Marked for Death

by Tony Kent

  The glass was empty. So was the bottle. Good reason for Reid to push himself to his feet. He did not notice the groan that accompanied his movement. It happened every time, caused by a combination of age and weight.

  Reid picked up both the wine bottle and glass and headed to the kitchen. His stride was steady, even after three bottles. One of the few benefits of Reid’s size was his alcohol tolerance. The three bottles had hit him. But not as they would have affected most. It would take a few more before Reid was as drunk as he wanted to be.

  One last bottle of the same Chambertin sat on the kitchen worktop. Another £100. Reid was long past caring. He opened the bottle, filled a fresh glass and made his way back to the living room.

  The sound of a mobile ringtone stopped Reid before he could take his seat. He looked around the room, trying to locate the sound. At first he could not place it. The alcohol had taken at least that much of a toll.

  Finally he spotted the illuminated handset. It was on a side table next to the living-room door.

  Reid picked up the vibrating phone, checked the name of the caller and only then flicked the answer icon from left to right.

  ‘Sarah.’ Reid spoke once the phone was at his ear. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Yes, all fine. I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re holding up after today.’

  ‘I’m OK, Sarah. Really I am.’

  ‘And how was the funeral?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘It was a lovely service. As lovely as they can be, anyway. He had a good send-off at least.’

  Reid felt tears threaten his eyes as he spoke.

  ‘That’s good,’ Sarah replied. ‘Now listen. You don’t need to be by yourself tonight if you don’t want to be. Michael’s just up the road from you. He can come and stay tonight if you like?’

  ‘That’s really nice of you, Sarah. But please, tell Michael I’m good on my own. I honestly couldn’t face company right now.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Just have a few more bottles of wine and watch some TV. Then probably an early night, once the wine kicks in.’

  ‘That’s no good at a time like this, Derek. You need to be with friends. Please, let me send Michael over to you.’

  Reid was unsure how much longer he could hold himself together. The call was not helping.

  ‘Honestly, Sarah. I mean what I said. I don’t need Michael to check on me. This is my first chance to be on my own since Phillip died and I need that time. Please, just tell him to give me a few days.’

  ‘Well . . . OK,’ Sarah said, after a brief hesitation. ‘But remember we’re here the moment you need us, Derek. And remember we love you.’

  ‘OK. I love you guys too. Thanks.’

  Reid took the phone from his ear, disconnected the call and switched it off entirely. He frisbee’d the dead handset onto his couch.

  No more calls tonight.

  The fresh bottle and glass still sat on the table beside Reid’s chair. He filled the glass without sitting, put it to his lips and drained the contents. Then he wiped a tear from his eye. It was replaced by another.

  Reid no longer had control of his emotions. The drink had finally hit.

  It’s about bloody time.

  Derek Reid was not an intrusive neighbour. He took little interest in the comings and goings of the quiet Islington square in which he lived. Paid little attention to either his neighbours or their visitors. Reid respected the privacy of those around him, and he hoped those neighbours would return the courtesy.

  It was an ethos shared by all in Lonsdale Square. A community of wealthy professionals, all seemed determined to keep themselves to themselves. These were people who relied on regular police patrols for their safety and whose trust in that protection made them complacent.

  And so these were not people who would have noticed the pale-eyed stranger who had passed their doors three times in less than an hour.

  FORTY-TWO

  ‘But remember we’re here the moment you need us, Derek. And remember we love you.’

  Sarah listened to Derek Reid’s response. Then to the sound of the line going dead. She took the phone away from her ear. Placed it back into her pocket.

  I hope he really is OK.

  Of Michael’s two closest friends, it was Reid that Sarah knew best. That was inevitable. The other was Joe Dempsey, now based in New York but a man Sarah doubted she would really know even if he lived next door. She would never forget how much she and Michael both owed to Dempsey. How could she? But it was Reid with whom she had built her own friendship.

  It was Reid she had grown to love.

