‘I’ll explain when the job’s done,’ Kennedy said, voice tight.
‘Explain now.’
Kennedy paled with fury. At once Tallis glimpsed the essence of the man—balled with anger, ruthless. He thought Kennedy was going to smack him. Then he seemed to get a grip. ‘I’ve got men out there searching, shaking down, door to door.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Don’t disappoint me.’
‘I’m not a fucking animal.’ Or your fucking animal.
‘You’ve killed before.’ Kennedy met his eye.
Tallis allowed a slow smile. This was a test. He should have known. But was Kennedy really prepared to push it all the way, to cross that irrevocable line? ‘That was different,’ he said, milder now. ‘I was following orders.’
‘And now you’re following mine. Justin will take you to the armoury.’
The armoury? What armoury? Without a word, Kennedy deactivated the alarms, allowing Tallis and Justin access to the lift. Kennedy got out at the first floor, Tallis, under Justin’s instructions, the second. Justin was clearly taking his elevation in authority seriously.
Tallis followed him down the corridor to a counter area, behind which was a steel door. Justin punched in a code, releasing the door to an Aladdin’s cave of weaponry. There were rocket launchers, Uzis, Kalashnikovs—deadly spray and contain weapons beloved by rebel soldiers—machine-guns, bolt-action rifles, pistols and revolvers. Without a word, Justin picked up a Heckler & Koch self-loading pistol, Tallis a Glock 17. His last thought as he left the building was that he was up to his neck in trouble. With so many bad guys surrounding him, intent on pushing him off course, it was going to be difficult, if not impossible, to find his own moral sat nav.
Tallis drove. If he thought Gabriel was a royal pain, Justin was in a league of his own. In his experience, people like Justin fell into one of three categories: enthusiastic amateur often with a low IQ; smart and cunning; and those with psychopathic tendencies. Justin fell into the last classification. Besides having the bearing of a man dying to freshen up the gene pool by culling it, he was brash and, Tallis suspected, harboured a burning desire to see him fail so that he could establish himself more firmly in the power vacuum left behind. Not Tallis’s first choice of partner.
It was agreed they’d head for Gabriel’s place, a two-bedroomed semi-detached house in a particularly rough bit of Brierley Hill, the sort of wasted area where pubs served industrial-strength cider, and car parks were badly lit.
There wasn’t much light, the sky the colour of graphite. In spite of the hour, spindly-looking youths drinking from cans hung out on street corners, arses hanging out of their jeans.
As soon as they arrived at number eighty-three, Tallis clocked an empty light blue Citroën parked on the drive, the driver door half open. ‘Does that belong to Gabriel?’
Justin confirmed it did. Tallis pulled over. Evidence of trouble was clear from the moment he stepped onto the blood-spattered pavement. Approaching the crime scene, he felt sure Gabriel had put up a fight. The bushes adjoining the property were beaten down. There were drag marks all over the gravel, dents in the car. And there was more blood. Tallis scanned both sides of the building. Even in an area where people saw plenty and said nothing, it was inconceivable the fight had taken place without remark.
Somebody had heard something.
A quick flash of light from the window next door confirmed his suspicions. Against Justin’s advice, Tallis walked round and, seeing the doorbell hanging by a thread, rapped at the door. There followed a steely silence.
‘They won’t talk,’ Justin growled.
‘Could pretend we’re coppers.’
‘Even less chance of them talking,’ Justin sneered.
‘All right, smart-arse. You try.’
A big, calculating grin spread over Justin’s muscular face. He turned to the door, pulled out his gun and with one shot blasted the lock and walked in. Face to face with a terrified householder, Justin, expression set like old granite, snarled, ‘Johnny Kennedy sends his regards.’
The man, a big West Indian with rolling eyes and a Tipton accent, needed no further prompts. In the space of one minute and thirty seconds, they learnt that three men had ‘arrested’ Gabriel, two uniformed officers, one in plain clothes, all Middle Eastern in appearance. Tallis found it far-fetched, to say the least.
‘You’re absolutely certain?’ he said.
‘They weren’t black.’
