End of the Line

by Robert Scragg

  ‘Detective Porter, a word, please.’

  Pittman stood framed in the doorway.

  ‘With you in a minute,’ Porter said, turning back to glare at Kamau.

  ‘Now would be better.’

  Porter huffed out a loud breath, stood up and shot one last hard stare at Kamau before joining Pittman in the corridor.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Pittman hissed.

  ‘What does it look like? He was about to give me something until you barged in.’

  ‘Barged in, on my own suspect? Really?’ Pittman asked, eyebrows raised.

  ‘You could have told me he was awake at least, Isaiah.’ Porter felt the anger leeching away. Pittman wasn’t wrong. Didn’t stop him from feeling hard done by.

  ‘Super’s orders, and looks like he was right if this is how you go on. Look, mate,’ he said, patting a hand on Porter’s shoulder, ‘for what it’s worth, I don’t believe this bollocks about robbing the car after it got ditched any more than you do. But that shit story is mine to break. You got a result yesterday. Go enjoy that. I promise when he gives up a name, you’ll be first to know after the super.’

  Porter sighed, nodded. ‘You’re right. Sorry, mate. I’ll leave him to you. Look, I’d appreciate it if the super didn’t hear about this.’

  Pittman shrugged. ‘Milburn’s a prick. Gives us all enough grief without us grassing on each other.’

  He held out his hand, and they shook. Porter checked his watch. Couple of hours before he needed to be at Paddington Green. Enough time to swing by the community centre to catch Benjamin Kamau unawares. Pick up where they left off. He was through the ward doors and out into the corridor when he felt the buzz of a text in his pocket. Not a number he recognised. Short and to the point.

  You want a name, you got one. Ben Kamau.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Porter burst through the door, seeing Pittman and Kamau jump. If it wasn’t for the bedrail, Henry could well have fallen out the far side. Pittman’s face turned grim.

  ‘What the—?’

  Porter didn’t give him a chance to finish. ‘He was there, wasn’t he? Your brother?’

  ‘Porter, you need to step back outside.’

  ‘Not this time, Isaiah. His brother, he was the driver, and this piece of shit has known all this time.’

  ‘That’s bollocks, man. I already told you. I just grabbed a few CDs and some cash.’

  ‘That’s not going to fly, sunshine,’ said Porter.

  Pittman was on his feet now, hands on Porter’s shoulders, pushing him backwards, towards the door.

  ‘You’re not out of here in five seconds, then you’re not giving me any choice about Milburn.’

  ‘Fuck Milburn,’ Porter snapped. ‘I know it was him, Henry. I know it was Ben.’ He was shouting over Pittman’s shoulder now, taking begrudging steps back. ‘Next stop the community centre, and we’ll see how long he holds up when we get him to the station.’

  ‘What makes you think it was his brother?’ Pittman asked, level with the door frame now.

  ‘I don’t think. I know.’

  ‘You know that how?’

  No simple way to explain the link to Jackson Tyler. Easier for Porter if how the information came to light stayed buried, but he spat it out before he could stop himself.

  ‘Tyler gave him up, Henry. Tyler named Ben.’

  Pittman stopped guiding him out, frowning. Behind him, Henry’s face was all circles, wide eyes, wide mouth.

  ‘And why would he give that information to you?’ Pittman asked, words coated with a healthy dose of cynicism.

  Kamau looked close to tears now, running both hands across his head, IV tube tapping out a rhythm again.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. What matters is I’ve got it, and if you won’t follow it up, I will.’

  ‘When did he tell you?’ Kamau’s voice was practically a whisper.

  ‘Just now, in a text. So it’s true then?’

  Henry shook his head. ‘He’s gonna kill him. If he’s told you that, he’s gonna kill him.’

  ‘Kill who, Tyler?’

  ‘Eh? No. JT, he’s gonna kill Ben.’

  ‘Why would he do that, Henry?’

  ‘Cos Ben weren’t driving. It was him, Tyler. Said if anyone ever found out, he’d take the hammer to the pair of us.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  ‘Jesus, didn’t see that one coming,’ said Styles. ‘We sure he’s telling the truth?’

