by DC Brockwell
Both the male and female visitors had form, their criminal histories reading like the worst kind of rap sheet. Their criminal activities ranged from assault, battery, and armed robbery to rape and murder. So far, they hadn’t seen any paedophiles, but he knew these kinds of people loathed kiddy-fiddlers.
Steven took another photograph, this time a facial shot of a woman in her thirties with long dark hair and a fake tan; she was mostly orange. He watched her walk to her Toyota Land Cruiser and drive back down the dirt track.
Looking at his watch, he saw it was quarter to ten. His shift change was at 15:00, meaning he had just over five hours left on the clock. He couldn’t wait – he was looking forward to seeing Ashley and the kids…
29
Assistant Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis, Peter Franks, had taken a rare day off work. His day was his own, and he’d planned it meticulously, choosing a day his wife, Ursula, had to work. He was going to have a nice relaxing day of doing whatever he fancied.
Deciding that he wanted to wash his Jaguar E-PACE, he got up from his comfy armchair and gathered up the bucket and sponge from the kitchen, filling the bucket with hot water and adding some detergent. He enjoyed washing his pride and joy, or rather he enjoyed having a clean car at the end of it.
He’d worked hard for everything he owned including his three cars – two Jaguars and a Land Rover. He had a lovely five-bedroom house in quiet suburbia, located in a good postcode and an even better school district.
His three kids had wanted for nothing growing up, he’d made sure of it. Oliver, his eldest, was a solicitor in a big law firm – so he was set for life. Vincent, his middle child, was a hedge fund manager, earning obscene amounts of money. His youngest, Annabel, was an OBGYN nurse and was doing very well for herself. He doted on his daughter – maybe a little too much – but she was so lovely he couldn’t help it.
His retirement would come in a couple of years or so, after this project was leaked to the press and after the fan had stopped spraying the proverbial shit. He’d spent his entire career fighting criminals – fighting a losing battle all the way – and it always made him angry whenever he thought of the scum out there, getting paid for their misdeeds. It made him so angry, in fact, that when the commissioner, his boss, had come to him with this brilliant idea, it hadn’t taken long for him to fight his conscience and climb on board. When he heard the benefits and weighed them against the costs, it really was a no-brainer.
Would people call them corrupt police officers? Probably, at first. But after they’d demonstrated the benefits, they would eventually be called heroes. It wasn’t like he was the mastermind behind the whole thing; the true engineer of the project was the Home Secretary and the Secretary of State for Justice. Having cabinet ministers backing the project made it easier to agree to; none of them would receive custodial sentences. When the shit did hit the fan, the government machinations would probably hide it and brush it under the carpet, like they normally did.
Franks carried the bucket of water out to his wide driveway, put it on the ground, and wiped his windscreen. It was cold out – about six degrees – yet the sun was shining and his overcoat protected him from the chilly wind.
His mobile rang in his coat pocket, and after wiping his hands on his trousers, Franks retrieved his phone and answered it. “Peter Franks.”
“Peter, it’s Will. We need to talk. Can we meet?”
“Changed your mind, have you?” Peter asked with a smug smile.
“Can we meet or not?”
He replied that they could and suggested meeting at a park nearby in two hours. There was a bench overlooking the central bandstand. He said farewell and put his phone back in his pocket. He had not rung the commissioner to inform him of the bad news yet, and by the sound of Rothstein’s voice, it was lucky he hadn’t.
Although his boss was adamant they needed Rothstein, Franks didn’t like the fact they were dealing with him. Back when he was a young police officer, he’d heard horror stories about the young Rothstein. And he’d been part of a task force set up to investigate the man, back when he was in his late thirties – the bastard was slippery. No one had ever agreed to testify against him. That’s how he’d escaped punishment; he made them fear for their lives.
Franks wiped the left side of his Jaguar.
So, yes, there were downsides to the project, but he was happy that the benefits were far greater. He was certain they were doing the right thing…
Kimiko placed another pint glass on the tray, then slid the tray of glasses into the glasswasher. She pressed the green button and the machine started whirring. Beattie had asked her to tend bar for the day.
Even though she’d tried everything she could think of, Kimiko couldn’t get Danny out of her head. It didn’t help having to prepare him four times a day, having to touch him and taste him. Every night she went to sleep thinking about him and every morning she woke up with him on her mind. He’d asked her to sneak in to see him twice, and she’d said no on both occasions. She didn’t know how long she could keep saying no for. It would be so easy to creep into his room under the cover of darkness. So easy, she’d dreamt of it:
In her dream she hides in the shadows, narrowly avoiding the guards, quiet, stealthy. She opens the door to find Danny tied to the bed. In her dream she unties him, and he sweeps her up in his strong arms before kissing her, his smooth tongue massaging hers. Then he places her – so gently, like she’s a porcelain doll – on the bed and he kisses her all over.
Every day she looked forward to preparing him. She shouldn’t feel like this; it wasn’t how she was brought up to behave. She was a simple village girl – her father would be so ashamed if he could see her now.
