by Adam Carter
He was heading her way, the suit he was with had pulled a gun and was running backwards along with him. Greel let Malcolm pass and shoved the trolley into the suit, sending him flying. She grabbed a detergent and sprayed it in the suit’s eyes. He screamed, releasing his gun, flailing around on the floor. Malcolm was stumbling, but still running, and Greel snatched up the gun and took aim.
The air exploded as the revolver cracked, and Malcolm went down. Greel approached him slowly, calmly. Malcolm lay upon the floor, cowering, babbling, and there was the distinct smell of urine filling the rich corridor. There was no blood of course: Greel had purposefully shot into the carpet.
“Don’t kill me!” Malcolm was wailing, tears flowing. “Please, I have money!”
Greel stared long and hard, her gun levelled upon him, her expression unwavering. She wanted to pull the trigger, wanted to blow his brains all over the carpet, but she was a cop. And the law didn’t murder.
Rachael was by her side in a moment and didn’t seem to care one way or another what Greel did. “That him?” she asked.
“I’m starting to question it,” Greel replied. This was the man she had been running scared of for so long? This was the man who had ruined her life? This was the man who had made her betray her oath, her country, her conscience? This man, lying in a pool of his own urine, crying aloud for his mother ... Greel looked to Rachael then; a prostitute forced to do what she had to in order to make ends meet. But Rachael was strong and clever and above all admirable.
It made Greel question everything she had ever thought. About anything.
“We have to go,” Baronaire said, suddenly behind them. “The guards in the room are taken care of. Shame that tree collapsed into the window like that, but at least you were here to arrest Malcolm. Remember, you had nothing left, you were angry the investigation had collapsed, and you found out where he was so came in alone. The tree’s a coincidence.”
“I know my own story,” Greel assured him. “What about you guys? Just going to drift back into the shadows?”
“We don’t need credit,” Baronaire said. “Believe me, that’s the last thing my DCI would want me taking. Come on, Rach, Lin has the car ready, we need to get out of here.”
“Baronaire,” Greel called after him as he stepped over Malcolm. The state Malcolm was in, he hadn’t noticed Baronaire and Rachael were even there. Baronaire stopped and Greel said, “Thanks.”
“No,” Baronaire said. “Thank you. It’s your collar.”
Greel looked back to Malcolm as the two were left alone. It was her collar all right. Maybe this was even her route to promotion, to more money, a bigger flat. Friends, a regular guy. Two trips a year to the theatre.
She smiled. For the first time in two years Detective Sara Greel smiled a real smile. It was amazing how much money one could amass when one dealt in drug dealers.
OPERATION WETFISH
BOOK 12
‘TIS THE SEASON
CHAPTER ONE
It was cold, dreary and dark. And it was Christmas Eve. Four very good reasons not to be standing in the steady drizzle at almost midnight. PC Dan Roberts had tomorrow all planned out. His shift ended in precisely three hours’ time, which meant he could get in some decent shut-eye before having to get up. His girlfriend was roasting a turkey, and thankfully he had convinced her not to invite her parents this time. It was PC Roberts’s first Christmas off since 1991, three years ago now, and he wasn’t about to have it ruined by two snooty middle-aged ogres who never thought he was good enough for their darling princess.
And then this had happened, and he was wondering whether he was going to get home for that sleep after all.
“Here.”
He looked up from where he hopped from foot to foot in the crisp night air. His companion for tonight was WPC Charley Langstrom. She was around the same age as him, which would have been mid-twenties, and she had always been a cheery addition to any late-night operation. There were rumours circulating about the station that they were having an affair, and as he stared into her deep blue eyes, warmed by the intensely genuine smile, and accepted the steaming Styrofoam cup of hot coffee from her, it was to almost forget he was desperate to get back home to his girlfriend. Their fingers touched for the briefest of moments and she turned away. He liked to think her cheeks were flushed by the encounter, but figured he was likely kidding himself. Charley Langstrom was the most beautiful creature ever to grace the station and she had more than a few admirers.
PC Daniel Roberts was suddenly fighting for the name of his own girlfriend waiting for him back home.
“Any news on how long we’re going to be standing out here?” she asked.
It took Roberts a few moments to realise she had actually asked him a question. “Depends what these specialists have to say. Hopefully they’ll just send us packing and take it off our hands.”
“Yeah, who were they again?”
Roberts shrugged. “I checked with the station, and they said they were legit. Just let them get on with it, they said.”
“It’s just I’ve never heard of an Operation WetFish.” Langstrom wrinkled her nose in that cute way she always did when she was trying to solve a mystery. “I mean, what does that even mean? All fish are wet, right? Unless they’re sitting on someone’s dinner plate.”
“Maybe they just like to be enigmatic, Charley.”
Langstrom shrugged, said nothing more. It was bad enough the two of them being called to the scene of the crime and having to stand in the middle of the street in the evening drizzle, stopping curious passers-by from heading down into the alleyway behind them; but then these two people with strange credentials turned up demanding access to the body. But, as Roberts had said, their IDs checked out so there was nothing he could really have done to stop them.
