by Iain Cameron
When he returned to Ealing, he remembered there wasn’t much food in the house. He’d been away for most of the previous week with almost back-to-back trips to Spain and Ireland and hadn’t done any food shopping. He left the bike where it was at the side of the path, and walked towards the shops.
He wasn’t big on cooking, in the past Emma had done it all, but whenever she came home late, he could manage to re-heat a dish she’d made earlier, or put a supermarket complete meal, like a lasagne, in the oven. He originally intended buying a takeaway to celebrate his last R&R night-in, relaxing and vegging out in front of the television, but if the gym session this morning had taught him anything, it was to lay off unhealthy foods.
Tesco Express was a small shop by supermarket standards, but what they lacked in quantity, they made up in variety. In an area such as this, their typical customers would include singles and the parents of young families, too busy to drive to a big supermarket or didn’t own a car, and so the shelves included a large amount of meals for one and simple foods that even fussy young children would eat.
It was Friday afternoon and all the pubs he passed on his way back to his flat were busy. Some of those sitting outside looked as though they’d been there since midday, others, as if they’d come straight from the office, ties lying on the table with sleeves rolled up to soak up the warm sun. So much for British workers having the longest working hours in Europe.
From a distance he could see his flat and, on the road, parked almost outside his gate, a car. He recognised it, setting warning beacons off inside his head. He was sure many people in London drove a blue Seat Leon, but Rosie Fox was the only one he knew who would park one outside his door. If so, what the hell was she doing here? He had been enjoying his time off, why wasn’t she? He wouldn’t mind giving up a piece of his leisure time to work on an important issue, but if Rosie just wanted to talk about her relationship with Andrew, Matt would rather not spend his free time talking to the boss.
He crossed the road and lost sight of his flat for a few moments. He checked access to his weapon and shifted the bag of purchases to his left hand. If Rosie had been abducted and a perp was sitting beside her in the car, he needed to be ready to use it.
He reached Hamilton Road and waited until a couple of cars passed before crossing. He used the time to assess the situation, to see if something looked amiss, if anything looked odd. Rosie was in the driver’s seat and her relaxed manner an indication perhaps, that she was alone.
He crossed the road and approached the car on the driver’s side. Rosie’s face looked tense, but otherwise normal. Matt relaxed.
‘If you’re stalking me, Ms Fox, get in the queue.’
‘Very funny, Matt. Jump in; we have a problem.’
‘What? Is Waitrose out of avocados?’
‘It’s a tad more serious than that. Jack Harris has escaped.’
Chapter 45
Matt threw his shopping bag into the back of Rosie’s car and jumped in. His thoughts of a quiet evening with a microwaved steak pie and a couple of cans of beer rapidly evaporating.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked as Rosie scooted past parking cars and overtook slow movers, travelling a bit more leisurely than usual on account of the warm weather.
‘When the prisoner and his bodyguards walked off the plane at Heathrow they were met on the tarmac by two HSA agents. There’s been a change of plan, they were told. They’d been instructed to take Harris to a secret location for questioning.’
‘Which HSA agents? Who?’
‘Hear me out, first. The accompanying officers’ suspicions were appeased, the murder investigators believe, by the seemingly authentic paperwork the fake agents carried.’
‘Damn!’ Matt said thumping the car’s facia with his hand.
‘Watch it! You’ll set off one of the airbags.’
‘Sorry, but that slippery bastard has done it again. I should have put a bullet in him.’
‘I think you already did.’
‘I meant another one. Higher up and into a vital organ. What about the two cops? Are they part of the deception, or if not, are they all right?’
‘The bogus agents took them to a deserted warehouse in Barking, produced guns, and shot them both. An hour or so later, an anonymous call to a police station averted the start of a major manhunt. For the cops that is. Everyone is now out looking for Harris the cop killer.’
‘Bastards; why didn’t they just let them go?’
‘The obvious one I suppose, they’d seen their faces.’
