by Karl Holton
“I don’t know what that means,” said Raske.
Lomax looked at him. “Your friend is now with the man in the wind; are you sure the revenge you seek is … appropriate? Are you going to do the right thing?”
Raske felt his grasp on the rifle case tighten. “Why do you care?”
“Once again, what I think is irrelevant. What my boss wants to happen, however, will ultimately overwhelm us all. I’d caution you to be sensible until the right time … until I tell you exactly what you want to know. I wouldn’t want you to make a mistake and allow revenge to get in the way of duty.”
Raske laughed through his nose and shook his head. “Do you even understand what ‘duty’ means?”
Lomax grinned. The soldier isn’t gone yet, he thought. “Not in the same sense as you.”
“So give me some information.”
“The people you’re after are here in the UK. It will not be simple and you saw what happened when Richter got too close. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when your ‘labours’ are complete.”
Raske felt himself bite the inside of his mouth. “So let’s get on with it.”
“I’m glad to see that you’re in a rush,” said Lomax, pointing at the rifle. “You’re going to need this again tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, the next task is tonight. But this won’t be as clinical as the first task. It will be a lot more … chaotic.”
“In what way?” Raske asked. “I’m not fond of chaos.”
“I think you misunderstand,” Lomax said. “There’s a meeting … I need you to cause some mayhem at it. You’ll become ‘chaos’.”
Raske raised an eyebrow. “How many people do I have to kill for this task?”
“You’ll see.” Lomax said, as he turned to the door, before turning back. “I need to go.”
Raske stood up. “What about your contact’s details?”
“Oh, that’s easy; he’s standing outside the door,” said Lomax, who stepped back to the table. He picked up the glass that he’d touched with his fingers, put it into his pocket and winked at Raske.
Chapter 12
Day 8
Hall Lane, Ingatestone, Essex
3.14 p.m.
Tommy thumped the palm of his hand into Johnnie’s shoulder. “Explain it to me, Johnnie.”
“What do you expect me to say?” he replied.
Tommy turned away. “Don’t you understand that this looks very odd? You get nicked where Curt is killed and you’re allowed out before the end of the day.”
Johnnie shrugged. “I wasn’t nicked. They needed to speak to me. There was no reason to hold me.”
Tommy shook his head. “Bollocks. You had gear on you.”
“It was nothing, honest. It was a family event and I decided to make sure I only had —”
“Are you so stupid that you think I haven’t spoken to Perkins? He told me what the police asked you in the interview.”
Johnnie stepped towards his boss. “But I’m telling you now. Why did he need to tell you?”
Tommy drank from the small glass sitting on the kitchen top. “Because I fuckin’ pay ‘im to tell me.”
“They hardly spoke to me about the drugs I had,” offered Johnnie. “I’d swallowed most of them anyway.”
Tommy nodded. “Perkins said you were out of it.”
“All they wanted to know about was Curt.”
“So, Curt didn’t ask you to come over and bring ‘charlie’ and pills? His mates chug it down faster than Keith Richards and pay top dollar. You sell drugs, Johnnie. That’s like asking Ronald McDonald to turn up at a kid’s party and he forgets to bring burgers. No fuckin’ way.”
Johnnie laughed. “I don’t know what to say.”
Tommy punched the marble kitchen top on the island between them. “Do you think this is funny?”
Johnnie knew answering either way was a bad idea. “I was standing beside Curt when ‘is head was blown off. Of course they’re gonna to talk to me.”
“I know that; I just don’t understand ‘ow you’re ‘ere.”
“I told them everything I saw and then they let me go.”
“Bullshit,” said Tommy, marching around the pristine wooden floor of the kitchen. “What did you talk about?”
“I ‘ad to explain exactly what happened as the bullet hit Curt.”
Tommy’s face reddened. “Do a lot of ballistics before you left school at sixteen?”
“Fuck off, Tommy.”
Tommy moved much faster than Johnnie had expected, getting around the kitchen island and pushing him against the wall, grabbing his throat with one hand. “I’ve treated you like family ever since my brother and your dad were killed in that car together. Don’t fuck with me. Not today. Today is too important. Understand?”
Johnnie struggled for breath unable to push away Tommy’s forearm. “I get it.”
A head popped into the room. “Alright, Boss?”
Tommy didn’t turn towards him. “Fuck off.”
The door closed.
Tommy let go of Johnnie’s throat and stepped away. He turned back. “Who did you leave the police station with?”
Johnnie rubbed his neck. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a simple question. Perkins told me that the police finished the meeting and then asked you to leave before him. You fuckin’ disappeared. He thinks you left with someone. Someone the police spoke to outside the interview room. Who was he?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”
“No idea?” Tommy walked up to him and placed a hand on his chest, feeling for a wire.
“Just fuck off,” he said, pushing his hand away. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” Johnnie stepped away.
Tommy shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re out.”
Johnnie rubbed his throat. “What do you mean ‘out’?”
“You need to get the fuck out of ‘ere right now … and I mean properly fuck off. You need to forget about SJ. Dump her and get out of the country as fast as you can.”
