Emily sat forward. ‘Go on.’
‘One of the hotel workers. The worksheet that accompanied the sample has his name as Kane Mitchell. He was part of the front–of-house team.’
‘Hotel staff?’
‘Yeah, the Hythe Imperial. After the shooting we chose some busy locations and got voluntary swabs from people. Took hours. It was one of the longest days I think I’ve ever worked . . . Anyway, this guy worked at the Imperial.’
‘That is interesting. So he did the shooting, rode his bike to Hythe, ditched it beside the canal then made it on foot to the hotel, where he blended back in with his colleagues. And he did this all with an injury?’
‘This is the point where you really have to do some detective work. All I can say is that his sample matches with the motorcycle helmet worn by whoever was riding that bike.’
Emily shook her head. ‘Someone shot the chief of police in the middle of the day, rode off, shot a second man dead in his own kitchen and then disappeared. It’s almost beyond belief. Maybe we should start believing in the impossible!’
‘Who knows what happened?’
‘And you’re only just getting results on this now?’
‘We took thousands of samples. The hotel staff were deemed to be a very low priority, there was some debate as to whether they were sent off at all. It’s very costly.’
‘And isn’t that what matters. We’ll do everything we can to find the man shooting dead police officers, as long as it’s cost effective.’
Ali shrugged, ‘We get the same message all the time. I dread to think how many low-level burglaries could be resolved if we were actually sending off the DNA hits. If the victims only knew.’
Emily stood up. ‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, please. I don’t think I’ve had one all day.’
‘No tea all day? I don’t think I could work like that. I guess the house shooting has kept you lot busy today?’ asked Emily, fishing.
Ali smiled. ‘That’s where I should be right now. You heard about it then?’
‘I don’t know anything more than that there was a shooting,’ Emily lied.
Ali sighed. ‘Ah well. Always a long day when you get a double murder.’
‘A double murder?’ Emily raised an eyebrow.
‘A male and a female — husband and wife.’
‘What was that about then?’ Emily busied herself with the tea, feigning indifference.
‘Who knows? There’s very little at the scene to go on. From the look of the house, they just seemed like an ordinary couple. I guess you just never know, do you?’ Ali shrugged.
‘They must have pissed someone off though.’
‘My colleague reckons it’s a professional hit. You have to really piss off the wrong person to earn that fate. We don’t see many of them down here.’
‘Professional? What makes them think that?’ This was something Emily didn’t know.
‘You learn to tell these things. The scene was too clean for a start, just the two dead bodies and a single splatter, know what I mean?’
‘I’m not sure I do. That doesn’t sound very clean to me.’ Emily was bluffing again.
Ali counted on her fingers. ‘No sign of any disturbance, no forced entry, everywhere left locked, no other wounds on the victims, nothing stolen. They definitely weren’t killed in a fight or tortured for the code to their safe. They didn’t stand a chance. They probably never even saw it coming.’
‘Scary shit.’ Emily held out a cup.
‘Thanks. Yeah. We’ve seen something like it before. My colleague happened to attend a similar job. Reckons it was easily seven years ago but the same MO.’
Emily raised her eyebrows over the rim of her cup. ‘We know the MO then?’
‘Not for sure. You never really do with a professional hit. But Terry said that last one was just the same. Body in the hallway, no sign of a break-in, shot in the head at close range and still wearing their outdoor clothes. They reckon the shooter cut the power, see, so whoever came in was a sitting duck. Seven years ago the entry wound was upwards into the neck, and it was the same today.’
Emily put her cup down. ‘So he hides on the floor in the dark and, what? Waits for the poor fucker to trip over him? How would you know he turned the electrics off? Guesswork?’
‘Well, Terry said that they never found a print, a strand of hair, nothing. After going over the place for several days all they found was a smudge.’
‘A smudge?’ Emily echoed.
