by Iain Cameron
‘Tell us about Lamar,’ Rosie said.
Reno’s inscrutable features folded in a scowl at the mention of his name.
‘I assume him being Simon Wood’s nephew,’ Matt said, ‘allows him some preferential treatment?’
‘Lucky for him, or I would have broken his face a long time ago. He’s overstepped the mark a number of times. All he gets is a slap on the wrist. Others get beaten up, or if a bit more serious they might be found dead in a skip.’
‘What’s his role?’
‘He calls himself Operations Director, the fucking pratt. He says he makes sure everything runs smoothly, nobody takes the piss or helps themselves to the merchandise.’
‘If they do, they call on you?’
‘Right, me and a few other guys go in and clear up his mess.’
‘So, when Wood ended up in prison, nothing changed. Lamar ran the show?’
‘Give him his due, there’s never been a problem. He stamps on anybody who gets out of line, but he’s a crazy bastard when something or somebody pisses him off.’
‘Was there ever a danger of him taking control for good when Wood went inside?’
He shook his head. ‘Nope. He’d have to deal with me first if he did.’
‘Reno, we talked earlier about the crimes Suffolk Police have charged you with.’
‘Hmph.’
‘It’s not much,’ Matt said slowly, ‘when compared to a couple of murders.’
‘What fucking murders?’
‘The two security men shot when your boss escaped from their van in Clapham, the two cops shot when Jack Harris arrived at Heathrow Airport, and the murder in Essex of Detective Inspector Emma Davis.’
‘Whoa, wait a fucking minute, mate. I wasn’t involved in any of that.’
‘Let’s take them one at a time. The security van. Two Sanco security men, shot inside their van at Clapham Common.’
Reno looked up at the security camera and looked across the table. Matt shook his head
‘Lamar and one of his goons, a guy called Stephen Haines.’
Matt wrote the names down.
‘Can you prove you weren’t there?’ Rosie asked. ‘I’m sure you must remember where you were the day your boss escaped from custody.’
He thought for a few moments. ‘I knew the job was going down, like, but I don’t do stuff like that anymore. I’m too, you know what I’m saying, noticeable.’
‘I’ll give you that,’ Matt said, but continued to wait for his reply.
‘I was in bed with a woman until ten, then I drove down to Dover to check on a lorry shipment.’
‘Okay,’ Matt said. He’d read the descriptions of the two men involved, statements from motorists held up by their makeshift roadblock. One ‘copper’ was black and the other white. Both average height and build. No mention of a huge, stocky black guy. In addition, he didn’t think Reno was smart enough to participate in an audacious heist like that.
‘What about freeing Jack Harris from police custody at Heathrow? The two accompanying officers were killed, their bodies found at a warehouse in Barking?’
‘This is what I mean about Lamar overstepping the mark. Simon was livid when he found out and would have shot him if he wasn’t his nephew. I’d heard bits and pieces, but I wasn’t in the loop. I wasn’t there.’
‘We’ve got CCTV of the two guys and neither of them look like you. Maybe you can help us identify who they are after this.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Number three. The shooting of Detective Inspector Emma Davis. Don’t deny being there, I know you were. Did you kill her?’
‘How can you fucking say that?’ he exploded, thumping big hands on the table and forcing the officer behind to step forward, hand on the butt of his gun.
Matt waved the officer back. ‘We know you were there,’ Matt said, not in the least bit intimidated by Reno’s theatrics.
‘How the fuck d’ya you know that, eh?’
‘Jack Harris told us.’
The big man’s shoulders slumped, but he recovered seconds later. ‘The slimy bastard. I warned Simon he would buckle when pressure was applied.’
‘He didn’t tell us the first time of asking, if that’s what you’re thinking. We had to apply a little persuasion, if you see what I mean.’
Reno smiled, believing at least for a moment, to be in the presence of a kindred spirit.
‘C’mon Reno. What happened that night?’
‘I’m saying nothing. I’ve told you too much already.’
‘The way Jack Harris tells it, she was in a house in Romford with you, Harris, and Lamar. She tried to escape and he says you shot her twice.’
