Читать книгу The Rebel: The new crime thriller that will have you gripped in 2018 - Jaime Raven, Jaime Raven - Страница 9

Two months later

The man in the dock had already been convicted and this afternoon he was going to be sentenced.

That was why I’d come along on what was supposed to be a rare day off. I wanted to see the bastard’s face when the judge told him how many years he’d have to spend behind bars.

My colleagues and I were hoping for a long, long stretch. If he got less than twenty we’d be disappointed. With any luck he’d die in prison, and since he was in his mid-fifties there was every chance he would.

The man’s name was Harry Fuller, and at his trial, which had ended a month ago, he’d been found guilty of a range of offences from extortion and money laundering to drug trafficking and people smuggling. These were committed during the five years he’d spent as head of one of London’s most notorious crime gangs.

He had also been linked to at least six murders, but we hadn’t come up with the evidence to charge him with those.

It was still a great result, though. We’d managed to succeed where others before us had failed. Harry Fuller had at last been well and truly nailed.

I was watching the proceedings from the packed public gallery and switching my gaze between the judge and Fuller. The judge had indicated that he was going to make a statement before passing sentence, and he was now consulting his notes before getting on with it.

As usual I was in awe of my surroundings: London’s Central Criminal Court, more commonly known as the Old Bailey. I’d been here many times and it never failed to impress me. So many lives had been changed in this place and so many wrongs had been put right. For a copper like me it was nothing less than a shrine to the law and to the legal system.

I noticed that Fuller had spotted me and even across the courtroom I could see the devilish glint in his eyes.

I held his gaze, forcing myself not to waver. But it was hard not to be unnerved by the expression on his face. It reminded me of the old cliché that if looks could kill I’d be dead.

In appearance Fuller was the archetypal gangster, big and beefy with a bullet-shaped head and broken nose. But there was more to him than muscle and menace. He was also a shrewd businessman, and it was estimated that his firm had been turning over fifty million pounds a year.

Without him at the helm, the firm was already coming apart at the seams, and that was great because it had been one of our primary objectives.

It was DS Martin Weeks and I who had made the collar that day at Fuller’s office in Stratford. I was the one who’d done the talking, and I would never forget Fuller’s reaction when I’d showed him my warrant card and said, ‘DI Laura Jefferson. I’m with Scotland Yard’s organised crime task force and I’m here to tell you that you’re nicked.’

He’d raised his brow at me and the hint of a smile had played at the corners of his mouth.

‘Well, what do you know?’ he’d said, his voice dripping with contempt. ‘I wondered if and when you lot would get around to me. But it’s only fair to warn you that I won’t be so easy to take down as those others you’ve collared.’

And he’d been right. But we’d got there in the end through an immense amount of effort and some good luck. Everyone had put in a ton of extra hours to ensure that we had a watertight case against the man.

‘Here comes the moment of truth.’

The voice belonged to the woman who was sitting directly behind me and it snapped me back to the present.

I turned my attention to the judge who had finished checking his notes and was ready to speak. The court bailiff asked everyone to be quiet, which prompted about half a dozen people to loudly clear their throats.

The judge, who was in his early seventies, remained completely unfazed. He simply paused until a deafening silence descended on the courtroom.

Then he read out his statement in a voice that was slow and measured.

‘I want to take this opportunity to commend those police officers who were responsible for bringing this case to trial,’ he said. ‘Organised crime is a shameful scar on this great city – indeed on the whole country. Men like the defendant have always acted with impunity, flaunting the law as they built their vast criminal empires. It’s true to say that the situation has progressed from a serious problem into a large-scale crisis.

‘That was why I was so pleased when Scotland Yard set up a special task force eighteen months ago to deal with it. And, as we learned during this trial, their successes so far have been nothing short of spectacular.

‘Harry Fuller is the latest gangster whose reign has thankfully been brought to an ignominious end. And I’m sure he won’t be the last thanks to the efforts of the task force.’

The judge paused to acknowledge my boss, Detective Chief Superintendent George Drummond, who was sitting in the well of the court with the prosecution team.

‘I would like to put on record my thanks to all of those officers involved,’ he said. ‘And I want them to know that they have the support of every law-abiding person in this country. We appreciate that this work they’re doing places them in considerable danger, and we can only hope and pray that no harm comes to them in the course of their investigations.’

The judge then turned to Harry Fuller and said, ‘I’ve already warned you to expect a custodial sentence, Mr Fuller. It’s clear that your crimes are such that I can show no mercy. For far too long you’ve acted as though you are above the law. But nobody is above the law, no matter how much power they wield or money they have.’

