by Ted Tayler
“Artemis and I will get on it as soon as we return there, after the meeting,” said Giles. “The case notes say the flat was on Kilburn High Road, so we can soon find him on CCTV. A man dressed in a smart suit, running with a sports bag across his shoulder should stand out from the crowds.”
“After that, we need to narrow down where he might have run to,” added Artemis, “any help would be welcomed. London’s a big place; there are plenty of places to hide.”
“Not from you and Giles,” said Rusty.
Athena switched back to the next item on the agenda. Time was of the essence. An hour later the meeting had ended. Rusty and Phoenix left for the orangery, to analyse and update the plans Phoenix had worked late into the night to prepare. Henry, Giles, and Artemis returned underground to resume their intelligence-gathering duties.
Athena went upstairs to the apartment and phoned her parents. The weekend and their trip west to see their granddaughter was only just around the corner. Athena was as anxious as Phoenix about what lay ahead. Everything was arranged. Geoffrey and Grace Fox were arriving at Bath Spa station at lunchtime on Saturday. An Olympus driver from the transport section would then ferry them here to Larcombe Manor.
In the orangery, Phoenix and Rusty evaluated their plans.
“We’ll start with these two,” said Phoenix, laying an array of images on the table for Rusty to inspect. “Then, when Giles and his team deliver the goods on this rat Thacker, we’ll work out how to fit him into our schedule.”
“So, in Tower Hamlets,” said Rusty, selecting a photograph from the gallery, “we have a dial-a-drug gang. It appears they’re taking more than a thousand orders a day from desperate customers. This operation is slicker than most; it’s delivering Class A drugs to hundreds of people across east London every day?”
“Yes,” replied Phoenix. “Orders for crack cocaine and heroin are placed on a twenty-four-hour number advertised across the borough. Customers can either phone or text to pay to have drugs delivered to their door. Waqar Ali, twenty-six, the ringleader, set up the phone line, and it’s him who takes the orders. He has half a dozen runners who distribute the drugs for him. Ali has been in trouble with the law. Six years ago, he was found guilty of possession of a firearm and ammunition with intent to endanger life. He’s a nasty piece of work.”
“What about this evil-looking thug?” asked Rusty looking at the next target. “I hope he’s good to his mother?”
“Well, he never goes home, so that’s in his favour I guess,” said Phoenix.
“Where does he operate?” asked Rusty.
“In Hackney,” Phoenix replied. “Not too far away from Waqar Ali. It makes life easier for us if we don’t have to travel too far between jobs. Remember the landlord's mission last year? This one might let us use the Chiswick safe-house again as our base. Gavin McTierney, whose photograph you’re admiring, is thirty-four. He runs a gang that has terrorised the borough for several years. Last June, McTierney went to a flat armed with a knife. A row ensued over money owed for drugs he had supplied to the occupants. McTierney found Isaac Bartholomew, thirty-one, in the flat alone. He stabbed him in the chest three times. Bartholomew bled to death. His flat-mate, Steven Blake, twenty-eight, returned to the flat to discover the body. As Blake walked home from the local pub two weeks later, after the wake that followed his friend’s funeral, he was killed in a traffic incident. It is alleged that McTierney drove a Transit van up onto the pavement and deliberately ran over Blake. This thug is feared across the borough; nobody will give evidence against him. The police were forced to record the incident as a tragic accident.”
“Did you have any more thoughts of taking a trip up to East London?” asked Rusty. “Just to scout out the area beforehand.”
“These two will be easy to find on their respective turf. Thacker may be less visible, given the events of the last twenty-four hours,” Phoenix sat back in his chair and thought for a moment.
“I suppose we could stay in Chiswick,” offered Rusty. “Pay a visit to Ali and McTierney, and then rest up before bringing Thacker back to Larcombe from wherever he’s hiding.”
