepherd watched them drive away, hoping that Liam would wave. He didn’t.

  He set the burglar alarm and locked the house, then drove the Toyota across town. He found a parking space about ten minutes’ walk from Wapping High Street. He sat for a few minutes, staring at his reflection in the rear-view mirror, preparing himself mentally for what he was about to do. He was going to lie to a man who thought he was his friend. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. He put the Stuart Marsden phone into his jacket pocket and the others into the glove compartment.

  He got out of the Toyota and walked slowly towards Wapping tube station. Rose was already there, wearing a long black coat over blue jeans and a black polo-neck sweater. He nodded at Shepherd and started walking down the street. Shepherd caught up with him and the two men walked in silence. Rose turned into a side-street and they went between two warehouse conversions, ornate black metal grilles over the windows, CCTV cameras covering all angles. Fortresses for City workers.

  Rose made a left turn and walked up to a modern block. Concrete stairs led to the entrance. Someone had spray-painted ‘HOMES FOR LOCALS NOT YUPPIE SCUM’ across the glass door that led into the building. A line of thirty doorbells was set into a stainless-steel intercom system, covered by a CCTV camera above the door. Rose pressed one of the bells. Flat twenty-seven. Shepherd heard a tinny voice but couldn’t make out what was said. Rose smiled apologetically at him. ‘He wants me to pat you down.’

  ‘He what?’

  Shepherd tried to look surprised – and angry. It was a narrow line to tread but one he’d trodden dozens of time in the past. A search meant a lack of trust, and anyone would take offence at not being trusted. But protesting too much could be as dangerous as not protesting at all. The trick was to call it just right: righteous indignation followed by annoyed resignation.‘You approached me, remember?’ said Shepherd.‘I didn’t come knocking on your door.’

  ‘Just humour him,’ said Rose. ‘It’s his flat we’re going into.’

  ‘What does he think I’m carrying? A gun?’

  Rose looked uncomfortable.

  ‘He thinks I’m wearing a wire? For God’s sake, why would I?’

  ‘Like I said, humour him. Please.’

  Shepherd sighed and raised his arms. Rose patted him down quickly and efficiently. He made Shepherd take out his mobile phone and examined it carefully.

  ‘It’s a phone, Rosie.’

  ‘They can bug them so they transmit all the time,’ said Rose, ‘with or without your co-operation.’ He pulled off the back, took out the battery and the Sim card, then handed the pieces back to Shepherd and continued his search. He missed nothing, even patting Shepherd’s groin and running his hands up and down his inner thighs. If Shepherd had been wearing any sort of transmitter or recording device, Rose would have found it.

  ‘Satisfied?’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Don’t get ratty,’ said Rose. ‘We get caught doing this and they’ll throw away the key.’ He went back up the stairs and pressed the bell again. ‘He’s okay,’ Rose said, into the intercom. The glass door buzzed and Rose pushed it open. Shepherd followed him into the hallway. There was a lift to the right but Rose headed up the stairs. The flat was on the second floor and the door was already open.

  ‘Out here,’ said a voice.

  Shepherd walked through what was clearly a rented property. Cherrywood laminated flooring, a beige sofa, a glass-topped coffee-table, a small television and DVD player. There was nothing of a personal nature. The framed prints on the cream-painted walls were as bland and nondescript as the sofa. At the far end of the room, open french windows led to a large square balcony, overlooking the Thames. There were three white plastic chairs and a matching round table on which stood a cafetière, mugs, a carton of low-fat milk, a box of sugar cubes, and a basket of croissants. The occupant of the flat was standing with his back to the window. He turned as Shepherd walked out. It was Ken Swift.

  ‘Do you want coffee, Stu?’ he asked.

  ‘That would be good,’ said Shepherd, casually. Swift was watching him closely, trying to gauge his reaction, but Shepherd played it cool. Swift poured coffee into the three mugs.