  ‘He looked petrified. He thinks Tyler is going to come for the pair of them now, make sure there’s nobody left who can put him in the car. The fear he puts in his men, can’t see Kamau flipping on him for nothing. Maybe he wouldn’t have for his own sake, but he was practically gnawing through the cuffs to get out when he found out Ben might be in danger.’

  ‘What about Tyler? Why put you on to Ben in the first place if he can put Tyler in the car?’

  ‘I think Henry’s right. He needs to clean house. He takes care of both brothers, he can tell people it was payback for Henry talking to us. If he’s gonna kill Ben anyway, then he loses nothing by giving us the name. Rather that than give up anyone else in his crew and risk it coming back on him.’

  ‘He’d have to be pretty confident of scooping up Ben to give you the name though.’

  ‘What’s to say he hasn’t already. I’m heading there now.’

  ‘I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘No, you finish up with Finch. Send Gus instead, he’s half involved from yesterday anyway. No need to drag anyone else in.’

  Porter signed off, weaving through reception and out into his car. Should take him ten minutes to get to the community centre. Normally he wouldn’t call ahead. Chances are whoever he was going to see would make themselves scarce. In this case though, a call could save a life.

  A bored female voice answered after three rings.

  ‘I need to speak to Benjamin Kamau, please.’

  ‘Ben’s reffing a match at the moment. Can I take a message?’

  ‘No, I need to speak with him now, please. It’s urgent.’

  ‘He should only be a few minutes. He’s a popular lad today. If you leave a number, I’ll have him call you back.’

  ‘Wait, what do you mean, popular lad?’

  ‘Had a few people in asking for him just before, and I told them the same. I can either take a message, or you can come and wait for him to finish and see him yourself.’

  ‘These other men, what did they look like?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t see as that’s any of your business.’

  ‘My name’s Detective Inspector Porter, Met Police. I’m on my way there now, but Ben may be in danger. Can you get a message to him now?’

  Porter weaved through traffic, background noise coming through his speakers as he waited. Why was it always the way, when you needed to be somewhere fast, everyone else seemed to have their cruise control set at ten miles an hour. To hell with it. He hit the blue lights and traffic parted like the Red Sea.

  ‘Hello, Detective?’ the woman’s voice came back over the car speakers. ‘I’m afraid I can’t find him.’

  ‘I thought you said he was refereeing a game?’

  ‘He was, but apparently he started feeling poorly and had to step out. Not sure where to, but his car’s still here.’

  Felt poorly, or spotted whoever the someone was that came looking for him? Porter thanked her and left his number in case she spotted Ben. Where would he head? Somewhere he’d feel safe, but Porter didn’t have the foggiest where to start. He dialled another number. Pittman answered, sounding far from pleased to hear back from him so soon. Porter explained what had just happened.

  ‘I need to know where Ben might go. Can you ask Henry?’

  ‘I’d love to, if I knew where he was.’

  ‘Eh? What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Exactly that. After you left, he started complaining about stomach cramps, said he was going to shit himself. Begged
me to take the cuffs off. Little fucker was playing possum, chucked a full bedpan of piss at me and left me rolling in it on the floor while he did one. Managed to crack my head off the sink when I went down. Even bloody apologised on his way out the door.’

  The absurd mental image made for a blink-and-you-miss-it smile. ‘Bloody hell, you OK?’

  ‘Course I’m not. There’s gonna be bedpans left on my desk for the next ten years.’

  ‘We’ll get him back, and when we do, Milburn doesn’t have to know.’

  ‘How the hell are we supposed to find him that fast?’

  ‘He’s got to be either looking for his brother or looking for Tyler.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I might have an idea where we can find Tyler.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  The warehouse on the Camberwell Trading Estate didn’t look anything special. If Nuhić was to be believed, this was the hub of Jackson Tyler’s little empire. Pittman and his team of three sat in the car behind, Tessier having joined Porter in his. They’d spent an uneventful hour, both he and Pittman avoiding calls from Milburn. Porter had given Styles a heads up, asking him to stand in for the press conference, fobbing Milburn off with talk of a bad head from yesterday’s scrap. Possible concussion even.