‘The fucking liar!’ he said, his face red and furious, as if about to explode. He thumped his fists on the table, causing it to shake enough to spill Rosie’s water. He stood, knocking the chair back and sending it clattering to the floor behind him.
‘I never shot her!’ he said, pointing an accusing finger at Matt. ‘I wasn’t even in the fucking room. I was standing outside watching the door, like I always do.’
‘Sit down Reno,’ Matt said.
‘I never shot her.’
‘I hear you, sit down.’
With some reluctance, the big man sat down, and the officer behind him re-holstered his weapon. In fact, Jack Harris had said no such thing. He’d told him that Lamar had done it, and knowing Lamar’s reputation, Matt believed him. However, playing Devil’s Advocate, if Harris had shot her, he would try and blame someone else, wouldn’t he? He now wanted a second opinion.
‘So,’ Matt said when calm had returned, ‘you were standing in the hall while Lamar and Harris were in the room talking to DI Davis?’
Reno shifted uncomfortably in the seat. ‘Yeah.’
‘You were there to do what?’ Rosie asked. ‘To make sure she didn’t escape?’
‘Somethin’ like that.’
As a former murder cop, Matt knew all about the doctrine of ‘joint enterprise’. Reno being part of Wood’s organisation with Harris and Lamar meant if Emma was shot and killed in that house, with a bit more evidence, all three could be charged with her murder. He would keep this little sledgehammer up his sleeve for the moment, as Reno was right where he wanted him. Throw a murder charge into the mix and he would either clam up, or, based on his previous display of petulance, explode and try to beat them all up.
‘So, Lamar and Harris are talking to DI Davis?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What happened, did the discussion get heated or did she try to run?’
‘She was there as she believed Harris had been kidnapped. It was being used as a lever against her, so she would bring Simon back from Wandsworth to her nick to answer some questions.’
‘What, and she was shot because she refused to do it?’
‘Nah, she agreed to do it all right, but she saw through Harris, the prick. Realised it was a set-up.’
‘What happened then?’
‘He shot her.’
‘Who, Harris?’
‘Nah, it was Lamar.’
It all fell into place. With DS Harris and DI Davis in his pocket, Wood he would have one part of the Met’s anti-drugs capability sewn up. This would not only assist in getting him out of prison, but ensure if Wood’s business was due to be raided, or an investigation was getting too close, they would do everything they could to thwart it.
Matt knew Emma better than anyone, and for Reno to say that she’d agreed to do what they asked of her was smoke and mirrors. She would have only worked for Wood until such time as Jack Harris was no longer in danger. Unfortunately, she discovered Harris’s duplicity too late and they couldn’t let her go after that.
‘You’ve been very helpful, Reno. After this meeting, Matt and I will head upstairs and talk to the local cops about losing some of the charges levelled against you. One last question, where do we find Lamar?’
Chapter 48
Matt didn’t make the connection at the time, but the hou
se at Winnington Road in Hampstead where he’d first spotted Simon Wood after following Harris, belonged to Roderick Lamar. In fact legally, it belonged to his partner, Stacey Hope.
It was a good place for HSA to capture him; being a detached house, they could cover all the exits, but the timing needed to be good or they would be looking at a hostage situation. Most people, even hardened criminals, would be loath to hold a gun to their wife’s or baby daughter’s head, but Matt wouldn’t put it past a scumbag like Lamar. The problem they now faced, he wasn’t there.
Matt knew this as watchers had been waiting outside the house. When at last Lamar showed up to collect something, they’d followed him. Matt and Rosie plus a host of well-armed individuals, were now on their way to Margate.
Officers in the Drugs Unit believed Lamar was heading there to check on the progress of so-called ‘County Lines’. It was an arrangement where predominately young, vulnerable teenagers were given a pile of drugs and a mobile phone. Drug dealers like Lamar left them in a house in a town outside London, often in a drug user’s property where the rent was waived in favour of free drugs, a practice known as cuckooing. When they’d sold all the drugs, the phone was used to order more. If true, in Matt’s mind, it put Lamar into a lower human bracket than before, if such a thing was possible.