‘Well, the two who turned up at the airport might be easy to identify, those places have cameras all over the place.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
Matt was silent for a few minutes, thinking their lack of foresight had been responsible for the deaths of two coppers. If only they hadn’t allowed the police to take charge of the prisoner transport.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To the office. Gill’s got everyone in looking at everything we’ve got on Harris and Simon Wood’s organisation.’
‘On a Friday night?’
‘It’s put the kibosh into Gill’s monthly update meeting with Sir Raymond Deacon, but needs must.’
Through the thick, black cloud that had descended over Matt’s head on hearing of Jack Harris’s escape, and the death of two police officers, he could see the significance of this. Now, Gill would understand beyond any shadow of a doubt that Matt’s pursuit of Harris wasn’t simply a pet-project, done to exorcise his demons at the death of Emma. It was comforting in a way to know that the whole organisation was now mobilised to find him, but what a way to convince the Director.
Matt needed to get over the escape and think clearly. He needed to plunder all his memories of Harris gleaned from conversations with Emma, and what they’d seen at his Estepona villa. The methods used by drug gangs to organise themselves and operate weren’t his forte. He needed to get up to speed as soon as possible.
Rosie’s car pulled into the secure underground car park at HSA headquarters, the address of which was not attached to any communications emanating from the building, or on business or ID cards carried by agents. They took the lift up to the third floor.
When they walked onto the floor, it looked deserted.
‘Where is everybody?’ Matt asked.
‘They’ll be in the conference room. Grab anything you need and we’ll join them.’
Matt’s laptop was at home, so he couldn’t use that and instead grabbed a pad and pen, and on the way, a cup of coffee.
The conference room was busy, a mix of agents, researchers, and paper covering most of the surface of the large table. Good. If little had been on the table it would mean nobody had a clue.
‘Evening ladies and gents,’ Matt said, ‘we have a different Friday night in prospect.’
‘Evening Matt,’ a few replied.
‘Take a seat, Matt,’ Rosie said. ‘Now we have everyone here,’ Rosie continued, addressing the room, ‘I’d like somebody to bring us all up to date. Siki, let me start with you.’
‘I’m as good a man as any,’ he said, stuffing the remains of a Tunnock’s Caramel Wafer into his cavernous gob.
‘Right,’ he said, wiping his hands on a staff restaurant serviette before picking up some papers. ‘I’m assuming everyone knows about the abduction at the airport and the killing of the two detectives?’
They all nodded.
‘Okay, I won’t go over it. The Met are forensically examining both bodies and the warehouse where the shooting took place. They’ll pass on any information they collect, plus any CCTV of the men and their car. Talking of their car, a Ford Mondeo, it’s all over ANPR, but no one holds out high hopes of its recovery. It’s only a matter of time before it’s found burnt-out.’
‘Okay,’ Rosie said. ‘We’ve dealt with the car and the murders. Based on all we know at the moment, we should leave that investigation to the Met. Our job is to find and stop Jack Harris.’
Various agents, including Matt, voiced their assent.
Siki searched through his papers and came up with a small sheaf. ‘This is what we know about Harris,’ he said as he handed out a piece of A4 paper with the familiar blue Metropolitan Police header. When Matt took a copy, he realised it was Harris’s employment record with the Metropolitan Police.
‘Some of you might have seen this before, but I’m handing it out so you can read the last section. This is the time he spent in the Met’s Drugs Unit, working as a Sergeant under the direction of Matt’s late girlfriend, Detective Inspector Emma Davis.’
If people expected Matt to respond they would be disappointed.
‘It was there, perhaps about three years ago, he first came across Simon Wood. For those of you who have never worked this field, Wood is one of the largest drug suppliers in the South East. His extensive organisation specialises in coke, heroin, and Spice. Wood has been on the run since June this year when he escaped from a security van taking him from Wandsworth Prison for a police interview. The interview was authorised by the newly promoted DI Jack Harris.’
