The London Project (Portal Book 1)

by Mark J Maxwell

  Louisa arrived at the mouth of the entry a few seconds behind Baz and stopped, panting. It was barely six feet across. In the gloom, Louisa saw that the passage dog-legged to the left after twenty feet or so. Refuse bags were strewn across the entrance. ‘Rick, where are you?’

  ‘On my way. Another few minutes, tops. The traffic is mental.’

  She took out her terminal and accessed the maps extension. It zeroed in on her position but there was no sign of the passageway. It could terminate in a dead end or empty out onto any number of streets and alleys. It probably didn’t have any sense coverage either.

  She shouldn’t continue without backup into a dead zone. She knew that. It was one of the lessons they drummed into you at police training. Baz could be waiting for her in there. Then again, he could be getting further and further away. He’d managed to fool the sense strips with whatever it was he had on his face. It was the only explanation. The face she’d seen on the sense footage must have belonged to a different profile—one Baz had forged.

  Profile forgery was the kind of thing SCD7 would be more familiar with. Only organised criminal gangs would have the funds necessary to pay some techie enough cash to risk creating a forged profile. If the user was caught, the forger would share the same fate. The length of the sentence was reason why profile forgery was rare: convictions carried up to fifteen years in prison. Why is Baz taking the risk? The money he gets from selling small amounts of Class A’s surely couldn’t justify it.

  Louisa took out a thin metal tube fifteen centimetres long and snapped her wrist out to her side. It extended telescopically until it was around half a metre in length and locked in place. The SLE (Straight Lock Enhanced) baton was standard MET police issue. When a recessed button on the handle was depressed, enough current ran through the tip of the baton to reduce a horse to an insensate mass of flopping, jellied limbs. It should be more than enough to incapacitate a scrawny bloke in his twenties.

  She stepped over the refuse bags and slowly approached the bend in the passageway. The noise of the traffic had faded away and her breathing sounded loud in her head. She leaned gingerly around the corner, half expecting Baz to jump out at her, but the way was clear.

  The passageway widened and continued straight for another thirty feet or so before bending to the right. Bright fluorescent light streamed from an open doorway up some steps to her left. Louisa’s stomach rumbled as the heady smell of spiced food wafted from an extractor fan beside the door. The passage was clear apart from two large commercial wheelie bins propped against the wall opposite the doorway. Louisa eyed the bins and crept towards them, flexing her grip on the handle of the baton.

  A sonorous crash erupted from the doorway followed by the hiss of steam and angry shouts in an Asian sounding language. Louisa spun towards the sound. Had Baz run inside?

  She was halfway up the steps when something heavy slammed into her back, propelling her to the ground. She cried out as her shin cracked against a step’s sharp tiled edge. Her left arm was trapped underneath her body but her other hand still gripped the baton. She twisted around, flailing out with the steel rod towards her assailant, but he was faster, grabbing her wrist and bashing it painfully against a step until the baton fell from her limp grasp.

  The grip on her wrist relaxed. Louisa lashed out with her elbow. This time she connected with her attacker and he yelped. She scrambled up the steps on her hands and knees towards the doorway but something caught her ankle and she was dragged back down.

  She twisted onto her back. Baz’s face loomed over her, distorted in a mixture of anger and wide-eyed panic, his lip bleeding from where her elbow had struck him. He lunged and wrapped his hands around her throat. She managed one last choking gasp before his grip tightened.

  Louisa clutched at his hands, trying to prise them from her throat, but his grip was like iron. Panic bubbled up from deep inside. She clawed at Baz’s face. He grimaced and leaned back out of reach.

  Louisa’s vision dimmed. With the last of her fading strength she brought up a knee sharply between his legs. His grip went lax and Louisa gratefully sucked in lungfuls of air. Baz had adopted an almost comically startled expression, but he wasn’t finished yet, not by a long shot. With both hands she grabbed hold of his ears and propelled her head forward, smashing it against the bridge of his nose. He let out a shriek and lurched back, clutching at his face.

