Just Kill Them

by Michael Leese

  There was a lengthy pause before Taggert replied. “I agree, it has to be done. I only found out he was coming to London when he physically arrived, but he had detailed plans which strongly suggest he must have had some help. It’s alarming, but not unreasonable, for the police to pose the question. Do you suppose that, if we find someone was helping him, we find his would-be killer? That’s a very disturbing thought.”

  The comments made Healy’s stomach turn acid. She felt a wave of nausea sweep over her. Not for the first time, she was grateful they were on a regular call.

  Regaining her composure, she said, “I thought you might say that, so I’ve already lined up the right people. They’re incredibly discreet and understand they need to move with the utmost sensitivity. I’ll let you know the moment there’s anything to report.”

  “Do that. I’d hate to think one of our people was involved – but, if they are, I'd be seriously tempted to fly back and harm them myself. I really mean that.”

  Healy ended the conversation and headed for the private bathroom. She wanted to freshen up a little – but, when she checked herself in the mirror, all she could see was a traitor. Nothing could shift that.

  Chapter 32

  Hooley had grabbed a couple of hours on a day bed and, after a quick shower, was heading back to his desk. It was just after 4am and the lights were on.

  “Morning, Jonathan.”

  They’d had a brief row a few hours earlier, as Roper had insisted he get some rest. With so little progress on the case, Hooley had been starting to feel the pressure in an almost physical way. It was affecting his concentration, so he had to read things several times over just to make sense of them.

  “You look a lot better for some rest,” Roper said, studying him closely. “Do you mind if we have a quick conversation first?”

  Hooley waved his hand in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. “Please, go ahead.”

  As usual, the younger man was straight to it.

  “You don’t need to worry about me. I will be fine while you are in hospital so if they say you need to go in straight away, that will be good.”

  Hooley went to respond. “Look, I’m not worried about you. I know you… “

  He got no further because Roper cut him off. “I know you are worried about it. I can tell by the way you have been looking at me and then trying to pretend you are not really looking at me. I will be fine. I have learned so much from you that it won’t be like the last time I was on my own.

  “I realise now that I pushed everyone too hard and made unfair demands on them. You have taught me to give people space and not hold them to my standards. I promise that every day I will make the effort to listen to people and answer their questions.”

  Hooley felt himself welling up. The trouble was, he really was worried about Roper. The young detective had no idea how many enemies he’d made at Scotland Yard. That was the trouble with being the most honest person around - when people asked you questions, you told the truth.

  He coughed to cover up his emotion.

  “I know you’ll be fine. You’ve got Julie on your side and Susan will make a difference. Anyway, with a bit of luck, you’ll have me for a little while yet. We don’t know what the surgeon will say until I see him tomorrow.” Then he remembered that Julie Mayweather had called him at about 7pm last night. It felt like days ago. “If she can find the time, Julie is turning up this morning, just a flying visit.”

  They went back to work, trying to ignore a sense of unease.

  Surprisingly, it was the forensic accountants who helped ease the mood. Just after 6am, Hooley took a call from the senior accountant, Roger Croxford. Hooley had never met the man but had heard he was famously relentless. He sounded excited.

  “We’re on to something, thanks to the steer from you guys.”

  Hooley felt his mood lighten immediately. “Can you give me a moment while I put this on speaker so Jonathan can hear?”

  Roper leaped up and perched on the edge of Hooley’s desk. Hooley asked him to carry on as he placed the phone between them.

  “You may be right about the role played by Emily Wong’s father.” Hooley flashed a thumbs up at Roper, who was leaning towards the phone, listening intently. “I’ll spare you the details because they’ve made it very complicated, but we found money in an offshore account that we could link back to a company controlled by her father...”

  Hooley said, “That’s fantastic to hear. Can you give me any sort of guidance on where this might take us?”

  “Well, it seems that, for the last couple of years, substantial sums of money have been traded back and forwards between this account and another offshore account controlled by either Mark Savage, or someone else at Diamonds and Pearls.”

  “Is this strong enough to hold up in court?” Hooley was eager to know.

  “Maybe, but we do need more.” There was a lengthy pause. “I hope that didn’t sound too downbeat. Now that we know what we’re looking at, we will get more. For now, what I can tell you is that it’s a substantial sum of money. High six figures, maybe even seven. Too much to be explained away by routine payments for services. To me, it has all the hallmarks of money laundering. So our next step is making sure that we get the details that firm that up. I never like to get ahead of myself, but I reckon we’ll find everything you need.”

  Hooley ended the call and leaned back in his seat.

  “That is such good news and a massive relief. I feel like a proper detective.”

  This puzzled Roper. “You are a detective,” he said.

  “Of course. But we all need to be reminded from time to time.”

  At that moment a tired, but determined looking, Julie Mayweather appeared. “I knew you two would be at your desks. I’ve got to be at Downing Street in an hour to brief the PM, but I wanted to catch up with you first.”

  Roper noticed the time. “That brilliant cafe will be open now. Who wants a bacon sandwich and coffee?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer – if there was anything left over, he would eat it – and Hooley and Mayweather watched him as he walked out.

