by Ted Tayler
“His grandfather, from Bangor. It was his middle name. When the police notified them of their only daughter’s murder, Martin Hanigan, suffered a heart attack, and died.”
Rusty drained his wine glass.
“An early night, did you say?”
“Mm. Will I get a reward for doing so well, do you think?” said Artemis.
“From Athena?” Rusty replied, getting up and holding out a hand.
“No, you big ape,” she said, slipping an arm around his waist, “from the man I love.”
“When you said that Athena needs to hear this first thing,” said Rusty. “Could we let them sleep a while longer before we disturb their Saturday morning?”
They walked into the bedroom. Events across the country meant a leisurely weekend for anyone at Larcombe was out of the question.
*****
Hugo Hanigan was up bright and early. He wanted to see the headlines. There was no chance of this being hidden away in the middle pages or become a footnote to a news bulletin. His TV screen showed a reporter outside a semi-detached house in the suburbs. He turned up the volume to listen to what he had to say.
‘A small barbecue grill still stands in the enclosed rear garden, drinks and snacks sit unclaimed, on a side table. The plastic chairs strewn across the lawn are the only sign a party ended in bloody violence. A group of twelve friends and neighbours had gathered at this modest house in Battersea Close, Brent Cross, last night for a house-warming party. At eight o’clock the party-goers moved indoors as the temperature dropped. A few stayed outside, smoking. A black van drove into the cul-de-sac, and parked at the end, facing towards the exit. Neighbours say its headlights were blazing, the engine was running, and two hooded men got out. They walked to the side gate of number twenty-two behind me and kicked it open. The men disappeared from view. Seconds later, loud bangs were heard. At first, it was thought to be fireworks. Even the guests inside the house were confused. Then people from the garden came running indoors, screaming and splattered with blood. Two more shots rang out above the bedlam that followed. The neighbours watched the front door of the house thrown open, and party-goers spilt out onto the street, shouting and running for their lives. The gunmen ran back to their van, jumped inside, and sped away. Those that had stayed inside the house, cowering behind sofas, or hiding in the bathroom, emerged to help those who were shot. The victims, a woman of twenty-five, and a man of twenty-seven were treated by paramedics who arrived at the house at eight-seventeen pm. Both were hit in the stomach and legs. Then they both received a single shot to the head at point-blank range. “This was an execution,” a police spokesperson told me when interviewed. The reporter continued with his report. The attack came only days after the male victim, Simon Greaves, served as a juror in the Tommy O’Riordan trial at the Old Bailey. The gang leader was found guilty of the murder of a former colleague, Michael Devlin. O’Riordan is due for sentencing on Monday. Simon Greaves worked at Heathrow Airport as a baggage handler. His wife Dani was the second victim. She ran a mobile hairdressing business. Her parents had been looking after the couple’s two daughters, Maisie and Roxy while Simon and Dani were out. They had attended a house-warming party held by new arrivals to the street. A neighbour told me the family are distraught, “Simon was just doing his civic duty, this ain’t right” she said. Now back to the studio.’
The newsreader thanked the reporter and wrapped up the item by saying a Metropolitan Police detective described the shooting at the barbecue as indiscriminate. Despite suggestions from eye-witnesses, they maintain the target was unclear at this stage. They assured the public that incidents such as this are very rare. They stressed there was nothing concrete to suggest the murders any way related to the court case, but enquiries continued.
Hugo laughed at the ineffectual police response.
“Even when it’s staring them in the face, they still can’t see it,” he stormed. “I ordered the attack. I chose the victims. One of them helped find my mate Tommy guilty. The wife’s death was necessary to get across the message. Nobody crosses me and gets away with it. Wring your hands as much as you want, mourning the poor young things, and those sweet kids with no mummy, and daddy. Get used to it. This is just the beginning.”
Alone in his apartment, yelling at his large-screen TV, nobody heard Hugo ranting and raving.
