Nonetheless, criminal gangs have been active in the area since they were driven out of the East End of London in the 1970s and now they have risen again. I am quite satisfied that the riots were not gang related, but we do have evidence that gangs became involved.
Members of two such gangs, the N17 Postcode Gang and the Trafalgar House Flats Gang, are in custody and in secure hospital accommodation. Information gathered by our colleagues in Central Operations,” she nodded to the lady on her left, who acknowledged her remark with a smile, “and Territorial Policing”, she looked at the man on her right, “means that now we have sufficient data to launch an operation. May I introduce you to Operation Bilbao?”
The screen changed and the title of the operation lit up the screen. It was shown written in an exotic font.
“My God, we’re even market branding the operations now,” Coombes whispered to DS Scott, none too quietly. AC Thomas waited for the nods of appreciation of the carefully selected operational tag and then continued.
“Consequently we will be launching the operation on two flanks.” An aerial photo of Tottenham popped up on the screen. “Bilbao One will confront suspects believed to be members of the N17 gang.” The screen now showed a red line around half of the aerial photo and the words Bilbao One faded in, the text in matching red. “Bilbao Two will address the Trafalgar House Flats.” A blue perimeter was added to the slide, showing the flats before blue text appeared, confirming this was the target area for Bilbao Two.
“We will be going into both areas simultaneously at five forty five in the morning. One hundred and twenty two officers have been called in to take part in Operation Bilbao and to assist those of you in this room. The operational details are being distributed now and Bilbao One and Bilbao Two team leaders will brief you later. Any questions?”
“Are we going in hard and heavy, Ma’am?” one middle aged officer asked.
“We will be well armed and protected, and we will use the force necessary to make the arrest, and that is all. So no, ‘hard and heavy’ is not an expression that sits comfortably with the vision of a modern police service.”
Coombes and Scott could hardly contain their agitation. This was the woman who ordered plain clothes policemen to shoot an innocent man in the head on a crowded tube train, yet she was now lecturing others about excessive force.
The meeting soon broke up and the Assistant Commissioners walked out in order. The room became noisy and disorderly as the police officers came to terms with their roles in Operation Bilbao.
DCI Trevor Griffiths, Griff to his friends, approached DCI Coombes and DS Scott. Griff was tasked with heading up operation Bilbao Two, the rounding up of the TH Crew.
“Hello, there, Terry.” He addressed DCI Coombes as an old friend, his Welsh accent still strong after fifteen years in London. “It seems we have the two of you to thank for the information on the TH Crew. We might get a conviction on little Robbie’s case after all this time. His mother still lives in the flats, you know. Must be a right to do, living in the flats with your son’s killer and not knowing who did it or why.”
“It was the same old story, Guv,” DS Scott chimed in. “The kid didn’t mean to kill anyone, he was just sent to scare off a member of another gang.”
“That just makes it all the more tragic, that does.” Griff shook his head. “Will you be joining us in the support van in the morning, Terry?”
“Didn’t know we were invited,” Coombes replied, a little surprised.
“Well, it’s my show now and you’re welcome, if you can be arsed to get up at four in the morning. Will the AC’s never learn that we could go around at ten in the morning and still catch these lazy bastards in bed?” Griff laughed, and Scott and Coombes joined in. “Until tomorrow, then, boys.” Griff shook the hands of both men and strode off to talk to another detective.
Chapter 19
The Rectory, Duke Humphreys Road, Blackheath, London.
Tuesday 16th August 2011; 6pm.
Ben Fogarty paced restlessly around the locked cellar, looking for some means of escape but finding no encouragement. The ceiling was almost twelve feet from the ground and the walls were all brick and plaster. The renovations had sealed off the only window, and the sole means of ventilation was a galvanised steel louvred shutter door on the inside wall, paired with an equivalent stainless steel louvre on the external skin of the wall. The louvre looked out over the rear garden, which meant that attracting the attention of any passers by was going to be difficult, if not impossible.