  Traffic in and out had been practically non-existent, until five minutes ago. A silver Range Rover Evoque glided to a stop in front of a double-width roller door. It cranked a noisy tune as it opened, impossible to make anything out inside, but Porter had seen the unmistakable figure of Jackson Tyler in the passenger seat. Just him and the driver. No way of knowing how many others were already inside. Pittman’s name flashed on his phone. They’d agreed to keep in contact via mobile rather than airwave radio. Pittman now had a vested interest in a quick and quiet resolution to this to spare his blushes, so no sense broadcasting for all to listen.

  ‘What you thinking? Go in now or wait?’

  ‘I say we give it ten more minutes. If Henry’s here, he’s seen Tyler going in just like we have. If he isn’t, we see what Tyler has to say. I’ll be amazed if there’s nothing in there we can’t take him in for.’

  Turns out they didn’t need ten minutes, only two. Up ahead, a figure appeared from behind a parked van. It wasn’t until he got closer that Porter recognised Henry Kamau, now wearing baggy trousers, the sort that looked like the arse was hanging halfway down his thighs, and a hoodie big enough to fit Tessier. He had his hood pulled up, but glanced both ways as he cut in towards the warehouse. He’d lost the young, scared look from the hospital ward. It was more determined now. The face of a man with a purpose. He picked up his pace, trotting across the concrete forecourt and through the side door before Porter could get out of his car. Pittman and his crew followed suit, and they went through the ritual of pulling on stab vests, grabbing batons and tasers from cars. Porter spoke, concise, no words wasted.

  ‘Tyler is priority number one as the biggest threat. Henry number two, Ben number three. Anyone else, we play by ear.’

  ‘You never said how you found this place,’ Pittman said, fastening the last strap on his vest.

  ‘That’s right, I didn’t,’ said Porter, then seeing Pittman’s face twist, added, ‘Anonymous tip.’

  Pittman looked unconvinced, held his gaze for a second, but let it drop. Bigger fish to fry. No visible CCTV, so they double-timed it across the open concrete quadrant. A couple of the neighbouring warehouses were in use, curious faces framed in doorways. Porter was pretty sure one of them whipped out a phone. Everyone’s a reporter these days. The roller doors were dead centre but offset to the right was a single PVC door, set into the brick lower half of the structure. Opened inwards from the looks of it. Porter approached, fingers curling slowly around the handle, holding fingers up for a three countdown with the other.

  Seemed like the six of them held their breath for the count. The door opened with a click that seemed far louder than it should be. It opened straight into a space that resembled a mini aircraft hangar, and as deep as two of the five-a-side pitches at the community centre laid width ways. The Range Rover sat towards the far end, two white transit vans parked side by side a little further in. Both sides were lined with racking, the kind you saw in Costco, pallets and boxes stacked as far as the eye could see. Nothing Porter could see that hinted at contents. No sign of Henry, Tyler or anyone else for that matter. Porter felt the others bunching against him and moved in, one hand on the taser strapped to his chest.

  He motioned for the others to fan out, Pittman pointing at the Range Rover. Porter held up two fingers, pointed at Pittman and O’Connor, and the pair slinked across until they were crouched behind the boot. Ayla and Manfredo followed suit, taking up position by the left-hand racking, Porter and Tessier covering the right. A place this size would only allow an unseen approach for so long.

  Right at the far end, beyond the transits, was what looked like a single storey, built out from the wall, Portakabin size. Dull lights glowed behind dirty panes like old headlights in the gloom. Muffled voices, hard to say how many, seeped out into the cavernous belly of the warehouse.

  Pittman and O’Connor peered through both sides of the vehicle, shaking their heads. All six walked cautiously towards the far end, Porter resisting the urge to check any of the storage boxes they passed. There’d be time for that later. The volume coming from inside the shed-type structure was punctuated by shouting, faded away, then rose again, at least two voices, maybe three.

  Porter picked up the pace and was about thirty feet from the door, when a figure began to back out. He recognised Henry Kamau’s hoodie straightaway. Something off about his gait though, then it hit him. Two sets of feet, two pairs of legs. Kamau was dragging a second figure out with him. Two more faces appeared at the door, following him out.

