Читать книгу Kiss of Death - Paul Finch - Страница 12

‘DC Honeyford,’ Gemma said, ‘DS Heckenburg apologises for his tardiness. The fact that he doesn’t look very apologetic is to be ignored. He doesn’t do apologies often or convincingly. However, on this occasion, despite all appearances to the contrary, he means it.’

Gail Honeyford looked much the way Heck remembered when he’d last seen her, which was just over two years ago: she was still slim and attractive; a cool brunette, with hair down to her shoulders, dark hazel eyes and a pale, ‘peaches and cream’ complexion. She wore a powder-blue trouser suit and blue heeled boots and was sitting in the chair facing Gemma’s desk. A raincoat was folded alongside her, and an empty coffee cup sat on the desktop.

‘Yeah,’ Heck said. ‘Sorry I’m late, DC Honeyford.’

She replied with a polite nod.

Gemma indicated that Heck could dump the box of paperwork in a corner, and slid behind her desk, which was a complex operation in itself, given how little room there was in here. Unlike some senior officers, Gemma had never been given to displays of power. Though she was commander here at Staples Corner, head of the Serial Crimes Unit and second in authority at the National Crime Group only to the director, Joe Wullerton, himself, her office was a cramped, closet-like space, half of it filled with filing cabinets, the rest overhung with shelves groaning beneath the weight of packed files and dog-eared legal manuals.

‘Right …’ She selected a beige folder from her wire basket in-tray. ‘Seeing as Operation Sledgehammer goes live at eight tomorrow morning, there isn’t a great deal of time for us to discuss the niceties of what’ll be expected of you as a Serial Crimes Unit detective.’

DC Honeyford, having realised that she was the one being addressed, sat up straight.

Gemma glanced at her. ‘Except to say that if you needed to learn anything, you wouldn’t be here. So, you’re not on probation. You understand that?’

‘Of course, ma’am,’ the new recruit replied.

‘There’s a serious job needs doing, and in SCU we do it to the best of our abilities,’ Gemma said. ‘If any one of us fouls up, and that includes me, we’re out. But it may even be worse than that.’ She sat back, watching her new charge carefully, probing her with that penetrating blue-eyed gaze. ‘In this department, we deal exclusively with violent psychopaths … that means we can’t afford any errors. Lives, including our own, DC Honeyford, may depend on it.’ She paused again. ‘And … that’s it. That’s the whole of the introductory pep talk. Sorry if it wasn’t what you were expecting, but we’re all a bit short of time at present. You’ve got exactly half a day to get settled in. Because after tomorrow morning’s briefing you’ll all be expected to hit the road straight away in pursuit of the various actions that will have been allocated to you as part of Operation Sledgehammer.‘

‘I’m ready to go now, ma’am,’ DC Honeyford said.

‘Good. That means you can spend the rest of the day familiarising yourself with this.’ Gemma pushed the beige folder across the desk. ‘Consider that a welcome-to-your-new-job present. It’s a perk of sorts … no one else will know what case they’re being allocated until tomorrow morning.’

At last, Heck understood why they were being deployed in twos.

There were clearly several investigations that needed working on at the same time, most likely of historical significance rather than dating to the here and now. So that was Operation Sledgehammer: it sounded dramatic, as if it was something right up SCU’s street, but in actual fact one of the most experienced and productive special investigations units in the British police service was being used to adjust the clean-up rates.

‘And, Heck,’ Gemma said, interrupting his thoughts, ‘let’s make this thing work.’

He nodded, trying not to look as half-hearted about it as he felt.

‘OK … off you go.’ She waggled them away with her fingers.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ DC Honeyford said, standing and tucking the file under her arm.

Heck dawdled after she’d left the room, edging the door closed behind her.

When he spoke, it was quietly. ‘Ma’am, I—’

She halted him with a raised palm. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

‘Look, there’s something you may not know …’

‘I said I don’t want to hear it.’

She’d already opened her emails, her manicured fingers rattling on the keyboard.

‘Gemma … come on!’

Two things you never did with Gemma Piper was raise your voice or lose your temper. Even though Heck felt that, on occasion, he might have earned the right, he hadn’t intended it to slip out quite so abrasively. But rather to his surprise, her reaction was mild.

‘Don’t get too cocky, Sergeant.’ Her voice remained level; she didn’t even look up. ‘You may find this thing more of a challenge than you think.’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he muttered, leaving the room and half-blundering into Jack Reed outside.

‘Sorry, Heck,’ Reed said. ‘My fault. Don’t worry, I wasn’t eavesdropping.’

