Читать книгу The Rebel: The new crime thriller that will have you gripped in 2018 - Jaime Raven, Jaime Raven - Страница 16

I felt pretty good the next morning, so I was glad I hadn’t drunk too much the night before.

It was another cold day and the sky over London was a nauseous grey.

Aidan and I left the house together before heading in different directions. On the way to the tube station I popped into Sainsbury’s to get a card to mark the birth of Dave Prentiss’s baby. While there I noticed that Harry Fuller’s jail sentence featured on the front pages of most of the newspapers. The headlines made for pleasant reading:

London gangster gets 30 years

End of the road for Mr Big

Crime boss set to die in prison

I bought a copy of the Mail, which devoted two inside pages to the story. There was a detailed account of what was said in court, plus quotes from various people, including DCS Drummond, the Met Commissioner and the Mayor of London.

There were also a couple of sidebar articles. One, written by the paper’s chief crime reporter, summarised Fuller’s criminal career and outlined the extent of his nefarious activities.

The other focused on the task force and our previous successes investigating Paul Mason and the Severin brothers. It also made a carefully worded reference to our next target and threw caution to the wind by naming him.

We understand the task force will now investigate several other high-profile individuals who’ve been linked to organised crime. Among them is businessman Roy Slack who runs a number of clubs, restaurants and import companies across London. He has always denied any involvement in criminal activities but has been interviewed by police on a number of occasions. Most recently he was questioned about the disappearance of firearms officer Hugh Wallis, who shot and killed a man during a raid several months ago. The man, Terry Malone, was a known criminal and was employed by Mr Slack …

It was all positive publicity for us, I thought, and it was sure to make Slack and his people nervous.

I wondered what extra precautions he’d be taking to protect himself and his businesses. Or would he believe that he was powerful enough and savvy enough to ride it out?

After all, he’d managed to get away with it for so long. Year after year the Met had tried and failed to breach his defences. So maybe he’d actually come to believe that he was invincible.

The thought of it made me smile because it brought to mind another famous gangster who reckoned he was too smart for the forces of law and order.

His name was Al Capone, and he ended up in America’s notorious Alcatraz prison.

I was among the last of the team to arrive at the office because of delays on the Northern Line. But the morning briefing was still a way off so it wasn’t a problem.

Some of the detectives were nursing hangovers, including Tony Marsden and Janet Dean. Marsden was sallow-faced and unshaven, and his tie hung at his throat in a loose knot.

Janet, on the other hand, was smartly dressed in a dark blue suit that seemed sober to the point of austere. But the heavy make-up failed to conceal the dark crescents under her tired eyes.

By contrast Dave Prentiss was positively glowing. He was an affable, portly guy with a smile that produced deep creases around his eyes. His desk was already covered in baby cards and I gave him mine.

‘Congratulations, Dave,’ I said, kissing his cheek. ‘Have you named him yet?’

‘We have. He’s Josh.’

‘Good choice. And how’s Karen?’

‘She’s great. She’ll be coming home tomorrow.’

‘I’m surprised you’ve come in.’

‘Well, I’d rather be here than sitting at home. I’m taking next week off to help Karen out and get to know the little one.’

Baby talk always reminded me that my own biological clock was ticking away. It was an issue I tried not to think about too often because it made me anxious and confused.

The fact was Aidan and I had been trying for a baby for six months and I hadn’t yet conceived, which was troubling. So far we hadn’t told our parents we were trying because we wanted it to be a surprise when it did happen, along with the announcement of our wedding plans.

We were both of the view that it was easier to pretend that we had no plans in place to start a family and get married anytime soon. That way we wouldn’t come under intense pressure, especially from my mother, who was desperate for a grandchild.

Prentiss held up his phone to show me a photo of the baby a few hours after the birth.

‘He’s gorgeous,’ I said and couldn’t help feeling a little broody.

Drummond chose that moment to clap his hands in order to get everyone’s attention, and it came as a welcome distraction.

He stood at one end of the large, open-plan office between two whiteboards. Pinned to the boards were various photos and documents relating to Roy Slack and his organisation.

The photos were of Slack and some of his henchmen, including Danny Carver, Frank Piper and Terry Malone, the man killed when police raided his home in Lambeth. There was also a picture of Hugh Wallis, the missing firearms officer who shot Malone.

The documents contained snippets of information that had already been gathered, including biographical notes and a breakdown of the legitimate businesses that were in Slack’s name and through which he laundered money.

The impression given in the media was that we were starting this investigation from scratch. But that wasn’t so. A small group of detectives and support staff had been working on it for months while the rest of us concentrated on the Harry Fuller case.

Drummond began the briefing with another verbal pat on the back for us all.

‘I’ve just come from a meeting with the Commissioner,’ he said. ‘He wants you all to know that you’re doing a cracking job. But now we have to work even harder to keep up the momentum.’

In some ways Drummond reminded me of my father. There was an aura about him, a sense of control and power that inspired confidence and loyalty among his staff.