Ben had to keep moving. His muscles were cramping in reaction to the electrical discharge that had surged through his body earlier. The floor was clean and was covered in contract carpeting, the hard-wearing kind often found in offices, so Ben took advantage and ran through a sequence of floor exercises and isometrics. Squats, crunches and stretches were intermingled with running on the spot and skipping with an imaginary rope. He was soon perspiring, even though the cellar was cool despite the late British summer heat outside.
There was a tap at the door, followed by a man’s voice.
“Stand against the back wall, Fogarty. We’ve brought some food for you.” Ben did as he was told; he could cover that distance in a second whilst aiming a disabling blow at any man who stood in the doorway. As the door swung open, Ben saw Lenny pointing a handgun in his direction. A woman came into view carrying a tray. She was lithe and athletically built, around five feet ten inches in height, and she would probably be lost in a size twelve dress. As she looked up from the tray he saw her eyes. He had seen the same eyes many times before, in the mirror. Lenny began to close the door.
“I’m locking the door, Miss. Give me a shout when you want to be out.”
Ashley, Ben’s long lost twin sister, set the tray down on the only piece of furniture in the room, a straight backed wooden chair of indeterminable vintage. As she stood up she pulled open her jacket to reveal a black battery pack attached to her belt. She also pointed out what had been until then a concealed microphone. Ben understood her silently delivered message.
“So, Ben Fogarty, you walked right into Dennis’ trap. I thought you were smarter than that.”
“So did I,” Ben replied glumly, playing his part in the broadcast. “I thought you were in trouble.”
“And so you came running. How gallant of you, if slightly stupid.”
“I trusted Lawrence. I thought he was just a concerned husband who was worried about his wife.”
“Ben, don’t judge Lawrence too harshly. He was under tremendous pressure. Dennis threatened me and, knowing that you weren’t the heartless bastard he is, he fully expected you to track me down. When my PA told me you were seeking a meeting I was already here. Dennis knew you would follow and so he laid a trail for you.” She paused. “A great many people have underestimated Dennis Grierson. He has the sort of cunning that makes him a dangerous adversary.”
“You seem to admire him,” Ben observed.
“No, that is so far from the truth it’s laughable, but I do offer every opponent in business, or in life generally, my respect. If I didn’t I would underestimate them and probably be caught out. I suspect you know that as well as anyone, having played rugby at international level.” Ben merely nodded.
“Look, Ben, I will do what I can to persuade Dennis to go easy on you, but I haven’t had any sway over him since I cut him out of my life as a child. It was my decision, you know. The social workers and my adoptive parents were keen on me maintaining contact with Dennis, but I wouldn’t. He was mad as hell when he heard; in fact he still is. But I wasn’t prepared to be his thirteen year old daughter and mistress.”
“He seemed to be making up for lost ground upstairs,” Ben said, a little too harshly.
“That was a power play. Grierson doesn’t want me, not in a sexual way, anyway. I’m way too old for him. No, that was the ritual humiliation of my husband. Dennis was displaying his power over Lawrence. He was showing him that he could molest me anytime he
wanted and make Lawrence watch, and there would be nothing my husband could do to stop him. Dennis is big on sending messages, that’s why you’re in so much danger.”
“Will he kill me?” Ben’s question was asked unemotionally.
“Maybe. You attacked him in his home. More than that, in the very centre of his fiefdom, you humiliated him and started a chain of events that led to his eviction from his own manor.” She paused and looked into Ben’s eyes. “He lost almost a third of a million pounds in drugs and stolen goods in the coup that followed your visit. He’s as mad as hell, Ben.”
“So this could be our first and last visit?”
“I hope not, Ben. I would like to get to know you. I’d like us to be brother and sister, as we should have been.” Ashley moved towards her brother and hugged him. Ben felt something slip into his pocket. “I have to go now. We have visitors tonight, from Belgium. They are the ones whose drugs were lost and they want their money. Dennis is hosting a dinner upstairs to plead for time to pay. He’ll probably have to sell this place to pay them back. I’m attending to provide the glamour, apparently.”