The judge paused again, twice as long this time, and then he told Fuller that he was going to spend at least thirty years in prison.

‘Fucking brilliant,’ I blurted out and everyone heard me, including Fuller, who shot me a look that told me he was as shocked as I was.

I curled a smile for his benefit, and he reacted by closing his eyes and blowing out his cheeks.

It was a far better result than any of us could have hoped for, and I was delighted because another vile gangster had been snared. But for the task force there would be no resting on its laurels.

Fuller was a terrific catch, but he wasn’t in the same league as the villain who was going to be our next target.

After the sentencing came the inevitable media scrum outside the court.

Reporters, photographers and TV crews had turned out in force to get reactions from all the main players, including DCS Drummond.

The gaffer was surrounded the moment he appeared on the pavement. This was something I’d anticipated, which was why I’d hurried out of the building ahead of him.

I was now standing just far enough away to hear him read out a pre-prepared statement, but in a position where I couldn’t be filmed or photographed.

‘On behalf of Scotland Yard and the task force team, I’d like to say how pleased we are that the judge has seen fit to impose on Harry Fuller such a lengthy period of incarceration,’ he said. ‘We believe it to be wholly appropriate given the nature of the crimes the man has committed over a number of years.’

Unlike me, Drummond relished being in the spotlight. He always came across as supremely cool and self-assured. The fact that he looked like a film star dressed up as a copper no doubt helped to boost his confidence.

He was a fit-looking forty-eight year old, with chiselled features and dark, wavy hair. At six foot four he towered over his immediate colleagues and I’d never seen him dressed in anything other than a smart two-piece suit or uniform.

His statement was short and sweet, and when he was finished the first question came from a BBC reporter who asked, ‘The judge drew particular attention to the task force that’s under your command, detective chief superintendent. Can you just remind us exactly what your remit is?’

Drummond pursed his lips and nodded. ‘The organised crime task force was set up to deliver a decisive blow to the hardened criminals who’ve infiltrated every area of society in London. We’ve been assigned a team of twenty dedicated detectives and thirty support staff, and we work in tandem with the National Crime Agency and Scotland Yard’s specialist divisions.’

As Drummond continued he had to squint against the harsh light from a sun that sat low in the sky. It may have been bright, but there was no warmth in it. I could feel the cold December air through my overcoat and jumper.

It made me shiver, and I suddenly realised how much I was looking forward to the team get-together in the Rose and Crown. A few gin and tonics would soon warm me up.

Drummond had organised the do to celebrate the outcome of this latest case and it was due to kick off in a couple of hours, at five o’clock. But I was sure that my colleagues would start arriving earlier since the pub was only a short walk from the office at Scotland Yard.

As if on cue one of those colleagues suddenly appeared on the scene and when she saw me she came right over.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ Kate Chappell said. ‘I thought you were on a day off.’

‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ I said. ‘The look on Fuller’s face when he was told he was going down for thirty years was priceless.’

‘I bet it was. I’m only sorry I missed it. I had a job over in Bermondsey that took longer than expected.’

Kate and I got on well, even though we didn’t have much in common. She was nine years older than me at forty-two and at least two stones heavier. Her hair was short and lifeless and about as hard to control as her weight.

She often joked that I was too pretty to be a copper and that it wasn’t fair that I could eat like a horse and still be a size ten.

But I had a sneaking suspicion that she resented the fact that I outranked her. And if she did I wouldn’t have blamed her because she was a better detective than most of those I’d worked with.

‘Did you drive or come here by tube?’ she asked me.

‘Tube,’ I said.

‘Well, I’ve got a pool car that’s parked around the corner. I can give you a lift to the pub, assuming you’re coming along for the booze up.’

‘Of course I am, which reminds me I ought to call Aidan to tell him what’s happened.’

Kate gestured towards Drummond. ‘I suspect your boyfriend already knows by now. Even before the governor’s finished telling the world how great we are I reckon that everyone with a TV, radio or smartphone will know about the fate of that ghastly gobshite Harry Fuller.’

The DCS was now being asked to reveal details about the crime syndicate which the task force would set its sights on next, and Kate and I listened with interest.

‘I won’t be drawn into naming names,’ Drummond said. ‘But I believe it’s an open secret that our aim now is to bring to justice this country’s most feared and revered organised criminal. He knows who he is and I’m sure he knows that we’re coming for him.’