The Detective Jake Tanner Organised Crime Thriller Series Books 1-3 (DC Jake Tanner Crime Thriller Series Boxsets)

by Jack Probyn

  ‘They’re all in on it,’ he said. ‘They’re all bent. Liam, Drew, Garrison – my entire team. Danny Cipriano opened his mouth when he shouldn’t have and now he’s paid the price for it, and someone called The Farmer finished him off.’

  Bridger pursed his lips and nodded like he wasn’t surprised to hear it, like he’d known all along. Like Jake had thought he would. ‘I never thought I’d see the day that you joined the dark side…’

  ‘I’m not. Well… I am, but…’ Jake paused and scratched the side of his face. ‘Now they’re going to pin it on one of the construction workers who found Danny’s body. Bloke called Richard Maddison.’

  ‘I told you,’ Bridger said, making no effort to hide the smugness in his voice. ‘If they want you, they’ll have you. There’s no escaping The Cabal’s clutches.’

  Bridger poured himself another full glass of water from the jug on the table. His hands shook as he drank.

  ‘But what about you?’ Jake asked, leaning forward, bringing his voice close to a whisper. ‘What if the same happens to you?’

  ‘It won’t. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘I’ve managed to work myself into immunity.’

  ‘What immunity? You were shitting yourself a few months ago.’

  Bridger tapped the side of his nose. ‘I wish I could tell you. I really do, but you’d be gambling with your own life rather than mine, unlike last time.’

  Jake sighed, folded the corners of the napkin in front of him and controlled his breathing. ‘Work with me, Elliot, and we can end this. How many times have I said this? We can help you. We can put The Cabal behind bars, once and for all.’

  ‘We?’ Bridger asked, tucking his chin into his neck. ‘What do you mean, we? Before it was always “I”… “I can help you”…’ Bridger hesitated. ‘What have you done, Jake?’

  ‘I went to the DPS. They’re helping me investigate Liam, Pete and Drew.’

  Bridger swept his arms sideways across the table, knocking most of the knives and forks onto the floor. He didn’t bother picking them up.

  ‘You’re playing with fierce fucking fire, my friend,’ he said, his face filling with blood. ‘You’ve made a big mistake. Perhaps the biggest mistake of your career. Of your life. I told you once before but you didn’t listen. These people have the power to end it for you. And nobody can stop them.’

  ‘That’s because nobody’s tried.’

  Bridger exhaled deeply, leant back in his chair and picked up the knife that remained on the table. He began tapping the bottom incessantly on his napkin.

  ‘You’re an idiot, Tanner.’

  ‘And you’re a coward. You know that, don’t you? Covering your own arse so they don’t come for you. And what about Michael? His life’s in jeopardy too.’

  ‘Michael doesn’t know anything. He never did. It was always Danny’s job to be in control of the information.’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’

  No response.

  ‘What about the person who helped you get them out of remand? They know just as much as you do. Do they have immunity too? Or is it just your selfish arse?’

  Still no reply.

  ‘Tell me who it is, Elliot. If you’re not worried about your own safety, then let me help protect them.’

  Bridger’s stare remained focused on Jake. ‘You’re not going to like it, Tanner.’

  ‘Try me,’ Jake hissed.

  Bridger leant across the table. ‘Danika.’

  CHAPTER 34

  CHOO-CHOO!

  Richard Maddison was exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. The great waves of depression had rolled in with the early morning tide and had been battering him all day. He’d spent hours staring blankly out of Jermaine Gordon’s window, only distracted by the news from the television set. It had been confirmed. The Concrete Cadaver, they were calling it – Danny Cipriano, abducted from witness protection and buried alive in a merciless killing. Gangs? Organised crime? Drugs?

  None of that. The reality had been much more damning. The police officer in charge of the investigation had told the media – and the entire country – that they had a suspect in mind. It didn’t take a genius to work out that suspect went by the name of Richard Maddison, the thirty-three-year-old builder who’d found the body. They hadn’t needed to say his name explicitly, but he knew that they were talking about him. And he was even more certain that they’d find the link between him and Danny, if they hadn’t already; how, years ago, they’d once been friends. How they’d robbed convenience stores and clothing outlets, taken drugs with one another. How Danny and his brothers, Michael and Luke, had grassed him up to the police after a car-jacking had gone wrong.

  The police would undoubtedly say that he had motive to kill them. And they’d probably lie and come up with some other bullshit evidence to plant the murder on him. Christ, he could do their job for them and just hand himself in now, knowing there was no escape – no way he could get himself out of this one. If the coppers working on the case were anything like that cunt DS Richmond, then they’d all be as bent as him. He imagined them bending each other over in the office, forming an orderly queue with their pants down, making train noises, with DS Richmond as the conductor. But it did little to lighten his mood.

  Richard stepped off the bus and wandered up to his porch, pausing by the front door. His eyes fell on the plant pot. He was sure it looked out of place – jolted to the side slightly. It was only a minor movement, but he was certain it had moved. He told himself it could have been anyone. The postman. The neighbour coming to check on him. Someone from work asking why he hadn’t shown up for his shift. Even himself as he hurried out of the house yesterday morning. But what was the likelihood of that?