The machine stopped whirring and she pulled the tray out, placing it on the bar top, waiting for them to dry. Picking the tray up, she lowered it to the floor and started putting them on the shelves still wet. Even when she was supposed to be concentrating, she thought about him.
She silently cursed when she spotted she’d put a highball glass in with the pint glasses. It was Danny’s fault! Lovely Danny, she thought, a smile creeping over her.
“Kimiko!”
She jumped. Kimiko hadn’t noticed Mrs Harrison and a client stood at the bar. Bowing, she forced her smile to vanish; she couldn’t afford to give herself away.
“Honestly, what is the matter with you at the moment?” Beattie asked. “Mr Edwards would like a drink, if you can manage that?”
Kimiko listened as Mrs Harrison apologised on her behalf, saying that good staff were hard to come by these days. The client asked for a vodka tonic, so Kimiko obliged, handing him the glass and asking for payment. The man paid her with a ten-pound note and she gave two pound coins back. He then went and sat down on one of the soft sofas with Mrs Harrison.
With her employer busy talking to the client, Kimiko wiped down the bar and attempted to busy her mind, trying not to think about lovely Danny. The edges of her mouth rose again. But she caught herself just in time, hiding her lust. It wasn’t easy.
What could she do about it? She couldn’t sneak into his room at night and make love to him, could she? No, there was too much at stake… Their lives, for one. Mrs Harrison would kill her if she found out, and Kimiko had no idea what Danny’s punishment would be. She couldn’t afford to think like this… it was madness…
Danny looked up at Donna. His wrists, ankles, and neck were chained to the bed again. Because it was just for one client, he didn’t mind. Donna was a five-minute wonder, which was great because it meant it was over about as soon as it started.
Unusually, she smiled and collapsed on top of him, spent, and he accepted the kisses she bestowed on his neck.
Eventually she released him, standing up and wiping herself with a tissue. “Thank you, Danny, that was marvellous,” she said, her cheeks rosy.
“You know, I’m really good with my hands and tongue, if you want to try that next time?” It was the first time he’d spoke
n to her, more than to say, “You’re welcome!”
He watched as she considered it, and when she nodded her approval, he breathed a sigh of relief inside – no more chains. If he never saw a set of chains again, he would die happy.
Donna approached him, bent down, and kissed his cheek, before wrapping herself in her robe and leaving him helpless on the bed.
Two guards came in after a couple of minutes to release him, after which he got up and walked with one of the guards – he didn’t know them by name – to the showers. Stepping under the showerhead, Danny felt the strong jets of water on his shoulders and face.
He’d endured eight days of hell at Beattie’s hands. For one thing, whenever he’d been alone, she’d left the air conditioning on low, making him shiver all night, every night.
But more than feeling the cold, the most savage part of his punishment had been servicing all the freaks Beattie let in. He even had a scar on his shoulder from a nasty client who’d bitten him – it had actually drawn blood, which she’d then proceeded to lick. He’d been slapped so hard his ears rang, and he’d been punched hard in the face. He’d had to endure so many humiliating fetishists.
It hadn’t been all bad, however. After all, he’d found out that lovely Nas was out there looking for him. If there was one regret he had in life, it was dumping her. She was the best girlfriend he’d ever had, and she’d been besotted with him. He was, however, a walking hard-on; the grass was always greener with him, and still was. It was why he made such a good escort; it gave him the variety he craved. Though after this experience, he was starting to think otherwise.
Back when they had been really tight – before the beginning of the end, before he’d cheated on her with five different women – they’d confessed their dreams to each other. He’d told her about his fantasy of becoming a famous painter, and she’d confided in him her desire of becoming a police officer. That was how he’d known it was Nas that nasty old hag, Francesca, was talking about.
He often thought about Nasreen and what she was doing, though he’d never summoned the nerve to call her up unexpectedly, not wanting to drag up the past and hurt her again. He wasn’t good enough for her anyway; he wasn’t a good man, full stop. She deserved someone who would treat her right, and unfortunately, he didn’t qualify.
He often wondered why he couldn’t remain interested in one person for long, especially with Nas, who’d been the whole package: she was lovely-looking, had a great smile, a good body… There he went again, thinking of physical attributes first. She was smart, funny, kind, generous – things every guy needed in a girlfriend – so why couldn’t he have just been satisfied? He knew the answer to that question: boredom.
Danny poured shower gel in his hands, lathered it up, and rubbed it over his face, under his armpits, and between his legs. As the jets washed it off, he stood there, feeling the heat, leaning forwards against the wall as the water probed his back.
He was glad it was Nas looking for him. She wouldn’t give up – she didn’t know how. His ex-girlfriend was the single-most stubborn person he’d ever met, which was good for him.
Turning the tap to the right, Danny stopped the shower and stepped out of the cubicle. As he dried himself off, he saw a woman drying herself to his left. Their eyes met briefly, before he heard a guard tell them to turn away. He turned and continued drying himself.