Around the country, people turned on their televisions or collected their newspapers, and the horrific pictures and reports from Brent Cross threatened to dominate the conversation over the coming weekend.
*****
At Larcombe Manor, Athena and Phoenix watched as the drama unfolded. Hope was much improved, so much so, that she had wanted to be up at the crack of dawn. While the couple entertained their lively daughter, Artemis and Rusty continued to sleep.
“And so, it begins,” said Phoenix.
“That poor young couple, and their daughters,” said Athena. “How terrible.
“We need to get everyone in for a meeting,” said Phoenix, heading for the shower. “I’ll get washed, and dressed, then I’ll start making calls.”
“We haven’t got Maria Elena on hand remember,” Athena called after him, “she and Giles are in Devon. Please apologise to her for the short notice. Ask Kelly if she can babysit Hope for the morning.”
“Good idea,” called Phoenix. “If they’re serious about starting a family, she needs the practice. I hope Little Miss Lively doesn’t put her and Hayden off kids for good.”
Everything was in place within thirty minutes. Kelly and Hayden were now taking care of Hope, who looked at ease with being introduced to her new babysitters. Why her mother made such a big deal of it, Hope couldn’t imagine. These two had been at the wedding reception. Did they think she didn’t remember faces?
Rusty and Artemis realised as soon as the call came that something major had occurred overnight. They got ready as fast as they could and skipped breakfast.
“We need to hear what Athena has to say first, and then I need to pass on my news,” Artemis said, as they hurried along the corridor from their apartment.
“My guess is, it will be pertinent,” said Rusty.
Henry Case bumped into Minos and Alastor on the staircase, as they too made their way to the meeting room.
“Any ideas, chaps?” he asked.
“Brent Cross murders, at a guess,” said Minos. “There’s a chance they’re connected to a gangland court case from last week.”
“Blimey, I missed the news today,” said Henry.
Phoenix and Athena hurried to the meeting room. The seven agents arrived together. Once inside, Athena took control.
“Last night, in Brent Cross a young couple was killed. Simon Greaves sat on the jury in the Tommy O’Riordan case at the Old Bailey. O’Riordan was found guilty of murder on Wednesday. He’s due in court for sentencing on Monday. The Met police won’t confirm the two things are related yet, but after the killings in the week leading up to Easter, I believe ‘HH’ is behind this.”
“Hugo Hanigan,” said Artemis.
“You confirmed his identity then?” asked Athena, surprised at hearing the name.
“I worked late last night and uncovered his new name. I worked out how the Glencairn Bank got its name and identified the trigger that started this violent campaign within the gang network.”
“You’ve been busy. Fill us in on the details,” said Athena.
Artemis told them what she had discovered.
“Hanigan is the driving force behind the network, as we thought,” said Phoenix. “The earlier murders were designed to send a chilling message to the gang memberships. We should anticipate his crazed mindset will expect the nation to sit up and take notice of him. He wants people to realise the stranglehold the network can exert over events in every aspect of life around the country. He’s dangerous.”
“If Hanigan ordered these murders last night, then we should act at once,” said Minos. “It’s unlikely a single juror would be targeted unless he had been nobbled. Did Simon
Greaves receive payment to deliver a ‘not guilty’ verdict, I wonder? We must check, Artemis. If not, then the other jurors are at risk.”
“I agree,” said Phoenix. “Artemis, contact the ice-house please, and get someone on duty to check whether Greaves’s bank account shows evidence of a large deposit. Get them to find the names and addresses of the other jurors too. The Met police might drag their heels deciding whether there’s a connection, and Hanigan could have hit-squads lined up waiting to take more of them out.”
Artemis left the room to call one of the team on the day shift underground.
“I know the Judge who sat on this case,” said Minos. “I hope he and his family aren’t in any danger. Reuben Finkelman was two years behind me at Cambridge. Our paths often crossed while I was a High Court Judge, and he climbed the ladder.”