‘Yeah. In the cupboard under the stairs. There was a smudge on the dust of the main fuse switch. The bullet was fired upwards through the victim’s neck, so the theory was that he turned the power off, then hid in the cupboard. The first thing you do when you flick a switch and nothing happens is go to the fuse box in the cupboard, isn’t it?’
‘And what? There was a smudge today?’
Ali nodded. ‘There was. We couldn’t be sure but a UV photo shows recent disturbance. Not a print — our killer was careful. Just a smudge.’
‘Another smudge.’ Emily began to feel like a chorus.
‘Exactly. The male was shot from the floor too. The bullet entered his front teeth and it was moving upward. It went out through the top of his head. Maybe it’s just a coincidence . . .’ Ali shrugged.
‘Maybe. Us detectives don’t believe in coincidences though, Ali.’
‘CSIs are the same.’
George Elms swept in past Ali and threw his bag onto his desk.
‘Alright?’ Emily called out.
‘Yeah. Dandy,’ George replied, and nodded at Ali.
‘Kettle’s just boiled.’ Emily raised her cup.
‘Great.’
Emily indicated the CSI. ‘Ali’s come to tell us there’s been a hit on the DNA from the motorcycle helmet.’
‘Ah, the helmet. Yes, I read about that. Wasn’t it found close to the second murder scene after the chief was shot?’ George had actually read the report closely.
Emily nodded. ‘Thassit. Hit on Kane Mitchell.’
George thumped the table. ‘Mitchell! That’s the name he gave.’
‘He was working at the Hythe Imperial, front of house. We need to get down there, George, see what people know about him. Who knows, he might even still be there. He might even park our car for us.’ Emily giggled.
George didn’t even break a smile. ‘It’s a waste of time, Ryker.’ He stood looking at his computer screen.
‘How is it a waste? It’s the last place we know he was!’
‘We’re not going to find him by going to places he was, Ryker. Don’t you get it? The DNA was a voluntary thing, right? That means that he gave his sample knowing we would match it up. He knows we will go down to the hotel and trace his movements. He knows that, Ryker, because he knows what we’re going to do before we do ourselves. It’s all part of his fucking game. He controls our movements by leaving breadcrumbs for us to sniffle at, like little squirrels.’
‘I’ve got to get back to it.’ Ali put her half-empty cup on the desk and strode out of the room.
Emily took a breath and managed to swallow her retort. ‘So what do you want to do?’
George put down his mouse and spun to face her. ‘He’s a criminal, and he’s getting resources from somewhere. He’s being hidden, he’s firing guns, and he’s shooting people at the top end of the drug supply chain. All that means that there are other criminals who know something about him. That’s your remit, Ryker. Get me some intel I can use. I’m two years out of the loop. Get me a list of the main drug suppliers, and the people who sell guns. I want to know who’s shifting the most gear on the streets. At least one of them knows something about Kane fucking Forley or Mitchell, or whatever he’s going by. Get me something that can help us find him.’
Emily folded her arms. ‘You’re not angry at me, George.’
‘Maybe I am. Maybe I’m angry at anyone who isn’t helping me right now. Get me that intel by the end of the day. Then I can get out there and f
ind out what these people know. Send a fucking chimp out to the hotel and have him write down the three-month-old intel, ’cause I ain’t wasting my time with it.’ He turned away.
Emily spoke to his back. ‘Of course you know better, George. You just try holding out that badge and asking the dealers what they know. You’re gonna get nothing but a stony silence. I’ve seen it a million times, so don’t talk to me like it’s my fucking first day. Criminals don’t tell police about other criminals unless they have to, and we haven’t got anything to offer, have we?’
‘Bullshit.’
‘Think about it. How many times have you flashed your badge at someone and got a straight answer? It doesn’t work. It never has.’ Emily shook her head.
‘I want a list of people by the end of the day. Maybe I have no intention of just asking. Ed Kavski was scum, but he taught us a thing or two about getting information on criminals.’
‘And how did Ed Kavski end up, George? Think about that!’
Emily didn’t watch him storm out of the office. She’d already turned away.