‘So,’ Jess said, ‘after his arrest in Spain and his subsequent break-out, he’s got no choice but to throw his hat in with Wood. If we find Wood, Harris shouldn’t be far away.’
‘Yeah,’ Rosie said, ‘but finding Wood is a more difficult prospect than you might think. Wood’s got access to unlimited amounts of money, both here and in overseas accounts, which we now know are being managed by Jack Harris. At Harris’s place in Spain, as I said in my report, we found passports and currency from various countries around the world, and we can assume Wood has the same. That said, I do think Wood will be loath to leave this country because of the pressure he’s under from Albanian and Russian gangs trying to move into the London drugs scene, but he could if he had a mind to.’
‘The financial boys checked out some of the stuff Rosie and Matt brought back from Spain,’ Siki said. ‘They discovered that Harris owns several properties overseas. So far, they’ve come across a villa in the British Antilles, and an apartment in Bangkok.’
‘Meaning Harris could be anywhere.’
‘My money’s still on them being in the UK,’ Rosie said. ‘If rivals get wind of Wood running scared, they’ll be the new kids on the block before Drugs Unit officers arrive for work on Monday morning.’
‘I talked to Superintendent Tony Quigley, Emma’s former boss in the Drugs Unit,’ Siki said. ‘He believes Wood’s been grooming maybe not a successor, but someone to look after the shop when he’s not around.’ Amos, a fellow researcher, handed out a picture and profile of a muscular-looking black guy with an evil stare, by the name of Roderick Lamar, Simon Wood’s nephew. ‘My view is it should be easier to track this guy down as he’s more hands-on with the dealers. If we do, he’ll lead us to Wood and Harris.’
Matt sat up at the sight of Lamar’s profile and picture. This was the guy Jack Harris had said pulled the trigger on Emma when Matt had been trussed up on a chair at the warehouse in Fashion Street. Matt had every reason to believe him, as Harris hadn’t been under any duress when he said it.
‘How do we find him?’ Jess asked.
‘Let me give you a bit of background first,’ Siki said. ‘For the last couple of years, Lamar and a group of heavies that associates with, have been the main muscle behind Simon Wood organisation. They meet dealers face to face and smooth over any unpleasantness with rivals. They’re also suspected of being involved in several murders.’
‘A man of the street,’ Joseph said.
‘If you like.’
‘In which case, he should be easy to find,’ Jess said.
‘You never know,’ Joseph said, standing. ‘Allow me to make a few phone calls.’
‘Good man,’ Matt said as he walked past and out of the conference room.
Joseph had been an undercover cop for many years and spoke several languages. Matt was sure there wasn’t a single influential figure in the London criminal underworld that Joseph didn’t know about, and many were in the contacts section of his phone.
‘The Met couldn’t help us find Wood?’ Rosie asked Siki.
Siki shook his head. ‘Nope. They’ve been looking for him for months, maybe years.’
‘So, it’s down to who we know,’ she said. ‘I’ll talk again to Quigley and see what they’ve got. For the rest of us, go through the contacts on your phone, see if anyone out there can help us. I’m thinking of drug users, undercover detectives, even those from our Financial Department looking into assets owned by Jack Harris. Anyone who might be able to give us a handle on where we can find Wood, Harris or Lamar.’
Matt grabbed as much information as he thought he would need and walked back to the office area and found an empty desk. He’d seen at first-hand what large amounts of money could buy at Harris’s place in Spain: the large house, smart cars, motorbikes, and an escape-equipped garage, but Wood, as the boss, would be on a different level. In which case, Rosie was right, they didn’t have a hope in hell of catching him.