According to the team following him, Lamar visited three houses. Most people couldn’t imagine the squalor that would be inside, but Emma had seen plenty, so Matt had a better idea than most. The floor would be littered with dirty needles, the toilet filthy, the kitchen where no one ever thought to wash up would look like a bomb site, and the air would be thick with the sweet pungent smoke of marijuana and cooked heroin.
It was beyond belief to place a vulnerable teenager, often from fractured families, with habitual drug-using parents, or suffering from mental health issues themselves, in such a dangerous environment. With little in the way of protection, they were in danger from aggressive users demanding credit, chancers trying to steal their stash and money and, if they didn’t sell as much as expected, from the vengeance of the drug dealer. An insidious development among the more callous in this business was to set up something similar in the house of a frail, elderly person.
Matt parked the car on Margate seafront. He and Rosie got out. They crossed the road to where other members of the team were gathering. He instructed Joseph and Jess to come with him and Rosie, and told the others to head to the place where Lamar had parked his car. The guys heading to the car park were carrying the largest weapons and more armour, and would look out of place among the drinkers and diners out for a good time on a warm Friday night by the seaside.
While some of his customers smoked their heads off and others injected their veins with their next hit of H, Lamar and his Margate contact were enjoying a quiet drink. They were sitting outside The Bull’s Head pub in Market Street. It was very considerate of them to sit there, as it was a cinch for the HSA agents to watch them without either man noticing.
The two couples, Matt and Rosie, Joseph and Jess, did not look out of place in the crowded street, filled as it was by young people, intent on dispelling the hassles of the previous week and enjoying themselves.
Lamar was tall and muscled and if Matt didn’t know his chosen profession, could have mistaken him for a professional middleweight boxer. His companion, on the other hand, came straight out of Central Casting – Scum-Bag Section. He had long, unwashed hair, his arms and face were thin with red welts marking the skin, and his eyes darted from side to side like a nervous tic. Any cop seeing him would stop and search him immediately, he looked so shifty.
The plan discussed with the other agents before walking here was they would tail Lamar back to the multi-storey where he had parked his car, and the combined force would take him there. It would be quiet, assuming most people out for a boozy evening would leave their cars at home, and those who chose to drive, would have parked in the street to save on parking fees. If so, it would mean the odd stray bullet would be more likely to hit a concrete pillar than someone’s pride and joy, or human flesh.
Matt was drinking from a bottle of non-alcoholic lager, while Rosie held in her hand what looked like a G&T, but without the gin; they both needed to keep a clear head. They were leaning against the pub wall, all the seats outside were occupied, and trying not to look over at the two suspects.
‘I’ve never been to Margate before,’ Rosie said, ‘it looks quite a nice place.’
‘I came a couple of times with my mother when I was a kid. It doesn’t look like it’s changed much.’
‘I like that about seaside places. The buildings look the same as they did when you were a kid and shops still sell beach balls and fish and chips.’
‘Rosie, no way do I see you eating fish and chips, and certainly not out of a paper.’
‘Not my favourite dish I have to admit, but I’m partial to a bit of black pudding.’
Matt walked to the bar to refresh their drinks. Joseph, who was acting as if they didn’t know one another, was standing with Jess on the far side of the tables, effectively allowing the agents to cover both exits. When he saw Matt heading to the bar, he walked inside and stood behind him.
‘Did you notice Lamar’s not drinking?’ Joseph said to Matt’s back.
‘Yep, still has the same beer as when we came in. His mate’s making up for it though.’
‘Definitely. He’s sunk three pints in the last half hour.’
‘Which either means he’s driving back tonight or he’s got some other business to attend to.’
‘Keep cool. Here he comes the greasy mate.’
Matt reached for his change and picked up the drinks. When he turned, Lamar’s companion was behind him, but his attention was elsewhere: the television above the bar tuned to Sky Sports.
Matt walked outside and handed a drink to Rosie.
‘Hold up,’ she said. ‘Lamar’s phone’s ringing. He’s looking around as if he’s searching for his mate, or watchers. He’s picked up his car keys and phone. He’s standing up. He’s out of here.’
