End of the Line

by Robert Scragg

  ‘Doesn’t change the fact I can’t let you in. Break the rules for you and I have to do it for everyone.’

  ‘Took us an hour to get here, man. We’ll only stay five minutes.’

  ‘You can stay as long as you like, but it’ll be on that side of the door until tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got patients to see to.’

  The crackle from the intercom stopped. The guy jabbed the button again.

  ‘You serious? You just hung up on me!’

  ‘She’s not on a phone, bruv,’ said the second one. ‘’S go. We can come back tomorrow.’

  ‘What a joke, man,’ said the first, slapping a palm against the speaker. ‘Joke.’ Second slap, harder this time. Porter eased the door back into place and shot down the stairs, jumping the last four. No need for stealth now. Seeing these two here gave him the seed of an idea. Get to his car, follow them wherever they went next. If he couldn’t access most of the existing info on the Triple H gang, he’d start building his own file. Henry Kamau wasn’t going anywhere, nor was Jackson Tyler. Could be a long slog to get the answers he wanted. Needed. He’d waited this long; he could wait a little longer. One tiny line crossed tonight already. No idea how far he would push it. The lines between what was allowed and what might be necessary were starting to converge. No telling where that movement might stop.

  He checked his watch. Evie would most likely be in bed by now. How would she react if he told her what he had planned? Risking everything here and now, to avenge a memory. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. More that he wanted to protect her if it went pear-shaped. That, and the symmetry of his girlfriend helping bring down his wife’s killer, felt off.

  He hunkered down low behind the wheel of his car, eyes not leaving the hospital entrance. Sure enough, less than two minutes later, the pair emerged. They fiddled with the buttons at the payment station, before finally climbing into a black BMW, a carbon copy of the one he’d followed to Tyler earlier today. Seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Porter let them get near the exit before he pulled out, tucking in behind, but keeping a respectable distance. They could be heading home to call it a night for all he knew. No guarantee tonight would go anywhere, but worst case he’d follow them to another Triple H location, a flat, a shop, one of dozens that Tyler allegedly owned. Another pin to stick in a map. Porter swallowed down his natural impatience, reminding himself the longer this played out, the more the likelihood of Pittman moving on, the case on Kamau being left in limbo while he languished in his coma. That played into Porter’s hands. Made it easier for him to work his own angles on Jackson Tyler. All about the long haul.

  After a little over ten minutes, the BMW pulled sharply to the left, into a parking space outside a pizza shop. Porter kept his eyes fixed front as he passed them, pulling in another hundred yards past and creaking the rear-view mirror a half inch for a better view. The driver got out, wandered over to a moped parked up outside the shop. Looked like he was rooting round in his pockets for something. Porter took a chance and twisted round. The man bent down over the storage box at the back, went through the motions of unlocking it, taking something inside that got shoved into his jacket, before lifting up a carrier bag Porter hadn’t noticed in his other hand and placing it inside.

  Porter turned to face front again, doing a mental coin toss. Who to follow? No intel to base a decision on. He’d stick with the car. Less chance of losing that than the more manoeuvrable moped that could zigzag through traffic. To his surprise, instead of the two splitting up, he watched the man get back in the car, leaving the moped where it stood. A minute later, they’d pulled out again and cruised past him.

  He signalled to pull out. Quick traffic check in the rear-view, when movement caught his eye back outside the shop. A man exited the shop and bent down to insert what could only be a key in the same moped. Flick of the eyes back to the road and the gap to the BMW was fifty yards ahead and growing. Behind him, the man reached in, took out the bag Porter’s new friend has deposited and headed back inside.

  Five minutes later, outside a Chinese takeaway, the same scene played out. Another moped, another carrier bag. Another man appearing to take custody of the bag after the car had pulled away. Had to be a dead drop of sorts. Of what, Porter could only guess, but chances were it was nothing legal. He smiled in the dark of his car as he resumed his quiet pursuit of the BMW. He’d committed the licence plate to memory when they drove past him on the way out from the hospital. The two locations were fresh in his mind as well, and when they pulled up outside a third takeaway, he changed tack.

