Everybody looked at one another. “Yeah, I know it means another late night, or early start, but it can’t be helped,” Colin added.
Pointing towards two detectives, he said, “I want you two to visit the control room for the Havering’s CCTV. See if you can locate the Karpov Brothers, or Petrov, on the move. See if you can get eyes on all the addresses before we enter so we have some idea of who’s inside.”
Turning to face the rest of the group, he continued, “The rest of you, memorise those faces. Task your informants. Get information on all of these suspects. The more we know about them, the better chance we have of capturing them all. I’ll be Gold Commander in our control room, monitoring how things go. Just remember, treat everybody as if they are armed and dangerous.”
As he brought the meeting to a close, Colin said, “One final thing... In the words of Sergeant Phil Esterhaus from, Hill Street Blues, ‘let’s be careful out there.’” There were a few sniggers from those of a certain age who remembered the US police TV series and remembered the warning given at the end of every roll call. Those younger members of the team just looked bemused.
“Before my time, sir...” one of them said, light-heartedly, “...that must be for you, Charlie.” He looked at the grey haired officer on the front row. The whole room burst into laughter.
Chapter 25
The mobile phone vibrated, its screen illuminated with a ghostly green glow. The words, “Message Received,” were displayed.
Malachi had barely moved since arriving at his hiding place in the pavilion. He dared not sleep for fear of missing telltale sounds, giveaways that the police were searching for him. He could not risk leaving his refuge for fear of being spotted. So he sat, leaning against the damp wall, in silence, his phone cradled in the palm of his hand, awaiting a call or text from The Russian. Sergei would solve all of his problems, he thought. He’d, no doubt, be working on a solution even as he awaited his call. He thumbed through the menus on the screen until he found the messages section. The latest one was from Sergei. His heart beat a little faster in anticipation. As he opened the next screen, he read what his boss had sent.
“Meet @ woods – North end of lake – Alexandria Park - 11pm tonight.”
Malachi was ecstatic. His boss wanted to see him that evening, and only a stone’s throw away from where he was currently secreted – perfect. His mind went into overdrive. It must be important to want to meet urgently, he thought. Feeling optimistic, he wondered, maybe he’s got an escape plan? Maybe he’s thought of a way to clear up this mess? In his mind, he convinced himself that Sergei had a solution to his problems, and that things were going to turn out fine in the end. A smile crept across his face. He could not wait for 11 O’clock to arrive.
...
22:30 hours.
Malachi had spent most of the day waiting, hiding, and hoping that everything would be okay. As 11pm neared, his nerves started to build, fluttering like tiny butterflies in his stomach. He was fidgety, unable to sit still, constantly on edge, wanting it all to be over and done with. He peeked out of the pavilion’s shattered windows. All was quiet, the park was in darkness, its gates locked a couple of hours earlier. He climbed to his feet, nervously listening for strange noises, and made his way out through the broken rear door, and onto the footpath.
It was cold. He had not brought a coat with him in his haste to find somewhere to hide. Instead, he wore a fleece hoodie over a T-shirt, the hood pulled tightly over his head. As he shivered, now exposed to the chilly breeze on top of the hill, his breath formed clouds of mist with every exhalation. He was ahead of schedule, but it would be far better to arrive at the rendezvous early, than to keep Sergei waiting. To avoid being spotted by imaginary prying eyes, he chose to move stealthily, skirting open spaces, sticking to the timberline that ran down the hill towards the waters of the lake.
Crouching in the bushes on the edge of the footpath, he looked out over the ominous black waters. There was a slight ripple, highlighted as each peak caught the glint of hazy moonlight. A wispy mist had settled over the centre of the lake, a single duck, the only sign of life. He waited, silently, listening for Sergei’s arrival. Where was he? Malachi checked his watch again. It was still early. Be patient, he told himself. He began having doubts. Was he at the right location? Had he got the time wrong? He checked the message again, just to be sure. Satisfied, he decided to break cover. Maybe Sergei was hiding in the shadows too, waiting for him to show himself first? He stood tall and wandered onto the footpath, his head looking left and right nervously, expecting Sergei to suddenly appear, as if by magic. He waited by the water’s edge.