  ‘Milk?’ he asked Shepherd.

  ‘Black, no sugar.’

  Swift poured a dash of milk into Rose’s coffee and handed it to him, then he and Rose dropped on to the chairs.

  ‘Nice place,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I can walk to Leman Street, which is a plus,’ said Swift. ‘Just the one bedroom, but the balcony makes up for it. All I can afford at the moment.’

  ‘Three divorces?’

  ‘First wife got fifty per cent, second wife got fifty per cent of what was left. Wife number three is aiming for the house and everything in it, which doesn’t leave me much. You’re better off being single, Stu. And don’t get me started on kids. I’m responsible for them right through university, and at the moment I’m lucky to see them twice a month.’

  Shepherd sipped his coffee.

  ‘Rose says three guys attacked you. Three guys from Glasgow.’

  ‘They might have been from Manchester. I borrowed the money in Glasgow but it was a Manchester bookie.’

  ‘You were lucky.’

  ‘Rosie helped me. If it hadn’t been for him, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

  ‘You had a gun?’

  ‘For my own protection.’

  ‘You know the guy you shot is dead?’ said Swift. ‘There’s a full-scale murder inquiry on the go.’

  ‘No one saw us. No forensics. Rosie and I can alibi each other if necessary. No way will they pin anything on us.’

  ‘And you owed them money?’

  ‘Thirty grand.’

  ‘Gambling debts, Rosie said.’

  ‘I was a twat, I know. I just kept getting in deeper and deeper.’

  ‘So you’re up for what we’re planning?’

  ‘I don’t know what it is,’ said Shepherd. ‘Ripping off a drugs-dealer is all I know.’

  ‘But in principle?’

  ‘In principle I’m more than happy to relieve them of their ill-gotten gains. So long as we don’t have to go in with guns blazing.’

  ‘We don’t intend to hurt anyone,’ said Rose. ‘We’re not vigilantes. It’s not about putting them out of business. It’s solely about money. They have it. We take it.’

  ‘Count me in,’ Shepherd said. ‘But I could do with knowing one thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’

  Swift and Rose exchanged a look. Then Swift nodded. ‘Once. We hit a crack-dealing crew in Harlesden.’

  ‘And was Andy Ormsby involved?’

  Swift’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Who the fuck told you about Andy?’

  Shepherd returned the man’s stare. ‘Andy disappeared. You and Rose barely mention his name. You’re a man s
hort, which means you’re a man down, and you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that Andy’s the missing link.’

  ‘He took a bullet. We did what we could but he died before we could get him to a doctor. We buried him.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘No!’ Rose had raised his voice. ‘We thought long and hard about what to do.’

  ‘And if he hadn’t died, would you have taken him to hospital?’

  ‘There was nothing we could do,’ said Rose.

  ‘That wasn’t what I was asking,’ said Shepherd. ‘If you screw up again and I get shot, what happens to me?’

  ‘We didn’t screw up,’ said Swift.

  ‘Every time shots are fired, someone’s screwed up,’ said Shepherd.

  Swift stood up. ‘This isn’t about what happened to Andy. It’s about where we go from here.’

  ‘I understand that, but I need to know exactly what I’m getting into,’ said Shepherd. ‘Where did you bury him?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’ asked Swift.

  ‘If there’s a body out there that could lead back to me, I want to know it’ll never be found.’

  ‘The New Forest,’ said Swift. ‘And don’t worry, no one will find him.’

  ‘He didn’t have anyone close,’ said Rose. ‘It’s not like he was married or had kids.’

  ‘Like me,’ said Shepherd. ‘No one would miss me either. But that’s not to say I want to end up buried in the New Forest.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘I don’t mean to sound negative, but it’s not every day you get an offer to take part in an armed robbery.’

  ‘We don’t look at it that way,’ said Swift. He picked up a croissant. ‘We’re stealing from drugs-dealers. Bad guys. The money we take is drugs money. If we didn’t take it, they’d only be using it to wholesale more drugs.’