  Choo-choo. All aboard!

  Richard sauntered into the house and shuffled up to his bedroom. He needed a lie-down, some form of respite to recover from the comedown his body was going through. Something that would make reality disappear again, no matter how briefly.

  As he closed the bedroom door behind him, he kicked off his shoes, bent down to pick them up and placed them directly beside his small desk. Something in his bedroom caught his attention, but he didn’t know what. Something wasn’t sitting right. Something had been changed, altered. Something he hadn’t touched in over twenty-four hours.

  His laptop.

  The lid was half closed. He never left it half closed, always completely open or sealed shut. There was no in between.

  The wheels on the bent train grew nearer.

  Richard opened the lid fully, prodded a key and waited for the screen to illuminate. His desktop appeared, and in the top-right corner of the screen was a new folder icon. Beneath it, the word photos.

  Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga…

  He clicked on the folder. Thousands of files flashed in thumbnail view, too small for his eyes to discern them. With his mind running on autopilot – fear and intrigue working together to run the show – he opened the first file and immediately regretted it. Wanted to throw up.

  It was an image of a child being subjected to sexual abuse.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Richard whispered to himself, closing the photo and shutting the application down.

  He slammed the lid shut and froze on the chair, his chest heaving. He wanted to scream, to run away, to destroy the laptop, but he knew it wouldn’t change anything. Someone had deliberately placed the files on his laptop, and disposing of the device would only incriminate him further if it was ever found.

  As he sat there, struggling to move, a panic attack kicked in. Shortness of breath. Tunnelled vision. Blurred vision.

  Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga… All aboard!

  Richard pushed himself away from the desk and raced into the bathroom, switched on the tap in his bath and started to undress himself. Baths were his only coping mechanism for his panic attacks. They helped soothe him and instil calm back into his mind. Right now that was what he needed. That or an opport
unity to close his eyes forever.

  The hot water gushed over his right shoulder, massaging his muscles, and it wasn’t long till the tub was half full. As the water reached his stomach, he slowed the flow until it was nothing more than a slight dribble, tickling his skin as it landed on him.

  His chest continued to heave and he struggled for breath. He closed his eyes in an attempt to fend off the four walls closing in on him, but all he saw was the image of the child being molested. Stained in indelible ink.

  And then the little boy morphed into a man, and then a hand – Danny Cipriano’s, buried, covered in grey. The starling tattoo. The wart. Richard already had one person’s blood on his hands – the underage girl he’d slept with had taken her own life shortly after the case went public – and he wasn’t prepared to have another’s. He’d done his time for that, been in and out of the judiciary system. Never again.

  For a moment, he considered how she must have felt. Alone. Isolated. Nobody to talk to, nobody to share her experience with, nobody to help heal her. Feeling like the world was closing in around her…

  She’d taken a route out. Some might argue it was the easy one, the coward’s way, but what right did they have to question it? They weren’t living inside her head; they didn’t know her struggles. Just like they weren’t living inside his right now.

  Choo-choo!

  Richard’s eyes fell over his razor blade on the side of the tub. He fumbled for it, then held the handle in his palm, ran his finger over the blades.

  It could all be over before it had even begun. He could make it stop, make it all go away, silence the debilitating voices and thoughts in his head. If the police didn’t have him, then they couldn’t ruin his life any more than it already had been.

  Richard moved the razor closer to his face, so he could see what he was doing. In the low light, and the panic of the situation, he fumbled and cut himself as he tried to pry the blade free from the handle.

  Eventually, he did, as the sound of the bent train gradually weakened.

  Thick droplets of blood dribbled into the water and swirled about like a pinwheel, staining it a thick shade of crimson. Richard ignored the pain; soon it would stop.

  Richard lowered himself into the bath, allowing the water to trickle over his face. He stared at the ceiling as he brushed the blade up and down his arm, grazing it gently against his skin, teasing the nerves, making sure his brain was aware of what was to come.

  Then his right hand stopped where the blue rivers were most prominent. He pressed the blade firmly into his skin and held it there. This was it. Now or never. He couldn’t back out. Once it was done, it was done.

  And then the train would disappear forever.

  Richard buried the blade deep into his skin, cutting through the layers and breaking into the vein. He groaned in agony but chomped down on the pain, forcing it from his mind. His breathing increased tenfold and his chest heaved more so, rapidly increasing the blood flow around and out of his body.

  He made another incision, this time on his other wrist, numbed by the adrenaline and euphoria that surged through him. That gradually made him weaker and weaker. That echoed the squeaking beat of his heart as it struggled to pump more blood through his body. Richard continued staring at the ceiling, ignoring the metallic taste that flooded his mouth as he slowly sank deeper into the bathtub.

  But before he was completely submerged, the door to the bathroom burst open and, hovering over him, were four individuals dressed in balaclavas.

  The great bent train had arrived – a little too late. Before he was able to do anything, the world went black.