  Sarah knew that Michael was concerned for his old pupil-master. That he feared the impact of Longman’s death. So did Sarah.

  Like Michael, Reid was a man of few friendships. But also like Michael, when he had them they were intense. Michael was like a brother to Reid. Sarah knew that. And she also knew that Longman had been as close as a father.

  It made her worry for Reid.

  He’ll be fine, Sarah told herself. Let him get on with it. You’ve got a job to do.

  Sarah forced the thought of Reid from her mind and took a drink from the water bottle she held in her hand. It was much needed in the heat. Somehow it was still stifling at 6 p.m.

  She dabbed a delicate sheen of sweat from her brow, careful not to take her on-screen make-up with it. She looked across the street as she did so. Towards New Scotland Yard and the mass of reporters and TV cameras that had formed outside of its main doors.

  Two outside-broadcast trucks had parked end to end while Sarah had been using her phone. They blocked her direct route from the river side to the huddled press, but Sarah slipped between them and headed towards Nathan Benson. Her young cameraman had managed to position himself in the centre of the group, securing his lens the best line of sight.

  He’s learning fast, Sarah thought.

  ‘Any update?’ she asked as she reached Benson.

  ‘Nothing we don’t already know,’ Benson replied. ‘You really think what happened on the ferry was connected to Longman?’

  ‘Has to be. Why else were Joelle Levy and MIT One there? The guy’s got to be a suspect.’

  ‘You’d think they’d at least give us a hint. We’ve all been here long enough.’

  The comment came from a cameraman Sarah had never met. She would have remembered the birthmark above his right eye.

  ‘Perhaps they’re too busy trying to catch a killer.’ Sarah felt the need to defend Levy. Not that Levy needed the help. ‘Probably a bit more urgent than press relations, huh?’

  ‘I guess we’ll find that out soon enough.’ Birthmark’s tone was either naturally sour or Sarah had touched a nerve. ‘You know, once they’re finished with the important stuff.’

  ‘Whatever, pal.’ Sarah’s tone was as dismissive as her words. She turned as she spoke, stepped closer to Benson and lowered her voice. ‘When the statement starts, make sure all that guy’s camera can see is your back.’

  ‘With pleasure.’ Benson smiled at the instruction. ‘Where will you be?’

  ‘Nothing to be gained from shouting out pointless questions,’ Sarah explained. ‘I’ll head back across the street and give you a clear view.’

  ‘Got it, boss.’

  Sarah gripped Benson’s shoulder. Just for a moment. It was both a ‘thank you’ and a ‘good luck’ in one gesture, and without another word she manoeuvred her way back through the crowd. Back towards the riverside of Victoria Embankment, where she had been standing when she had called Reid.

  Sarah only felt her phone vibrating once she had come to a halt. She answered as soon as she saw the caller ID.

  ‘Hi. Everything OK?’

  ‘Have you got time to meet?’ Levy asked.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Forty-five minutes. An hour at most.’

  ‘Storeys Wine Bar. Across from the back of Westminster Abbey.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  The phone lin
e disconnected but Sarah did not put her handset away. Instead she tapped the messaging icon, found ‘Nathan Benson’ and began to type: You’re on your own, Nathan. I’ll explain later.

  It was 6.30 p.m. by the time Joelle Levy walked through the pub door. Sarah had been waiting for half an hour. Less time than Levy had estimated.

  Sarah began to get to her feet to catch Levy’s attention. There was no need. Levy had already seen her, so Sarah retook her seat.

  ‘That was quick for a press conference.’

  ‘They don’t drag out when you’re not saying much,’ Levy replied. ‘It’s my round, Sarah. Same order as last time?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  Sarah watched as Levy headed to the bar, noticing her unusual presence as she went. The DCI was not a tall woman and was in no way physically imposing, yet she had something about her which got her noticed. And which got her served immediately.

  Sarah had experienced it herself the first time they had met. Back at Longman’s house. Yet she still could not place what it was. An innate authority, perhaps? Or maybe just natural charisma? Whatever the answer, Levy had it by the truckload.