Matt began reading the Met drug unit’s profile of Roderick Lamar. He started life as a street runner, a guy working for a dealer handing out packets of drugs to end-users and bringing the cash back to the dealer. He came to the unit’s notice many years later as a dealer, working on behalf of his uncle. Based on a combination of Wood’s business acumen and Lamar’s reputation as a hard bastard, Wood’s business expanded at a ferocious rate. Lamar strong-armed rivals out of the way while Wood assimilated their operations into his organisation; the Cisco of the drugs world.
Armed with a little knowledge about the guy they were seeking, Matt made a couple of phone calls. One to a detective he used to work with in the Met, and another to an informer, a known cocaine user. Neither could be of much help, but promised to keep their ears and eyes open.
He left his desk a few minutes later and walked to the coffee machine. It wasn’t one of those at the end of the hall that nobody used because what it produced a tasteless brown sludge, but a capsule-based system that turned out a palatable brew 24/7. He’d just picked up his mug when Joseph walked in, his phone clamped to his ear.
‘No way will I mention it to anyone,’ Joseph said to the caller.
He paused, listening. ‘Nope, no way, mate. What you’ve told me is anonymous.’
He paused, listening again. ‘Sure I will. See you later, mate, and thanks.’
He terminated the call and put the phone in his pocket. He looked at Matt. ‘I think I know where we can find Lamar.’
Chapter 46
At last, their persistence had paid off. Joseph’s contact knew of a house where he’d gone a couple of times to buy drugs from Lamar, but with no idea how often the wanted man went there. To be fair, this wasn’t a drugs house in the accepted sense, where small quantities of drugs were traded between dealers and users. This was a large, detached place, with a Spice laboratory in the basement and cupboards and spare rooms filled with product. Joseph’s caller went there to buy a large quantity of product for his own drug-dealing business, hence the need for anonymity.
Rosie had left a team in place watching the house and, after four days, they’d now received the call they had all been waiting for. It felt good to be on the move. Since the meeting in the conference room on Friday, every HSA agent had been on full alert, awaiting a call that would take them from their beds, or the restaurant where they were eating, into flak jackets, raiding the gun store and out to a speeding car.
They were heading towards Suffolk, not a place often associated with the drugs business, but possessing enough remote villages and hamlets for someone to run a major drug production and warehousing facility without anyone taking much notice.
Matt had been at home doing nothing much these last few days, sitting at the back of the house enjoying the sun, or trying to watch a DVD with half a mind on the search for Lamar and Harris. He had never been good at waiting and Emma would get annoyed at his pacing, the agitated way he sat do
wn on the settee and got up again a few minutes later, and constantly looking at his phone while walking to the window.
Matt was in the driver’s seat. It was easier for him to head out east to Harlow to pick up Rosie than for her to come into London and then head back out east to Suffolk. They’d left civilisation under a fading light and now, only a few miles from the ‘border’ between Essex and Suffolk, all around was cloaked in darkness.
They’d come prepared and mob-handed. No mistakes would be tolerated. Three cars each containing two HSA agents were on the road, and a contingent of Suffolk’s best were meeting them close to the rendezvous. Everyone would be attired in bullet-proof vests and carrying door openers and carbines as they were dealing with dangerous and desperate men.
‘How did it go, your visit to your mum’s?’ Matt asked.
‘Didn’t I tell you about it?’
‘Nope.’
‘Not that there’s much to tell.’
‘Let’s hear it.’
‘It had been a lovely day so mum decided to have a barbecue. My sister, Harriet–’
‘How’s she getting on? Did she win that big fraud case she’d been working on?’
‘How did you know? Oh yeah, you and her had a right old chinwag at the party we gave last Christmas.’
‘When Andrew disgraced himself once again, I might add. She told me some fascinating stuff about the trial, and even made the law and lawyers sound interesting, something I never thought possible.’
‘Fraud trials often go on for months, sometimes years, and I believe that one is still going on. Back to the barbecue. Harriet had brought along her new boyfriend, a television producer of some kind, a handsome well-dressed bloke with gelled hair and styled beard. Like the well-brought up boy he was, he volunteered to do the cooking.’