“I can’t see an issue with that, mate,” nodded Phoenix, “we can’t risk leaving a body on that part of the job. As for the other two gang leaders; the more public their deaths, the better. That works on several levels. It removes the heads of two prolific gangs and shows crime doesn’t pay. It sows seeds of doubt in the minds of their crew that a rival gang is muscling in on their patch. That could cause them to take their eye off the ball. It should give the authorities the opportunity to mop up the soldiers once the generals have gone.”
“In an ideal world, it would mean fewer drugs on the streets,” grumbled Rusty, “but another outfit will move in to fill the gap soon enough.”
“That’s life, mate,” said Phoenix, “let’s think how we’ll do this when we get down to business. Then I suggest we call Giles to see what progress they’re making. If they’ve got anything, I’d prefer to get up to Chiswick as soon as possible.”
“You’re a crafty sod,” laughed Rusty. “You’re looking for an excuse to be away on the weekend when your future in-laws are staying here.”
Phoenix shrugged his shoulders. He passed no comment. He outlined his plan of action. In the ice-house, Artemis checked more CCTV footage. Giles and Henry had soon found Dwight Thacker running for his life, on the pavements of Kilburn High Road. He had darted into the tube station, so they had lost him for the moment.
“I think I’ve found him at Marble Arch,” said Artemis.
“He’s heading towards Stratford and moving further east,” said Henry. He walked across to look at the image Artemis had isolated on the screen in front of her.
“That’s our man. Well done.”
“My bet is he’s going to ground in his old patch,” said Giles, “we’ll look for him at Stratford. The surface rail link will take him towards Ilford; perhaps he’s going back to Romford or Brentwood. Those were towns he dealt in over the years, based on the data gathered by Minos.”
Step by step, they hunted their prey. Dwight Thacker arrived in Brentwood at a few minutes after half-past six on Monday evening. Despite its historical pedigree and a population of seventy thousand spread across the borough, Brentwood does not have a station in its town centre, because it’s on a hill. The train station lies to the south of the town; that was where Artemis had picked him out, among a stream of commuters walking towards the town.
The last place he was spotted on camera was in the town centre itself, near the ancient monument of the St Thomas a Becket Chapel. Brentwood or "Burnt wood" was a resting place for pilgrims on their way to Canterbury, travelling the Roman road running from Colchester to London. So far, she could find no evidence of him having left the town. The search for Dwight Thacker would continue with the CCTV history from this morning.
“I’m in for a late finish, again,” she groaned.
“Don’t worry, I’ll stay and help you out,” offered Giles.
“Thought you might be off to the pool later?” asked Artemis.
Her immediate superior blushed. Artemis knew Giles was swimming more frequently these days. It had nothing to do with wanting to keep fit or rebuilding muscle that had been weakened by his emergency appendix operation last year. The nanny from Estepona was the main attraction in the pool these days. Giles was a keen swimmer. Henry didn’t swim. This was an advantage Giles Burke wasn’t going to miss.
“If you’re sure you can manage?” Giles said. “I might go for a swim, thank you.”
Artemis watched him as he cleared away folders he’d been working on, and tidied his desk, before finishing work for the day. He tried to appear nonchalant but was all fingers and thumbs.
“More haste, less speed, Giles,” said Artemis, with a smile, still looking at her computer screen, “someone has got it bad. Good hunting.”
“You too, Artemis,” Giles called out, as he scurried through the doors to the lift. “I’ll see
you in the morning.”
Alone in the control section, Artemis paused for a while to consider her options. She leafed through her copy of the HSS report Phil Hounsell had provided. When Dwight Thacker had lived, and worked in Essex, until eighteen months ago, he had used the budget bed-and-breakfast places in dozens of the county’s towns. His runners might have been ‘cuckooing’ in the local crack den, but Dwight was the head man; not slumming it with the lowlifes.
The last confirmed sight of her target had been in the town centre. CCTV coverage in Brentwood was more than adequate, which was a bonus. Artemis flicked from one captured feed to another, moving further out from the centre, as far as the cameras covered. It was a painstaking, time-consuming task. After a long shift underground, she knew she was prone to miss something if she didn’t take a break soon.
