Burning Ambition (DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad Book 7)

by B. L. Faulkner

  There had always been a distrustful undercurrent to Palmer and Bateman’s relationship; nothing you could pin down, but Palmer didn’t like or agree with fast-tracking of university graduates to management positions in the force. He’d have them do the two years on the beat first, see how they handled a Rastafarian drug dealer with a ten-inch knife who just did not want to be arrested. Bateman, on the other hand, would like to be surrounded with graduates with ‘firsts’ in various ‘ologies; he believed the old school coppers like Palmer were outdated dinosaurs, and that crime could be solved by elimination and computer programmes, which is why he had tried unsuccessfully to transfer DS Singh away from Palmer into a Cyber Crime Unit. Bateman had no time for an experienced detective’s knowledge and experience being an asset, and the sooner he could shut down the Serial Murder Squad and combine it with the databases of the Major Crime Unit, CID and Cyber Crime the better.

  The trouble was that Palmer’s team, the Major Crime Team, CID and Cyber Crime were producing good case solve figures, which the political masters at the Home Office liked. But what really irked him most of all was that they really liked Palmer, the press liked Palmer, and the rank and file loved him. So he managed to keep the false smile on his face as he looked across his highly polished desk at Palmer. He had secretly hoped that the press briefing had been a disaster.

  ‘Yes, went very well indeed. Unfortunately I was in an important meeting, otherwise I wouldn’t have had the Media Department pull you in at such short notice.’

  ‘That’s alright sir, pleased to help you out. After all, it is my case so not a problem.’

  ‘How are we progressing with it – any arrests imminent?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. As you know we have a full team in the field, but silence reigns. Seems like three criminals have really upset somebody and revenge has been taken. I think Kalhoud was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw too much.’

  Bateman nodded his head.

  ‘Okay, I’ll sign an order to release his body. He was Muslim, and they like to have their dead buried within twenty-four hours. How long will you keep a team in the field?’

  ‘Just as long as I have to. Soon as we get a lead come through I’ll stand them down.’

  ‘Okay, just remember most of them are on overtime; got to keep the costs down.’

  ‘I am sure most of them would rather have their days off sir, rather than be walking the streets of South London pressing low-level grasses to tell them the rumours.’

  ‘Yes, probably. Just keep me informed and make sure I get your daily report sheets –preferably the next day and not a week later.

  He rose from his chair, indicating the meeting was over. Palmer rose too and noticed the hair transplant brochure.

  ‘Not another wig, sir? That last one didn’t suit you at all.’

  ‘No, not another wig, Palmer. I am considering a hair transplant.’

  ‘Really, sir? Which one?’

  CHAPTER 7

  In the Team Room Claire was busy inputting the criminal backgrounds and the associates of the victims when Palmer and Gheeta came in, carrying a coffee each from the vending machine in the corridor. Gheeta had one for Claire and put it on the table beside her.

  ‘Thanks’, she said with a smile. ‘Just what I need: a large caffeine boost.’

  Palmer gave a sarcastic laugh.

  ‘The only boost you’ll get from that muck is an indigestion boost.’

  Palmer liked his coffee fresh and percolated, and had an ongoing war with the vending machine in their corridor that had a habit of taking his money and sending the coffee powder, sugar, milk and boiling water down the tube before the cup. It only seemed to do this to him.

  ‘How did the press thing go?’ asked Claire. ‘I watched it on the screen and it seemed okay.’

  ‘The boy dun good,’ said Gheeta in her best Cockney accent.

  ‘Bloody waste of time,’ said Palmer, crossing to the progress board while sipping his coffee and pulling a nasty face with each sip taken. ‘Right then, all we can do is wait for some thread to emerge; a link to something that got these three killed. Anything in from the team boys, Claire?’

  ‘Nothing yet sir, but it’s still a bit early. Give them a chance.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. A bit like treading water at the moment; lots of energy and going nowhere fast.’

  Reg Frome poked his head in the door.