  Sarah said nothing as Levy returned to the table, took her seat and passed across a large white wine. Only when Levy raised her own glass of vodka and tonic did Sarah speak.

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Levy replied, touching glasses. ‘You’ve no idea how welcome this is after today.’

  Both women took a mouthful of their drinks. Once again neither spoke as they enjoyed their brains’ chemical reward. It made Levy exhale long and hard. Sarah waited for her to finish.

  ‘Long one, was it?’ Sarah finally asked.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Successful?’

  ‘Not for us, no.’ Levy took another sip of her drink. Continued. ‘We made a significant arrest, I guess. Just not in the right bloody case.’

  ‘Any of this for public consumption?’

  ‘Only the really general parts, Sarah. The rest is off the record.’

  Sarah hesitated. What Levy had said was a problem in light of her earlier conversation with Elton. She considered telling Levy that but decided against it.

  At least for now.

  ‘Can I ask why you’re telling me then, Joelle?’

  ‘Same as before Sarah. So you can have your story ready for when it comes on the record.’ Levy looked down for a moment. Then back up. Continued. ‘And to be honest, I need to get a shitty day off my chest. Is that OK?’

  ‘I’m happy to be a friend, Joelle. Once I know where the line is there’s no way I’ll cross it.’

  Sarah welcomed Levy’s request. It made the conversation personal, not professional.

  Which means Elton can go to hell, she thought.

  ‘Thanks, Sarah. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘So. What happened?’

  ‘Wisdom bloody Penfold happened.’ Levy’s face twisted as she said the name, like it had left a bad taste in her mouth.

  ‘Is that the guy from the boat?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘One and the same.’

  ‘I take it from what you just said that he wasn’t involved in Longman’s murder? Or Blunt’s?’

  ‘Correct. I thought he was good for it. He ticked every sodding box, Sarah. Every bloody one. He was represented by Blunt until the relationship fell apart. He was sentenced by Longman and he was recently released. Add to that a capacity for serious violence and it was like he was screaming “I did it!”. That’s why we went after him.’

  ‘Well, you sure as hell got the capacity-for-violence part right. I heard the guy he attacked on the ferry didn’t make it?’

  ‘You mean the cop he attacked on the ferry.’

  ‘The what?’ This was news to Sarah. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘As serious as it gets. The guy he killed was an undercover police officer. So was the woman he hospitalised.’

  ‘Jesus Christ. Were they from your team?’

  ‘No. We knew nothing about them.’ Levy’s voice was as weak as Sarah had ever heard it. ‘We didn’t know they were cops. Not until Penfold basically told us.’

  ‘You mean after they’d been hospitalised? How is that possible?’

  ‘Undercover officers don’t carry ID. Too risky. So we had no way to know. Plus surveillance officers aren’t routinely armed, so the poor bastards had no chance when he jumped them.’

  Sarah took a moment to think. The news was a shock. It also led to an inevitable question.

  ‘But if the victims weren’t part of your team, why were they following him?’

  ‘Because they thought he might lead them to some very serious players on the Continent. Turns out that while Penfold was inside he got very chummy with a guy called Barry Ireland.’

  ‘The gangster?’ Sarah had heard the name. Few in her profession had not. ‘That’s a dangerous connection.’

  ‘But also a profitable one. Ireland has six years left to serve, but he’s still under investigation for some serious stuff. Things that could turn that six years into the rest of his life. First among them is the Bond Street Jewellery Massacre.’

  ‘Shit.’

  There was no more appropriate a response. The Bond Street Jewellery Massacre was legendary. A robbery of three million pounds worth of cut diamonds in which every employee of the jeweller lost their life. Six men and women, all executed in brutal style. No one had ever been charged with the crime and no diamonds had ever been recovered.

  ‘You think Ireland was behind it?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘It’s not that I think it,’ Levy replied. ‘It’s that the National Crime Agency thinks it. Or that they know it, to be more accurate.’