Chapter 16
Emily was still angry when she entered the public library. It had once been a church, and the hushed atmosphere went well with its new role. They sold good coffee too. Emily took her mug to one of the computers and waited to be authorised by the library assistant, who seemed to be struggling.
Her terminal became active at last and Emily gave the woman at the counter a thumbs-up. The email account already showed a new message in drafts. Emily glanced around. She was pretty much on her own.
It took a few moments for the message to appear.
There’s something going on, the family are busy, they’re on the fucking warpath. Took someone out last night, some other poor fucker chained to a chair this morning. All is not rosy. We need to talk about my exit.
Emily sniffed. It was not going to be easy to arrange an exit for him. He’d been on a crew a few years now. He was even running one, and from what she could determine, he was getting jobs done. They didn’t let people like that just walk away, not without asking a lot of questions. She highlighted the body of the email, and it disappeared when she typed her reply.
It’s all possible. The one way we mess up an exit is by rushing it. You will get an opportunity to go, usually it just happens with time but we can manufacture a way out. We just need to think things through, wait for the right moment.
Emily saved the draft and sipped at her coffee. She logged out of the email account and into Facebook. She only used it to track criminals but when there really was nothing else to do she liked to peer in on other peoples’ lives. She saw that it was fifteen years to the day since she had left school. One of her friends was now a housewife with a rich husband, the sort that ‘did lunch’ every day and complained about everything. Emily was becoming increasingly jealous of people outside the police. Imagine worrying about what time to get up to get to the Next sale, or where to get the dog manicured! ‘Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens,’ she said aloud. ‘Ain’t that the truth!’
It had been long enough. Emily logged back into her email and clicked on the new draft.
We need to get ‘manufacturing.’ I need to be getting out. I’ve got a bad feeling about all this. Can we meet?
‘Fuck!’ said Emily, and looked around to make sure no one had heard. She’d never run an undercover before. She hadn’t ever wanted to. She really couldn’t cope with getting a copper killed. The golden rule was to avoid having the UC agent contact any known officers. Ever. Emily was a known officer.
We don’t need to meet, it makes you vulnerable. We can sort this without. I saw the overnight report from here, your job was well timed, the shooting has taken the focus off it. Lennockshire have got no idea and I don’t think there will be too much focus either.
I know it’s a tense time over there. You keep doing what you’re doing and this could work well for us. The family won’t be letting anyone else in, they’ll move people up from within, this could be when you really get in among it.
Emily hoped she sounded encouraging. Trying to talk this man into staying put made her feel guilty. It was easy for her. Here she was, drinking her coffee, a safe distance between her and the foremost crime family in the county. She quickly logged back into the account, knowing she would have a reply. It wasn’t what she hoped for.
We need to meet. I will call you when I can. If you don’t answer I will walk into the station and become your problem.
‘Fuck!’ Emily swore again, and typed rapidly.
Don’t be silly. I’m just saying that we need to be careful. For your sake.
Tell me a time. We’ll talk.
Emily closed the email account. She was about to shut down the terminal but clicked back into Facebook. Another ex-school friend had posted a picture of her new set of nails. They were pretty too, each one slightly different. ‘Fuck that,’ Emily said, and picked up her coffee.
Chapter 17
George walked back into the office. There was no one there. He’d wasted twenty minutes and a pound on a shit coffee from the top floor. He should have bitten his tongue and stayed where he was.
A piece of paper sat on top of his keyboard. He recognised Emily’s handwriting. It gave a list of names with one-word offences next to them, and a reference number so he could find them on his computer. She had signed off with a cartoon picture of a penis. He noticed that his screen was now on and waiting for his password. He felt bad. He knew he wasn’t angry at her. It wasn’t Emily’s fault. But fuck it, it had gotten him some of the information he needed.
He scanned the list. Six names. Two were people supplying the area with class A, both from Merseyside. One was thought to be the main man running the dealing on the frontline, then a couple of active burglars. The last one caught his eye.