  ‘Good afternoon all, just passing so I just thought I’d see if the TV star could give me an autograph.’

  Gheeta took up the thread.

  ‘Have you an appointment, sir? I’m afraid DCS Palmer has a very busy media schedule since his television success: he’s off to Australia for I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here! and then straight into Strictly Come Dancing, and then onto the nationwide promotion tour for his new book. I can fit you in sometime in June next year?

  ‘What about Love Island, isn’t he doing that?’

  ‘No, Mrs P. wouldn’t let him go on that... She’s going, but not him.’

  Palmer gave them both a resigned shrug.

  ‘All right, that’s enough.

  ‘By the way,’ Frome said. ‘I was in the Path lab earlier when they were doing a PM on Harry Shore; definitely a professional hit, one to the heart and a follow-up to the head. I’ve got the bullets and I bet they are from the same gun as the chaps in the prison van. I’ll email a confirmation as soon as we test them. Must go – things to do, people to see.’

  He nodded to Gheeta and Claire and turned to Palmer.

  ‘Go on, give us an autograph. I was going to put it on eBay for fifty pee.’

  And with that he was gone, before Palmer’s expletive reply could reach him.

  ‘And then there were four,’ said Palmer, turning back to the business in hand. ‘Have we had any statements through from the van driver and guard yet?’

  Gheeta passed him a folder.

  ‘Nothing of consequence, guv. They were pulled over by what they thought was a police car, blue light on top and uniformed officers inside; as soon as they opened the door a gun was pulled and they were blindfolded and taken off in the fake police car and dumped a couple of hours later, bound and gagged. I’ve got their CVs coming through from G4 but it doesn’t look like they were part of it.’

  ‘Okay, take a look and let me know if you think we ought to interview them.’

  ‘Guv,’ said Gheeta, ‘I can’t really understand this. I mean if you had a beef with the Shores then okay, knock them off. But why all the nonsense of putting George in the van and getting Kershaw out? ‘

  ‘Only one reason, Sergeant: young Kershaw is needed for something. A hit, a robbery maybe, but whatever it is it’s big; you don’t knock off four people for nothing. Take a look at Kershaw’s CR and see what his speciality is. I thought he was just a petty villain with a liking for guns, but perhaps he’s got himself a trade, wheelman or explosives… Somebody needs him, and we need to know who and why.’

  ‘But why kill the Shores? That was planned, they weren’t just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were targeted, guv.’

  ‘They were, and we need to find out why. They’ve upset somebody, but how is the big question.’

  ‘And who.’

  ‘Yes, and who. Who thought it necessary to kill all three?’

  ‘And Kalhoud?’

  ‘He could be collateral damage; he could just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But he was in the same cell block as Kershaw and Shore so there’s a link – a tenuous one, but we are grasping at straws at the moment so do a deep check on him too.’

  ‘I got the rates office details about the warehouse back, sir.’

  Claire set the printer working.

  ‘It’s due for demolition, a compulsory purchase by the council as part of the regeneration plan for the area five years ago. Been empty ever since.’

  Palmer stood and stretched.

  ‘Right, I think it’s time we poked the hornet’s ne
st. I think we might pay a visit to the Old Kent Road, Sergeant. There’s somebody down there I think I need to renew my acquaintance with; somebody who I bet knows what’s going on. Get your coat and have a car meet us at the front – we are going to the pub.’

  CHAPTER 8

  Gheeta had listened with interest as Palmer explained where they were going and why as the plain squad car made its way south of the river and down the Old Kent Road.

  ‘Freddy Doorman is an old school ‘geezer’,’ Palmer smiled.’ Not a big player in the whole scheme of things, but not a bit player either. I first came across him when I was a young DC and seconded to Robert Marks’s A10 unit in the late ‘80s. That was a special unit formed to clear out the corruption in the CID, and boy was there a lot of it! Marks once said that ‘a good police force is one that catches more crooks than it employs’. In that purge Sergeant, over 500 CID officers were sacked or resigned; quite a few went to Spain and bought villas next to the crooks they had protected and taken bribes from!’