“We’ll send agents to give twenty-four-hour cover, Minos,” said Athena, “the rule of law is sacrosanct. We may operate outside it on occasion, but only when necessary. We can’t allow criminals to interfere with due process. O’Riordan must receive the sentence on Monday morning that Judge Finkelman will be considering over the weekend. Hanigan must not halt that.”
“I have to admit, I haven’t been following this case, Minos,” said Phoenix, “what have I missed?”
“O’Riordan is from the same estates in Dublin as McTierney, Hanigan, and the rest. Many Irish families moved here before, during, and after The Troubles. Not every family contained criminals. It’s possible Hanigan is seeking retribution on behalf of a comrade, or a loved one. O’Riordan is a gang leader operating in the borough of Kilburn. His drug money passes through Hanigan’s bank. One of his cronies, Michael Devlin was a police informant. His evidence led to several low-level villains being sent to jail. O’Riordan believed as a grass, Devlin was the lowest of the low. He tortured and shot Devlin in a scrapyard owned by one Maurice Kelly. Kelly was the only witness available to the prosecution. His evidence was crucial in the guilty verdict. Maurice, and his wife Deirdre, it appears, are in the witness protection programme. So, if that’s secure, which one prays it is, they should have nothing to fear from Hanigan.”
Artemis had returned to the table. The wheels had been set in motion.
“I think we should at least check,” said Athena. “don’t you?”
“I’ll follow that up, Athena,” said Rusty.
“Where do we go from here?” asked Henry Case.
Athena considered things for a moment.
“I propose we research whether we provide cover for the Finkelman family until the police are on the same page. We get confirmation the Brent Cross murders are linked to the O’Riordan case. Using the same logic, we guard the remaining jurors, until the Met assume responsibility. They must never learn we were ever there. Then, if Rusty confirms the witnesses are still in hiding, and not in immediate danger, we turn our attention to Hanigan. We know who he is, and why he’s behaving as he is these days. We have yet to track him to his lair. He needs to be dealt with, and the sooner the better.”
Brave words, but were Olympus too late?
CHAPTER 7
Saturday, 26th April 2014
In the capital, Hugo Hanigan watched the aftermath of the Brent Cross murders unfold. The police had swarmed over the street. They had parked incident vans, erected tents on the back lawn of number twenty-two, and dozens of officers in paper suits crawled around doing fingertip searches.
“It’s a charade,” he laughed, “what do they think they’ll find? Buried treasure; or a weapon, spent casings, maybe incriminating fingerprints? Do me a favour. I don’t employ buffoons. Anyone that naïve deserves to be in prison. This was a professional job. They would be better spending their time protecting the others on my list.”
Hugo phoned Sean Walsh for an update.
“Have you found Kelly yet?” he asked.
“We’ve had a tip-off he went north to Newcastle. I’ve got our people asking questions in the right places on the streets.”
“Good,” said Hugo, “the sooner we find him the happier I’ll be. Have our other teams reported in yet?”
“I should get news within the hour. One had a legal matter to sort out in the country, the other was in south London visiting a young lady.
“Excellent,” said Hugo, “call me, when you receive confirmation things went to plan.”
“Keep watching the TV. You’ll hear before I can get hold of you,” said Walsh, with a laugh, and ended the call.
*****
When Artemis got back to the ice-house, it didn’t take long for her to confirm Simon Greaves as a totally honest citizen. O’Riordan’s gang colleagues hadn’t paid him to pervert the course of justice.
Artemis called Rusty to tell him the news.
“I thought that would be the case,” he said, “you don’t get many instances of jury tampering. No more than a hundred trials a year where it’s attempted. Judges only order jury protection on a maximum of ten occasions a year. London courts receive close protection from the Met, but the possibility of interference increases the further you go into the countryside.”
“I can’t say we saw much evidence of it while I served at Portishead,” said Artemis, “then again, we didn’t suffer much gangland crime. Nor many cases where intimidation was a factor. From what I picked up over the years, attempts come to light after the trials have ended.”