“Why, Ashley? Why, when you had escaped his clutches, did you allow him back into your life?”
“I didn’t, Ben. Lawrence did, through business dealings mainly. I knew Grierson was trying to get at me through Lawrence but I always kept my distance. Until yesterday, that is, when you stabbed him in the leg and I became a pawn in your power struggle.”
“I’m sorry.” Ben was truly apologetic.
“Water under the bridge, bro. Let’s see what tomorrow brings. At short notice all I could get were sandwiches, a can of Coke and a bottle of water. You need to stay hydrated.” As Ashley pointed at the Coke she nodded but when she pointed at the water she shook her head and mouthed the word ‘drugged’.
“Until tomorrow, then, little brother.” Ben looked puzzled. “Oh, didn’t they tell you? I am older by seven minutes.” At that she walked to the door, tapped and was let out.
***
Ben ate his dinner, avoiding the water, and then felt inside his pocket. There was a key and a note. He read:
‘Ben, at precisely 7am in the morning I will call Lenny away from the cellar where he is tasked with holding you. Unlock the door with the key and relock it behind you. Place the key in Lenny’s jacket pocket and move quickly up the stairs to the ground floor where you will see opposite you a door to the library. It will be empty. It has a sash window that leads out onto the front path. Get away as quickly as possible. They plan to come for you at 9am when the Belgians have gone off to St Pancras and if you are still here it will not be pleasant. You know where to find me. Don’t forget me. Ash.’
Ben slipped the note back into his pocket, then sat on the floor with his back against the wall and dozed.
***
When Ben awoke he was till in the same position he had been, leaning against the wall. He looked at his watch. It was 1am. He had stirred at the sound of something heavy falling to the floor above him. He moved to the door and pressed his ear to the new panelled door. Ben heard Lenny grunt and then scrape back his chair. He had also been asleep, it appeared. There were urgent footsteps coming down to the cellar door.
“What are you doing down here...?” Lenny didn’t have time to finish his question before Ben heard two pops and the sound of someone falling to the floor. The Kiwi had seen enough TV movies to know what a silenced gunshot sounded like. Fearing he was next, he flattened himself against the wall so that when the door opened he would be concealed, and anyone entering would have to expose themselves to attack before they could get off a shot. The door handle rattled as someone tried the door and discovered that it was locked. Ben held his breath. Seconds later the urgent footsteps were hurrying up the stairs, and Ben breathed out; a temporary reprieve.
Ben waited a good ten minutes before he unlocked the door and ventured out of his prison. Lenny lay slumped on the floor beside an old office chair on castors. His eyes were open and empty, dead eyes that declared to anyone looking that the soul had left the body. Looking more closely, Ben saw that the grouping of the shots had been poor; one was through the heart and one had entered via the throat. These were inexpert shots from someone standing just feet away. The bottom of the stairs was just ten feet from Lenny’s makeshift desk. There was no point in checking for signs of life.
‘I wonder if the Belgians are cleaning house?” Ben thought as he checked through Lenny’s pockets. Sure enough, he found what he was looking for - a mobile phone. He picked up the phone and pressed the call button to awaken it. The phone was password protected. He typed in 1,2,3,4 but that failed to work. He typed 0,0,0,0 - another factory default - but that didn’t work either. Finally he tried 1,1,1,1 and the phone showed a message: phone locked, emergency call only. Ben dialled 111, then remembered he was in London and redialled 999.
Having quietly relayed the information to an operator, he was assured that an armed response team would be sent immediately but that it would take some time to get to Blackheath from the nearest main police station. The operator told him to stay where he was and keep quiet until help arrived.