The time on the screen showed 11:15 pm. A tall figure passed under a street lamp looked right and crossed the street. Artemis checked her detailed street map. Someone had just left the Swan pub and was heading up Kings Road, towards Rose Valley. That was where one of the B&B’s had been, on the list of frequent stops for Thacker.
The grainy image was typical of many she’d studied over the years. The street lamp didn’t do her any favours either; but, the clothes, the gait, everything pointed to it being their man.
“Gotcha,” she exclaimed.
Artemis looked at the clock on the wall of the control room. That read 11:15 pm too. Time to call it a night. Rusty would be asleep by the time she got back to their apartment. This news would have to wait until the morning meeting. As she walked back towards the main building, she wondered how Giles had fared. There were no lights on in the stable block. The agents and crew members were tucked up for the night. There was still a chill in the air on many a March night, and she hurried her steps to get inside, into the warm.
In a guest house in Rose Valley, Brentwood, Dwight Thacker was dozing. The gun under his pillow gave him reassurance. His conscience didn’t trouble him; it never had. Carrie had been a stupid cow. The women he supplied with drugs, were stupid and weak. Same as the blokes. Carrie had been one of many women Dwight had used over the years; none of them was special to him. Tonight, in the pub, he had seen a few fresh-looking girls. They had clocked him too; his sharp suit, jewellery and Rolex watch, made him stand out from the other muppets in town. It was only a matter of time before he found a new girl. In minutes, Dwight was fast asleep. He had always been an arrogant young man. He believed nothing or no-one could touch him.
CHAPTER 6
Wednesday, 5th March 2014
In Brentwood, Dwight Thacker sat at the breakfast table, scanning the headlines of the morning newspaper. He was searching for news from Kilburn. Were the police writing off Carrie’s death as another drug statistic, or did they want to talk to him to discover what had happened? Page after page turned, but there was nothing on her demise.
Dwight breathed a sigh of relief. The law wasn’t interested then. The media wasn’t desperate for a news story either. Give it a few weeks and he might return to the flat and carry on working in the capital.
In the mad panic to flee the scene on Monday evening, he’d crammed a few clothes and toiletries into a bag. They were thrown in on top of the gun, plus ammunition, and the spare cash and drugs he had hidden under the floorboards.
If the police had been keen to talk to him, the flat would have been a write-off; he could never have returned. If luck stayed with him, he could get access to the rest of his clothes, his CD collection, and sound system. His neighbours might be pleased not to hear his reggae music thumping through their walls every night, but he was missing it.
Dwight finished his meal, drank the last of his coffee, and passed the newspaper to a middle-aged sales rep on the next table. He headed upstairs. It was time to make a few deals. When he reached his room, he checked his phones. He had several pay-as-you-go mobiles; one needed a charge. Dwight realised he still had Carrie’s old phone in his jacket pocket. He removed the SIM card and hammered it several times with the butt of his revolver, then bent it in half and eventually broke it. He decided to ditch the card and the phone in separate waste bins while he was out in town later.
Dwight checked his watch. It was a quarter to nine. He needed to find somewhere quiet to wait up, away from prying eyes. Dwight had dozens of local contact numbers on his phone. Those young professionals with plenty of cash to spend would be commuting, or at work. He could ring them in the evenings when they were in the market for buying drugs. His lower-end clientele tended not to be early risers. If they were heavily addicted, unemployed, and grafting or stealing to feed their habit; then they wouldn’t surface until closer to lunchtime.
He should do a brisk trade. They would be desperate for a fix. He was in a good mood. He was going to make a few special offers. If his luck did take a turn for the worse, ready cash was what he needed. The sooner he converted the gear he was holding into folding money the better. Dwight headed for the library. That was always good for a few hours.
At Larcombe Manor, Athena and Phoenix had left their rooms for the meeting.
“I imagine you and Rusty will be back in the orangery later?” she asked.