‘This scumbag is our next target,’ he said, pointing to a picture of Roy Slack. ‘Our mission won’t be complete until he’s banged up and his organisation lies in ruins. But it’s not going to be a pushover. We estimate that Slack has over a hundred people working for him full time and he’s therefore able to distance himself from the day-to-day stuff.

‘Also, there’s still a hell of a lot we don’t know about his operations. With the others we were able to gather a fair amount of intelligence. We had someone undercover in Paul Mason’s outfit and we managed to turn two of Fuller’s guys so they fed us inside information.

‘But so far all attempts to infiltrate Slack’s mob have failed because anyone even suspected of doing the dirty either disappears or turns up dead.’

Drummond then went on to outline our approach to the investigation. He talked enthusiastically about tactics and strategy and read out a list of priorities. He took questions and invited us to put forward constructive ideas.

It turned into one of those meetings that draws everyone together, and the longer it went on the more excited everyone became. We were all eager to get on with the job, to use all the skills and resources to depose another crime lord.

There was a look of determination on the faces of the officers around me. I was aware of a restless energy that was almost palpable. Everyone was feeling optimistic about the case and the mood in the room was buoyant.

But then suddenly something weird happened and it changed everything in the blink of an eye.

The mobile phones of every detective in the room pinged or vibrated at the same time, signalling an incoming text message.

I’d never known it to happen before and it took us all by surprise. Even Drummond stopped speaking mid-sentence and a frown creased his brow.

Kate Chappell, who was standing next to me, was the first to open up the message and read it because she’d been holding her phone in her hand.

And judging by the look on her face I knew it was something serious.

The message did indeed contain a serious threat, and it sent a ripple of unease around the room.

I read it through twice and felt an icy knot form in my stomach.

Kate Chappell was the first to react, her voice tight with stress.

‘This has to be someone’s idea of a sick joke,’ she said.

Drummond was the next to speak, and it sounded like he was struggling to keep his composure. His face was firm and stoic, but his eyes were dull with shock.

‘First I need to know who among you has received this text,’ he said. ‘So would those who have please raise your hands?’

There were fifteen detectives in the room and five support staff. Only the detectives put up their hands.

Drummond twisted his lips in thought and shook his head.

‘Now there’s no need for anyone to panic,’ he said. ‘My gut tells me that DS Chappell is right and that this is a nasty, pointless prank. Hopefully it won’t take us long to confirm that once the techies find out who the sender is.’

But I for one wasn’t reassured by his words. It was an anonymous text and whoever had sent it would have covered his or her tracks. Plus, I didn’t feel that the threat contained in the text could be dismissed so easily.

I read it again as the air around me began to oscillate with tension:

I demand that the organised crime task force be disbanded. I know that Scotland Yard chiefs will ignore me so I’m calling on you and all the other detectives attached to the unit to step back from it. Those of you who refuse will suffer the consequences and either you or those close to you, including family members, will be killed. You are advised to take this seriously. Do not make the mistake of treating it as an empty threat.

Most of us tried to reply to the text but we all got the same message back – that the recipient could not be contacted.

The message threw up a ton of questions, and not just the obvious one of whether we should take it seriously. If it wasn’t a prank then was it conceivable that the threat would actually be carried out? Would this person really go so far as to launch a murderous campaign against a team of police officers and their families?

It was the stuff of nightmares, but in the age of rampant terrorism it wouldn’t come as such a massive shock if it did happen. London was already on high alert following ISIS-inspired attacks on coppers in the streets.

But this had nothing to do with terrorists. I was sure of that. And so too was Tony Marsden.

‘I reckon this is the work of some villain who wants to put the frighteners on us,’ he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘And the main suspect has to be Roy fucking Slack.’

‘Let’s not jump the gun,’ Drummond said. ‘Anyone could have sent it.’

‘But surely it must be someone with a vested interest, guv,’ Marsden persisted. ‘And the timing of it points to him.’

‘Tony’s right, sir,’ Dave Prentiss said. ‘It’s just the kind of thing the bugger would do to stir things up. He’s desperate to throw us off track, if only to give him time to come up with ways to keep us from bringing him down.’

A thought occurred to me and I said, ‘What worries me is that whoever sent this has all of our personal phone numbers. Now that can only mean one of two things – the personnel files have been hacked or someone leaked them.’

It was suddenly obvious to everyone that even if this did turn out to be a prank, it still gave serious cause for concern.

‘I need to refer this upstairs to the Commissioner,’ Drummond said. ‘In the meantime I don’t want anyone outside this office to learn about this. That includes families and friends. And call those detectives who aren’t here to find out if they’ve also received this message.’

He told us to crack on with our jobs as though nothing had changed. But that was wishful thinking on his part. Everything had changed and it was impossible to concentrate on anything other than the words contained in the message.

… those of you who refuse will suffer the consequences and either you or those close to you, including family members, will be killed …