Matt placed their drinks on the nearest table and set off to follow. He didn’t feel the need to panic, yet. They knew the three addresses that he’d visited already, and also where his car was parked. Jess, who had also spotted the danger, was walking in front of them, Joseph still at the bar.
Lamar took a right and walked along The Parade. There were plenty of people about, not congregated together like Market Street, but scattered as they stared into shop windows, waited to be served in burger bars, or gazed out to sea and watched dusk descend. It wasn’t the quickest route back to the Trinity Square car park, but to a man who didn’t know the town well it made sense to walk along the seafront and then turn up a street he did recognise. On the other hand, he may have spotted his followers and was trying to lose them before heading back to his car.
Up ahead, Lamar stepped into a shop doorway to light a cigarette. He appeared to be having a problem with his lighter as he kept rotating the wheel. Jess slowed her pace, but she had no choice if she didn’t want to look suspicious. She had to carry on past him. When she drew level with the doorway Lamar was in, he stepped out and smashed a fist into Jess’s face.
‘Shit!’ Matt exclaimed.
Lamar turned and started running. Matt ran after him while Rosie stopped to check on Jess and call for help.
Matt knew from looking at him that Lamar was fit, and the pace he set wouldn’t shame a championship fell runner. He didn’t head to the car park, perhaps sensing an ambush, and legged it instead towards Harbour Arm, a place Matt remembered well. It was a curved, concrete pier jutting into Margate Bay, the sea on both flanks, the side facing the town turning into shallows and mudflats at low tide. At the far end of the Arm, a lighthouse. In daytime when he was a kid, the walk to the lighthouse meant they would stroll past shops selling doughnuts, candy floss, hot dogs and sweets, the smells they emitted all logged into his memory.
Matt was running out of
puff and was convinced Lamar was trying to lead him into a trap. He was wary of the fugitive nipping into a space between the low buildings that lay up ahead on the Arm, to surprise him when he ran past. When the area in front him was clear of human activity, with the exception of the fleeing man, Matt pulled out his gun. He dropped to his knees to steady his hand, and fired.
It was long distance for a handgun, and no surprise when the first bullet missed. Aiming at the broad of his back, the second hit the target in the thigh. It had less effect than if fired from six feet away, and far from dropping Lamar on the deck as Matt hoped, he kept moving, albeit with a limp and using a hand to hold the back of his leg.
Matt ran forward, keeping close to the wall. Lamar was fumbling for his gun and unless he stopped to steady his aim, he wouldn’t have much chance of hitting Matt with a random shot over his shoulder. Matt needed to bring this to an end soon; he could see a bar at the end of the Harbour Arm, close to the lighthouse, and despite the cool night time temperature, a few degrees lower than in the town, many drinkers were seated outside.
Matt was running in the shadow of the wall that sheltered one side of the pier from northerly and easterly winds. Up ahead, the start of a row of commercial buildings, perhaps what used to be the shops Matt remembered from his childhood. The doors of these units opened straight on to the harbour with no deep frontages for a fugitive to hide inside. If his memory served him well, a gap would soon appear with stairs leading to the upper section of the sea wall.
If Lamar reached the upper level, he’d have an advantage when firing at Matt, or he could run past him and back to the town without Matt noticing. Matt stopped running, tucked his gun into his waistband and climbed on a refuse bin, determined to reach the upper level before Lamar. He balanced on the bin and leaned over and grabbed the metal handrail. He was about to haul himself up, when a shot dinged off the rail, close to his hand. Matt ducked back. He waited a few seconds before easing his head out. He stared into blackness but he couldn’t see Lamar.
Another shot rang out, zipping over his head, and Matt realised that Lamar had to be standing at the top of a set of stairs some five metres away. Matt eased back and climbed down from the refuse bin. Keeping the noise to a minimum, he covered the distance quickly and soon reached a gap in the buildings with stairs leading up. He peered round. Lamar was positioned where Matt expected him to be, three steps from the top, pointing his weapon in the direction of where he’d last seen Matt. Matt ducked back and pulled out his gun.