  ‘So we’re sort of Robin Hoods?’ said Shepherd.

  ‘The only way it can go wrong is if someone gets hurt,’ said Rose. ‘If we get away clean there’s no way they can report it.’

  ‘And three is enough?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘Three’s best,’ said Rose. ‘Two to go in, one to drive.’

  ‘And my role would be?’

  ‘You come with me, Ken stays with the car,’ said Rose.

  ‘And weaponry?’

  ‘We’ve an Ingram, there’s a Python .45 and a Glock. We’re well sorted. Whatever happens, you should ditch your gun.’

  Rose drank his coffee and Swift put another chunk of croissant into his mouth.

  Shepherd put down his mug. ‘And what would my take be?’

  ‘Three-way split,’ said Swift. ‘How much we get depends on who we turn over.’

  ‘How much did you get from the Yardies?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘It didn’t work out as planned,’ Rose said awkwardly.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘The cash wasn’t there. They’d done a coke deal, so we took the drugs.’

  Shepherd raised his eyebrows. ‘There’s no way I’m being paid in gear,’ he said.

  ‘I sold it to some Paddies,’ said Rose.

  ‘You did a drugs deal?’

  ‘It was a one-off.’

  Shepherd was astounded. He was sitting opposite two long-serving police officers who had admitted to murder, armed robbery, and drugs-dealing. ‘One more question,’ he said.

  ‘This is turning into Mastermind,’ said Swift.

  ‘It’s a big step,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Except that you killed a man last night,’ said Swift, ‘and put two more in hospital.’

  ‘Self-defence,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Self-defence or not, you’ll be off the force if it comes out. Maybe worse.’

  ‘No argument there,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘So, what’s the question?’

  ‘Knowing what I know, what happens if I turn you down?’

  ‘After what happened last night, we know enough about each other to cause everyone a whole lot of grief.’

  ‘So if I say no, I just walk away?’

  ‘Like I said, you killed a guy last night. Rosie and I did what we did. We don’t have to force you to do anything against your will. It’s your choice.’

  Shepherd picked up his mug. ‘It’s good coffee,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t like instant,’ said Swift. ‘It’s all about grinding it fresh each time.’

  Shepherd took a sip. ‘I’m in,’ he said.

  Rose looked at Swift and nodded enthusiastically. ‘Great,’ he said.

  ‘The three musketeers,’ said Shepherd. ‘All for one and all that shit.’

  Swift leaned over and shook his hand. ‘Good to have you aboard, Stu.’

  ‘It’s just the one job,’ said Rose. ‘I need one more hit. So does Ken. One hit and we walk away.’

  ‘One hit,’ repeated Shepherd. ‘That’s all I need.’ He put his mug on the table and stood up.

  ‘Can you find your own way out?’ asked Rose.

  ‘Sure.’

  As Shepherd stepped through the french windows, Swift called after him, ‘Hey, haven’t you forgotten something?’

  Shepherd turned. ‘What?’

  ‘That SWAT shirt I lent you, the one from New York. I want it back, you know. Sentimental value.’

  ‘I’ll get it cleaned,’ said Shepherd. He went back through the sitting room and out of the front door. He knew the two men were talking about him, but that was to be expected. He replayed the conversation in his head as he walked along Wapping High Street. It had gone well. He’d played it just right. Not too keen, not too suspicious, not too eager to break the law. They thought they could trust him because of what had happened the previous night, that he was as much of a criminal as they were. A cold wind was blowing off the Thames and Shepherd shivered.

  He went back to his car, taking a circuitous route to check that he wasn’t being followed. He reassembled his mobile phone as he walked. As it was the Stuart Marsden phone he didn’t use it to call Hargrove. When he was in his car, he took his other two mobiles out of the glove compartment and used one to phone Hargrove. ‘It’s Ken Swift,’ he said, ‘the inspector with Specialist Firearms Team Amber.’