Curiosity, concern for his sister and the absence of any sound at all from above gave Ben the courage to explore the rectory a little further. Before he set off he checked Lenny’s belt and there, tucked into it at the small of his back, was his gun. Ben took the gun, a Glock 19 semi compact. The battleship grey polymer frame supported steel sides, and Ben had used enough Glocks to know that there would be up to five kilos of pressure required on the trigger each time he wanted to fire a 9mm round. He checked the magazine. It was full. That was good. He had ten rounds to call on, if needed.
Holding the gun ready, and in two-handed mode, Ben climbed the stairs as quietly as he could. The bare wooden treads had been replaced in the refurbishment and did not creak. Ben had always known that one day he would be grateful to a builder for something.
Scanning the ground floor corridor, Ben listened for the slightest sound. Years earlier, in the bush with his Maori mentor, Ben had learned how to stand silently for up to an hour, listening for game and trying to sense its presence. He called on those old tribal skills now. Nothing moved. The house was silent and might be empty; there were no signs of life. One room at a time, and beginning with the Library, Ben cleared the ground floor. All doors and windows were secure, and so whoever it was who killed Lenny had to have been invited in.
Upstairs Ben waited again. He knew that he had to be careful. The first door he tried was a bathroom; empty. The next two rooms were small bedrooms and were unfurnished. There were two more doors and a staircase to the upper floor. He stood with his ear to the first door. There was no sound coming from within. Ben turned the handle whilst pressing his body to the block wall, not wanting to take a round fired through the door, and then threw the door open. There was no response and so he entered the room in a protective stance, with his gun levelled. What he saw shocked and appalled him.
Dennis Grierson was lying on what had been pristine white bedding. He was dressed only in a pair of briefs, his mangled leg bloody and badly bandaged; that had been Ben’s doing. But the cause of death was glaringly obvious. Grierson’s head was attached to his body by nothing more than a few tendons and his spine. From the look of shock frozen on his face, and the damage caused to his throat, Ben imagined that his throat had been slit from behind with the sort of venom that only an angry drug dealer could muster. The damage was terrible. Ben had little sympathy for the man who had provided him with the spark of life, but no one deserved to die like that. A wet red stain was still spreading slowly underneath the body as the Egyptian cotton soaked up the blood by capillary action. The sweet metallic smell of blood hung in the still air. Ben moved to a door on the other side of the room and opened it. The en suite bathroom attached to the bedroom was empty.
Ben moved back into the corridor and placed his hand on the doorknob, and was about to turn it quietly when all hell broke loose.
<
br /> The front door smashed against the wall and heavy feet ran along the corridor.
“Armed police! Stay where you are! Do not move!” was being repeated by numerous voices in a confusion of shouting and yelling. Remembering that he was carrying a gun, he laid it on the floor and stood at the top of the stairs with his hands on his head.
“Library clear!” was followed by other officers declaring the other ground floor rooms clear of threat.
“One dead, lower ground floor.” They had found Lenny. Two officers with assault rifles started to ascend the stairs, yelling, “Armed police! Nobody move!” Then they caught sight of Ben. “Turn around slowly, keep your hands on your head and kneel down.” It was almost impossible to fall to his knees without using his hands but Ben managed it. Handcuffs were snapped onto his wrists. He could have complained and explained who he was, but now was not the time. A dozen armed men driven by adrenaline were looking for a target, and Ben did not want to be in their sights.
The two men cleared Grierson’s room, shouting that they had another man dead on the first floor. They stood either side of the final bedroom door and pushed it open, racing in, yelling at anyone inside to remain still. The only person who Ben could see in the bedroom was very still indeed. Lawrence, his brother in law, lay on his side, a single hole in his forehead and remnants of the exit wound spread over the bedding and carpet. “One more dead,” the policeman shouted.
“Three so far,” another voice shouted from downstairs. Ben was now panicking. Where was Ashley? He didn’t have to wait for long to find out.
“Female body in the bathtub. No signs of life. Get a medic up here.”
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