  CHAPTER 35

  NO ANSWER

  Jake drove the journey from Farnham Golf Club to Mount Browne – Surrey Police’s HQ – in shock, his mind trying to process the myriad thoughts that were spinning their way around his brain. One of his closest friends in the police force had betrayed him and turned bent; another added to the growing list that was slowly growing out of control. He and Danika Oblak had been together from the start. Back when they’d been bobbies on the beat in Croydon, started their training together, even helped convict The Crimsons together. In that time, Jake had felt like he knew Danika better than most people. But that had all been a lie.

  On the drive, Jake considered her motives, the possible reasons for doing what she’d done – trying to justify it for her when he wasn’t even sure she deserved that. But he couldn’t think of any.

  He needed to hear it direct from the horse’s mouth before she galloped away.

  Jake pulled up outside Mount Browne and sprinted towards the building. He’d only spent a few weeks there during his tenure with Surrey Police, yet he was familiar with his surroundings. As soon as he’d realised that nobody in MIT would pay any heed to his allegations that Elliot Bridger and DS Murphy, another detective working with The Crimsons, were corrupt, he’d handed in a transfer request. But the funny thing – if it could be called funny – was that Danika had also pointed the finger at Bridger and Murphy. Hypocrisy had reached new heights.

  Jake paced towards the reception. The civilian member of staff seated behind the desk was the same one Jake had encountered on his first day with the Major Investigation Team. Judging from the look on the man’s face, he recognised Jake, and hadn’t quite forgiven him for leaving the polystyrene cup on the table after being explicitly told not to.

  But right now, none of that mattered. What mattered was finding Danika.

  ‘Do you know where I might find her?’ Jake asked. ‘She’s not answering her phone.’

  Just as the staff member was about to respond, the double doors in the corner of the room opened, and out stepped DCI Nicki Pemberton, the SIO in charge of MIT. Jake hadn’t seen, nor spoken to her, since his final day with Surrey Police.

  ‘Jake…’ she said, shocked to see him. She still looked as pretty and proper as he remembered her to be. ‘What’re you doing here?’

  ‘Danika. Have you seen her?’

  ‘You haven’t heard…’

  A pang of fear struck him.

  ‘She’s handed in her notice?’

  Jake opened his mouth but couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

  ‘I thought you would have known. Sorry, I—’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Her final day’s in a week.’

  ‘No, when did she give it to you?’

  ‘A couple of days ago. She requested immediate effect, but we couldn’t give it to her. She’s using up the rest of her leave to make up for it.’

  ‘Do you know if she’s still in the country?’

  Pemberton shrugged. If she was confused by his line of questioning, then she showed no signs of it. ‘I would imagine so. I’ve not heard anything to suggest otherwise. Think she might have gone back up north to see her family, but with the way things are going with that, I can’t imagine… you know…’

  Jake did know. He’d been helping Danika through her marital issues since they’d started working together. Her and her husband’s relationship had been on the rocks ever since the incident that rendered him disabled, and Jake was acutely aware that she’d had a dependency on alcohol before then. Somehow that information had slipped through the net in the application process, and she’d managed to keep it hidden from everyone. It wasn’t until Jake had found a bottle in her handbag by mistake that he’d realised something was seriously wrong. He’d kept that secret for her, risked his job in the process, and this was how she repaid him?

  Jake thanked Pemberton, hurried back to his car and then raced to Danika’s address in Guildford. Since separating from her husband, she’d decided to leave that life in Croydon behind and move there permanently. Jake had visited her house once before. It hadn’t been all that exciting, but it was enough for one person. It had a bed, bathroom and a kitchen, and that was all she needed.

  Five minutes later, Jake skidded to a halt outside her house. He left the car parked awkwardly on the side of the road and hurried to Danika�
�s front door.

  He knocked. And knocked. And knocked.

  Nothing.

  He considered why Danika had handed in her resignation. Maybe the job was getting too much. Maybe she’d heard about what had happened to Danny. Maybe she thought she was next…

  Jake knocked again.

  Still nothing.

  Just as he was about to knock again, his phone rang.

  He answered it without checking the caller ID.

  ‘Jake? You there? It’s Drew. Where are you? I tried calling everyone else but nobody’s picking up.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I didn’t know who else to call.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m outside Richard Maddison’s flat waiting for him to come home, but I think The Farmer and his group have just broken into his house. Can you get here ASAP?’

  Jake took a moment to think. Drew pulled him out of the present and made him realise that he had another job to do.

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  CHAPTER 36

  FEELING THE PRESSURE

  His instructions were simple: plant the evidence, wait for Richard Maddison to return and under no circumstances do anything fucking stupid. That was it. Garrison had been clear on it. Crystal. So far so good. He’d planted the evidence – check. And he’d waited for Richard to return – check.

  But now there was a problem – one he hadn’t accounted for.

  There was no doubt in his mind that the group of individuals who’d followed Richard into his house were the same people who instilled fear in him every time he thought about them. Every time their names were uttered in conversation with Liam or Garrison. As soon as he saw the black-clad figures, Drew quickly realised he needed to tell someone. To cover his own arse.