Heck had never known such politeness in the police environment as he routinely heard from Reed, especially not from a supervisor to an underling. It surely had its origins in the Officers’ Mess, though Heck had never enquired about the DI’s background, and never would – as that would imply that he was interested in getting to know the guy.

‘It’s OK, sir,’ Heck grunted. ‘Nothing to hear anyway.’

‘I’ve told you, mate … it’s “Jack”. I don’t do formalities.’

‘Yeah, no probs.’

Gail Honeyford was waiting a few yards along the corridor, picking through the folder’s contents. He stumped towards her. Behind him, he heard Reed tap on Gemma’s door.

‘Busy!’ she called out. ‘Unless it’s exceedingly important.’

‘It’s me, ma’am,’ Reed replied. ‘Can I come in?’

Heck was now too far away to hear her muffled response, but whatever it was, Reed went in.

‘You don’t look very pleased to see me,’ Gail said, as they walked side by side down to the detectives’ office.

‘I’m not displeased.’ Heck tried not to sound tetchy, though it was a struggle. The truth was that he rated Gail as a police officer. How could he not when he owed his life to her? But there were other issues here, which, frankly, he didn’t think he could deal with at this moment. ‘I’m just … surprised.’

‘I gave you a heads-up that I was going to try and join SCU,’ she said. ‘Roughly around the same time you said you’d try to give me a leg-up. Just because I didn’t hear anything else from you, that doesn’t mean I didn’t stick with my ambition.’

‘In a way, I did give you a leg-up,’ he said. ‘You name-dropped me during your interview.’

‘Yeah, funny that. When I reminded DSU Piper that I’d worked with you before and that we got on well together, she said something to the effect of: “Ordinarily, that would be a reason for me not to appoint you.” What do you think she meant by that?’

‘She plays games,’ he grunted. ‘Likes to keep us on our toes.’

‘I hear they call her “the Lioness”.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Why?’

‘Muck up this enquiry, and you’ll find out.’

Gail nodded as she pondered this.

‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Why did she?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She told you that “ordinarily” she wouldn’t have appointed you. What changed her mind?’

‘Oh … she also noted that aside from that one case you and me worked together, my career’s been pretty straight-laced and that I’ve had some good results, all of them by the book. She added that she was certain the experience of this, plus the passage of time, would probably ensure that I’ve got over any bad habits I might have picked up from you.’

‘Might have picked up from you, Sergeant,’ he corrected her.

‘Sorry, yes … Sergeant,’ she agreed primly.

That was one bad habit she’d dispensed with, he noted. The previous incarnation of Gail had bridled at the merest hint that she was under someone else’s control, especially a male’s. This was explainable by the tough time she’d had with some of the idiot men in her life, but it hadn’t been likely to do her any good in the long run. At the end of the day, rank was rank.

They went into the detectives’ office – or ‘DO’ as it was known – to find the place reorganised in terms of its furniture. Heck’s own desk had been moved several feet from its south-facing window and turned around ninety degrees. Another desk, previously empty, had been drawn up to face it. It wasn’t hugely inconvenient. All Heck’s electricals were still plugged in and he could still reach his shelves and filing cabinet. But the fact that everything had been shifted around, without his even being consulted, was the last thing he needed on a day like today.

The bloke responsible was still in the middle of it.

Approaching his late fifties, DS Eric Fisher had outlived his usefulness to SCU as an outdoors man, and if his age hadn’t been against him, his colossal girth could have done the job on its own. But as an analyst, intelligence officer and now the unit’s official account manager for HOLMES 2 – the latest IT system used by UK police forces for the investigation of serious crime – Fisher was second to none. In case that wasn’t quite enough in this new age of extreme cost-efficiency, Gemma also had him double-hatting as a kind of unofficial office manager – a role he was currently occupying comfortably, as he issued orders to DCs Quinnell, Rawlins, Cunliffe and Finnegan, who, with much clattering of tables and scraping of chair legs, were trying to pair up their own furniture.

‘What’s all this?’ Heck demanded.

Fisher scratched his beard. ‘We’re working Sledgehammer in pairs. Haven’t you heard?’

‘Yeah, I heard.’ Heck toed irritably at his desk. ‘But, given the option, I might have wanted to do things slightly differently.’

‘Fair enough.’ Fisher pushed his glasses back up his sweat-greased nose. ‘How many permutations of two desks do you want me to go through before you settle on one you like?’

‘I’m sure this’ll be all right,’ Gail said, throwing her coat, bag and the Sledgehammer file onto the empty desk facing Heck’s.

Fisher turned to Heck and arched his caterpillar-thick eyebrows.

‘It’ll do for the moment,’ Heck grumbled. He cleared his throat and raised his voice. ‘Everyone … listen up. Meet our newest recruit, DC Gail Honeyford.’

