No Time to Lose: A Matt Flynn Thriller

by Iain Cameron

  ‘You’re a mathematician now as well as a writer? Impressive.’

  ‘Tell me about Beckenham.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘I’m not so much interested in the action scenes, as they sort of write themselves, but the intel and the assumptions that put you there in the first place.’

  Matt had to be careful not to give too much away, but he explained about the cup they’d picked up at the estate agents, and the research group’s success at locating Karl Tamplin’s car.

  ‘You have a research group?’

  ‘We have a large and well-resourced research group. Intelligence is our lifeblood. They have access to all the security databases you can think of, plus a few government sites like the DVLA and passport agency.’

  ‘I’m impressed. So how did the incident play out?’

  Matt went on to explain about Tamplin’s attempted escape and the stand-off in the garden. Suzy wasn’t taking notes, but she had a terrific memory for detail and would no doubt commit it all to her notebook as soon as she returned home. Perhaps it would appear in a vaguely recognisable form in one of her movies in four or five years’ time.

  They finished their drinks, left the pub, and started walking. The streets all around were busier now, people heading to restaurants for meals, a night of drinking in pubs, or, like themselves, looking to be entertained.

  Ten years ago or so, anyone heading out to a film club in Soho was going there with the express intention of watching a porn flick or a peep show. Since then, Soho had cleaned up its act. The small cinema they were in now had probably plied that sort of trade in the past, but nowadays it was a boutique cinema showing art movies and the best from overseas.

  It was one thing to sit in a place like this and watch a film with a companion, but quite another being accompanied by someone who had played a key role in making it happen. Even in films where character interaction wasn’t as prominent, such as an action movie or a thriller, the writer still had a tough job to ensure every word counted.

  Suzy, to Matt’s surprise, wasn’t precious about her work. It was impossible to be so in the film business, she said, as most days someone would be trying to tear the script to bits, or an actor would throw it into the air saying it was crap. Likewise, when they sat through one of her films, she didn’t nudge him to say, ‘listen to this great line’, or ‘wait until you hear what this character says next.’ He couldn’t help but admire this detached, positive attitude, as by putting something so personal in front of other people it was human nature to want everyone to like it.

  Suzy was a writer of rom-coms and coming-of-age dramas. The one they were watching this evening, about a seventeen-year-old girl exploring her sexuality with her teacher and the leader of her youth club, was one of her best. The dialogue, as in all Suzy’s scripts, sparkled with insight and humour, taking the viewer on a rollercoaster ride through a range of emotional highs and lows. Lately, she had been asking him a lot of questions about his work, and he imagined it was only a matter of time before she applied her considerable writing talents to penning a thriller.

  ‘What did you think of it?’ she asked as they walked out of the cinema and into the night.

  ‘It was excellent, and looking around at our fellow cinemagoers, they all thought so too.’

  ‘You’re not saying that just because…’

  ‘No, I thought it was terrific.’ He went on to explain while he wasn’t a big fan of coming-of-age dramas, he had been captivated by the story like everyone else.

  ‘That’s brilliant, and coming from you, Matt, I really appreciate it,’ she said. She had her arm linked through his and pulled him close. It was hard to convey genuine affection in such a small motion, but somehow she managed it.

  ‘Your reaction, and the positive vibes I was getting from the other people in the cinema tonight, makes me think Joel, the director, was right in his decision to submit it to the Cannes Selection Committee. I was beginning to think it was too personal and arty, but now I believe it’s got mainstream appeal.’

  ‘I think you’re right.’

  ‘Red carpet here we come. Do you own a tuxedo?’

  They walked around the corner and, after looking in the window and checking the menu, pushed the door open and stepped into an Italian restaurant. With so many theatres close by, they were used to serving customers at odd hours of the evening.

  Despite them both having early starts the following morning, Matt at a hospital in south London, Suzy at the studios in Leavesden, Hertfordshire, neither of them wanted to terminate the evening yet. It was hard enough finding gaps in their schedules, so when one finally appeared, they were both eager to make the most of it.