  Instead of sitting tight, he jumped out, dodging into a corner shop, grabbing a pay-as-you-go SIM and tapping his card against the terminal. He slid back into his seat, just as the BMW pulled away again. He fumbled the back off his phone, popping his SIM out in favour of the new one. Time for one quick call that could start to swing this in his favour.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Porter watched from a safe distance as the pair stood with their legs spread, hands on top of the car. He could see the arresting officer leaning in, talking. They’d be asking whether there were any sharp objects in the pockets, anything to declare in the car. While Porter didn’t know the exact contents of the bags they’d been dropping off, he could hazard a guess at some form of drugs. Evie had said that was one of the gang’s main sources of income, and being on the Drugs Squad, she’d know better than him.

  They might not have any left in the car, but worst case, they’d have whatever payment they’d undoubtedly picked up along the way. Any large sums of cash would be seized and not returned unless the men could show it had been obtained legally. With a bit of luck, they’d still have some product with them as well.

  Porter had given all three drop-offs to the 999 operator, as well as the licence plate. He had included one small embellishment, saying he’d seen one of them holding what looked like a gun, knowing the call would get taken more seriously. He’d tucked back in, a few cars behind and watched minutes later as the first of what would soon be several cars with uniformed officers picked up the trail. They didn’t pull them over immediately, waiting for a firearms team to act as their cavalry.

  From the direction they were travelling when they were stopped there was every chance they could have been heading to the same block of flats Porter had visited earlier that day. Could have been a nice double whammy if Tyler had been caught accepting cash or product from them.

  He watched as one of the officers emerged from the back seat of the BMW, holding two, maybe three, bags in a clenched fist like a trophy. Perfect. No chance of these two making good on their promise to visit Kamau tomorrow. Nothing to stop Tyler from sending two more though. He needed some way of warning Pittman. Anonymous Post-it note on his desk with a message from the hospital, worried about an aggressive man claiming to be a relative should do it.

  Porter stayed put until the pair were guided into the back of a car, a helping hand from the officer to shove their heads down. Five minutes later he was stood at the entrance to Jackson Tyler’s block. No guarantees anyone was home, let alone the main man. Porter jabbed a finger at the buzzer, leaning on it for a ten count for good measure.

  He took a step back, peering up at the window Tyler had appeared at earlier. Curtains drawn, an unblinking eye reflecting the street light back at him. No sign of life.

  No noise except muted traffic from the street and the whisper of his own breath. He turned to look along the back lane, half expecting the same two fools he’d followed here earlier to be advancing towards him. A crackle cut across his thoughts, and he whipped his head back to the speaker.

  ‘Mr Tyler?’

  Faint hiss of static. Was that breathing he heard?

  ‘Mr Tyler?’ he tried again. ‘It’s DI Porter.’

  He was beginning to wonder if he’d imagined the noise coming from the intercom, when the reply came.

  ‘I warned you. Shouldn’t have come back here.’

>   Every word packed with ill intent.

  ‘And I warned you,’ he said, matching the understated grit with his own voice. ‘I told you your boys would start getting picked up. Two of ’em just got pulled over, a mile or so from here. Interesting what we found in their car.’

  ‘Mm, that right?’

  No surprise or shock at the news. Had they called him the moment they saw blues and twos flashing in their rear-view?

  ‘Just these two for now, but you can be sure there’ll be more to follow. How many is up to you.’

  ‘Let’s say for the sake of argument that I knew what you was talking about. You’re saying you picked up two of my boys. Two’s the magic number. Know why?’

  Porter didn’t answer.

  ‘Cos I ain’t ever had to give two warnings to anyone. You know why?’

  ‘I’ve got a feeling you’re about to tell me,’ said Porter, trying to sound bored.

  ‘Cos most people know what happens if the first one gets ignored.’

  ‘Give me a name and this goes away,’ said Porter, silently promising that he’d make a point of keeping Jackson Tyler on his shitlist no matter how this turned out.

