“For someone to have overcome him easily it would have to involve a weapon, like a gun or knife, but the information coming over the radio as we made our way here said that wasn’t the case. That led me to set up a working theory that he may have been drugged.”
“When we arrived I immediately saw there were black scuff marks on the ground outside the door. There are two lines of marks and that suggested he had been dragged backwards with his heels scraping on the ground. For such a big man it would have taken at least two people to drag him.”
Roper stopped and looked at his audience. Good man, thought the DCI, you’re giving people a chance to take the information on board. At least some of the lessons are working.
After a few moments Roper walked over and knelt by the side of the body, he pointed to the right of the victim’s throat. “As soon as I walked in I saw that he had been injected in the neck. In fact it was directly into the carotid artery so whatever was in there would have started to work almost instantaneously as it was pumped straight round his body. My guess is that it was a nerve blocker of some sort. Another thing I noted was the traces of foam on his lips which supported my idea.”
Hooley watched the Inspector looking down at the body. Now they had been pointed out the injection marks were clear but the foam was very faint. The officer looked up, his expression turning to grudging acceptance.
Hooley smiled his approval and said. “You also mentioned that they were looking for something but didn’t find it.”
Roper said. “That’s right. They were checking the bookcase again but all the books are there, even if they have been thrown about the room.”
The DCI was taken aback. “Are you saying that you know nothing’s been taken because you can check your memory? There’s a small library in there. Even by your standards that is impressive recall.”
Roper was starting to explain when the Inspector cut across him. “Are you Jonathan Roper?”
Roper just shrugged, unsure why he was being asked. Hooley stepped in. “As Jonathan has just demonstrated he has some remarkable investigative skills. I am sure we will get confirmation that he is right. I’d also like to remind you that this is a case for the Special Investigations Unit.”
This seemed to tip the Inspector over the edge and he launched into a protest about it being “one of his men who was the victim.” Hooley was sympathetic. In the circumstances he would have reacted the same way but he needed to get this under control before it turned into a pissing competition. If there was one thing his boss hated it was rivalries between different police teams. “I understand. He’s one of yours and that hurts. But believe me I will do this the right way. I won’t let anything get in the way. We can’t bring him back but we owe it to his family to make sure we do everything we can.”
At the mention of family the Inspector’s shoulders slumped and the fight seemed to go out of him. “He and his wife had a little girl a couple of months ago. She brought the baby into the station a few weeks back, she was so proud of him.”
Hooley stayed silent. There was nothing he could say or do, that would make the job of breaking the news any easier. His phone pinged and he saw it was a message from Mayweather to say she was minutes away.
“Roper and I need to get on with checking through the house. We were here a couple of days ago so that should help. Our boss is on her way as well.”
The man appeared to snap out of his sense of shock. “Of course.”
After another look at the study they made a tour of the house but found nothing else. As they walked back down the stairs Hooley was pleased to see both Julie Mayweather and the pathologist had arrived. The medic immediately pointed to the site on the dead policeman’s neck. He supported Roper’s opinion as to the cause of death.
“Can you give us any thoughts on time of death?” Mayweather asked.
The doctor, who was a very fat man for someone in his profession, didn’t immediately reply. Instead he carefully checked around the face and neck of the murdered officer then sat back on his haunches and levered himself up. It looked like a painful process and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. He carefully removed his protective gloves, revealing surprisingly dainty hands, all the while seemingly oblivious of Mayweather’s barely suppressed irritation. When he finally spoke he had a faint Welsh accent.
“Your boy here hasn’t been dead for very long, that’s for sure. His face and neck are not yet showing signs of rigor mortis. So given that is one of the first places we would expect it to appear, I am willing to suggest he was killed between two to four hours ago. Plus his body temperature hasn’t dropped much so I’d be inclined to look more to the two hour mark.”
Hooley grimaced. The fact that the man had been murdered just a short while ago, meaning his killer, or killers, may have been recently standing right where he was added to his sense of anger.
As they left Roper asked Hooley why the Inspector had name checked him. He replied. “Let’s just say you are getting quite a reputation in the Met.”
32
Eaton Square was teeming with police. Even some off-duty officers had reported in. They were part of a huge door-to-door effort, canvassing witnesses and collecting footage from the myriad CCTV systems in the area. With Sir James’s house serving as the epicentre, the activity rippled out like an expanding shock wave. Soon teams were working their way out beyond the square itself. Roper was assigned to taking an overview of the information pouring in and told to chase up any aspect that struck him as potentially useful.
To his frustration none of the CCTV showed any clear shots of the attackers. Camera angles and the caps the killers were wearing combined to hide their faces. Roper had highlighted the problem by showing a clip taken from a camera next door to Sir James’s house, running it on a lap top he’d scrounged-up from somewhere.
“You can see how they make sure never to look directly at the camera,” he said, pointing at the images. “This footage also confirms what I thought. There were two men and they acted very fast. Even if someone had seen it happen, they may not have registered what was going on.”