At precisely 11pm, Sergei stepped out from beneath the dark shadows of a thicket of trees, his two sidekicks accompanying him, slightly to the rear. He slowly walked onto the footpath that circled the lake, and ambled towards Malachi who was standing about 20m away. All three were calm, silent, intimidating, their hands deep within the pockets of their thick overcoats.
In comparison, Malachi suddenly felt frozen, grubby, and scared. His nerves got the better of him and he began shaking, his teeth rattling together loudly, amplified by the stillness of the surrounding night. In his heart, he was relieved to see Sergei. He would be his saviour, and a beaming smile spread across his face as he moved towards him with a new-found spring in his step. Sergei did not reciprocate. There was no smile on seeing Malachi. Instead, he had a steely determined look on his face. There was a hint of suppressed anger, and his piercing eyes stared straight through him. He was not a happy man.
Stopping short, about 5m in front of Malachi, Sergei spoke in a controlled monotone, his words coming in short bursts as if he was trying to control his temper.
“You fucked up,” he said. Malachi’s smile instantly vanished. His hopes that The Russian would solve all of his problems, similarly disappeared.
“You brought the police to my doorstep. My business is in ruins,” he continued.
“B...but...” Malachi started to say.
“Quiet!” Sergei roared. “I had high hopes for you. I trusted you. You were to be my protégé.” He was speaking calmly again, but emotionlessly. He paused. “Maybe I am to blame? Maybe I gave you too much responsibility, too soon?” He sounded almost apologetic, as if he truly believed that he was at fault. “No matter,” Sergei waved a hand dismissively, “the police are after you. You are a wanted man. They will search for you until you are caught. You have become a liability.”
It suddenly dawned on Malachi that this meeting was not to discuss clearing his name; it was more about eliminating anybody that might incriminate his boss. He could feel panic rising through his body. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded. Tears welled up in his eyes. “I’ll take the blame. I’ll let them capture me. I won’t mention your name.”
“What’s done is done,” said Sergei, philosophically. “Now I must disappear. Good-bye, Malachi.”
With that, Sergei pulled his right hand out of his coat pocket. He was holding a handgun. He slowly brought it up to shoulder height, levelled the barrel at Malachi’s head, and squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
A single round flew through the air, impacting with Malachi’s forehead, throwing him backwards onto the ground, his eyes still open, staring disbelievingly into space. The recoil was minimal, the noise deafening, and a muzzle flash of intense white light vanished into the darkness. The execution now complete, Sergei replaced the smoking gun into his pocket and nodded to the Karpov Brothers to dispose of the body in the lake. As they did so, Sergei sent a text message to Anon.
“All loose ends tied – Job done!”
With hardly a splash, Malachi was weighted with boulders and submerged in the icy water underneath the overhanging vegetation of the shoreline. Hidden beneath tree roots and reeds, his inert body was virtually invisible. As all three men casually wandered into the darkness, Sergei’s accented voice could be heard whispering to his minders, “It is best that we keep a low profile until this business has blown
over. Find a suitable safe location for us to hide in.”
And with that, they were gone.
Chapter 26
Joe Schmidt was in his 70s.
He had placed a saucer of cat food on the patio in his back garden earlier in the evening, and was just about to turn in for the night, when he decided to take a quick look to see if he could spot a hedgehog having supper.
The “BANG” was short and sharp and from a long way away. It reverberated, bouncing off the houses that backed onto Alexandria Park. Joe assumed it was kids letting off fireworks. He saw a flash of brilliant white from the far side of the lake, and then looked towards the Heavens expecting to see an explosion of colourful twinkling lights. He was disappointed, the sky remained black. Strange, he thought to himself. Nonetheless, he reported the noise to the police as he was fed up with the constant antisocial behaviour of youths in the park after dark.
