by Timlin, Mark
‘I know that.’
‘Then keep it in mind. I saved your life once before, Gerry. You and your women. Now you belong to me.’
Gerry’s stomach turned at the thought, but all he said was, ‘OK, Mark, but you’re taking one hell of a risk.’
‘I know. But I never was one for the quiet life.’
Gerry Goldstein almost vomited before going into the meeting. Lee was immediately noticeable by his absence. ‘Someone find him,’ said Butler. ‘And get the little git in here. It’s too close to the big day for anyone to start playing silly buggers.’ But of course, he was nowhere to be found. His car was neatly parked outside his flat, and no one at the Drover’s Arms or the local betting shop had seen him since Saturday when he’d had a result on the horses. ‘Won a bundle,’ said the betting shop manager. ‘Maybe he’s gone on holiday.’ Someone entered his flat without disturbing the dust. It was empty, and what food there was in the fridge was beginning to spoil. That was it. Lee had vanished and a replacement was needed.
‘I know someone,’ offered Gerry Goldstein. ‘A red hot driver.’
‘Who?’ asked Butler.
‘A kid called Steve. Just back from the Continent and looking for work.’
‘I don’t know him.’
‘He’s good.’
‘Shit. That fucker Lee. Wins some money on a horse and vanishes. Typical. I never should’ve rowed him in in the first place. Gamblers. They’re worse than junkies for doing a runner when you need them most. All right, Gerry. I’ll take him on your say so. Make a meet between this Steve bloke and Bob. If Bob says he’s OK, then we’ll go with him.’
The meeting was arranged in an empty car park deep in the bowels of the city of London, close to Goldstein’s shop. Bob turned up with a Jaguar XJ. He tossed the keys to Mark and said, ‘Impress me.’
Mark got in behind the wheel and demonstrated every driving trick that Dev and Chas had taught him. He threw the powerful motor from one end of the concrete floor to the other, tyres screaming and smoking, as Bob held on to the passenger grab handle with white knuckled fingers. Mark demonstrated one-eighties and three-sixties, hand-brake turns, doughnuts, the lot. Ending up by using one of the ramps to flip the car up on to two wheels and do a perfectly balanced circle of the garage with Bob’s head only a foot or so above the floor, before dropping it back with a bang. ‘What do you reckon?’ he asked when Bob had regained his cool.
‘Where did you learn all that?’ asked the ex-soldier.
‘Here and there.’
‘Gerry tells us you’ve done this sort of thing before.’
‘Once or twice.’
‘Don’t give much away do you?’
‘This and that.’
‘All right, Steve. You’re on. You’d better come in for a briefing tomorrow.’ And he told Mark where and when.
And so Mark Farrow joined the team as the wheelman on the second motor.
That night, Gerry Goldstein sat alone in the study of his detached house in Golders Green with only a bottle of Remy Martin for company. Rachel was in bed in the room where she slept alone, watching ER on TV, and their daughters were out spending his dough clubbing. Rachel’s hair was in curlers and she’d covered her face with the latest miracle cream to keep it youthful. She’d already been cut and tucked three times in a private hospital in Kensington, which had set Gerry back the profit on his most recent foray into a life of crime. It just wasn’t fair. And now Mark Farrow was intent on screwing up a most lucrative little earner. He could go to Daniel Butler and confess all. But where would that lead? Mark had made it very clear that if Gerry blew the whistle, things would get very unpleasant indeed.
Gerry poured another drink, slopping just a little on to the polished top of his desk. He looked at the drops pooled on the wood and contemplated a life without all the comforts he took for granted. Fuck them, he thought. Fuck Rachel and the girls, and fuck Danny Butler and Jimmy Hunter and fuck Mark Farrow. Fuck them all. I’ll show them. And he opened the top desk drawer and took out a small revolver. He checked the load of six tiny bullets, pushed the cylinder home and cocked the hammer. Alone in his study, he drained his glass, then opened his mouth, inserted the barrel of the gun and pulled the trigger.
Upstairs in her bedroom, Rachel Goldstein heard the shot, but only faintly. And as County Hospital in Chicago was under siege by gangbangers looking to put one of their own out of his misery, with that handsome young Croatian doctor being held hostage in one of the emergency rooms, she assumed it was one of many gunshots on the soundtrack and ignored it.
No one missed Gerry until the next morning.
THIRTY-SIX
Mark Farrow waited until the Thursday before the bank holiday to put the next part of his plan into action. He wanted enough time for Sean Pierce to organise a police operation, but not enough time to check too deeply who was involved.
He rang Streatham Police Station mid-morning from a callbox in Crystal Palace, and got put through to the CID office. A woman answered, ‘CID, DC Webb speaking.’
‘Is Sean Pierce there please?’ asked Mark.
‘Yeah. Who’s speaking?’
‘Steve Sawyer. He doesn’t know me.’
‘Concerning?’
‘I’ve got something for him.’
The phone went down with a bang, he heard voices and then it was picked up again. ‘DS Pierce,’ said Sean.
‘Sean Pierce?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’ve got some information for you.’
‘What sort of information?’
‘Important information.’
‘About?’
‘Not on the phone.’
‘Do I know you? Sawyer, is it?’
‘I told the DC you don’t.’
‘So, why are you talking to me?’
‘I heard you were a decent copper,’ replied Mark. ‘Someone I could trust.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Like I said, someone with information.’
‘If you’re not going to tell me—’
‘Don’t blow it, Sean,’ interrupted Mark. ‘This could be the making of you.’
‘Oh yeah?’ But Mark could tell he was interested.
‘Yeah. We need to meet.’