  He laughed.

  ‘Anyway, Freddy Doorman’s name kept cropping up and although we couldn’t pin anything on him we knew he was a hitman and enforcer for the Krays and ran his own firm out of the Deptford and Greenwich area. It was alleged he was involved in the Cornell murder, but we couldn’t get enough evidence; people wouldn’t talk – wouldn’t dare talk. Years later we finally got him as an accessory to the Krays in the murder of Jack ‘The Hat’ McVitie; the Krays’ men had panicked after Reggie killed McVitie and dumped the body in a churchyard just south of the Blackwall Tunnel, right in Freddy’s manor. When Reggie Kray heard that he phoned Freddy and told him; if he hadn’t and we had found the body on Freddy’s turf, we would have pulled him in and he wouldn’t have been very happy with the Krays.’

  Palmer laughed again.

  ‘That would have been fun. Anyway, the body was removed and never found. But Doorman was implicated by a couple of grasses and went down at the Krays’ trial for ten years.’

  Their car pulled up outside the Walmer Castle public house.

  ‘Come on, we’re here: Freddy’s office.’

  The pub went very quiet as Palmer and the uniformed DS Singh entered. A few punters inside suddenly remembered they had things to do and left rather hurriedly; it reminded Palmer of what had usually happened in the ‘old days’ when police went into a busy pub.

  ‘Well, well, well, Mr Palmer. Long time no see. What brings you to these parts?’

  Freddy Doorman looked surprised, putting down his copy of the Racing Post and removing his glasses as Palmer and Singh walked through and sat down at his table in the saloon bar. Freddy’s two minders stood up from their seats and looked to him for instructions.

  ‘Just a social visit Freddy, don’t worry. We haven’t found the body.’

  Freddy Doorman laughed.

  ‘And you never will.’

  He nodded to the two minders to go away and they retired to the bar.

  ‘You’re looking well for your age, Freddy. Still in the game?’

  ‘Straight as a die, Mr Palmer. Everything strictly legit.’

  ‘Leopards don’t change their spots, Freddy.’

  ‘I’m too old for any capers now, Mr Palmer; eighty-three, with a new hip and a dodgy knee. And a couple more stone than back then.’

  He patted his ample paunch.

  ‘Didn’t stop your old mates Read and Perkins swinging down a lift shaft on the end of a rope at the Hatton Garden safe deposit heist, Freddy.’

  ‘Yeah, bloody fools, and look where they are now: banged up and likely to see the rest of their days out inside a cell. That’s not for me, Mr Palmer. Anyway, I see you’ve done well for yourself, Detective Superintendent Palmer. Saw you on the telly too – three dead in a prison van, nasty.’

  ‘Very nasty Freddy, and dumped right in the middle of your manor.’

  ‘My manor? No, not anymore – I told you, strictly legit now. I’ve got a car sales pitch down the road with an old mate, and what with my state pension I’m okay, I get by. You don’t think I want to fuck all that up, do you?’

  He looked at Gheeta.

  ‘Excuse the language, my dear.’

  ‘I don’t think you did it, Freddy,’ Palmer said, smiling at him. ‘But I think you know who did.’

  ‘Not a clue Mr Palmer, no idea, I keep a thousand miles away from all that business now,’

  ‘Really, Freddy? That’s very good to know, ‘cause I heard that some car sales fronts in this area might have a few dodgy high value vehicles on the books. You know the score: mileage clocked, and chassis numbers changed. I’d hate for the DVLC chaps to target you, especially with you being strictly legit.’

  The implied threat was not lost on Freddy. It had long been a police ploy to target car sales pitches that were suspected of ‘ringing’ stolen cars and inspect them on an almost daily basis, by DVLA inspectors going through paperwork and examining chassis numbers and making it almost impossible to carry on the illegal trade.