Despite looking several times Hooley could only just make out what happened. “Have we got anything on their vehicle?” he asked.
Roper called up another piece of film and tapped the screen as a van came into view. “Again, there’s no shortage of film but the windows are tinted and even the windscreen is pretty dark. There is some software that might help sharpen the images but I don’t think it will help us very much. We’ve got a number plate but I doubt it will lead anywhere.”
Mayweather was shaking her head.
“What sort of people are we dealing with? It’s almost as though killing a policeman in broad daylight is nothing to them.”
Roper had been waiting for the right moment to show them the next bit. “I think this sums up what we are up against.”
He reset his lap-top and inched the images forward while talking them through what they were looking at. “As you can see, the two men walk up. They are turned slightly from the camera and keep turned away. There’s some sort of conversation and then the closest man puts his box on the ground. Now I’ll just hold it there for a moment and then countdown what happens next.”
He hit the play button. “One thousand.” As he spoke the man straightened-up, reached into his jacket and produced a hypodermic.
“Two thousand.” The needle is plunged into the officer’s neck and the plunger is depressed.
“Three thousand.” The two men are either side of the policeman, dragging him inside the house.
Roper stopped the film
“In just three seconds it is all over. They have administered the drug and got our man out of sight. There is no hesitation at all and the needle is perfectly placed into the carotid artery. Plus notice how calm everything is. They’ve clearly done this sort of thing before, most likely military training or even special forces.”
Hooley spoke-up.
“Perhaps we need to
be talking to our own military?”
“Good idea,” said Mayweather. “Jonathan’s right to flag this up. If we’ve got mercenaries running around in London then we are going to need all the support we can get.”
“Brian can you start with the Anti-Terror squad and then talk to Special Branch and MI5? In fact make sure we get some sort of liaison with the SAS as well. It may well be that one of those can help us identify who these characters are.”
She turned her attention back to Roper. “Sharp analysis there Jonathan. I’m sure we’d have got there eventually but you keep getting to the heart of things and you’re doing it quickly. Is there anything else you want to discuss?”
He shook his head.
“In that case, get wrapped up here as soon as you can. It’s almost 8pm and taking a break for food and sleep is a good idea.”
Roper wasn’t smart when it came to reading people, but knew enough to understand when Mayweather was telling him what to do.
33
The tantalising smell of spices wafted through the evening air as they approached the Balti House. The familiar, mouth-watering aroma was almost enough to drive away the memories of Eaton Square. The restaurant was a short walk from Hooley’s flat and was the perfect spot when he didn’t feel like cooking. It was late and customers were leaving as they arrived so they had no trouble in getting a table. The restaurant was formed from an oblong shaped room that widened at the far end. In the last couple of years it had undergone a makeover and there was no trace of the original flock wallpaper that had served since the early 1980’s. While there was no doubt the new look was contemporary and comfortable, Hooley had been known to profess nostalgia for the previous decoration, especially after a couple of beers.
The DCI managed to get his drink order in before they had sat down so a pint of lager arrived almost as soon as he made himself comfortable. Roper was sticking to water. He picked up the menu, glanced at it, then put it down. He’d already made his choice, a Lamb Rogan Josh with a double sized Pulao rice, sag bhaji, an onion bhaji and a Peshwari Nan as his sides. It was the meal he always ate. As far as he was concerned, if you liked a certain food then stick with it.
Hooley watched him put the menu down. “I envy you sometimes. The trouble for me is that I like everything they do here.”
Roper drained his glass of water and said. “You should go for a tandoori kebab. You don’t really want something with a sauce because, apart from it being calorific, at your age you need to watch out for rich, spicy food. You’ll be up half the night with indigestion. Plus all the fat will have a negative impact on your cholesterol and combined with the sugars will make you more susceptible to diabetes, cancer, heart disease or a stroke. Plus combining fats and sugars late at night will impact your sleeping, which will make it harder for you to do your job properly tomorrow because you will be too run down.”
Statement over he took another sip of water and looked at Hooley. The DCI had frozen with his pint inches from his mouth. For some reason his appetite was draining away. He managed to force the glass to his lips and took a long, calming swallow. As he put the glass down he sighed. Roper might sound like a terrifying health commercial, but he was right. By the time the food arrived it would be almost 10pm, far later than he normally ate.
“Much as I hate to say it, you may have a point.” Roper looked as though he was about to add more comments so the DCI held up his left hand. “Just because you are right about something it doesn’t give you carte-blanche to turn it into a lecture. The way you told me would upset most people. I know you as well as anyone and I was taken aback.”
A combination of tiredness and irritation made him speak more sharply than he intended. Roper was looking worried and Hooley realised he needed to tread carefully. A lot of people complained that Roper suffered from a thick-skinned insensitivity, but the truth was he had a protective shell all too easily cracked. The DCI tried to think of a way to turn the argument into a positive.
He said. “I tell you what, let me explain this tomorrow. It has been a long day and we both need to relax a little, but I will take time with you over a cup of tea. And just to prove I do listen to your advice, I’ll have a small chicken kebab with salad and yoghurt sauce on the side.”