“You’re not serious. Tonight we’re —”
Tommy sighed. “I know the police didn’t keep your passport but you can’t use it. You need to use one of your falsies. Don’t tell anyone which one you use. Go straight to Stansted Airport from here and get a plane somewhere that you can stay in for as long as you like. You can’t use your place in Spain though. Don’t go there.”
Johnnie walked towards the man that had been his friend for years. “What are you talking about, Boss?”
Tommy looked at him and remembered standing beside the young man at the graveside as they promised each other revenge on the Horne family. “You need to do this, Johnnie. There’s no choice. If you stay … I can’t protect you.”
Johnnie sensed the truth and a tear formed in the corner of his eye. “Not today, Tommy, please.”
Tommy turned away and walked over to a small bag sitting on the kitchen top. He picked it up and placed it on the island marble. “There’s a hundred ‘bags’ in this. If you have any cash then get it on the way to the airport, but don’t go near SJ. I’ll look after her.”
Johnnie wiped his eyes. “Who’s doing this, Tommy? I know it’s not you.”
“That’s all you need to know, son. Now fuck off and don’t contact me for at least a year and just send me a mobile number in a letter. That’s all, nothing else.”
Johnnie walked over to the island, staring at the bag. Tommy placed a large hand on his shoulder.
“You’re asking me to leave behind the revenge we promised each other all those years ago on the day it’s going to happen. You want me to walk away from the woman I love and …” said Johnnie, feeling himself choking. “The baby.”
“I’m not asking you … but the man telling me what to do will put you, SJ and the baby in the ground if you stay. I’m doing this so it looks like you’ve … been taken care of.”
Johnnie closed his eyes
and dropped his head. He couldn’t stop the images forming in his mind.
Tommy walked away towards the closed door.
Chapter 13
Day 8
New Scotland Yard, Victoria, London
5.40 p.m.
Benedict could hear Watkins well before he got anywhere near the door of his office. As he got closer, he nodded and smiled towards the detective superintendent’s secretary. They knew each other well and she returned a knowing smile about the muffled but obvious noise coming from the office.
It was not the expletives resonating around the area outside which captured his immediate attention. The person sat outside the office certainly did warrant attention especially as her face told him that he was in trouble.
“Hi, Wallace, everything alright?” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t give me that, Benedict. I’m here because of you … and I really don’t have the time. Unlike some people, I’m one of the real coppers in this building.” She believed that Benedict was now working with MI5 and didn’t know about him working with Hanson.
He sat beside her and glanced at the secretary who smirked at him before returning to her computer. He stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. “How is it going with the Hatton Garden job? I hear you and the team are being congratulated with the fastest ever successful investigation within the Met.”
Wallace looked at him, exasperated. “We’re still looking for the last diamonds … which means I don’t really have time for this.”
Benedict placed his hands on his lap. He tapped his forefingers on his thighs in concert. “Let me know if you need any more help from me?”
Wallace shook her head.
He didn’t want to admit to her that he’d asked Watkins for her help, but he knew she was smart enough to work this out.
The shouting from the office was quite clear. He could tell it was Jardine in the office with Watkins and grinned as he heard Watkins shout ‘what do you fucking mean you couldn’t find a parking space near the hedge fund office? You were supposed to be there with Benedict’.
Benedict entwined his fingers and started tapping his thumbs together in a regular rhythm. He turned his head towards her. “I hear you might be up for a promotion.”
Her face locked on him. “Some shithead is inside that office getting a Watkins bollocking and I’m summoned here and you turn up at the same time.”
“Could be a coincidence,” he offered, raising his shoulders.
“These don’t happen around you. The poor bloke in there is watching his career go ‘down the swanny’ and all because he’s ended up in Benedict’s universe. There’s a pattern,” she stated. “I don’t intend on getting dragged into it. Understand?”
Benedict nodded, looking at his feet. “I don’t think that’s likely.”
“Really? And why’s that?”
In his mind, thoughts started racing around about what reasons to give her. Your shoes are amazing. You smell a lot better than Jardine does. You have much better legs in that skirt. He looked at her and smiled. What he honestly thought could wait.
The office door opened.
“Now fuck off you useless twat. I’ll speak to your DCI later,” Watkins said, still inside the office.
Jardine stepped out of the office. “Yes. Thank you, sir.” He briefly met Benedict’s eyes as he left, turned away and rapidly walked down the corridor.
“Wallace. Benedict. Get in here,” said Watkins, not looking to check that they were there.
Before standing Wallace undid the band on her blonde hair and redid it.
Benedict continued smiling at her. He held out the palm of his hand and then watched as she stood in front of him. She straightened her jacket and skirt, rubbing her hands over her buttocks. She paused and turned to the left, noticing him standing close behind her.
The two walked into the office. Watkins was already sitting back at his desk.
Watkins didn’t look up. “Sit down.”
Wallace sat first. “Sir, can I just say —”
Watkins held up the palm of his hand. “No, you can’t. Be quiet, I’m speaking.”
