Deep Cover

by Leigh Russell

  ‘I’ll make sure that fucking bastard’s given a watertight new identity, even though he’s probably done away with more innocent people than you’ve had hot dinners,’ Jack said. ‘Does he have any family?’

  ‘How should I know? I’ve been hired to get rid of him, not to be his best friend.’

  ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t, because he won’t be able to contact them again after we pull him in, not without risking blowing your cover.’

  ‘With any luck, he’ll give us enough information to put his boss away for a long time,’ Ian said. ‘By the time anyone catches up with him, if they ever do, the job will be over and I’ll be gone.’

  Jack nodded. ‘You were never planning on staying with us permanently, anyway, were you?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I can tell when a man is working with us because that’s where he really wants to be, and when he’s taking a break from whatever shit his job – or life – is throwing at him. You’re here to get away from something, aren’t you? By the time we’ve finished nailing that bastard new boss of yours, the troubles that sent you here won’t look half so bad. It’s a shame,’ Jack went on, when Ian didn’t answer, ‘you’re a natural at this. Bloody hell, one meeting with the boss and you’ve got him eating out of your hand. Officers like you don’t come along every day. Most of us have to work for months to earn trust. Must be your mug makes you look the part. You’re a natural thug.’ He laughed gently.

  ‘It was Jenny really,’ Ian replied. ‘She was the one who put in the ground work. I just breezed in when she had established the trust.’

  ‘Yes, she’s good. One of the best in her own way. So, where’s your target now?’

  Ian gave him the address where Nick was being kept. ‘The boss has given me the key, and told me he wants the job done by midnight tomorrow.’

  ‘By midnight tomorrow? What does he think this is? A Hollywood B-movie? All right, all right, so we need to act fast. Best to get it over with, anyway. The longer we procrastinate, the more chance there is that it will all go pear-shaped. Sort out how you’re going to do it, and bring the target to me the first chance you get tomorrow. The lock-up is probably being watched, but make sure you lose them once you’ve picked him up, and bring him in without anyone else knowing about it. It’s crucial no one sees what you’re about or your cover’s blown and then you’re no use to me. In fact, you’ll be no use to anyone after that, because someone will have blown your brains out.’

  Ian nodded tensely.

  ‘If you think you’re being watched, if there’s even a sniff of a chance, drop him off somewhere you can’t be overlooked, and tell him if he ever returns or contacts the boss or anyone else in his outfit, you’ll finish the job properly next time. Make up some bullshit reason for not finishing him off that doesn’t blow your cover. Once we get our hands on him, we won’t be able to hide your real allegiance any longer, but we’ll give him a clear choice: years in the nick, or freedom with a new identity and money to blow. I don’t think he’ll be running back to the club in a hurry, not with what we’ll be offering in exchange for the boss who tried to have him dealt with. Once we’ve got the target, you can go back to the boss and tell him the job’s done, and all the while we’ll be pumping the stooge for everything we can squeeze out of him.’

  In guarded language, they worked out Ian’s narrative. He would say he had strangled Nick in the lock-up to avoid any mess in his vehicle while he was moving the body. He drove out to an isolated spot, weighed the stiff down with rocks, and dumped him in the Thames. It sounded plausible enough. Ian would liaise with the Metropolitan Police Marine Unit and identify a location along the river, accessible by road, where a body could feasibly be thrown into the water without risk of being observed. That was the story Ian would tell Tod, who would hopefully accept it without question.

  ‘There’s no reason why he wouldn’t accept the story,’ Jack said.

  ‘What if he wants to see the proof for himself?’

  Jack laughed. ‘Tell him he’ll have to dredge the river.’

  ‘Do you really think this is going to work? That he’ll be prepared to take my word for it?’

  ‘Time will tell. In the meantime, you have to get going. Your boss is one of our main targets in London. We’ve been after him for a long time. Don’t mess this up. Not now we’re so close. Now go. You have a deadline.’ Jack smiled with grim satisfaction and glanced quickly around before putting a key on the bench between them. ‘A white van will be parked at the end of the dead end where you’ll find the lock-up. Let’s do this, and whatever other shit is going on in your life right now, make sure you don’t fuck this up as well.’

  10

  Aware of the potential repercussions if his plans went wrong, Ian locked his wallet, keys, warrant card and watch in the top drawer of his desk at the police station. With nothing but the keys he had been given by Tod and Jack and around fifty quid in cash stowed in the pocket of his jeans, he set off. He took the underground as far as Great Portland Street, from where he hurried along the street towards the lock-up garage where Nick was being held captive. In all the noise and bustle of traffic, he understood the logic of killing someone in a soundproofed lock-up garage at night. Tod had thought of everything.

  He did not go directly to his destination, but took a ten-minute stroll with frequent stops to look at the shop windows and buildings he passed, to check he was not being followed. The streets were not very busy and at last, satisfied he was not being tailed, he walked south down Great Portland Street, turning west into Devonshire Street until he reached Hallam Street from where he turned off through a square archway between high brick walls into Bridford Mews. It was a dingy backwater with a cobbled roadway and a row of garages on either side. At the end of the cul-de-sac he spotted his designated vehicle, a filthy white van, parked beside abandoned planks of wood and dirty cardboard boxes. It had been turned around for a speedy getaway. The mews was overlooked by high office blocks, but no one was visible at any of the windows and there were no lights on in any of the buildings. At that time of night, the place was deserted.