  ‘Is HSA work always so exciting?’ Suzy asked when they were seated and some of the wine from a bottle of red had been poured into two glasses.

  ‘Exciting is not the word I would use, not when someone is pointing a gun at me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to trivialise what must have been a difficult situation, or trying to reduce it to cinematic clichés. What I’m getting at, is it always so dramatic?’

  ‘No way, we have boring periods like everyone else.’

  ‘What, like paperwork and admin?’

  He laughed. ‘Not if I can avoid it. I mean, when there’s a time lag between jobs, or we’re recovering from injury.’

  ‘There’s something else we have in common, Matt. I don’t do paperwork or admin either. The script is all anyone is interested in. How I wrote it, and the research contained within, well, no one really gives a damn.’

  EIGHT

  They parked the car in the street and walked in the direction of Croydon University Hospital. It was a drizzly day, a fine spray making a better job of seeping into clothes than steady rain.

  ‘Do anything exciting last night?’ Rosie asked Matt.

  ‘Why, does my demeanour or my lack of dress sense suggest that I did?’

  ‘You’re quieter than normal.’

  ‘I didn’t get home until two. You know me, I can pull the occasional late nighter, but most of the time I need a solid six or seven hours.’

  ‘Was it a good night?’

  ‘Excellent, to be honest. I don’t see Suzy often, but when I do, she’s a ray of sunshine.’

  ‘What a nice way to describe her. We could do with some of that today, this weather is miserable.’

  ‘I think it’s the area.’

  ‘Don’t say that too loudly, a few of the locals might take offence.’

  Like many older hospitals, this one was a maze of different buildings and confusing signs. It was a wonder the two agents found Post-Operative Care, and even then, it was only by accident. Matt showed his ID to the armed cop standing outside. He stepped aside and Matt opened the door behind him. Karl Tamplin was lying on a bed, his leg heavily bandaged and raised on a complicated-looking support mechanism.

  ‘Morning Karl, how are you?’

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  ‘I’m Matt Flynn and this is Rosie Fox. We’re from HSA, Homeland Security.’

  ‘You don’t sound very American to me.’

  ‘Funny guy, eh?’ Matt said, taking a seat at the side of his bed. ‘You won’t be laughing when you make an appearance in court, not for a very long time I imagine.’

  ‘Doesn’t scare me. Are you here to offer me a deal?’

  ‘Sorry Karl, we’re not here to offer you anything. We’re here to annoy you and keep you away from the evil that is daytime television.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances,’ he said, reaching for the TV remote. ‘If there’s no deal, you two can piss off.’

  Matt grabbed his wrist before it reached its target. ‘We’re here to talk to you, Karl. In particular, we’d like to know why you kept a loaded weapon so close to hand, and the small matter of why you tried to kill me.’

  ‘It was you! You’re the bastard who shot me!’

  Matt released his grip and sat back. ‘I would think twi
ce before you try to insult me again. You’re the one lying helpless in the bed while I’m out here with access to all these little pulleys and ropes.’

  Matt picked up the control unit and pressed a button. Slowly, Tamplin’s leg was raised. ‘See what I mean?’

  ‘Stop it! Fuckin’ hell, you’re hurting me. Stop it!’ he yelled.

  Matt pressed another button and his leg returned to its previous position. Seconds later, the door opened and a nurse appeared, and while she didn’t have her hands on her hips, the expression on her face suggested something similar. ‘Is everything all right in here? I heard a screech.’

  Rosie moved in front of her, blocking her view of the inside of the room. ‘Everything’s fine, we’re just asking the patient a few questions.’

  ‘Well, don’t be distressing Mr Tamplin. He is recovering from a serious operation, you know.’

  ‘Understood. We won’t.’

  Rosie ushered her away and closed the door.

  ‘Hear that, Karl? She’s interested in your welfare. We are too, but not if you don’t tell us what we want to know. Tell me about the piece you had under your pillow. Who are you so scared of?’

  ‘What kinda question is that?’