“That depends on news from the ice-house,” replied Phoenix. “If Thacker’s whereabouts have been identified, then Rusty and I should get off to London as soon as possible. Our targets in Hackney and Tower Hamlets, need to be studied at close quarters first before we strike. If Thacker is close by, we can kill three birds with one stone. We intend to use the Chiswick safe-house as our base, as we did last year.”
“How much time do you need to carry out the ‘recce’ on the two gang leaders you’ve selected?” asked Athena. “Will you have completed the missions by the weekend?”
“Difficult to say,” said Phoenix, as they reached the meeting room. He opened the door and stood back to let Athena pass.
Athena looked at him closely, trying to gauge whether he was teasing her. Phoenix knew damn well her parents were arriving on Saturday. It would be typical of him to avoid being available.
Athena reminded herself that Olympus business had to come first. The others were present and ready to get things underway.
“Good morning, everyone. What do we have to report from the ice-house?”
Artemis had briefed Giles and Henry at eight o’clock when their duties had begun underground. She had been asked to deliver the good news.
“We traced Dwight Thacker to a bed-and-breakfast in Rose Valley, Brentwood. It was one of his more popular haunts during the years he spent away from the capital. We are closely monitoring the CCTV activity in the vicinity. He was sighted on New Road, five minutes ago, heading for the library.”
“Didn’t have him pegged as a literary buff,” said Rusty.
“It will be somewhere warm to pass the time,” said Phoenix, “keep tabs on him, Artemis; follow him as much as you are able via the cameras. Report back to me immediately, if he’s off to somewhere new.”
“How does that affect your plans for later?” asked Athena, dreading the answer.
“Rusty and I will drive up to London this afternoon. We’ll start tracking Waqar Ali, and Gavin McTierney first thing tomorrow morning.”
“These are the two gang leaders you cherry-picked from the ones contained in my report I presume?” asked Minos.
“Just two of many rotten apples, Minos; but it’s a start,” Phoenix replied. “Our plan is to find them, follow them to establish their routines, and decide on the exit strategy. If we are confident Dwight Thacker is settling in for a lengthy stay in Essex, we can leave him alone for a while. We can then tackle our targets in London, and collect Thacker later, deliver him here, so Henry can accommodate him temporarily in Hotel California. We cannot afford to leave his body to be discovered in Brentwood, or anywhere else, so we need a solution where his disappearance leaves no trace.”
“My pleasure, Phoenix,” said Henry Case. “I’ll think of something apt.”
> The other agenda items were dealt with in good time. The meeting closed, and Phoenix was ready to leave for the orangery with Rusty.
Athena grabbed his arm.
“Not so fast,” she said, “don’t you dare leave for London, without coming to see me first.”
“I haven’t booked the transport yet,” replied Phoenix, “so no need to panic. We need to visit Bazza and Thommo, for supplies too. I want to leave by three o’clock at the latest. It will be dark by the time we get settled in the safe-house; that will help us cruise around our targets’ familiar haunts without raising suspicion this evening. The serious stuff starts tomorrow; then if Brentwood can be kept on the back-burner, we can strike on Thursday or Friday.”
“What about Dwight Thacker? What if he was only staying overnight in Brentwood?” asked Athena.
“My guess is he’ll stay for a while; but if he shows signs of moving, we’ll have to rely on the ice-house to trail him. Rusty and I will stop what we’re doing at a convenient point, shoot off to Essex, and bring him here before he disappears. The other two have no cause to change their plans. They are too involved in their murky business, and we’re too good at our jobs for them to notice anyone is watching them. Dwight altering our schedule will only delay the timing of the strike until Friday, or Saturday.”
“Mummy and Daddy will be here at lunchtime on Saturday; I need you here with me and Hope.”
“I know, Athena,” said Phoenix, “but as you keep telling us, Olympus matters take priority. We’ll get back as soon as we can. Why risk our chances of a successful mission, by cutting corners to get back to meet Geoffrey and Grace? I’m sure they’ll understand. You’ll just have to be imaginative with your cover story.”