  ‘I’ll give you two,’ said Tyler. ‘Fozzie and Slim. Those two boys should be with you right about now. Enjoy your second warning.’

  Porter took a step back from the door, looking up through the glass pane. A black metal railing ran up the side of the stairwell. If he leant forwards he could see through a gap up to the next landing. A sound. Not the intercom now, that was dead. Something more solid, a beat. A pair of feet rounded the first-floor landing, a second close behind them.

  Porter hesitated, half a breath, no more. Didn’t wait for a second look. Something told him Tyler wasn’t one to make empty threats, not even to a copper. He turned, ran back along the fifty yards of back lane to where he’d parked his car. Heard a door burst open as he fumbled with his keys. His finger found the key fob, slid over the button, indicators flashing a promise of safety.

  Shouts blurred with footsteps as he slid into the driver’s seat, engine roaring to life. Two shapes barrelled down the road towards him. He tried to focus on making a hasty exit, not to fixate on them, but as he slammed the car into reverse, looking into the rear-view mirror, he couldn’t help but look at his pursuers. Unfamiliar faces contorted into cartoonish masks. Eyes wide, mouths working overtime to spit streams of obscenity his way. He saw some kind of weapons in their hands, long, thin. Could be bats, pipes, hard to say, everything moving at a hundred miles an hour. He wasn’t sticking around to find out.

  They’d covered half the ground now. Something about their faces, overlaid across the testosterone-fuelled fury. Anticipation. They lived for this. He half twisted round, looping one arm around the back of the passenger seat, and floored it, lurching backwards, praying nobody would pick this moment to step out behind him. He was committed now, and something told him that not even that would put these two off their stride. The widening gap seemed to spur their shouting on to new heights.

  As the rear bumper drew level with the corner of the building, Porter pulled the wheel down hard with his right hand, swinging his front end around ninety degrees. Quick one two on brake and accelerator, and he shot towards the main road. That last manoeuvre had helped them close the gap, almost but not quite. Something slapped hard against the boot, a hand maybe. Just a token gesture though, and he saw in the mirror they’d slowed to a trot. His luck held and a gap in traffic meant he swerved out into the left-hand lane without clipping anyone or anything. A loud thud from outside, somewhere between a crack and a crunch. They’d thrown something his way, whatever weapon that had been meant for him. No way that hadn’t damaged something back there, but rather a cracked taillight than cracked head. Wasn’t until he could no longer see the road he’d shot out of in his mirror that he relaxed back into his seat. Deep breath. Sweat stuck the cotton shirt to his back like a second skin as he leant against the leather. He took one hand off the wheel, made a fist, flexed it, straightening fingers. The tremor was slight, but it was there.

  Tonight had been about sending a message, and he’d done exactly that. He’d received one of his own though. Jackson Tyler wasn’t about to roll over any time soon. That meant Porter had to either hope that Kamau woke up in a talkative mood or up the ante himself with Tyler. Most leaders of gangs like his weren’t leaders in the true sense. They ruled by fear. They ruled by keeping others far enough below them on the pecking order. Fought with their fists, not words. There wasn’t room for inspiring speeches. Actions were the measure of the man. He’d acted tonight without hesitation. Porter couldn’t help but feel that despite the arrests and whatever had been seized, Tyler came out of this the winner. He’d laid down a marker, daring Porter to take a step closer.

  What he’d give for a half-dozen officers, squashed into two cars, dragging Tyler out kicking and screaming. As it was though, his entire team on this one was here in the car with him now. Porter considered again the risks of involving Styles, or any of the others for that matter. It wasn’t that they couldn’t handle themselves. More that there was already a huge target on his chest. He didn’t want to involve anyone else, dragging them in front of him like a human shield. Couldn’t live with himself if somebody else got caught in the crossfire.