...
PC Brompton received a call from her control room shortly afterwards - a report of teenagers in the park, playing with fireworks.
Reluctantly, she parked her patrol car near the main gates, removed a powerful halogen lamp from the boot, and scrambled over the perimeter fence into Alexandria Park. The report had specified the area on the far side of the lake, so she made a beeline for it, following the footpath, her searchlight scanning the darkness in front of her. As she walked, she listened, half expecting to hear the sound of kids giggling, or scurrying away across the grass. But the park was silent. Another wild goose chase, she thought.
As she reached the furthest side of the lake, she stopped, focusing her attention, looking for anything out of place. Her searchlight’s beam caught something shiny on the footpath. She moved closer. It appeared to be a dark patch of liquid; wet, and fresh. She knelt down, smelling it, touching it. As she looked at her fingers, the tips were coated in a red sticky substance – blood!
“Control from PC Brompton?” she broadcast on her radio.
“Go ahead.”
“I’m on the far side of Alexandria Park looking for these kids. I’ve found a substantial amount of blood on the footpath. Could I have another unit to assist in the search? Could be somebody is injured.”
“Received. Out to you, any units available...?”
While PC Brompton waited, she trained her light on the trees and bushes nearby. Nothing. She swung the beam to the right, looking towards the water’s edge. Still nothing. She was on the verge of giving up until extra lighting could be utilised, when her torch caught something dark in the water, wedged under a tree root. Not recognising what it might be, she moved closer, pushing the vegetation to one side with her boots.
She stifled a scream as the object came into view. It was the body of a man floating face down, the back of his head missing! She could feel her stomach churning. Bile began to rise, but she swallowed it back down again, coughing, choking.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Control, PC Brompton. I’ve found a dead body in the lake.” Her voice was wavering.
“Sorry, say again. Did you say a dead body?”
“Yes, yes, confirmed.”
“Is it a drowning, suicide?”
“No, negative. It’s got half its head missing. Looks like a gunshot wound.”
“O...oh, OK. Secure the scene and don’t touch anything. I’ll get CID and SOCO to attend. Ambulance is on its way.”
...
DI Peterson was in his office preparing for the imminent raids on Malachi’s known associates. His radio was switched on, its volume low, as he monitored the activities of the sector’s uniformed police units. In addition to his primary role as SIO to the murder enquiry, he was also rostered as one of the duty CID officers.
Picking up his radio, he called the control room, “Re: your last message, I’m turning out from the station. It might be connected to the Griffiths case. Two shootings in less than a week is more than coincidental.”
By the time that Colin had arrived at the lakeside, the body had been dragged clear of the water. It was laid on its back, on the footpath, being examined by the police force’s doctor, the ambulance crew watching from a distance. Doug Johnson was hovering nearby having already donned his white coveralls, awaiting the go-ahead to commence his forensic examination of the scene. And police officers were in the process of cordoning off the area, whilst others were searching the bushes and parkland with powerful torches.
Colin walked towards the saturated corpse. One glance was all that he needed. He instantly recognised Malachi’s facial features. “Bollocks!” he said under his breath.
“Sorry? Did you say something?” asked the doctor.
“Eh? No, it’s alright, Doc. This bloke was our prime suspect for PC Griffiths’ murder.”
“Oh, I see,” he replied.
“What can you tell me, Doc?” asked the DI.
“Well, he died from a close-range gunshot wound to the head, just like PC Griffiths. Ballistics will need to confirm, but the entry hole would suggest the same calibre of weapon for both. With a witness to a flash of light, and having heard the bang, we can pinpoint the time of death to a couple of minutes after 11pm. As for anything else, I’ll need to get the body back to the morgue for further examination, and Doug will need to see what he can find around here.”