‘Carl Matten,’ he said aloud. Emily had written a brief summary next to his name: Also part of the Scouse line. They’ve got a foothold in Langthorne since Kavski. Matten’s fallen out with the line, he’s got desperate and turned to robbing other dealers — intel states he’s using a firearm. Most recent intel is that he’s working with a London gang from Woolwich who have Ashford and want Langthorne. Source says he got the firearm local.
George addressed the empty office. ‘A firearm.’ He clicked through a couple of screens on his computer, brought up Matten from a list of possibles, and readied a pen. He was showing NFA, but there were two addresses where he might be staying. Grabbing Emily’s note, George scooped up the keys to the Skoda.
* * *
‘Jesus, Mother and Mary.’ It was a woman’s voice. Helen must have fallen asleep. Even the smallest movement caused her pain, and the effort of keeping herself still for so long had worn her out. Her whole body hurt. She lifted her head, and winced.
‘This is no way to be treating people,’ the woman said. She stooped to look at Helen. From her dark brown eyes, Helen guessed she was an Alcani. The mother, maybe. The woman was smiling. It seemed genuine, caring even. She wore a vest top, and the skin of her arms was wrinkled.
‘Do you have any water?’ Helen rasped. She was parched. She was hungry too, but most of all she yearned to move her limbs and shake off the numbness.
‘Jack-Jack!’ The woman shouted across Helen. ‘Jack-Jack! I don’t care what he said, get over here and sort this out. This isn’t how we treat our guests.’ The woman had her hands on her hips.
Helen looked up at her. She heard a scuffling behind her, someone who dragged his feet. Just like the man who had trussed her up.
‘Get her out of these.’ The woman gestured at the chains.
‘The boss, he said she stays here until he tells me different.’
‘Who’s the boss here, Jack-Jack? You already pissed me off. Don’t be telling me no again.’
The man didn’t reply. The woman didn’t budge. Helen got the impression she was used to getting her way. Sure enough, the chains on her shoulder moved. It felt as if the blood pumping throu
gh her veins was suddenly boiling. The pain was excruciating.
‘Thank you.’ Helen closed her eyes.
‘We women have got to look after each other around here.’ She raised her voice. ‘This isn’t how we treat people.’ His rough hands tugged the last chain clear of Helen’s body.
‘Can you stand?’ asked the woman.
Helen rocked forward onto her legs. They took her weight.
‘Good,’ the woman said. ‘Let’s get you something to eat and drink.’
Helen limped after her to a truck parked just behind the 4x4, and managed somehow to haul herself up into the passenger seat.
‘Who are you?’ she said.
The woman smiled, and started the engine. ‘Despite what the men out there seem to think, I’m the boss.’
* * *
The first address was empty. The second one looked more promising. Along the front was a row of shops — a convenience store, a Polish food shop, a launderette, a café and a kebab and pizza takeaway. The door to the flats above was at the rear. George concentrated on the kebab shop, since his target flat was directly above it. He could see a metal staircase leading up in that direction. There were two flats, one at each end of the landing. George could see part of the door to his target flat. It appeared to be made of pine, and opened inward, with a single lock halfway down. Perfect for rapid entry.
But George wasn’t here for rapid entry. He wasn’t actually sure what he was here for, but that didn’t stop him jumping the wall into the rear yard and pacing silently towards the steps. He took them two at a time, up to the flat. There was a window on the next floor up, but none on his level. George had been in many similar places. The front door would most likely open into a hallway, with the main living rooms all at the far end, overlooking the street. The bathroom, and maybe a storage area, would be at the back. This meant that anyone inside the flat would be a long way from the door.
George considered his options. Quietly breaking into the flat of a suspected drug dealer, who might be sitting inside with a firearm and acute paranoia was not the best idea. But Emily’s words rattled around in his mind. She was right. He’d get nothing by flashing his badge. They would have to be a lot less predictable if they wanted to find someone like Kane Forley.
END GAME a gripping crime thriller full of breathtaking twists Page 8