Turkish perhaps? Tallis asked him. The man said he didn’t know, too busy watching Justin stalk around the narrow confines of the living room, muttering to himself, picking things up, briefly examining them, putting them down, his pumping frame threatening to erupt into violence. ‘Did they say anything?’ Tallis persisted.
‘Yeah, they asked for his name.’
‘And he gave it?’
The West Indian’s eyes clicked from Tallis to Justin. Didn’t look happy. ‘He asked them why.’
‘And what did they say?’ Tallis said, attempting to refocus the man’s attention.
‘Said they wanted to talk about drugs, something to do with a delivery.’
‘They what?’ Justin spat, cracks in the granite.
‘Shut up,’ Tallis told him, turning back to the householder, ignoring Justin’s vile expression and the curse underneath his breath. ‘Anything else?’
‘They said that they knew he worked for Johnny Kennedy, that they wanted to take him down the police station. Man, everything kicked off. I didn’t see nothing else,’ he said, spreading his hands.
‘Which way did they go?’ Justin’s voice, from the corner of the living room, was like the low growl of a wounded tomcat.
‘Don’t know, man.’
‘What car were they driving?’ Tallis said, throwing Justin a back-off look. More muttering ensued.
‘Didn’t see. Too dark.’
Absolutely right there, Tallis thought. Outside was an expanse of unbroken black. So how come he’d seen so much? And could he really hear that clearly? ‘And they were definitely police?’
The man nodded furiously. ‘Yeah, like I said.’
Kennedy must have got his information from his handler in the organised crime department, or through Napier, Tallis thought. That’s how he knew that the police officers were bogus. Did that mean that the real cops were also looking for Gabriel? This was a scenario that was getting more complicated by the second. It was just what he’d been afraid of. It had been an idiot idea for Asim to run it as a joint operation. There were too many people, too many competing agendas. There was nothing else for it, Asim would have to step in and assume total command. West Midlands’ finest Organised Crime Officers and SOCA would have to be kicked off the case.
Tallis and Justin returned to the car. ‘Don’t you ever fuckin’ disrespect me again.’ Justin glared.
Tallis glared back, felt a pulse tic in his neck, opened the door and got in.
Justin climbed in the passenger side. ‘Just ’cos Kennedy thinks you’re the blue-eyed boy doesn’t mean the rest of us—’
‘Yeah, yeah. And for the record, my eyes are brown. Now, do you want to ride or walk?’
To Tallis’s surprise, Justin shut up.
Exploiting every piece of local knowledge, Tallis checked out lock-ups, garages, disused buildings, stretches of wasteland, railway bridges, anywhere Gabriel might have been taken. They started in Brierley Hill, worked out towards Oldbury, Dudley, Gornal and Tipton, tracking towards West Bromwich. Throughout, Justin kept up a running commentary of his boss’s reputed exploits, throwing a chilling spotlight onto Kennedy’s past.
‘Ever heard of a bloke called Gamble?’
‘Shane Gamble?’ Tallis said, mentally attuning. Gamble: well-hard Midland gangster, served time for armed robbery and died after an attack in the prison showers.
‘That’s him. Kennedy took over his patch after he got sent down. They say that he decimated Gamble’s men.’
‘Oh, yeah?
’ Tallis watched the shifting shadows of dawn breaking over the city. How different from Turkey. There the light seemed to flick on in one go.
‘Decimating,’ Justin said, taking pleasure in each syllable. ‘Old Roman practice—’
‘For every ten men, one put to death.’
‘Yeah,’ Justin said, giving him a sly sideways glance, ‘but how?’
Tallis glanced across. ‘Knowing the Romans, crucifixion, I guess.’ The thought made him shudder.
‘Worse.’ Justin was positively slavering.
‘Yeah?’ Tallis said, apprehensive.
‘Strung ’em up and beat their bodies with hammers.’
Tallis tried not to react. He kept his voice low. ‘Are you saying Kennedy did that?’
‘Straight up.’
How the hell had he got away with it? ‘What did he do with the bodies?’
Justin turned and grinned. ‘What do you think the incinerators are for?’
The anonymous tip-off came shortly before nine in the morning. Kennedy relayed the message in person, his parting words to Tallis: ‘Don’t forget I gave you the order to kill Gabriel.’