In his own mind, Colin knew that the killer would have been the Russian, Sergei Petrov. It would be just like him to be cleaning house, eliminating any connections to himself. Proving it would be a totally different matter, though.
Before leaving the park, Colin spoke to the senior uniformed officer, Sgt Watkins. He arranged that local officers would collect a statement from the witness, Joe Schmidt, and conduct house-to-house at any overlooking properties in case other witnesses had seen anything. He arranged for a dog unit to check the parkland to establish if the killer had left a trail as he made his getaway. And due to the time-sensitive nature of the incident, he contacted the MIR and got DS French to bring forward the timings for all of the raids on Malachi’s associates.
“Gary, can you also get someone to check all CCTV in the area of Alexandria Park, and on the Havering. I’m guessing that Sergei Petrov, or the Karpov Brothers, are the culprits. They’ve gotta be on the move somewhere in the area. We need to find them.”
“Will do, sir. I’ll get those watching the addresses to be aware that if they show up, they’ll be armed and dangerous, and are wanted in connection with two murders.”
“That’s great, Gary. I’m heading over to the control room if you need me. Go ahead with all of the raids. I’ll monitor everything from there.”
Over the next hour or so, Colin listened intently to the radio communications from his team as all of the five associate’s addresses were searched. So practiced were his officers that he rarely needed to add his voice to the conversations.
It became rapidly apparent that things were not going as planned. Despite two men having been detained, the primary targets - Petrov and his two Lieutenants, the Karpov Brothers - were nowhere to be seen. The two who had been arrested were minor players; they would probably have nothing of value to tell.
Colin was frustrated. He hated being away from the action, watching-on in a supervisory role. Once the searches had been completed, he called on the dedicated radio channel, “Officers with the D/Ps (detained persons)?”
“Go ahead, sir,” came the reply.
“Can you transport the D/Ps directly to custody, please? I’ll have some of my team ready to meet you there. I want their initial interviews conducted ASAP.” Colin knew that time was critical. As soon as Petrov heard that his gang was being actively targeted by the police, he would go underground again, just like he had done in London. The sooner the prisoners were interrogated, the more chance there was of gaining vital information that might lead to Petrov’s arrest before he vanished again.
...
It was mid-morning, and having returned to the MIR, Colin was just pouring himself a cup of coffee when DS French hurriedly entered the ro
om.
“Hi, Guv,” he said. “I’ve just been down the cells having a chat with our two prisoners. As you guessed, both are going ‘No Comment!’ It’s like they’re more scared of what Petrov will do to ‘em if they talk, than they are about being locked up.”
“No surprises there then,” answered Colin. “To be fair, we’ve got nothing to hold ‘em on. Unless they talk, there’s no evidence linking them to either murder.”
Gary nodded as he helped himself to a coffee.
Colin continued, “Look, let’s leave them in the cells for a bit, use up our allocated custody-time, let them stew for a while. Get hold of our team. Get them to talk to their informants. Let it be known that these two are talking, telling us everything.”
“Isn’t that gonna put them at risk once we let them go?” said Gary.
Colin shrugged his shoulders. “If Petrov believes that they’re talking to us, maybe it’ll put pressure on him to break cover and do something. Maybe we can force his hand.”
“It’s worth a go,” added Gary. “Oh, by the way, Guv, the Town Sergeant paid Mary Maclean a visit this morning at first light to break the bad news about her son.”
“How’d she take it?”
“As expected, sir, lots of praying, lots of crying; the usual. It appears that she was expecting something like this. She was saying that it was only a matter of time before he turned up dead.” Gary paused. “Oh, and the dog unit at Alexandria Park didn’t get much. They followed a trail towards the northern perimeter, found a gap in the fence, but they lost the track once it crossed into the urban area. There was too much traffic and footfall messing with the scent.”
“OK, Gary, thanks for that. I’d better go and see Mitchelson, keep him in the loop, see if he’ll do a press conference about our three fugitives.”
Reflex Action Page 18