  Louisa rolled to the side in the direction the baton had fallen. She half-fell off the steps and landed on all fours. She frantically groped for the baton, which had disappeared into the shadows beside the steps. Any moment Baz would be on her again. She heard movement behind her just as her hand found the smooth hardness of the handle. She swung it round again. This time Baz wasn’t fast enough. It cracked him square in the side of the head. At that exact moment, she depressed the button on the handle. Baz’s eyes rolled up in his head and he crumpled to the ground, his limbs twitching and jerking spasmodically.

  Louisa staggered upright, gasping for air. She stood a few seconds, her head whirling, processing what had just happened.

  Baz had stopped moving but she approached him cautiously in case he was faking it. Not that she believed he was; the baton shaft was reinforced steel. He’d be feeling the blow tomorrow, never mind the effects of the electrical discharge.

  Louisa retracted the baton and fished her cuffs from the holster in the small of her back. She straddled Baz who was lying face down, yanked one arm around, cuffed it, then locked his other wrist in place. He groaned. Well, at least I didn’t kill the bastard.

  A shadow fell across her and she flinched, but then relaxed as two men in chef’s whites peered around the doorway with startled expressions. Now they decide to come out and have a look?

  ‘Call the fucking police!’ Louisa shouted. They ducked back inside.

  The sound of someone running reverberated off the brick walls of the passageway. Louisa looked up to see Rick appear around the corner. He skidded to a stop beside Baz, his mouth hanging open in amazement. ‘Are you all right, Sarge?’

  Louisa sat on one of the steps. ‘Yeah. Nice of you to finally get here.’

  Rick knelt beside Baz and checked the cuffs were secure. ‘His nose looks like it exploded. What did you hit him with—a brick?’

  ‘Nope, my head.’ She rubbed it gingerly. A lump had already formed.

  Rick moved over to her and squinted at her forehead, then prodded the swelling with his thumb.

  Louisa winced and jerked her head away.

  ‘You’d better get some ice on that.’ Rick squatted beside Baz. ‘Have you searched him yet?’

  Louisa shook her head.

  ‘What’ve we got here?’ Rick retrieved a bright blue pouch made from thick plastic from Baz’s hoodie pocket. He unfolded the pouch and retrieved a tiny, clear vial. He held it for Louisa to see. It contained a dark red powder.

  ‘Trance,’ Louisa said. Or something a user was supposed to think was Trance. The red coloured powder was a dead giveaway.

  Rick bounced the bag on the palm of his hand. ‘It feels kind of heavy for a bunch of plastic vials.’ He set the bag on the ground and spread out the opening. ‘Take a look at this.’ Rick held up a red block measuring about four inches square wrapped in cellophane. ‘I think the vials were the samples. How much do you reckon this is worth?’

  Louisa shook her head. Trance didn’t get transported in its trademark powder-filled vials. That was the end product. She’d never seen it in its uncut form. ‘I don’t know, a hundred grand maybe?’

  Rick’s mouth made an O shape. He stared at the block for a moment as if considering what to do with it, then shrugged and tossed it back into the bag. ‘How come Waters didn’t show up on the sense logs?’

  ‘There was something on his face. Some sort of gel that fooled the strips into registering a different profile.’

  Rick let out a low whistle. ‘A forged profile?’ He bent to look at Baz’s face. ‘Well it’s not wet now. Bloody, but not wet.’


  Louisa shrugged. ‘It’s one for Forensics and SIU to figure out. He must have wiped it off.’

  ‘Baz is going down for a long time, then.’

  ‘Longer, once you tack on attempted murder.’ Louisa rolled her head around, flexing her neck. It was sore, but luckily Baz didn’t seem to have inflicted any major damage to her trachea.

  Rick lowered his head and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. ‘I can’t believe I wasn’t here for this.’ He looked like he was going to cry.

  Louisa groaned. She didn't need him feeling responsible for what happened on top of everything else. ‘Hey, it’s all right. I’m fine, okay? No harm done.’