  Ian trotted over to the van and started it up to make sure the engine wouldn’t let him down. Satisfied, he took out the small key Tod had given him. The thought of Nick pacing the interior of the lock-up, waiting to be shot, was sickening. All the same, he was cautious opening the door in case Nick jumped him. He had worried unnecessarily.

  ‘Jesus,’ he blurted out, horrified by the stench as much as the sight of Nick chained to a massive metal ring on the wall, unable to sit and barely able to walk.

  Nick raised his head and moaned.

  ‘Do exactly what I say, all right?’ Ian snapped.

  ‘Fuck you, just do it,’ Nick mumbled. ‘I know why you’re here. Get it over with, fuck you.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Ian replied, gazing around for any recording devices.

  Unable to see any wires, he approached the filthy prisoner.

  ‘Don’t say anything. I’m not going to shoot you,’ he muttered, fumbling with the locks on the chains, ‘but I will if you start acting up. So just shut up and do what I say.’

  ‘You think I don’t know why Tod sent you here?’

  ‘If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t still be breathing. Now shut your mouth and do as I say. I’m risking my skin to save you.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘I told you to shut up. You’ll find out soon enough, and you’ll be grateful to me for the rest of your long life, believe me. But you have to trust me and just do what I tell you.’

  Nick mumbled something about having nothing to lose as Ian released him. Nick whimpered with pain and lowered his arms to his sides. It seemed cruel to handcuff him as soon as his arms were free, but Ian was not about to take any risks. He might be injured and suffering, but Nick was a vicious and dangerous man. The handcuffs issued to Ia
n were generic ones that were freely available on the internet. It was possible Tod would send someone to check on him. If Ian and Nick were intercepted, no one must recognise the handcuffs as police property.

  ‘Now get in the van,’ Ian instructed Nick when the shackles had been removed from his ankles. ‘If you want to get out of this stinking shithole, go! Now!’

  Aware that every second they stayed in the mews they risked discovery, Ian walked behind Nick and gave him a fierce shove that almost knocked him off his feet. Slowly, Nick stumbled forwards and out into the darkness where Ian half lifted, half pushed him into the back of the waiting van and manacled his ankles together. Finally, Ian tied a gag around his mouth before running to the front of the van and leaping into the driver’s seat. After taking a roundabout route out of London and back in again to ensure he was not being followed, Ian finally drove back to the police headquarters where the gate to the car park opened and he drove straight in. The first part of the plan had been accomplished. Now he just had to hope that Nick would have the sense to co-operate. Blindfolded, with his wrists still secured, he was led into the building.

  An hour after bringing his prisoner in, Ian sat facing him across an interview table. Nick’s blindfold had been removed, his injuries had been tended to, and he looked very different to the cowed victim Ian had discovered in the lock-up. His face was bruised and his wrists were bandaged, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. His gag had been removed and he appeared almost relaxed as he scowled across the table as Ian sat down beside Jack.

  ‘You’re fucking filth,’ Nick greeted him. ‘How long you been banging Tallulah then? She must be a right twat. How did you get to her?’

  Ian ignored Nick’s fishing to find out who else was working undercover for the police.

  ‘You know Tod wants you dead,’ Ian said quietly. ‘You were there when he ordered me to kill you. Tod had you locked up in that filthy garage so I could come along and shoot you and dispose of your body somewhere rotten – dump you in the Thames perhaps, or burn your remains.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’ Nick asked.

  He spoke with an air of defiance, but they could see he was interested.

  Jack leaned forward. ‘He could have done whatever he wanted with you. He could have hacked you to pieces very slowly, gouged your eyes out, cut out your tongue, burned you alive. It’s lucky for you he’s a police officer, not a vicious bastard like Tod. Now, we’re offering you an escape. You give us the information we want, and we give you a whole new life. Or you go down. So, what do you say, Nick? Do you want to be locked up for your crimes and only see the light of day from a prison yard for a long stretch?’

  ‘A very long stretch,’ Ian echoed solemnly.

  Nick glanced warily at Jack and back at Ian again who resumed speaking.

  ‘Wouldn’t you rather co-operate with us and have a safe home, a job, and never have to worry about where your next meal is coming from? We can give you a new identity and enough money to start over. It’s your choice, Nick. But don’t take too long over it. I have to get back to Tod soon, and I want to know what I’m going to tell him.’

  ‘If you have any sense you’ll listen very carefully before you refuse to work with us,’ Jack said.

  11

  Thomas put down his knife and fork.

  ‘That was nice,’ he said, pushing his plate away and wiping his lips. ‘We haven’t had a proper cooked breakfast for a while. Thank you.’