“We’ve started mobilising our teams to give short-term cover for the eleven remaining jurors,” said Rusty. “How’s the list of names and addresses coming?”
“I’ve just received the details, Rusty,” Artemis replied, “I’ll send it through straight away.”
“Athena may have to add this expense to the list of things she discusses with Zeus,” said Rusty. “Providing twenty-four-hour protection will be expensive. At least the trial is now at an end. The Met has to stump up for monitoring juries in sensitive cases for weeks, sometimes months in long-running trials. That’s on top of protecting the witnesses. Not everyone goes into witness protection like this guy Kelly.”
“Although interference levels are low, it’s on the increase, isn’t it?” asked Artemis.
“Yeah, and no big surprise,” said Rusty. “It’s because of the funds available to drug traffickers and other serious criminals to thugs to carry out their dirty work. If you add in the recent newcomers from parts of the world where interference in the criminal justice system is commonplace, this problem will only get worse.”
“The joys of the open borders policy,” said Artemis. “Have you received that list?”
“Ah, yeah,” said Rusty, “thanks, I’ll let you get on. I’m getting together with Phoenix to liaise with our units in London. The sooner we can find these jurors, and Minos’s Cambridge chum, to check they’re safe, the better.”
“Bye, darling,” said Artemis. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Rusty collected together the details of the people they needed to locate and protect. He called Phoenix, told him he was ready, and his friend suggested they meet in ten minutes in the orangery.
“Here we go again,” said Phoenix when he arrived. Rusty sat, waiting for him.
“Where do we start?” asked Rusty.
“Let’s assign the jurors to our guys in London. It shouldn’t take them long to put surveillance teams in place. Do any of them live outside the city boundaries?”
“Not the jurors, no,” replied Rusty, “but his Lordship lives in Surrey.”
“It’s always dangerous to assume,” said Phoenix, “but as the first victim was a juror, we’ll protect those first, and then get to the Judge. Where do we stand regarding the witness protection couple?”
“I was checking up on that before Artemis called with these juror details,” Rusty replied. “I hadn’t made much progress. Official sources are tied up tight, which is a blessing. It’s a shame Giles isn’t available this weekend. He’s got the skills to hack into those official sources, find what we want, and get out again with nobody being an
y the wiser. Artemis is good, very good, but she’s not Giles Burke. I’ll ask her if any of the others underground on this shift can access the ‘dark web’ with the same ease.”
“If we need Giles back here, we’ll call him,” said Phoenix. “He can give Maria Elena one here. He needn’t drive down to Devon to do it.”
“Let’s see how we get on with the first job,” said Rusty. “As soon as we’ve got that in place, I’ll contact Artemis.”
They split up the list of jurors between them and phoned the team leaders of the agents in London. Once that was completed, they had to wait for news their charges were at home, and surveillance had begun. The team leaders were ordered to intercept and eliminate anyone who looked suspicious and keep hoping for the Met police to arrive. The sooner their resources could be freed up and moved elsewhere, the better.
“While we’re waiting, let’s concentrate on Maurice Kelly and his wife,” said Rusty.
“I suppose we should be grateful it’s difficult to find where they’ve been placed,” said Phoenix, “that means it will be just as hard for Hanigan. The system was designed to keep the most vulnerable court witnesses safe, but concerns exist over the level of support provided after the trial ends. Those concerns are voiced on both sides, from witnesses and police chiefs. Did you know these witnesses must sign an agreement, or they’re not protected in full? They don’t receive a copy of the agreement they sign either, and they’re not entitled, or able to seek legal advice concerning the content.”
“What happens then if there’s a dispute?” asked Rusty.
“The stock reply from the police is always don’t worry, everything will be taken care of, but often that is not the case. The police only care about conviction. They need to get both sides of these procedures sorted out. At a time when they’re trying to encourage more people to come forward to give evidence against serious and organised crime, that’s essential.”
A phone rang on the table. It was Rusty’s. He picked it up.