  Rick looked up at her. ‘No, I mean—this was my chance to see some real action. And I missed it!’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rick flopped into a chair beside Louisa.

  ‘Well?’ she asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Vaughn wanted to run through my report.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘Yeah. The SCD7 DI was there as well.’

  Louisa frowned. ‘Was there anything in particular they quizzed you on?’

  ‘Now you mention it, they kept asking me to go over what happened when you left the restaurant.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘That you followed Waters and then requested backup. There wasn’t much else to say, really. Then they asked about Waters when I found you two in the alley.’

  ‘What about Waters?’

  ‘They kept asking about Waters’ face, if I’d noticed anything strange. Then they told me to keep my mouth shut about your forged profile theory.’

  The forged profile. She should have guessed why she and Rick were the only ones left in the station apart from the two DIs. Likely they’re chewing it over, trying to decide who to pass the mess onto.

  ‘How’s the head?’ Rick asked.

  Louisa lowered the ice pack and studied her reflection in the deactivated screen of the Portal console on the table in front of her. ‘Better, I think. The swelling’s gone down a bit at any rate.’

  Rick yawned. ‘Well, I’m off home, Sarge. Unless you want me to hang around until they’ve gone through your report?’

  ‘No, there’s no point both of us missing any more sleep.’

  Rick nodded, then stood up and stretched. ‘See you tomorrow then.’

  As Rick was leaving the room DI Vaughn stuck his head around the door. ‘We’re ready for you now, Detective.’

  *

  ‘Apologies for the choice of venue,’ DI Vaughn said perfunctorily. ‘We’re short of meeting rooms in the station.’

  The DI held the door for her and smoothed his hand over his slicked-back hair. When he reached his bald spot the smoothing action turned into a gentle series of pats as he reassured himself the area was evenly covered by a sufficient grouping of strands. It was a mannerism he repeated continuously during the post-op briefing as he eyed up DI Lenihan standing in the corner.

  ‘That’s quite all right, sir,’ Louisa said.

  He had led her to an interview room. It was normally used for formally questioning suspects and would be lined with sense strips. She didn’t bother to ask if they were active, or to query why all the normal meeting rooms were in use at five in the morning.

  ‘You remember DI Lenihan?’ He gestured to the DI and sat down beside him. ‘He’s observing this operation for SCD7.’

  ‘Sir.’ Louisa nodded at DI Lenihan and sat opposite the two men.

  DI Lenihan nodded in response. He had projected an air of confidence at the drugs squad briefing and it remained with him still. The DI was in his early forties but his shock of prematurely grey hair made him appear older. His calm, resolute stare was rather unsettling, like he was able to take your measure simply by being in your presence. For some inexplicable reason Louisa found herself wanting to impress the man.

  DI Vaughn picked his terminal off the table; Louisa caught a quick glimpse of her report open on the screen. ‘First of all, Detective, how are you feeling? According to your report, the suspect put up quite a fight.’

  ‘If you mean he attacked me without provocation and I had to defend myself,’ Louisa said, ‘then yes, he put up quite a fight. And I’m fine, thank you, sir.’

  ‘Well, let me be the first to congratulate you on a job well done. I don’t think I need to mention that if it wasn’t for your quick thinking Waters may have evaded us once again.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘I just have one…aspect…of your report I’d like to discuss in more detail.’

  Louisa nodded. Here we go.

  ‘You state that you first spotted Waters after leaving the restaurant near the intersection of Berwick Street and Noel Street.’

  ‘I positively ID’d him there, yes. I first spotted him though when I turned onto Berwick Street.’

  ‘But you didn’t see his face at that point?’

  ‘No, not at that point.’

  ‘How far away were you when you saw his face, Detective?’

  Louisa thought about that for a second. ‘Maybe a hundred yards or so.’

  ‘Maybe a hundred yards? Can you be more specific?’

  ‘I’m confident it was a hundred yards, sir.’