They were directed to a lock-up near a canal bridge in Perry Barr. First they drove past, checking for any outwards signs of activity, then, chucking the car up onto a piece of wasteland, headed back on foot. It was slinging it down with rain.
‘You can go in first and I’ll cover you.’ Justin winked. ‘Boss’s orders.’
And if I don’t shoot, you will, Tallis thought, with me in the firing line. Talk about Hobson’s choice.
The brown-painted door was closed and padlocked, suggesting that whoever had taken Gabriel had left. Not that Tallis was taking chances. He pulled out the Glock, crooking it between thumb and forefinger, his left thumb locked over his right, automatically taking care not to get in the way of the slide. Heart rate accelerating, mouth dry, everything around him seemed to shrink into the background.
Instinctively, he knew to go for body mass, one in the abdomen, one in the chest, setting up a tsunami effect, the ensuing shock so massive it would kill anyway. Except Tallis didn’t want to kill, and certainly not on Kennedy’s orders.
He glanced at Justin and nodded. Putting his ear to the door, he listened hard. Nothing. One shot broke the lock, the next he was in, weapon raised.
It was as silent as a vault. Death beat the air. It felt as tangible as having disinfectant rubbed against raw skin. Justin came up close behind. ‘Fucking smell,’ he muttered. Christ, if they dished out degrees for grumbling, Tallis reckoned Justin could have an honorary.
He looked around for a light-switch, couldn’t find one. Justin pulled out a pocket torch, shone it around, the small beam finally highlighting the source of the smell and diabolical tableau.
‘Looks like you’re off the hook,’ Justin said, disappointment registering in his voice.
Which was more than could be said for poor Gabriel, Tallis thought, feeling cold and empty.
22
* * *
GABRIEL had not died easily. Some psycho had worked on the premise of fingers and toes, followed by kneecaps and elbows, working up to the more essential bits. Strung up, Gabriel had also had his tongue cut out.
Kennedy came to ID the body for himself. He’d recovered his composure and seemed almost relieved. Tallis couldn’t work him out. Kennedy might be glad that Gabriel was no longer in a position to talk, but how was he hoping to conceal Gabriel’s disappearance and keep this somewhat inconvenient hiccough from the police? With a chill, he remembered Justin’s remark about incinerators.
Kennedy made several phone calls. Tallis waited and watched and noticed the phone. Brand-new Samsung: Melissa’s.
‘Christ, I’m hungry,’ Kennedy said. ‘You?’ he asked Tallis.
Not really. He found blood and viscera had an appetite-suppressing effect on his digestive system. ‘Hungry as a lion.’ He smiled cheerily.
‘Me, too,’ Justin chimed in.
‘You’ll need to stay here, oversee things,’ Kennedy said, curtly clicking shut the phone and putting it into an overcoat pocket. ‘Tallis, you’re with me. I know a great little greasy spoon. You can drive.’
Tallis could almost feel Justin’s eyeballs lasering into his back as he walked out of the killing zone.
In the car again, Tallis demanded answers to questions. ‘Are you going to tell me why you wanted Gabriel dead?’ The thought that Kennedy might have set up the whole episode suddenly entered his mind.
‘Patience. You need to take a right here.’
Tallis indicated, glanced at his rear-view mirror, took the turning. ‘You said Gabriel knew everything.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You mean the nature of the business.’
‘Yes.’
‘Like me.’
Kennedy smiled. ‘You’re still a pup. Haven’t been with me long enough to know all the ins and outs.’
Tallis wondered what exactly, apart from the obvious, Kennedy was trying to protect. ‘You thought Gabriel was going to inform on you, right? He might have done.’
‘Have to wait and see,’ Kennedy said, cool.
‘Never had time for grasses.’ If Tallis hoped to provoke a strong denial, it wasn’t forthcoming. Kennedy’s reply was philosophical.
‘We live in an informer society. Our wonderful nanny-state government has seen to that. Every year hundreds of so-called “friends” tip off Inland Revenue, Customs, you name it, about a neighbour or member of their family who they suspect of fiddling the taxman. Councils have even recruited little kids to spy on litter louts and report on them. In this industry, however, grassing up has always been an occupational hazard.’