  ‘A normal enquiry from someone with a keen interest in the answer.’

  ‘Fuck you.’ He paused. ‘People are after me. I owe money, like. I gamble a lot.’

  ‘So, you decided to buy a gun and barricade the bedroom door in case they ever come around?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, something like that.’

  ‘Except the gun you had isn’t any old bit of metal you bought from a guy in a pub, is it? What you had was a top-notch Sig, used mainly by Special Forces units.’

  ‘Is it? I didn’t know.’

  ‘Did you also not know this weapon had previously been used to shoot and kill a drug dealer by the name of Ali Bashir in Birmingham four months ago?’

  ‘What!’ he exploded. ‘No way can you pin a shooting on me. I’ve not been out of fucking London in years.’

  ‘How about Southend? You must have been there? It’s a lovely place, maybe you went to the seaside for your holidays or a night-out with some of your mates.’

  ‘Yeah, once, a stag party about five years back.’

  ‘There you go, then. While you were there, did you shoot businessman Eddy Marshall as he came out of the Oasis bar?’

  ‘Did I fuck. I never shot nobody.’

  ‘What was it my army instructor used to say? Don’t pull out a gun or knife unless you’re prepared to use it. Last night, you had a gun, mate, and I don’t believe you’ve never fired it in anger. You tried to shoot me.’

  Tamplin was wired to various machines, and Matt was keeping an eye on his heart rate, which was skyrocketing. It was a crude but fairly effective lie detector.

  ‘Well, that was different,’ Tamplin said without enthusiasm. ‘I thought you were the…you know, the geezers who are after me. I was trying to get away.’

  ‘Pull the other one, mate. Before you saw us, you must have heard the shout, ‘Armed Police’. Don’t give me any crap about mistaking us for some toerag criminals chasing gambling debts.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  He went quiet, presumably weighing up his options.

  ‘If I tell you, can you…you know, forget about the two shootings?’

  ‘Why, were you involved?’

  ‘No fucking way, but I don’t want something like that hanging over my head.’

  ‘Might do your reputation some good.’ Matt paused a couple of beats. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said.

  ‘I need something more concrete,’ Tamplin said.

  ‘I said it’s possible. That’s all you’re getting.’

  Matt felt sure Tamplin had not been involved in either of the two shootings, despite his possession of the murder weapon. Birmingham Police knew the name of the culprit they were seeking, but he had done a runner to Eastern Europe. Southend Police also knew their main suspect, but they were still trying to gather more evidence before making an arrest. The gun Tamplin had was obviously a rental, lent out to do a job and then returned to the owner, someone with no relationship to the victim.

  ‘I’m taking that as a yes,’ Tamplin said. ‘You’ve got fuck all on me.’

  ‘Take it any way you like, mate. Tell me about the handgun.’

  ‘It was given to me to do a job.’

  ‘I gathered that. Who gave it to you?’

  Tamplin paused, his face screwed in indecision.

  ‘C’mon Karl,’ Matt prompted.

  ‘Vince Richards.’

  ‘Who the hell is he?’

  Silence.

  ‘I believe he runs an outfit out Dagenham way,’ Rosie said. ‘He’s into drugs and selling illegal weapons.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’

  ‘So,’ Matt said, ‘Vince Richards gives you a gun for a job he wants doing. What’s the job?’

  ‘I’m not saying.’

  ‘C’mon Karl, we need more.’

  ‘Nah. Richards would kill me.’

  ‘Okay,’ Matt sighed. ‘How about we drop the two murders?’

  Tamplin shook his head.

  ‘Okay, if you won’t say, I’ll do it for you. You went into an estate agent in Highgate and arranged to view a house in Hillway. How am I doing so far?’

  ‘Hmph.’

  ‘We have witnesses, Karl, and one of them saw you being picked up outside the estate agent’s in Highgate in your Dodge Challenger. Now, I don’t know about you, but if that was my car, no way would I let just anyone drive it. Am I right?’

  ‘The car was a wreck when I bought it from a bloke in Bow. I spent thousands doing it up.’