  ‘So, you were a hundred yards from the suspect, at night.’ He glanced over at DI Lenihan. Another smooth and a pat. ‘Quite a distance, I’d say, and then when you accessed the sense footage you saw it wasn’t actually Waters, but someone else.’

  ‘Yes, sir. The sense footage registered a different profile. I stated this in my report.’

  ‘Ah yes. The suspect’s face was covered in some sort of substance that facilitated the recording of a different profile to the sense logs.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘And this substance wasn’t present when you encountered the suspect again in the alleyway near Fitzroy Square.’

  Louisa hesitated. She didn’t like the way this was heading. Rick's words came back to her then: they told me to keep my mouth shut about your forged profile theory. Forensics must not have found anything in the alley to back up her report. ‘No, sir. Waters had removed it from his face.’

  DI Vaughn relaxed back into his chair. ‘Let me put an alternative sequence of events to you, Detective.’

  Louisa clenched her jaw at the DI’s condescending tone and nodded for him to continue.

  ‘The man you saw on Berwick Street…is it possible you were mistaken—that it wasn’t, in fact, Barry Waters but was instead the man who was correctly identified by the sense logs, one Peter Howth?’

  ‘He looked straight at me. It was definitely Waters. Once he saw me he turned and ran.’

  ‘Yes, well, you see, perhaps this man was out jogging. Perhaps the substance you saw on his face was merely perspiration. Isn’t that a more likely explanation, Detective?’

  ‘Well, no, sir. I followed the man to the alleyway. It was Barry Waters I was chasing.’

  ‘I’m not saying it wasn’t the suspect you followed into the alley. Simply that Waters wasn’t the man you saw on Berwick Street.’

  Louisa frowned at the DI. Why was he so desperate for Baz Waters not to be the man she identified on Berwick Street? She glanced at DI Lenihan. He hadn’t opened his mouth the whole time. He just sat there, impassive. ‘If it wasn’t Waters I saw, sir, and if Waters didn’t manage to fool the sense strips, then how did he make it past your sense perimeter?’

  DI Vaughn shrugged. ‘Someone made a mistake. I don’t believe a perimeter can be one hundred percent effective, no matter what SIU say. Perhaps the jogger and the suspect crossed paths and you ended up following Waters. A happy coincidence resulting in a well-deserved arrest.’

  ‘I don’t believe that was what happened, sir. I didn’t lose sight of Waters while I was pursuing him.’

  He stared at her intently. ‘It’s been a long night, Detective. I’m merely suggesting you were mistaken in what you saw. If you modify your report then we can wrap i
t up as a job well done and we can all go home.’

  The DI didn’t want the complication a forged profile would add to his investigation. That’s why he was so keen for her to change her report. If it was established that a forged profile was used then he’d have to bump the case to another unit. He’d lose his arrest, and the praise of his superiors along with it.

  Louisa silently cursed the lack of a history graph on Baz Waters. SIU had been on the fence as to whether they had enough evidence to warrant the execution of one against Baz’s profile, and the DI hadn’t wanted to take the risk. A history graph would lay bare Baz’s Portal activities. Granted, he wasn’t carrying a terminal, but a graph would still have detailed every time the sense strips logged Baz’s location.

  ‘I don’t believe I can do that, sir,’ Louisa tried her best to sound firm.

  ‘I’d like to warn you, Detective, that the MET doesn’t look kindly on its officers recording delusional theories in their official reports.’ He waved his terminal at her. ‘This document will follow you around for the rest of your career, be it long and successful, or alarmingly brief.’

  Louisa glanced at DI Lenihan again. He hadn’t so much as twitched an eyelid. She could understand a local drugs squad DI trying to sweep this under the rug, but a SCD7 DI? If any of his gangland heavyweights got hold of the tech he'd be royally screwed. Why wasn't he more concerned?

  Louisa swallowed and found her throat had gone dry. ‘Sorry, sir. I’m going to have to stick with what I stated in my report.’

  DI Vaughn scowled and threw his hands up. ‘Well then. We’ve wasted enough time here. You’re dismissed, Detective.’