  “Is he going to be alright when you have to go into hospital?” Mayweather asked.

  “Funny you should mention that. He told me a couple of hours ago that I wasn’t to worry about him. He’s certainly better equipped now than he was. People are starting to understand him better. It wasn’t that long ago that they thought he was a bit of a prat, but a lot of them get him now and know to give him a bit of space.”

  She couldn’t keep the worry out of her eyes. “Jonathan, and you, are helping drive this investigation forward - even the Head of MI5, a man not given to lavish praise, acknowledged yesterday that you two are pretty good. I think he appreciates the way you can avoid the distractions and stay locked on to your targets.”

  Hooley smiled. “I bet he found that difficult.”

  “He did look like he was sucking a slice of lemon at the time.” Mayweather shook her head. “Anyway, if you get ordered in for this op, how long will we have before Jonathan starts to miss you?”

  “I think if we try to have him reporting to you every day, then he’ll be fine for a few weeks – but that Rainbow Spectrum, it works best when he’s not under pressure. I’m not saying he can’t do it, but it makes it harder for him to get those amazing insights.”

  Mayweather pursed her lips. “The problem is we can all feel the pressure now and it’s not going to ease off. What would be your worst-case scenario?”

  “If I’m really pessimistic, I think you should allow for a week and then hope for more. The problem is that he doesn’t really trust any “normal” people. Unfortunately, that makes me the one person he trusts.”

  Mayweather nodded. “In that case, can you do us all a big favour and solve this before you go into hospital?”

  At that moment, Roper returned with the food. The commissioner apologised and left them to it, leaving Roper with a bonus sandwich which he was very pleased about.


  On a roller coaster day, more good news continued with a telephone update from MI6 chief Andy Fishlock who called Hooley on his mobile.

  “Very interesting about your Mr. Wong. It seems he’s something of a high wire merchant. We had him pegged as an archetypal party loyalist, but there’s a bit more to him than that.”

  He paused and Hooley realised the man was building the moment.

  Fishlock carried on. “As I say, no surprise that he has connections to the Chinese Communist Party, but his contacts are very senior, so he’s more important than we had realised.

  “But we also found out he has serious links to the Triads as well. Now that is important because the Communist Party likes to avoid getting its hands dirty, and effectively sub-contracts the criminal gangs to do the things they can’t be associated with.

  “That can be anything from drug running, sex trafficking and even large-scale intimidation. If he’s in the middle of that then he is a much bigger player than we had given him credit for. In fact, we’ve been underestimating him for a few years so there will be plenty more to come from him.”

  Hooley nodded. “Just as well Jonathan zeroed in on him so quickly. I’ve said it before, but the faster you find things out, the better.”

  He ended the call, briefed Roper and Brooker, and felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Seems like this remote detective work is pretty effective.”

  Roper shrugged. “I was never worried."

  Hooley turned his attention to Brooker. He used to think Roper could put in the hours at his computer terminal, but she was more than a match for him.

  “Are you OK, Susan? It must feel like you’ve drawn the short straw with all the background reading you’ve been doing.”

  She smiled. “No problems at all, I enjoy doing this and I’m good at it. That’s not boasting, it’s just that I never get bored with what I’m doing. Anyway, Jonathan and I had a long discussion about it and it’s the best way to use our resources.”

  Hooley hid his surprise. No one had involved him in this conversation although he could hardly fault their logic.

  It seems the kids were more than alright!

  Chapter 33

  The surgeon’s PA, Cheryl McConnaughey, was polite, understanding and adamant.

  “Once he’s assessed you, the doctor will decide when you’ll need surgery. Then we’ll fit you onto the most appropriate list. I understand what you’re saying… but you really need to discuss it with him.”

  Hooley had always known that it was a long shot to try and dictate the day of his operation but given the circumstances he felt compelled to try. The thought of leaving Roper alone at such a difficult time was too difficult to bear.

  If he was honest, part of him was hoping that the surgeon would say he wasn’t that bad, that he could afford to wait. But it wasn’t a thought that stood up to the greatest scrutiny.

  He had placed the call to McConnaughey on the day he received the diagnosis, and now he was waiting to see the surgeon in his office at Guy’s Hospital, a sprawling complex situated close to London Bridge and not far from the Bank of England.

  He didn't have to wait for long. Soon, the surgeon, a big man with broad shoulders and surprisingly large hands, breezed in. His eyes sparkled with good humour and the DCI liked him instinctively; he would have made a great companion in the pub, he thought, before berating himself for thinking of alcohol at such a moment.

  Turning in his seat, he checked Roper. This morning he’d found him waiting outside the two- bedroom flat in Pimlico that Hooley’s brother, a successful property developer, had presented him following his divorce. It had been a timely intervention; the DCI had been preparing himself for life in a grim bedsit.

  “I suppose telling you you’d be better off in the office won’t make any difference?”

  Roper didn’t reply.

  The DCI shrugged. “Follow me then. I don’t want to be late for the appointment.