  ‘You’re a dead man walking Henry, you hear me,’ the first face out of the door snarled, arm outstretched. Porter clocked the claw hammer, held out like an extension of the hand.

  It was as if the whole set-up freeze-framed. Henry glanced behind, checking his position versus the vans, locking eyes with Porter. Angry face one and two looked over his shoulder, left and right, seeing the advancing men. Kamau’s hostage tried to twist free, managed a half-turn, showing a side profile. Jackson Tyler. The movement also showed Porter something that made goosebumps pop. Kamau had a gun under Tyler’s chin. Real or not wasn’t up for debate at the moment. There was a split-second pause, then the volume cranked up. Tasers drawn. Shouting all round, high metal ceilings bouncing it back at them at a rate of knots, echoes adding ghostly extras to the cast.

  ‘Police! Drop your weapons!’

  ‘On the ground. Do it now!’

  ‘Dead Henry. Fucking dead.’

  Kamau pulled Tyler around a quarter-turn. A rock and a hard place between Tyler’s men and Porter. Breathing heavy. He should still be hooked up to a drip, resting up. His eyes seemed impossibly white, round like an owl under the shade of his hood.

  ‘Henry. This isn’t the way.’ Porter shouted the name to cut through the noise, though dropped back to firm but conversational for the rest. ‘You do this, you’re no better than him.’

  ‘You wanna listen to him, Henry. Young lads like you are prime real estate in prison,’ said Tyler.

  ‘Put the gun down and let’s talk,’ Porter tried. ‘There’s six of us here. You put that down, he’s going nowhere.’

  ‘He’s got Ben,’ Kamau’s voice was husky, thick with emotion, like he’d been crying. ‘All I’ve done for you? Where’s my brother?’ The last three words shouted point-blank into Tyler’s ear.

  ‘Why would I have your brother?’

  The two thugs wielding hammers started to edge out, only inches, but too far for Porter’s liking.

  ‘That’s far enough,’ he warned them. ‘You so much as bend to tie a shoelace and you’ll be on the business end of fifty thousand volts.’

  ‘He knows it was you,’ Kamau snarled at Tyler. ‘You killed his wife.’
r />   ‘What? Cos you told him? What you been snorting, son?’

  ‘Yeah, I told him, cos you told him it was Ben. You said Ben did it, then you sent two blokes round to grab him before the coppers could. Figured I’d be next, that way there’s nobody left to say you were even there.’

  ‘Come on, son,’ Pittman echoed Porter’s calm tone. ‘There’s plenty of ways left out of this for you.’

  He might as well have not spoken. Henry only had eyes for Tyler.

  ‘Where is he?’ Kamau stage-whispered into his ear.

  ‘I. Don’t. Know.’ There was space between each word, but the confidence wasn’t there. That cocky tone Porter had heard too often over the last few days was fading.

  ‘Where is he?’ Louder this time.

  ‘Fuck you, Henry. I don’t know.’

  ‘Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?’ Each louder than the last, the final one a roar. No chance for Tyler to answer. Definitely not third time lucky for him. It happened so quick that Porter didn’t even have a chance to discharge his taser. Kamau took a half-step back, creating just enough distance to pull the gun around and away from Tyler’s chin, swinging it around to the side of his head, and fired.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  The noise was deafening, a thunderclap with an aftershock that ricocheted from wall to wall. Every single one of them instinctively flinched. It was a fraction of a second, but long enough for Kamau to drag Tyler another quarter-turn around, backing towards the outer wall of the office. Six tasers pointed at him, plus two hammers within ten feet, but not a one of them had a clear line thanks to his human shield.

  Even at this distance, Porter could see dark crimson specks around the lobe of Tyler’s ear, a single crimson punctuation marking spotting the white cotton shirt, as the gang leader’s face contorted with the agony of a newly perforated eardrum. Porter heard a crackle to his right, as the two Triple H thugs reacted differently. One tried to spin away, worried about a second shot, the other had seen it as an opening, lunged forwards and fell short. Literally fell, twin taser probes embedded, trailing back to Tessier. He went down hard falling into his mate, taking him down with him. Two hammers clunked to the floor.