The rest of the men – and they were exclusively men at present – gathered, grinning, catching as much of an eyeful as they dared in the twenty-first century. A lot had changed in British policing, even during Gail’s relatively short service, but boys would always be boys.

‘DS Eric Fisher,’ Heck said, sticking a thumb towards the big man.

‘Please to meet you, love,’ Fisher nodded genially, which belied his barbaric appearance.

‘DC Gary Quinnell,’ Heck said. ‘He’s our conscience.’

Quinnell nodded too. Gail nodded back.

Heck then went through the rest of them: Andy Rawlins, who was short, tubby, balding on top and possessed of a beard as scraggy as Eric Fisher’s – he smiled shyly; Burt Cunliffe, who was squat and solid, with a grey buzz cut and a tan that indicated he’d recently been abroad for his holidays; and Charlie Finnegan, who was lean, with black, slicked hair and an odd foxy look about him.

‘There are a few more of us, of course,’ Heck said. ‘Out on the job, scattered around the building. We have actually got a few other women on the plot. You’ve met Gemma. DI Ronni James is on leave. Up to last year, we had DC Shawna McCluskey …’

‘Big shoes to fill there, girl,’ Quinnell interrupted; he’d been a particularly close friend of Shawna’s, even more so than Heck.

‘Promoted?’ Gail wondered.

‘Shot,’ Charlie Finnegan said matter-of-factly. ‘And savagely beaten.’

Gail glanced at Heck. ‘Fatality? Only I didn’t hear anything …’

‘No,’ he said. ‘But she went on a full medical. She’s OK. The Federation looked after her.’

‘Yep,’ Finnegan said. ‘There’s always that consolation. If you catch a few bullets … the Federation will look after you.’

‘There but for the grace of God go all of us,’ Gail said, pointedly unfazed by his sneery smile.

‘Sounding like my kind of girl already,’ Quinnell guffawed, slapping her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, though … I’m already spoken for.’

The others laughed and continued to straighten the new-look office. But when Gail went into the adjoining room to find the locker Eric Fisher had allocated her, Finnegan slid over.

‘Lucky bastard,’ he said to Heck. ‘Don’t know how you fucking do it.’

‘You wouldn’t want to work with Gail, Charlie,’ Heck replied. ‘She’d be too much of a distraction. You know how hard you have to focus just to get the basics right.’

‘Aha,’ Fisher interrupted, leafing through the Sledgehammer file Gail had left on her desk. ‘So, you two are going after Creeley.’

‘Don’t know,’ Heck replied. ‘Haven’t looked at it yet.’

‘Eddie Creeley. He’s a rough customer, I’ll tell you.’

Heck seemed to remember hearing something about him. If recollection served, Eddie Creeley was an offender from the North-East suspected of armed robbery and murder.

‘I don’t know much about Sledgehammer yet,’ he admitted.

‘A new initiative,’ Fisher explained. ‘We’ve received a list of bad guys who’ve so far eluded arrest and, thanks to info provided by Interpol, are still believed to be in the UK. We’re the ones who are charged with rounding them up.’

‘Us and Cold Case?’

‘Well … they’re mostly older cases, so the Coldies are providing intel and back-up.’

Heck took the file and glanced through it himself. Immediately, he was struck by a mugshot of Eddie Creeley, who’d probably been somewhere in his early thirties when the pic was taken. He was an archetype: not a bruiser as such, but cold, cruel, with a lean, aquiline face, greased-back black hair, black sideburns and small, dark eyes. Just flicking through a few more documents, the huge extent and heinous nature of the crimes he was suspected of became clear. He was perhaps most well-known in connection with a violent £7 million armed robbery at a security company in Newark-on-Trent, during which he’d taken two employees hostage, handcuffed them and injected them with drain cleaner to disable them – one later dying and the other suffering permanent brain damage. But more recently for a home invasion, wherein he took two civilian hostages; the female occupant died after she too was injected with a toxic substance, while her husband, though he survived, was shot twice.

‘Everyone’s drawn cards of a similarly nasty ilk,’ Fisher commented. ‘There are no small-time offenders on the Sledgehammer list.’

‘Two of us for each one,’ Heck mused. ‘How much actual support are we going to get?’

Fisher shrugged. ‘As many PSOs as you can scrounge out of whichever force area you end up working in. But that’ll be down to you.’

Heck glanced at him. ‘For real?’

‘Yeah. Times are hard all over, pal. The word is the UK can’t afford coppers any more.’

They turned and saw that Gail had reappeared and had been listening to the conversation.

‘No pressure then,’ she said.