  Emily smiled. ‘I’m popping out to the supermarket soon. We’re out of milk and nearly out of tea bags. Do you want anything? You can come with me, if you like.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘You don’t have to come,’ she added quickly, glancing anxiously at him. ‘I’m happy to go by myself. We don’t need very much. It’s amazing the difference it makes now Sam’s gone back to uni. I can’t believe how much he eats. Tell you what, why don’t you stay here and take it easy? Go back to bed. You’ve been looking tired lately and you may be coming down with something. Are you feeling all right?’

  He shook his head and blustered that he was fine. When she pressed him, he made up a lame excuse about being under pressure at work. It was easier than continuing to deny there was anything bothering him.

  ‘I knew there was something wrong,’ she said, almost triumphantly. ‘You’ve been overdoing it lately. Well, I’ll see you later. I won’t be gone long. And call me if you think of anything you want.’ She gazed earnestly at him. ‘You take it easy while I pop out to the supermarket.’

  ‘I’m fine, just stop fussing, will you?’ He immediately regretted snapping at her, and added, ‘It was a lovely breakfast. And don’t look so worried. Everything’s all right.’

  But as long as a stranger was out to get him, he knew that nothing would ever be all right again. He tried to put the whole episode with the prostitute out of his mind, but he couldn’t forget about the anonymous message he had received. Not knowing who had sent the note made it terrifying. Every time the phone rang or someone knocked at the door, he was afraid the witness had decided to come forward and tell Emily everything. His initial feelings of guilt towards the dead prostitute had faded rapidly. It wasn’t as though he had killed her. All he had done was move her body after she was dead, which hadn’t harmed her in any way. On the contrary, leaving her corpse in the woods had led to her being found quickly. He could have hidden her away somewhere far more difficult to find, where she would have decomposed slowly so, if anything, he had done her a favour by leaving her body in the woods.

  Mulling over the whole episode, he realised that he himself had been the real victim. The woman had no right to die in his house, doubtless from an overdose of drugs. He had done absolutely nothing wrong, yet he had been subjected to the most horrible ordeal. The more he thought about what had happened, the more pleased he was with himself for holding his nerve and extricating himself from an almost impossible situation. Few people would have remained so calm or been so smart when faced with a dead body. Only then the note had arrived and changed everything. Since reading it, he had felt as though he was living in an endless waking nightmare from which there was no possibility of escape.

  If he could find out who had sent the note, he could try to reason with them. With luck, he might even be able to find a way to silence them. But meanwhile, he was living under the constant threat of exposure. His plight was more than he could stand, but he was utterly helpless to change it because he had no idea who his antagonist was. In his imagination, his unknown foe grew into a monstrous figure that haunted his dreams until he was reluctant to fall asleep at night and lay in bed, sweating and cursing his fate. He had done nothing to deserve this, and raged in silence against his anonymous enemy who was causing him so much distress.

  For the past week, since the woman’s death, he had been increasingly tetchy with his colleagues at work. Although he had done his best to hide his agitation, at times he had been unable to control himself. On Friday morning he had shouted at a secretary for sending him the wrong file. He had never raised his voice at work before. He was not surprised when the boss summoned him and gave him a dressing-down.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, and said something about having troubles at home.

  ‘Well, keep them at home where they belong,’ his boss had snapped. ‘Don’t bring your personal problems into the office again. Sharon was very upset by your language. I’m issuing you with a verbal warning.’

  Thomas had been sufficiently shocked by the reprimand to watch himself from then on. He had even apologised to the secretary, who had assured him it was all right. But she seemed wary around him after that, and avoided meeting his eye. He didn’t mind her reticence. On the contrary, he was happy for his colleagues to keep their distance from him. Whenever he interacted with them, he felt he had to watch what he said. And he couldn’t ignore the possibility that one of them was somehow responsible for his ordeal. He kn
ew he was being crazy. His paranoia at the office was uncalled for. No one he worked with could have witnessed him disposing of the prostitute or written that note. Nevertheless, he began to watch them all, wondering if they were secretly aware of his recent night-time activity. Suspicion plagued him. Even when he was alone, he was afraid the phone might ring and a stranger would accuse him of committing murder.

  Whatever happened, he had to keep the truth from Emily. More than anything, he wished he had never seen the prostitute, and he bitterly regretted having taken her back to his home. Looking back on it, he could hardly believe he had been so stupid. There were so many ways in which the situation could have gone horribly wrong. The thought of Emily coming home and discovering him with a whore was too distressing to contemplate, although at the time the risk had seemed exciting. But he could never have foreseen what had actually happened, and could see no possible way out of his predicament.

  12

  Ian followed Jack into the interview room and sat down opposite Nick. Tod’s former bodyguard had been locked in a police cell for several hours to think about his situation and was already looking distressed. His face was ashen and he was trembling. Whatever adrenaline had been buoying him up on his arrival at the police station had clearly deserted him, and he looked very young and scared.

  ‘You’ve had time to consider our proposal,’ Jack said. ‘You have to admit it’s a good offer, and far more generous than you deserve. In fact, I’m beginning to think we must be insane to even consider letting you walk out of here, when you should be facing a trial for at least one murder.’