by Jack Probyn
Charlotte chuckled nervously. Jake took that as his cue to move the conversation along.
‘What’s the damage, Mags?’
Maggie held her hand in the air. ‘This one’s on me. Consider it a welcome to the team.’
Chuffed, Jake thanked her and ushered Charlotte to a seat round the corner of the bar, in the team’s usual spot. The seating area was sparse, save for two men in paint-spotted overalls sitting quietly and nursing a pint each. Jake helped himself to a seat on the faux-leather cushion.
‘I’m impressed,’ Charlotte said as she joined him. ‘First-name terms. Free drinks. I think she likes you. Do you charm all women like that?’
‘Only if they offer me something for free in return,’ Jake said and then instantly wished he hadn’t.
Charlotte didn’t seem to mind though; she laughed.
‘It’s good to get out of there – of work,’ she said. ‘It gets claustrophobic. Even though we’re not there all the time, it feels like we are… If you know what I mean?’
‘Sort of…’ Jake said, taking a sip of his drink.
‘Out here it feels like I can be myself, up to a point. But you never know when you’re going to have to get back into undercover mode.’
‘Must be difficult.’
‘It is.’
‘How much of the real you do we get to see?’
Charlotte took a large gulp. ‘About ten per cent. I can’t afford to get too comfortable. Otherwise people start to notice.’
‘You seemed comfortable just now…’
‘Excuse me?’
‘With Liam. Feeding him that information. You were lapping it up as well.’ Jake cleared his throat ready for his impression of Liam. ‘“Oh, Charlotte – I’m so impressed. Everyone else should be following your exceptionally high standard. You’re going to be taking over my position soon!”’
Charlotte didn’t see the funny side of it. ‘You do realise I was doing my job, don’t you? It’s called getting him onside. Earlier in the day – before we got to your emergency call – I tried to pry information out of him. It didn’t work, so now I’m—’
‘Killing him with kindness?’
‘Sort of. I’m telling him what he wants to hear. Men love that.’
Jake took another sip of his beer. ‘It would just be nice to be kept in the loop with things.’
‘You can’t be, Jake. I can’t. Not as much as you’d like. It would be too obvious for both of us, and then my cover would be blown. You’ll just have to trust me to do my job. And I’ll trust you to do yours.’
Jake paused a beat before moving the conversation along. ‘How long have you been doing this UC gig for?’
‘Long enough to know that I want a change.’
‘What would you like to do instead?’ Jake asked, hoping that she would lead the conversation away from work. At least for the time being. He wanted Charlotte to feel comfortable around him, for her to feel at ease, for her to feel like she could trust him. There was plenty of evening left to discuss work.
‘I like horses,’ Charlotte said.
‘Horses…’
‘You know, unicorns without the horns?’
‘I’m familiar with the animal.’
‘I grew up with them. My dad used to race and breed them. He was quite good at it actually.’
Jake nodded, absorbing everything she was telling him. ‘Did you race?’
‘I trained but was never good enough to become a jockey or compete.’
‘I don’t like horses,’ Jake said. ‘Never enjoyed being around them. I don’t trust them.’
‘Why?’
Jake shrugged. ‘Just don’t. They’re too big.’
Charlotte burst into laughter, her eyes creasing. She slapped her hand on the table and placed her other hand on his playfully. Jake didn’t feel comfortable with it being there, but he didn’t do anything about it, even if her hand did linger for too long.
‘You can’t blame them for being the size they are,’ she replied, her voice reaching a crescendo that disturbed others around them. It was an ugly laugh, but Jake didn’t mind; he found it endearing.
‘So how does a girl who tamed horses end up as an undercover police officer?’
Charlotte’s laughter died down and she took another sip of her drink. ‘Things happen in life. Plans change. It doesn’t always work out the way you want it to.’
‘How much of what you’re telling me is true?’
‘Jake, hun, it’s my job to lie to people. It’s one of the things I’m good at. I’ll leave it up to you to decide how much you want to believe.’ Charlotte finished off her drink, slammed it on the table heavily and asked, ‘Now… fancy another?’
CHAPTER 63
PERFECT OPPORTUNITY
BBC Radio 2 was playing in Liam’s car, though he paid it little attention. He was more focused on what was happening right in front of him than listening to the latest song from Linkin Park, his favourite band.
Jake. Charlotte. The Head of the House. Sitting together. Drinking. Touching. Flirting. More drinking.
It was all too perfect. All too fortunate. He was stationed in the car park immediately outside; after leaving Bow Green he’d decided to clear his head. He needed somewhere he could be alone, yet in the presence of other inebriated people – somewhere he could come to chill the fuck out or chat shit with strangers. Of course, there were some regulars whom he recognised – ones he’d give a nod to and have obligatory small talk with – but other than that, there appeared to be a fresh face almost every night. There was a certain anonymity to the pub and its patrons that he admired; it was his sanctuary, and if there was anything he could do to keep his mind off Garrison, he’d do it.
But now he felt like that had been taken away from him.