  ‘Well if they know Ireland was involved why don’t they arrest him?’

  ‘Because it’s not that simple. It’s one thing for the NCA to know what’s happened. It’s something else entirely for them to prove it. They need admissible evidence, which is why they were following Penfold.’

  ‘But how could Penfold have been involved? He was in prison when Bond Street happened.’

  ‘He wasn’t involved. But the NCA knew how tight he’d become with Ireland inside. They’ve got informants everywhere and bugs all over the place, including in prison. So they knew Ireland had made a deal with Penfold. That Penfold would collect half the diamonds from one of Ireland’s old team, and that he would take them across to Holland. To where Ireland still has an operation. The NCA knew that was happening, so they were following Penfold. To catch him at Ireland’s place in Amsterdam, diamonds in hand. Which would connect Ireland to the robbery.’

  ‘And what was Penfold getting out of it?’

  ‘The deal was five hundred thousand pounds. According to the prison bug, anyway.’

  ‘The prison bug? So all this was recorded?’

  ‘It was. For all the use that turned out to be.’

  Levy shook her head at her own comment. Sarah understood why. It was a peculiarity of English law that recordings from covertly placed bugs are generally inadmissible as evidence. Instead the police use them for intelligence gathering, allowing them to catch criminals in the act. Often it worked. But sometimes it could go wrong.

  Today, it seemed, was sometimes.

  Levy took another mouthful of her drink. Her glass was almost done.

  ‘Anyway, that was the agreement. Now it looks like Penfold went off script. The NCA raided Ireland’s associate today. The guy who had been holding the diamonds. They found him beaten to death in his flat – his boyfriend, too – and all the diamonds gone. The theory right now is that five hundred thousand wasn’t enough for Penfold. The NCA didn’t realise it but he wasn’t leading them to Ireland’s men. He was planning to sell the entire diamond stash for himself.’

  ‘So that’s why he attacked those poor people? Because he’d murdered Ireland’s guy?’

  ‘That’s what the NCA believe, yeah. Which scuppers their operation against Ireland. But at least they get Penfold on two murd
er counts. Well, three now. And in the meantime my case is back at square one.’

  It was Sarah’s turn to exhale. It was a lot of information to take in. Diamonds. Executions. Double-cross. Nothing Sarah had been expecting when she had taken Levy’s call thirty minutes earlier. Nor when Levy had classed the conversation as ‘personal’.

  Sarah took a long sip of her wine as she processed the new material. Finally she had a question.

  ‘If this guy is capable of murder – and clearly he is – why does that rule him out for Longman and Blunt? What’s to stop him doing that and killing Ireland’s guy for the diamonds?’

  ‘NCA surveillance.’

  Levy finished her own drink – hardly a mouthful – before continuing.

  ‘They’ve had him under surveillance for two weeks. Not twenty-four seven; he managed to lose them when he collected the diamonds and killed Ireland’s man – he was a bit more careful with his movements that day, for obvious reasons – but they were on him at the relevant times. So we know he wasn’t anywhere near Longman or Blunt on the nights they died.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ Levy fidgeted with her empty glass as she continued. ‘Which takes us right back to the beginning. Penfold was the only real suspect we found by cross-referencing Blunt and Longman’s cases. Which means we’re back where we started, searching for a needle in Longman’s haystack of case files.’

  Sarah sat back, slowly shaking her head from side to side. It was not a rejection of what Levy had said. It was despair.

  They really are nowhere.

  ‘So it’s back to the three-file system?’ she finally asked.

  ‘Has to be,’ Levy replied. ‘What else is there?’

  Sarah had no answer.

  ‘I guess there is one upside for you, though,’ Levy continued.

  ‘What’s that?’ Sarah asked, confused.

  ‘Well if it’s not Penfold, that means Michael’s friend Derek Reid’s no longer under threat.’

  Sarah smiled.

  Finally some good news in all of the bad.