  Hooley was pulled back to the present as Mr. Thomas sat down and smiled at both of them in turn, seemingly unconcerned by Roper’s presence. He radiated such a powerful sense of positivity that it was impossible to imagine anything going wrong during one of his operations. Hooley instantly relaxed.

  The surgeon said, “I’ve been able to look at all the video and read the reports – and I can tell you there’s nothing out of the ordinary about what we need to do. Your valve will accept surgical repair very well. You’ll also need a double bypass – but, again, this is routine.”

  The man was so reassuring that Hooley just smiled back at him, all his questions disappearing. He even wondered if Thomas was disappointed that this operation wasn’t going to be a real challenge of his skills.

  The surgeon went on, “From reading your notes, I gather you haven’t felt many symptoms and it was your colleague here who got anxious on your behalf. Well, you did a good job Mr. Roper. But, Mr. Hooley, have you found yourself struggling in the afternoons? I’m talking about feeling tired, even in need of going for a sleep?”

  It dawned on Hooley that this was exactly what had been happening. He had marked it down as normal. “I just put it down to getting older and the pressure of work.”

  He was treated to that grin again.

  “Probably not old age, at least not just yet. You’re far too young. Hopefully we can sort that out with the operation. Now, you’ll need to be in hospital between five and seven days – the actual amount of time you spend will depend on how quickly you recover from the operation. Everyone is slightly different, so don't think of it as a race. It's just about getting well.” He paused and, for the first time, his expression was serious. “Now, I understand the two of you are in the frontline of the search for the idiots behind these bombs – which means you, Mr. Hooley, would like to delay the operation for a long as it is safe.” Thomas turned to gaze out of the window, but he wasn’t looking at the view, just deep in thought. “When you have a damaged heart valve, it isn't something you can just ignore and deal with at your leisure. Normally, I wouldn’t allow anybody to set a date that suits them. But I do understand the vital importance of what you do to keep the rest of us safe. So…”

  Hooley seemed to rise higher in his chair, eager for what the doctor had to say.

  “I will give you two weeks. There are two conditions. First, if you have any change in symptoms, any pains in the chest, any pain anywhere for that matter, you let me know as a matter of urgency. I don't want either of you making judgements on the symptoms.” For just a moment, his gaze lingered on Roper – who seemed to become uncomfortable in the face of scrutiny. “The second thing is that you agree to be regularly monitored during this period. This isn't to say you're in danger, but I want to remind you of how serious your condition is.”

  Hooley couldn't decide whether to be pleased or worried. He hadn’t expected to be allowed to carry on at all, so he had mixed feelings.

  Mr. Thomas looked carefully between the two of them to see if there were any more questions – but even Roper had run out of things to say. At last, they shook hands and left, Hooley promising he would liaise with the PA over the actual date.

  Back on the street, the DCI stopped to send a text message to Julie Mayweather to inform her that he had been granted a fortnight’s reprieve. Her reply came within moments.

  “Fabulous news all round. Don’t underestimate how important you are to him.”

  A few hours later, following a celebratory coffee, Hooley was feeling like he wanted to get out and about, the news from France was making him think here was the perfect opportunity.

  The French authorities were closing in on an address for the runaways. Yet another Roper tip was proving central to solving the case.

  A top-secret report had been forwarded by MI5. Hooley read out the key points.

  “They’ve found them in a flat not that far from Gard Du Nord. According to the French surveillance team, they've only come out to use a brasserie opposite. Otherwise they’
re sitting still.” He paused. “They’d like to know if they should go in and get them. They don't think it's going to be difficult. But the really good news is that MI5 has a fast helicopter standing by at Battersea and we can be in Paris and on site in about ninety minutes. The French are happy to wait for us to get there.”

  Roper didn’t need any prodding. “I think it will be good. We need to be there because they need to see us. They, and Mark Savage in particular, have been acting like they totally control this situation.

  “My Rainbow Spectrum says they think that Paris is their little bolt-hole, where they will be safe from events and can ride out the investigation. They’re about to get a very nasty surprise and it’s critical that they see us over there after it has happened. They need to know that everyone, and every country is working on this and they have no escape.”

  Hooley rubbed his hands together. “And there I was just wanting to see the little toe rags get their comeuppance. As usual you have raised the bar. Come on then Tiger, let’s go get ‘em. I’ve got a squad car on the way. It may even be here by the time we get outside.”

  Roper needed no further invitation and vanished, at speed. The rather slower Hooley spoke into thin air. “Well, the car might be there by the time I get outside.”

  It turned out that getting them to Paris was a major priority and it wasn’t just a car waiting, it was four motorbikes as well. They would be acting in pairs to open the traffic as they raced South. The journey passed in a blur; Hooley doubted he had ever driven through London so fast.

  There was no hanging around at the Battersea Heliport. Waiting staff urged them towards a gleaming Augusta Westland 109 that was only waiting for them. With a top speed of 168 knots - nearly 200 mph - it would get them to Paris in about one hour and ten minutes.