Benedict grinned. “Morning, sir.”
“You can also shut up,” Watkins said, picking up a pen and marking something in the large diary on his desk.
Watkins looked up and turned to Wallace. “DI Wallace. Given your excellent work over the last few years in the Flying Squad we are giving you and your team a newly extended brief. We want you to be responsible for all aggravated robberies within the Met. You will decide upon the allocation of these events.”
She tried to start talking, but Watkins raised his palm.
Benedict saw an opportunity. “See, I told you.”
Wallace glared at him. Watkins ignored him.
“As part of Benedict’s new role with the Met, he will work with you on a consultancy basis providing direct support to your team. If the event includes a murder we would like Benedict to be your primary contact. I’ll give you other contacts within the Homicide Team as required.”
Benedict rubbed his hands together. “Sir, I’m not sure that I work for —”
“Shut up,” said Watkins. “Additionally, if Benedict requires your assistance with a murder investigation then you will assist him.”
Benedict winked at her.
Wallace felt her hand form a fist. “Sir, I’m not going to be his dogsbody.”
Watkins managed a smile. “I have no doubt. Let’s call it a training exercise. You can learn the art of delegation, DI Wallace. That’s why you have a team.”
Benedict raised a finger. “Ah, sir. I will need DI Wallace focused on the investigations with me. I believe she has the necessary skills to be extremely helpful and …” He stopped and looked at Wallace, who was grinning at him.
Watkins put down his pen. “Excellent, so that’s all agreed. I want a daily update on all major events by email every morning.”
Wallace sat forward and put her forearm on the desk. “Sir, I haven’t finished the Hatton Garden investigation. We feel —”
“DI Wallace, I expect you to manage all your investigations as you see fit. From what I can tell you’ve had a major result on the Hatton Garden job and it’s all been sorted in record time. That happened because the two of you used your own peculiar skills to make it happen. It would be a shame if you cock it all up by wasting resources going on a wild goose chase. Remember, I’m the boss and all I care about is results … and results include budgets. Understand?”
Wallace sat back and nodded.
He turned to Benedict. “We’re now going to brief DI Wallace on the murder in Hampstead and your suspicions about the money laundering connection.”
“Money laundering?” asked Wallace.
Watkins sensed the investigator in her tone. “After the murder of a hedge fund guy yesterday, Benedict went to a meeting at their office this morning. He interviewed the firm’s two surviving partners and he believes there could be a connection with what he discovered. We’ve got DCI Rendall from the Fraud Squad there now with the Financial Conduct Authority.”
Benedict touched his beard. “The guy who was murdered has some interesting family connections to minor Essex gangsters. But I think he might have had some dodgy money invested in the hedge fund. I think it could be connected with his murder. It just seemed like too much of a coincidence to me.”
Wallace smiled at him. “Another coincidence.”
“DI Jardine, who just left my office, is off the case. I want you helping Benedict with this, Wallace."
“Why me, sir? Can’t you get someone in Homicide? This is not a Flying Squad job.”
“Because you’re going to understand the business side with DCI Rendall in Fraud and assess whether there is anything in what Benedict suspects about the money. Given this guy has connections we could be talking stolen money. I want you assessing it.”
“What’s he going to do?” Wallace said, jerking a thumb at Benedict.
Watkins laughed. “Piss you off.”
Chapter 14
Day 8
Scott’s Restaurant, Mayfair, London
8.29 p.m.
The waiter walked away after pouring the third identical measure of Sancerre Sauvage into the glass, taking the bottle with him. Pip’s thoughts were taken by the perfect glass of faintly golden liquid as the herby scent touched the air. She sensed herself salivating.
She adored this restaurant and had some great memories from it. At home she had handwritten ledgers of secret information from the last thirty years that no one knew. She’d started an affair with a married Russian dignitary in this very restaurant. The sudden memory made her smile over towards the couple sitting at the table at which they’d sat. This place still had something original about it which played to her sensibilities about London.
She wondered if she should do something about making sure these secret ledgers she’d written were safe. The realisation that she’d never thought this before made her consider whether she unconsciously felt in more danger. Was this because she was working with Hanson? Was it because she was sitting opposite two men whose motives for asking to meet for dinner were obviously threatening? Pip made the thoughts dissipate and came back to the moment.
She reached over and raised her glass to the two men in front of her. “Cheers, gentlemen.”
They reciprocated.
“I’m pleased we’re having dinner together, Miss Prendergast, but we do need to discuss something with you,” said Eikko Simola, the head of Europe at Interpol.
Pip smiled at him. She knew that he had nothing to do with her being sacked from Interpol, where she had been head of cybercrime. He’d only just been promoted from Interpol in Finland and was well away from the decision. "I'd sort of assumed that given it was both of you asking me there had to be a good reason.”
“It’s delicate,” said Adam Forrest, the Deputy Director General (DDG) of MI5.
Pip returned her glass to the table. She considered cracking a joke about any request for a threesome being sexual harassment, but given Forrest’s stern face she decided against it. “Well you both know what it is and I don’t … yet.”