  ‘It’s a good-looking motor. Having spent all that time and money, would you let just anyone drive it?’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘So, the guy who picked you up at the estate agent’s after making your appointment, had to be a friend, and I’m thinking here about a good friend. We’ve got your phone and laptop. It shouldn’t take long to find out who this mystery person might be. Why don’t you save us a little time and effort by telling us?’

  He sighed. ‘Jay Thomas, but don’t tell him I told you.’

  ‘Your car is being examined by a forensic team; I wonder what we’ll find? You know where I’m going with this, don’t you Karl?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘We know you and Jay were at the estate agency. The passport you showed the agent might have been fake, but the picture on it was you. This was so the house owner, David Burke, would recognise your face when you arrived at the door.’

  ‘Hmph.’

  Matt pushed towards him a shot from the security camera at David Burke’s house, sent to them by DI Jeremy Wates, the cop they’d met there.

  ‘Where the fuck did you get this?’

  ‘You might be wearing a hat and your facial hair is a bit longer, but it’s you, Karl, on camera at David Burke’s house.’

  He slumped in his chair with the air of the defeated.

  ‘When we’ve finished looking at your car, I think we’ll find something, a hair or skin follicle; it’s all we need to prove the guy you kidnapped was in there.’

  He said nothing, his face impassive.

  ‘C’mon, Karl, we’re talking about kidnapping here. I can appreciate you might have been paid to do a job before handing the mark over, but we’ve got enough here to put you away until you’re an old man. Who is Vince Richards working for?’

  No response.

  ‘Let’s make this simple, Karl. On the one hand,’ Rosie said, showing him her left palm, ‘the full rap for the abduction and holding of a hostage against his will and no doubt with a bit of torture and terrorism thrown in. On the other,’ she said, showing him her right palm, ‘the name we want, and we’ll forget about the hostage and torture bits.’

  ‘I would tell you, I would, as no way do I want to go down for this, but I don’t know who it
is.’

  ‘You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?’ Matt said. ‘There’s you and Jay driving to the job in your big Dodge. Jay asks you, why are we lifting this guy? You tell him, you haven’t the foggiest. You’re just a lap-dog doing what he’s told.’

  ‘That’s fucking bollocks. I’m a professional. I do a good job and get good money for carrying it out. End of. I don’t care why I’m there or what I’m supposed to do, as long as they pay me the money I’m owed. I can’t help you, man.’

  ‘When you get bored on a long car journey, don’t you and Jay try and work it out? Take guesses at who it might be?’

  ‘Nah, we listen to the radio.’

  Matt and Rosie left the hospital five minutes later, and headed back to the car. Now out of earshot of any nearby nurses, doctors, or other patients, Rosie said: ‘It looks like Tamplin and Jay Thomas were hired by Vince Richards to lift David Burke. Knowing what Richards is about, no way did he want Burke for his own ends. He had to be doing it for someone else.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about Richards other than what you’ve told me, but I agree. Most drug dealers and career criminals I know couldn’t tell you what MI5 stands for, never mind have a reason to kidnap one of their senior people.’

  ‘Therefore, someone else employed Richards.’

  ‘It’s looking that way. Someone out there needs to abduct a senior MI5 officer, but doesn’t have the wherewithal themselves, or doesn’t want to be seen with their hands on the merchandise. The job is passed down to a known operator like Vince Richards, who hires a couple of street thugs like Tamplin and Thomas to do the dirty work.’

  ‘Do you think the guy who hired Richards is our final destination? He’s the one holding Burke?’

  ‘Maybe not. If he’s a member of the criminal fraternity, he’s a top-level fixer, someone who knows where to find the people to get a job done. If so, we might be looking for someone else entirely.’

  ‘Christ, what a tangled web.’

  ‘You said it.’

  NINE

  Matt was in a familiar place: in a car on the way to apprehend a scumbag. The timing of the raid was, as ever, dictated by the need to find David Burke as quickly as possible and, with luck, still in one piece.