The song on the radio changed, startling Liam into action. He leant behind him and reached into the rear passenger footwell, fumbling for the digital camera he kept down there, stowed in a plastic carrier bag. It had twenty times optical zoom. Twenty megapixels – twenty times the clarity in the image. Twenty quid, from a keen seller who’d wanted to get rid of it. The man’s urgency to dispense with the camera should have worried him, but it didn’t. If it turned out that he was a paedophile or a child molester, and he’d used this particular camera to facilitate his preferred desires, then the solution was simple: destroy the camera and remove all trace of his ever having owned it. Nobody would think of a cop as a paedophile. Especially one with as immaculate a record as him.
He switched it on, opened the lens and zoomed in on Jake and Charlotte. They appeared to be enjoying themselves, engaging in friendly conversation. Perhaps a little too friendly.
By the looks of it, Jake had just said something funny as Charlotte reeled back in laughter. Liam waited for the camera to load, hoping he would be able to get a photograph in time.
Just as Charlotte was about to remove her hand from Jake’s, Liam depressed the shutter, capturing the moment in a still image forever.
‘Gotcha,’ he whispered to himself.
That was all the evidence he needed. He didn’t know when – or if – he’d need it, but it was there, and that was all that mattered.
Meanwhile, a plan that he hoped wouldn’t be necessary started to form in the back of his mind.
CHAPTER 64
PUPPY-DOG EYES
Five minutes had gone by, and already he was bored. A part of him had considered leaving. He had no real reason to be there, so why was he? Because the other part of him was preoccupied with Drew. How they’d come a long way together. How he’d defended his inept colleague once before, and how he wasn’t sure he could do it again. How Drew needed to be spoon-fed everything. How he had sucked up to Liam in recent months. How they’d both grown distant. How he himself was leaps and bounds ahead of both Liam and Drew in The Cabal’s rankings – and whether he would be able to find it within himself to call The Farmer and organise a hit on one of them if the time came.
The answer
was simple. Yes. He knew his mission, and he knew that he could.
A set of headlights appeared to the left of the warehouse. The car moved along the road and then made a right turn, heading towards Garrison.
He watched as whoever it was pulled up in front of him, killed the engine and exited the car.
‘You’re not who I was expecting,’ Garrison said as Nigel Clayton opened the passenger door and slid in.
‘I’m the only one that’s available. The rest of them are hiding – waiting it out after what happened.’ Nigel nodded to the warehouse he’d just driven past.
There was a long pause. Garrison used the time to inspect Nigel’s face. There was something wrong about his presence, but he didn’t know what. Garrison had been expecting one of The Farmer’s team, but it was never Nigel Clayton; never the accountant.
‘Why are you here?’
‘The money. He… he asked me about the money. The Farmer. He wants it. It’s a lot of money that we need to launder out of the country.’
‘Out of the country?’ Garrison asked.
A smirk flashed across Nigel’s face but it didn’t mask his frightened countenance. ‘That’s why I’m the best in the business.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself.’
‘When is it coming?’
‘I have it in the boot now.’
‘Really?’
‘No, ’course not fucking really. How stupid do you think I am? I thought you were intelligent?’
Nigel played with his fingers.
‘When is it coming?’ he repeated, looking out of the window.
‘I’d rather speak with The Farmer about this,’ Garrison replied.
‘He’s busy. That’s why he sent me.’
Hmm. Something still wasn’t sitting right with him.
‘I can just call him.’ Garrison reached inside his pocket, slowly at first to gauge Nigel’s reaction, but when the accountant didn’t react, Garrison pulled his hand out of his pocket. He continued to eye Nigel suspiciously. ‘What’s really going on, Clayton? Why are you really here?’
Nigel’s head snapped towards him. ‘Is it true?’
‘Is what true?’
‘The DNA. On Danny Cipriano’s body.’
Garrison let out a long exhale, designed to make Nigel sweat that little bit more. ‘You don’t have to worry about it; it’s being taken care of.’
‘How?’
‘You don’t need to worry about that.’
‘Yes, I do. I need to know. And what about Maddison’s body? Is my DNA on that too?’
Garrison’s brow furrowed. ‘Why would it be? I thought he killed himself.’
Nigel scratched the back of his neck. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Garrison’s gaze. ‘There was a scuffle. We came in just after he’d slit his wrists. But as soon as he recognised us, he tried to get out of the tub. I pinned him down and submerged him, but there was blood and mess everywhere. We cleaned up afterwards.’
Garrison couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Thoroughly?’
Nigel looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes – which told Garrison everything he needed to know.
Just as he was about to make a phone call, another set of headlights appeared in his rear-view mirror. This time it was a van.
The vehicle skidded to a stop beside Garrison’s car, and three figures leapt out, cloaked in black masks. In their hands they held weapons – a cricket bat, a baseball bat, a crowbar – and they swarmed the Jaguar, opening the passenger door first. Panicked, Garrison reacted quickly and started the engine, his hand flying to the automatic gearbox. But there was a problem. Force of habit dictated his next move: he thrust the gearstick into Drive, rather than Reverse.
And then his door opened. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Nigel’s head roll from side to side like a rag doll as he was repeatedly struck by a cricket bat, and he knew that he was about to meet the same fate.