  ‘You met with him?’

  ‘He’s got a rented flat in Wapping High Street.’

  ‘And what’s the plan?’

  ‘He and Rosie are putting together a robbery. Drugs-dealers, same as they did in Harlesden. I’ll be taking Andy Ormsby’s place.’

  ‘They talked about him?’

  ‘Shot by one of the Yardies. Died in the back of the van they were using. Buried in the New Forest.’

  ‘So that’s it, then?’

  ‘You want to move in on what I have?’

  ‘Did they mention the Python?’

  ‘They’re going to use it on the next job.’

  ‘We need that gun, Spider. The icing on the cake. We’ll get dogs looking for Ormsby’s body. With what we’ve got, Rose will roll on Swift. You won’t be involved.’

  ‘They’re cops, and they’re not stupid,’ said Shepherd.‘You bust them straight after they’ve talked to me and they’ll put two and two together.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘Let it run for a few days. Rose has to move soon because he needs the money for his daughter’s medical bills. Swift said they were putting something together now, so let them fill me in on it and bust us en route. Take me in with them, then they’ll assume I’ve cut a deal. That way I stay as Stuart Marsden, bent cop, and don’t show my hand.’

  ‘You’re okay with that?’

  Shepherd grimaced. He wasn’t happy about setting up Rose and Swift but he had to keep his undercover status secret. The more people who knew who he was and what he did, the harder it would be for him to operate in future. And the greater the risk to Liam. ‘It’s the best way,’ he said.

  ‘Still no wire?’ asked Hargrove.

  ‘I don’t want to show out on this case,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I unders
tand,’ said Hargrove. ‘Swift needs money, does he?’

  ‘Two ex-wives and one on the way.’ Shepherd cut the connection, then tapped in another number. The major answered. ‘Gannon.’

  ‘It’s Spider. Don’t suppose you’re free for a chat?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Wapping.’

  ‘I’m in Westminster, on my way to talk to a select committee who want reassurance that all’s well with the world. It isn’t, of course, but I’m supposed to sound confident that we can handle anything that’s thrown at us. This afternoon I’m over at New Scotland Yard to meet their anti-terrorism guys. All good stuff.’

  ‘No sweat. If you’re busy it can wait.’

  ‘If you can get to the Embankment within half an hour we’ll talk before I go in to the great and the good.’

  ‘Do you know a guy called Barry Jones? From the Regiment? He just killed himself.’

  ‘Doesn’t ring a bell. But I’ll check. Is that what you want to talk about?’

  ‘That’s part of it.’

  Shepherd ended the call and drove westwards. He parked in a multi-storey near Charing Cross station and walked down to Victoria Embankment. It wasn’t a problem for him to be seen with the major: Stuart Marsden was an armed policeman not a drugs-dealer or a gangland hitman, so it wouldn’t be out of character for him to know a member of the SAS. The worst that would happen was that he’d have to lie, but lying was second nature.

  Shepherd headed along the paved walkway on the north side of the river. It felt good to be out in regular clothes rather than driving around in the ARV in his combat gear. He wasn’t used to working regular hours. His usual roles involved passing himself off as a career criminal, and one of the perks of the criminal fraternity was being able to choose your hours.

  Shepherd spotted the major looking out over the river, a metallic attaché case in his left hand.

  ‘Good to see you’re not in uniform, Spider,’ he said as they shook hands. His was the size of a shovel and he wore the Regimental signet ring on his little finger.

  They walked together towards Westminster Bridge.

  ‘Thanks for this, Major.’

  ‘I was early, anyway. I hate these briefings to politicians, but at least they get me out of the barracks.’ He hefted the metal case. ‘All I do is wait for the sat phone to ring, and when it does all hell breaks loose. But until it rings, it’s just me and four walls. With a staff sergeant who still can’t make a decent brew.’