Besides, if they were in the alley, it gave him a chance to be alone with Charley.
“So, what do you have planned for tomorrow?” he asked as casually as he could manage.
“Not much. My folks were coming over for a visit, but their plane’s been delayed so it doesn’t look like they’re going to make it. Christmas all alone for me, I guess. No change there then.”
“That’s terrible. You could always come spend it with me.”
“I’m sure Cheryl would love that.”
Cheryl! That was her name.
“Truth is,” he lied, “Cheryl and I’ve been going through a bad patch lately. To be honest, I’m alone tomorrow as well.” Which meant he could just tell Cheryl he was working; so long as he didn’t go home to her it should work. “Shame to both spend the day alone.”
“What? You and Cheryl? I always thought you two were great together.”
“Yeah, me too.” When had Charley even met Cheryl? He wracked his brain but he’d started so figured he might as well carry on with it. “So, what do you say? I’d bring a video, but there’s always plenty on to watch at Christmas.”
“I don’t know. I’m kind of still hoping my parents might make it.”
Roberts didn’t know whether she was playing hard to get or if she was genuine, but from the way she turned away as she spoke, the way she tried to conceal her smile, he was putting his money on the former. “Coolio,” he said. “No pressure. Just thought it would be silly us both sitting home alone drinking the night away and watching the same stuff on TV.”
“Well I do have a family-sized turkey I’m not going to be able to eat by myself.”
Roberts was smiling inside. “Would be a shame to let that go to waste, Charley.”
“I do a mean stuffing as well.”
“I’d be more than happy to help with the stuffing, Charley.”
She seemed to find amusement in that, even though it was lame. “I guess we’d best see what time we get off shift first.”
“Sure. Just remember we ... yah!”
Roberts jumped. He had been concentrating so much on Charley Langstrom he had not noticed the man standing directly behind him. The man was ta
ll, casually dressed, but in a wealthy appearing sort of way. His dark hair was receding and cut very short, while his beard ran from his moustache down his chin in a square, not touching the cheeks at all. His eyes were alive with an electricity which sent shivers down Roberts’s spine, and he stood so casually from where he had stepped out of the alleyway that Roberts could almost imagine him being the Ghost of Christmas Future or something.
“Sorry to interrupt your cute little mating ritual,” the man said, “but we’re almost done. Soon enough you two lovebirds can go make Christmas joy back in your warm cosy nest. First I need to know whether this body’s been moved.”
“Of course it’s not been moved,” Roberts said angrily, although the redness of his face was more to do with sudden embarrassment. “We saw the blood, felt for a pulse, and called it in. Then you people turned up.”
“What killed him?” Langstrom asked, and Roberts was pleased to see she was equally as flustered. “Was it the Drugs Gunner?”
The tall, bearded man turned amused eyes upon her. “I love the way people have to give flashy names to things. But then it’s all to sell newspapers, and that’s something that never changes.”
“Was it the Gunner then?” Roberts pressed, determined to get rid of this strange man as quickly as humanly possible.
“Probably,” he replied. “The M.O. fits, although in this instance Drugs Knifer would be a better term.”
“Oh, he’s used knives before,” Roberts said. “I guess the press went with Gunner because it rhymes with runner.”
The tall man regarded him with a dour expression which sent a shudder through Roberts’s body. “Yes,” he said dryly, “strangely enough I did understand the name they gave him. We have a couple more things to do. I’ll let you know when you can get out of here.”
Roberts glanced to Langstrom, but as he turned back to the tall dapper man it was to find him gone. Vanished into the darkness of the alleyway without even making a sound. “If this was Whitechapel,” he said softly to Langstrom, “I’d be seriously thinking that guy there was the one responsible.”
“Don’t let him get to you,” Langstrom said. “He’s doing it on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“Winding you up.”
“Well it’s working.”
“Now, where were we?” she asked and Roberts realised with a rising pleasure that the tall officer had not ruined everything for him after all.
“Well,” he said, “I was thinking of walking you home after our shift. The streets aren’t too safe for young women these days, you know. There’s a killer about.”
“I think I can find my own way home, Dan,” she replied. “Just don’t forget my present when you turn up tomorrow.”
He grinned like a teenager. “I’m sure the shops are closed by now, but I’ll think of something.”
“Use your imagination and you’ll be fine.”
A church bell sounded not far away and Roberts glanced at his watch. “It’s Christmas Day, Charley.”
“Already?”
“Would seem so.” He looked into her eyes and she did not look away. She unconsciously bit her moist lower lip and he fought to keep his heart rate down. Nice and slow, he chided himself. The fish isn’t hooked yet. “Merry Christmas, Charley,” he said as he slowly leaned in towards her, watching as she reciprocated, closing her eyes as she did so.
“Right-o!”
They both jumped as the tall scary officer was back, clapping his hands enthusiastically.
“Jesus!” Roberts all but shouted. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what? Anyway, we’re all done. You two run along now. Oh,” he said to Charley, “by the bye, he’s lying his pants off. Or hoping to anyway. Whatever he said about his girlfriend, it’s all a lie. I can tell by the way he stinks, how he palpitates every time he thinks you might be seeing through his obvious lies. Plus I’m just good at reading people. Have fun, kids.”