Standing beside him, with one hand on the door and the other holding a baseball bat, was a thick, heavyset, well-built man, masked behind a disguise of black. No other thought was permitted to enter Garrison’s brain before the man brought the bat swinging down on his skull and knocked him into the unending world of unconsciousness.
CHAPTER 65
JUMP
Georgiy enjoyed wearing the black mask; it made him feel dangerous, threatening, invincible – as if nobody could touch him. The only downside was that, even on cold November nights like tonight, it still itched like a bitch. And it was only worsened by the sweat forming in the creases of his neck and his scalp – a by-product of his adrenaline.
Within seconds of their arrival, it was done. Nigel’s car had been moved out the way and both men were unconscious and already in their positions. A thin trickle of blood ran down the side of Nigel’s temple from where he’d hit the man too hard. He may have ruptured something inside the man’s skull, but that didn’t matter. It was something he’d deserved. The accountant had made too many mistakes, and that alone was justification enough.
Vitaly slammed the door shut on the other side of Garrison’s Jag.
‘It is done,’ he told Georgiy and rounded the back of the car.
‘Get the brick.’
Tatiana was the one who followed the instruction; she returned a moment later holding a dense red brick in her hand.
‘And the helmet?’
Tatiana chucked the brick to Vitaly before rushing to the back of the van. Vitaly caught it awkwardly, almost dropping it onto the top of the car. After he’d adjusted his grip on the brick, he rushed back to Garrison’s side, placed the brick on the accelerator, closed the door and then returned.
Tatiana appeared in his peripheral vision and handed Vitaly the helmet. Then Vitaly exchanged the helmet for the black mask and, just like that, they were ready. It had only taken them a few minutes. Quiet. Clean. Calm. Efficient. Everything Georgiy wanted in a hit. Out of all their past ones, this had been the smoothest.
‘Ready?’ Georgiy asked Vitaly as the young man climbed into the back seat of the car. ‘Remember instruction I tell you?’
Vitaly nodded. ‘Do a right and then keep straight on.’
‘When you dive?’
‘Forty.’
‘Good. What else?’
‘Get van from warehouse and meet at number three.’
They shook hands before Georgiy slammed the door shut. Then he tapped on the roof, signalling to Georgiy that it was clear to begin.
The young man leant into the cockpit of the car and started the engine. At once, the brick revved the engine until it roared and disturbed the silence surrounding them. Inside the car, Vitaly slipped the gear into Drive.
The car leapt from its spot and sped down the road. As it reached the junction, it swung a right and disappeared out of sight, masked by the cover of darkness overhead. Georgiy squinted, searching for it. He followed what he thought was the outline of the car but turned out to be nothing other than his mind playing tricks on him.
The air fell silent as the distance between him and the car grew, save for the sounds of his heavy breathing. Less than twenty seconds later, the air was pierced by the gut-wrenching sound of a vehicle crashing and wrapping itself around an inanimate object.
Georgiy just hoped Vitaly had been able to jump out in time.
CHAPTER 66
BUSINESS PROPOSITION
Liam’s skin prickled as he stepped out of his car and closed the door. Surrounding him from every angle was the sound of shouting, banging, crashing, playful laughter, television sets blasting repeats of daytime shows, and the heavy, repetitive din of house music. It was a cacophony of sound that intimidated him – would intimidate anyone – and he wasn’t afraid to admit it.
As a rule, police officers weren’t supposed to come here. Even the bent ones that had but a semblance of a relationship with the people who ran the estate. Liam included. But tonight was an extenuating circumstance. An opportunity had presented itself to him, and it was time to cap
italise on it.
Every time he set foot on the Cosgrove housing estate in Stratford, Liam counted the minutes until he could escape. Everything about it scared him. Everything was dirtier here. The concrete. The buildings. The small patch of earth that was used as a football pitch. The basketball court beyond the grass. The garages and walls that were decorated in tasteless graffiti. The convenience store that had been broken into and ransacked and was now boarded up. Even the single, lonely orange street lamp situated in the centre of the square was scruffy. And, worst of all, was the smell – the stench of piss and alcohol lingered in the streets, drifting through the avenues and walkways on a tepid wind.
Liam sauntered across the square that was crowded by two dominating high-rise towers; one to the north and one to the south. His footsteps seemed to echo loudly around the estate. He was in plain clothes, but he was aware that even those who didn’t already know who he was could work it out. Could work out what he was. Like they had some sort of sixth sense for spotting coppers a mile off.
Ahead of him, thirty yards away, was an underpass carved out of the bottom of the tower block. From within, a young boy wearing a hoodie and riding a bicycle emerged and approached Liam.
Liam paused where he was. Experience told him to. To follow the rules. Not to do anything stupid. Nobody would save him here; nobody would even hear him scream.
The young boy circled him a while, taunting him, eyeing him, until eventually, he slowed to a halt. ‘Arms,’ the boy instructed. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen; his voice had just started to break.
Liam lifted his arms and the boy searched him, patting his pockets and legs, making sure he wasn’t carrying any weapons.
Satisfied, the boy said, ‘Shirt.’
Without needing to be told what he meant, Liam lifted his shirt, proving he wasn’t wearing a wire.