He called the waiter over to place their order and decided another lager would be good as well. He didn’t mind being good, but not that good. As they waited Hooley kept the conversation on football, an easy task given Roper was an obsessive Chelsea fan who had an endless supply of statistics about his team including, to Hooley’s dismay, a huge collection charting the current advantage that Chelsea held over his team Arsenal. After the food arrived they ate in silence and once everything was cleared Hooley looked at his colleague. Before they headed home there was one thing he wanted to raise.
“You seemed to cope well with seeing the body at Eaton Square. Are you still feeling OK or do you need to talk about it?”
Roper looked thoughtful. “I’m fine. Those weeks I spent at the hospital morgue really helped. They taught me to realise that a body needed to be treated respectfully and that we need to do our best for the victim and their family.”
Hooley nodded. “Well done, that’s exactly the attitude. But I tell you what. I’ve seen so many bodies over the years it has made me decide I want to be cremated. I really don’t fancy being put in the ground and left to rot.”
“That’s just being superstitious,” said Roper. “I’ve already arranged for a woodland burial so my body can help to provide nutrition for a tree. That’s the most effective way of using it.”
The DCI held his hands out in a conciliatory gesture. “I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree on that one.”
34
Hooley jabbed the keyboard so hard he accidentally hurt himself. The lack of recent progress was making him restless. It didn’t help that he had spotted the irony; here he was, the big tough detective, losing the plot while his supposedly vulnerable colleague was serenely working away.
There had been a brief flurry of excitement first thing this morning when it was reported that the van used at Eaton Square had been found. It had been abandoned on one of the narrow streets at the back of the Sloane Square department store Peter Jones. But that had quickly evaporated as the crime techs reported that someone had done a forensically expert job of removing any evidence. The vehicle had been methodically wiped down with bleach. They would keep at it but weren’t holding out a great deal of hope.
Meanwhile the team had trawled hours of CCTV footage but were still unable to get a clear image of the two men. Much-hyped new software hadn’t been able to help. It had lightened the images but they lacked the focus to be seen clearly. Even Roper, who could normally be relied on to stick with a task to the bitter end, had decided to move on. He said he would be better off pursuing the bio-tech side of the investigation as he still hadn’t managed to get stuck into the details they had found in the secret room.
As the investigative pace slowed Hooley had to fight the urge to interfere in what everyone was doing and start micro-managing. He knew if he did that he would only slow things down. Both he and Julie Mayweather had carefully selected the unit members on the basis of their outstanding skills. The last thing they needed was to feel the boss was perched on their shoulder. On an investigation like this he knew no one would be giving less than their best. So that left his keyboard in prime position for some punishment beating. Consequently he had been thumping away until he had realised his stubby fingers were hurting.
Feeling embarrassed he sneaked a look at Roper to see if he had noticed and saw he was too engrossed to take any interest. Searching for things to do he decided to have a go at his emails. He deleted a long list of messages, briefly worrying that he might have removed something important before telling himself if it really mattered he would hear about it. Just then his mobile went off. It was his Anti-Terror Squad contact Bill Nugent.
“Sounds like the SAS boys (he pronounced it Sass) have
got something for you. I’ve just spoken to a Major Tom Phillips. I’ll text you his number so you can call him directly. He says he wants to come in and see you. He’s in London so it’s not as if you will have to wait for him to come up from Hereford, or wherever.”
An hour later and the Major arrived. Hooley had only had limited dealings with Special Forces so was intrigued to find out what the man was like. The Major was about his height, maybe a little taller, and dressed casually in jeans, a plain t-shirt and trainers. Judging his age was impossible. Anything from mid-20’s to 40. He was clearly in top shape; very lean, with crystal-clear blue eyes, a shaved head and a firm handshake, which the DCI suspected could be a lot firmer if the man wanted to make a point.
Roper seemed especially fascinated and had leapt up to shake hands, something quite unusual as he normally shied away from physical contact. The Major took the seat in front of Hooley’s desk and declined an offer of coffee with a rueful grin.
“I love coffee but I try to limit it to two cups a day. I’m already on my fifth so, with regret, I’ll have to turn your offer down.”
Hooley found himself warming to the man. When he glanced at Roper he was amused to see he was gazing at the Major with a look of hero worship.
The SAS officer suddenly looked serious. “Best get down to business. We have identified one of the people in the photos and we think we may have a line on the other one as well.”
He took a breath as Hooley looked on expectantly. “The man who killed the policeman is called Dan Sykes and he is one of ours, or I should say, used to be one of ours. He disappeared back in 2006. He was about to be arrested for major-league crimes. He was up to his neck in selling millions of pounds of looted artefacts from Iraq. After he vanished we discovered he had been building a mini-empire that dealt in everything from human trafficking, to gun running, drugs and extortion. And that’s just the short list.
Going Underground (Jonathan Roper Investigates Book 1) Page 11