  Keeping Styles in the dark went against every instinct, but it was the only option that kept him out of harm’s way, made sure he went back in one piece every night to Emma and Hannah. Home. His mind wandered to Evie. To the unanswered message he had received on his way here. None of this was fair to her either. Wasn’t her fault that it had taken him so long to lay down the baggage from his life before her. A little voice somewhere deep down told him off for lying to himself. He hadn’t lain it down, just moved it out of sight.

  How would he feel in her shoes? He’d never been a good liar and he was pretty sure she didn’t believe him last night. Truth was if he’d told her where he’d actually been, he was pretty sure she’d understand. Why had he lied then? God only knew. These last forty-eight hours it felt he’d stepped off a ledge. It was only a matter of time before he hit the bottom.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  She heard the car pull up. The ticking of the engine and footsteps on the path. He tried his best not to wake her whenever he came in late, but he wasn’t quite the ninja he thought he was. Evie heard the key in the door, soft padding of feet on stairs, followed by the tell-tale creak of the third from the top. She was on her side, facing away from the door when he came in, a thick wedge of light splashing on the wall beside her, winking back to black as he eased the door closed.

  Silence, as if he’d paused, maybe watching, listening for her breathing. She waited him out, not wanting him to know she was still awake. Not yet. Didn’t want any suggestion of suspicion that she’d waited up. Better to give him a chance to talk, to explain. She knew him well enough now to know that he didn’t respond well to being put on the spot if he wasn’t ready. She heard the rustle of clothes being shed and felt the mattress dip as he slid in behind her, slipping an arm over her hip.

  Evie breathed deeply, quietly grumbling, stirring from a non-existent sleep and turning to face him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he whispered, even though there was no one left to wake. ‘Tried my best to sneak in.’

  ‘Mmm, ’s OK,’ she said, turning into him, nestling her head into the gap between his shoulder and cheekbone, one palm flat against his chest. ‘Good day at the office?’

  His chest swelled under her hand, deep breath, long and slow, out loud through the nose. About to share, or just stalling for time?

  ‘Long.’

  She waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing.

  ‘Wow,’ she said, ‘the way you tell it really brings the day to life.’

  He laughed. ‘You know how it is. One of those you get to the end of and you’re no further forward than when you got out of bed.’

  ‘Tomorrow’ll be better,’ she promised. ‘What’ve you
and Nick been up to that’s kept you up past your bedtime?’

  ‘Damien Winter.’

  ‘Ah, our friendly neighbourhood right-wing megalomaniac. What’s he had to say for himself?’

  ‘Plenty, all online anyway. Haven’t managed to track him down for a proper chat yet. Pretty sure we’ll manage tomorrow though. He’s doing a live event, so we’ll pay him a visit.’

  ‘Ah good,’ she said, as sure as she could be that he wasn’t giving her the full story, working through how best to dig without the appearance of digging. ‘We’d best be buying Emma a bottle of something nice if Nick’s getting dragged around London at all hours instead of doing a stint on Dad duty.’

  Just tell me the truth, Jake. At least tell me Nick wasn’t with you.

  ‘Ah she’s probably glad of the break from him. Hannah’s got better craic than him already anyway.’

  Male distraction tactics one-oh-one. Deflect with humour.

  ‘That may well be true, but a new mum needs her rest. You can’t be sending him back at this time every night, or they’ll be divorced before the month’s out.’

  ‘I’ll go easy on him,’ said Jake, raising the shadow of a double-finger salute to his temple. ‘Scout’s honour.’

  That was his second chance to come clean. Half of her wanted to slap him, tell him she deserved a bit more respect. The other half whispered that he had his reasons, that the last few days had hit him hard. That he might be drifting, but he’d come back to her. She didn’t in her heart of hearts believe that he was going behind her back with anyone. Only other explanation was to do with Holly’s case. Porter should have more sense than that, operative word being ‘should’. He’d gone his own way before though, finding shades of grey in orders from an SIO, asking for forgiveness later, rather than permission in advance. Even for him though, this time, it was something that could blow up in his face faster than a dodgy firework. Either way, she had to know, for her sake as much as his. Had to protect him from himself if it was option B. The words came out before she could stop herself.