He couldn’t, however, bank on Nas being able to find him. From what he could make out – from what Kimiko had told him anyway – this place had been going for at least sixteen years, and bees had come and gone… and by gone he meant been killed. No, he had to accept the fact that he might have to get himself out of here, so he’d just have to wait and see if an opportunity arose. Failing that, he was making headway with Kimiko; she could still be his escape to freedom…
30
Assistant Commissioner Peter Franks saw William Rothstein walking past the bandstand, approaching the bench he’d suggested they meet at. He was stood in a clearing of a wooded path, and after reaching into his pocket and pulling out his mobile, he dialled Rothstein’s number and waited. When Rothstein answered, Franks told him where he was.
Whenever Franks looked at Rothstein, he felt failure; Rothstein was everything he despised in this world, and he had failed to put this sociopath inside. He profited off everyone else’s misery, but more than that, he was responsible for six murders that Franks knew about – not that anyone was willing to testify against him – and one of those six had been a civilian woman, who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and caught a bullet in the chest.
When the project was finally up and running, they were going to put so many of these people away, it would almost make up for Rothstein’s freedom. Almost. They might even have to build more prisons just to house the dealers they would incarcerate. Franks smiled at the thought.
“Peter!” Rothstein said in greeting.
“Let’s walk and talk,” Franks said as he turned.
They walked side by side through the wooded section of the park. There were fewer people around, which was good. The last thing Franks wanted was to be seen with Rothstein. “What’s on your mind, Will?”
“I’ve had a change of heart. I’m on board, but first I have some concessions.”
That was about right, thought Franks – Rothstein believing he could bargain his way in. The nerve of this guy! “Glad you’re with us,” he replied, remaining nonchalant. “What about your supplier? I thought you said you wouldn’t do it without him.”
“The guy you met in my office, who greeted you at the door?”
“The black guy?”
“Yeah, him. He’s my supplier’s nephew. I couldn’t be honest with you earlier, not with him around.”
“But you sent him out of the room.”
“He’s bugged my office; he thinks I don’t know. I went along with the meeting at mine so when Lenny reports back to his uncle, I’m in the clear.”
“Okay,” Franks said quietly, still confused.
“Which brings me to my first concession. When this thing starts, I’m going to get blowback from Lenny and his uncle, which is why Lenny’s got to go… if you know what I mean.”
Franks stopped walking.
Rothstein followed suit, and they stared at one another for a second.
“You can’t mean you expect us to…”
“Relax! I don’t mean kill him. I have an idea what to do, but I’ll need your help when the time comes.”
Franks listened as Rothstein explained his plan in detail, nodding at the right times and making the correct comments. He was listening, while also thinking about all the things this guy had done – it wasn’t fair.
“Okay,” Franks said once Rothstein had finished, “when the time comes, call me and I’ll sort it. The place you’re talking about is in another force’s district, but the chief constable there is one of us, so it’s no problem.” After a brief pause, he said, “And the other concession is?”
Franks watched as Rothstein looked down at the floor, sighed, and looked back up.
“I have a real problem with the NCA, one you’ll need to fix.”
Who the hell did this guy think he was! The project really wasn’t worth helping this guy keep his criminal empire, but as much as he detested Rothstein, the commissioner had been clear about how important he was for its success. He had to swallow his pride and deal with it. “What kind of problem?”
“The kind only top dogs can sort.” Rothstein was as cryptic as ever. “They’re probing my businesses and they have their eye on one in particular that they can’t look into. I can’t afford to lose it. The investigation has to disappear.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?”
“My insider tells me the Assistant Director General is into all sorts. Maybe you can talk to him, see if wants to come on board? You get him onside, maybe he can terminate the investigation?”
“Yeah, well, we won’t get far with the Director General, that’s f
or sure. He’s as straight as they come. Believe me, he won’t be swayed, no matter how much you throw at him. And he’s good friends with the prime minister.”
“So, maybe the Director General should go? Replace him with one of our own?”
Franks couldn’t believe he was talking about killing the most senior officer at the National Crime Agency with a known thug and murderer. The commissioner said the project must proceed, but he hadn’t said anything about offing people in its name. This wasn’t what he’d agreed to. “Let me talk it through with the commissioner, see what we can sort out,” Franks told Rothstein. “The NCA operates under a different remit than we do. The commissioner will know what to do, though…”
“So, you’re just a pawn, huh? People upstairs pulling your strings?”
“We’re all pawns, Will. We all answer to someone.”
Rothstein shook his head. “Not me. I don’t answer to anyone.”
Franks stepped back a pace and stared at Rothstein. He was trying to goad him into agreeing to assassinate the DG of the NCA in order to save his own arse. Rothstein answered to people; he answered to his suppliers… Oh wait, no he didn’t. It must be nice not answering to anyone, Franks thought, leaving a bitter taste. “Good for you,” he said, “but I have to discuss it with my boss.”
“Hey, you’re helping me out with my first problem, so it’s only fair that I help you out with this, right? Your lot don’t have to do anything; leave it to me.”
“No, Will, leave it,” Franks insisted. “Whatever you’re planning, hold fire until I’ve spoken to the commissioner, okay?”
“There won’t be any problems, Peter, I promise,” insisted Rothstein. “You don’t have anything to worry about. You don’t even need to call the commissioner; just be ready to have the Assistant DG promoted.”