Officer Spooky disappeared once more, but this time they didn’t see him depart because they were staring at one another. Roberts could sense the sudden change in the air even as Langstrom’s face darkened and a terrible rage built up within her. She slapped Roberts across the face so hard the blow could be heard even over the twelfth chime of the church bell.
“Merry Christmas,” she spat as she turned on her heel and strode back to the waiting car.
“Great,” Roberts muttered, rubbing his sore cheek. “And a happy New Year.”
CHAPTER TWO
The corpse was about three hours old, so far as Detective Lin could determine, but she wasn’t forensics. She had called the find in, but there probably wasn’t an awful lot they could discover from the body anyway, especially since they knew the name of the killer.
The body was that of a young man, probably around twenty-five. He had died from a single knife wound to the chest, and from what she could see of the entry point and the bruising round the mouth she guessed his attacker had come up behind, placed one hand over his mouth while the other plunged the knife into his chest. Then the attacker had simply let the body down gently as he died, left alone and forgotten in a back alley.
Lin slowly shook her head. Life was cheap, but then if it wasn’t she would probably be out of a job.
“Merry Christmas, Detective.”
She glanced up from where she was still crouched. Her partner in all of this was Jeremiah. If Jeremiah had a rank she did not know it, but he was so unconventional as a police officer the DCI likely didn’t know what to call him. Jeremiah was a tall fairly thin man of around thirty, thirty-five years. His dark hair was short and receding, his trim beard never gracing his cheeks. He wore a long black coat this day, and Lin liked to think it was because it was winter and midnight, but in truth she had seen him out at much colder times wearing only a shirt. Lin herself was wearing the warmest coat she had and was still freezing.
“Same back to you,” she said absently, rising and wishing she was still in bed. “We should get going. There’s nothing more we can do here.”
“Probably not.”
Jeremiah seemed indifferent to the fact they were spending Christmas Day working, but then Lin had spent so many Christmas Days working it was a wonder when she ever got one off. “We should probably check out all the likely places again,” she said. “Not that it’ll do any good.”
“Then we shouldn’t bother doing it.”
It was the right attitude, Lin had to admit. The dead man was a local drug dealer, which was the only type of person this Drugs Gunner seemed to target. The Gunner’s real name was Peter Welles, and since he wasn’t the police he had no place to be running around killing villains. Still, if it took down drug dealers, there wasn’t much harm being done. There were boxes to be ticked, however, and even Jeremiah wasn’t stupid enough to flaunt the DCI’s rules in his face.
“Come on, it shouldn’t take long,” she said, heading back to the car. “You can sing me carols along the way.”
Breaking into the outside world, Lin was just grateful to get away, however briefly, from the stench of death. It seemed that was all her life was about these days.
She was glad to get back behind the wheel of her car. There was the chill of promised snow in the air and Lin had never much favoured the cold weather. Her car’s radiator had been playing up for a while, although this morning it seemed content to work for her; it really was Christmas. Beside her, Jeremiah seemed amused by something and she could only imagine it was her reaction to the morning’s bitter chill. Lin wordlessly drove from the area, heading straight for their first place to look.
“I love Christmas,” Jeremiah said airily, gazing out the window at the silent city as Lin drove carefully, well aware of the icy conditions. “It’s a season of joy and caring.”
Lin glanced at him. “You’re kidding right?”
He smiled, looked away from the window. “Pretty much. But I do like Christmas. Don’t really know why though. It’s always been a great time of year for me
. People hiding in their homes, afraid the darkness and the cold will never leave. Creating gods out of trees, dancing, jingling bells to keep away dark spirits. Yeah, I love this time of year.”
Lin ignored him, as she always did when he went off on one. She didn’t know much about Jeremiah – the DCI strongly discouraged social intercourse between his officers – but there were some real oddballs at work and Jeremiah was chief among them. Most of the time she knew he was just trying to wind her up, was pushing all her buttons to see which would get him a reaction. Sometimes though ... sometimes she was afraid he had simply lost the plot.
“I generally go home this time of year,” Lin said if only to fill the void. “Never on Christmas Day of course, but I always find time to fit my folks in somewhere.”
“Chinatown, right?”
Lin was a small woman of Chinese origin and most people assumed she was from the Orient. When she had first been introduced to Jeremiah he had surprised her by knowing she was actually from London. Her accent should have given her away, but people tended to judge on what they saw. It had been a constant in Lin’s life and career both, but she had never let it get her down. People were as people were, and there was no sense trying to change them.
“My dad’s never been keen on Christmas anyway,” she continued, “although Mum likes to make an effort.” Her father did not speak English too well, which was odd growing up, but kind of thrilling. Her mother was English, so she had experience in both cultures. The English language had amazed her as a child, for it did not take her long to realise her father could not catch all her words if she spoke quickly enough. It was fun when she was a kid, but as she had become a teenager she found she had this unbreakable code she could use with her friends. Her parents had been pretty strict, but Lin had always managed to do what she wanted because of the language barrier.