  ‘I have a meeting to go to, Mr Palmer, if you’ve finished this social visit. I really must go. Here.’

  He handed Palmer a business card from his inside pocket.

  ‘Next time please make an appointment.’

  ‘I’ve finished, Freddy; for now, that is. I’ve got a couple more old acquaintances of yours to visit in the area.’

  He stood to go.

  ‘Take care, Freddy. Things are going to get a bit hot round here until I get this case sorted.’

  He nodded to Freddy and his minders and left the pub, followed by DS Singh. Freddy Doorman took out his mobile and made a call.

  ‘Did you say we’ve got a couple more to visit, guv?’ asked Gheeta as they settled back into the car.

  ‘No, just planting a little bomb in Freddy’s head. Here…’

  He passed her Freddy Doorman’s business card.

  ‘Give Claire a call and get her to monitor that line.’

  He checked his watch.

  ‘It’s 2.28pm now. I want to know the first number he calls now we’ve left, and who it belongs to.’

  ‘You really think he knows about this caper, don’t you guv.’

  ‘He knows all right, and he’ll get brownie points for letting whoever is running it know that we’ve been on the patch asking questions.’

  He laughed to himself.

  ‘In the old days, Sergeant, when a copper came onto the manor or into an estate they passed the word by banging a dustbin lid; now it’s by mobile phone. Progress, eh?’

  ‘Ah yes, but you wouldn’t have known who was banging the dustbin lid guv, or who they were warning. With mobiles we can trace who made the call and who to – well, most of them.’

  ‘And hopefully the call Freddy made when we left will lead us right to the killer’s lair.’

  ‘Don’t bank on that, guv. In my limited experience of chasing criminals, things don’t seem to happen that easily.’

  She speed-dialled to Claire.

  CHAPTER 9

  ‘How big?’

  Palmer looked at his two detectives who had been digging around in the Greenwich area. DCs Johnson and Simms were good; he’d used them before, pulling them into his squad from Rayson’s East Greenwich CID when boots on the ground were needed.

  ‘Pretty big, Chief,’ said Johnson. ‘But nobody is talking and even the usual ton in the bag boys are scared to chat.’

  Ton in the bag boys was the name given to regular grasses who took a payment in a plain envelope for giving information.

  Simms agreed.

  ‘As soon as we mention the van murders, the silence is deafening. They don’t want to end up barbecued.’

  They were in the busy Team Room with DS Singh, Claire and the rest of his team, gathered for their Friday morning meeting to go over the week’s work. Palmer stood up and called for silence.

  ‘Right chaps, we don’t seem to be getting very far. The whole underworld seems to have taken a vow of silence on this one, which means
it’s got a person or persons behind it that have a pretty nasty reputation of getting their own back on anybody crossing them. As you now know, Robert Kershaw was taken from the van and one of the Shore brothers put in his place. All three Shore brothers were killed, professionally killed. My own instincts tell me there are two reasons for this: one, Kershaw is wanted for some job coming up, and two, the Shores aren’t wanted for that job. But why kill them? Only one answer to that as far as I can see, and that is to silence them; they knew what job it is and somehow they were in the way.

  ‘Now, to kill three blokes to keep a job on track is a pretty big decision, so it’s a bloody big job and I’ll wager that it’s a two-day job. There’s a Bank Holiday weekend coming up in a fortnight, and I get the feeling that could be the time they’ve planned to do it; just like the Hatton Garden job, they need the time to get in and get whatever they are after, get out and get away. I may be totally wrong and it may be a simple armed hold- up, but something that quick wouldn’t fit this scenario and this amount of protection.

  ‘So, check all the specialist hardware suppliers on the patch you’re covering; we need to know if anybody has ordered big drilling equipment, pulleys, protective clothing, industrial cutters, anything out of the ordinary. The other thing is to lean harder on your grasses; lean on any faces you know that worked with the Shores in the past, they may have dropped a hint. Go in hard, let them know that if we find out they’ve kept back information on four murders they’ll go down for a long stretch.