‘Fucking people over, I call it,’ Tallis said.
‘Left here.’
Tallis glanced at the mirror again. Yup, they were being followed. He was sure of it in spite of the originality of the disguise. A lilac-coloured VW Beetle, artificial flower poking out of the dash, was not everyone’s immediate choice for undercover surveillance. The Golf engine under the bonnet, however, ensured that it could put in a swift and robust performance when necessary. He looked again, saw the indicator suddenly flashing left. Female driving. He felt strange relief that it definitely wasn’t Charlie Lavender. Last thing he wanted was of his image of her to be spoilt. He took another look. Probably the same woman he’d seen watching the offices. Possibly the person behind the camera lens in the tower. Clear of the turning, he pulled over, blew her a kiss as she drove past, and saw the flush of red on her neck and cheek when she glanced in her rear-view mirror. Yes, he thought, same woman.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Kennedy burst out.
‘We were being followed.’ Tallis reeled off a description, including the registration. ‘Familiar?’ Kennedy shook his head, no sign of recognition in his seal-grey eyes. ‘Is there another route we can take?’ Tallis asked.
‘Go back the way we came, down to the roundabout and take the third exit.’
Tallis threw the TT into reverse. ‘A witness said the guys who came for Gabriel were Turks.’ A lie, but he wanted to study Kennedy’s reaction. Tallis glanced across as he looked left and right to check it was clear to pull away.
‘Them again,’ Kennedy said with disdain.
‘Didn’t run into anyone in particular last time you were there?’ Tallis said, sliding up the gears.
‘Saw lots of people.’ Kennedy shrugged. ‘Did you know Turks have taken control of half the European heroin market? They used to be what we call the facilitators—’
‘Contact men,’ Tallis pushed in. Like you, he thought. Then another more compelling thought crossed his mind. ‘Facilitator’ was a word used in terrorist circles to describe a mastermind.
‘Not any more,’ Kennedy spoke. ‘They’ve joined the game. Got a number of bases in Birmingham, but I expect you already knew that.’
‘They also have quasi-terrorist links with organisations like the Grey Wolves,’ Tallis sa
id pointedly.
‘So I’d heard,’ Kennedy said, dismissive.
Tallis ground his jaw. Kennedy was behaving remarkably like a man who was not only back in the game, but also on top of it.
Tallis decided to push his luck, see what Kennedy was really made of. ‘You don’t have a view?’
‘On what?’
‘Terrorism.’
‘’Course I do. Fuckin’ ragheads, sick of the lot of them. And this government,’ Kennedy said, banging on again, voice thronged with contempt, ‘just love ’em to bits.’
‘How do you work that out?’ Tallis was genuinely bewildered.
‘Gives them the opportunity to turn this country into a fuckin’ police state. One more politician droning on about frigging ID cards to prevent us from being blown to bits on our streets and I’ll scream. It’s here,’ he said, indicating a row of shops with a café on the corner. ‘Park in the private slot.’
The service was outstanding, the food less so. Tea, poured out of huge metal tea urns, was thick enough to stand a spade in. While Kennedy tucked into bacon, sausages and eggs, Tallis tried another approach.
‘Think Gabriel’s death is connected to the attempted kidnap?’
‘Of my wife and daughter?’
Tallis nodded. Kennedy surveyed him slowly. ‘Maybe.’
‘What’s the motivation?’
Kennedy popped a piece of bread into his mouth, chewed it well and swallowed. ‘If I knew that, I’d be a very smart bloke indeed. Now, eat your breakfast before it gets cold.’
When they’d finished Kennedy announced a change of plan. After a visit to the offices in Lye, he asked Tallis to take him to the clinic.
‘Not feeling well?’ Tallis asked.
‘Never felt better,’ Kennedy said, unsmiling.
The medical centre was situated halfway between Harborne and Bournville, posh areas of Birmingham, the latter home to the Cadbury chocolate empire. Tallis recognised the clinic from his time on surveillance. The cars in the car park were a steal-to-order thief’s wet dream. Tallis counted a Bentley Arnage in among the Jaguar convertibles and Porsche Cayennes.
The Mephisto Threat Page 19