‘I’m a busy man.’
‘We’re all busy, Sean. I could always take this elsewhere.’
There was a pause. ‘OK, where and when?’
‘No time like the present. How about in an hour. Do you know the Beehive pub in Streatham?’
‘Course I do.’
‘Eleven thirty.’
‘All right. How will I know you?’
‘I’ll know you.’ And Mark hung up.
He was already at the pub when Sean entered. Mark was wearing his shades and gloves. It was an old trick for a copper to pick up a drinker’s glass and check his prints for identity. But the last thing Mark wanted was for Sean to know who he was. Although he’d never been convicted, Mark’s prints were on file, and he assumed lodged somewhere in the Police National Computer. Maybe, maybe not, but he wasn’t about to risk it. And only God knew what he’d find if he checked on the Continent.
Sean looked round the almost empty bar and Mark raised one hand. The young policeman came over and stood by Mark’s table. ‘Sawyer?’ he said.
‘That’s me.’
‘Right, I’m here. What’s this all about?’
‘It’s all about you making inspector,’ replied Mark. ‘And this will take a while. Sit down. Drink?’
‘I’ll get my own,’ said Sean who went to the bar and ordered an orange juice.
When he’d returned and sitting in front of Mark, he said: ‘I don’t have long. What is it you’ve got to tell me?’
‘There’s going to be a robbery soon. A big one.’
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘Take my word.’
‘And how do you know?’
Mark lit a cigarette and saw Sean’s look of thinly veiled disgust. Pious fuck
er, he thought. ‘Because I’m part of it.’
‘And you want to blow the whistle.’
‘S’right.’
‘Why?’
‘Personal reasons.’
‘Why me?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Why tell me? Are you sure I don’t know you?’ He studied Mark’s face carefully.
This was the moment Mark was dreading. All those years ago when Mark and Linda had been having their illicit relationship, he had mostly managed to avoid her family. No one but Linda had known who he was, and, more importantly, who his father had been. Even so, there had been times when Sean had spotted them together. It was inevitable. But after all this time he couldn’t possibly remember. Could he?
Mark took off his glasses and looked Sean in the face. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. He looked him straight in the eye with his contacts in place and saw no sign of recognition.
‘OK,’ said Sean. ‘So, why me? I’m just a DS.’
‘I told you why,’ said Mark. ‘I heard you were something rare. An honest cop.’
‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Around.’
‘OK. So you’ve got information about a big robbery, or so you say.’
‘Why should I lie?’ asked Mark.
‘There’s a million reasons. Maybe I’ve put a friend of yours away and you’re winding me up. Trying to make me look a fool. Or maybe this is a gag on behalf of the boys at the station.’
‘Or maybe it’s true,’ interrupted Mark. ‘Christ. I’m giving you this on a plate and you think it’s a wind-up.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’
‘Shit,’ said Mark. He could hardly believe this. Here he was with the information of the year and the dozy fucker wouldn’t believe him. ‘Have you ever heard of Daniel Butler?’
‘Danny Butler?’
‘That’s right.’
‘He’s retired. Gone to live in Essex.’
‘Retired fuck,’ said Mark. ‘He’s the architect. He’s got a bunch of heavy duty villains in to do the job.’
‘Where?’
At last, thought Mark. ‘Docklands,’ he replied.
‘When?’
‘Bank holiday Monday.’
‘Next Monday?’
Top of the class, thought Mark. ‘Next Monday,’ he echoed.
‘And you know the full story?’
‘Sure.’
‘Would you be prepared to meet a more senior officer?’ Mark shook his head.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m taking a big enough risk meeting you alone. These fuckers are serious. They’re armed with automatic weapons and they’re prepared to use them.’
‘And what’s your part in all this?’
‘I’m just a driver.’
‘And the reason you’re here is personal? You want someone banged up?’
‘Something like that.’ In a fucking coffin, thought Mark.
‘Who’s the person you’re out to get? Do we know him?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Name?’
Mark shook his head again. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll know when the time comes.’
‘And a reward?’
‘It’d come in handy, but I don’t really care. But I want to get away. I don’t intend to do any time.’
‘I can’t guarantee that.’
‘You’re going to have to. I’ll give you the full details and it’s your job to make sure I don’t get my collar felt.’
‘I’ll have to talk to my superiors.’
‘Go on then. Don’t let me stop you.’
‘All right. But first tell me what you know.’
So Mark did. Most, but not all. No mention of Jimmy Hunter, of course. That was Mark’s little secret. But he did tell Sean that Daniel Butler had an inside man or woman on the plot. ‘No one must know that you know,’ he concluded. ‘Otherwise they’ll call the party off.’
‘That makes it very difficult,’ said Sean.
‘I never said it was going to be easy,’ said Mark. ‘But if you pull this off, what’s the betting on some promotion?’
Sean considered. ‘If you’re lying…’
‘Why would I bother?’
‘It’ll be a big operation.’
‘It’s a big job. Armed guards, twenty-five million in stones.’
‘And all just on your say so…’
Mark blew air out of his mouth in frustration. Didn’t this dickhead know good intelligence when he heard it? ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Check out an old printing works in Canning Town.’ He gave Sean the address. ‘See what’s going on there. But be careful. There’s blokes around with guns who wouldn’t be pleased to see you. I mean it. One less copper to them would be a bonus.’
Sean looked at him long and hard. ‘OK, I’ll do that. But there’s not much time, if what you say is true. And if you’re having me on…’
‘Do you think I’m having you on? This is bloody serious. One word that I’ve spoken to you about it and I’m dead.’
‘You must hate this man very much.’
Mark cocked his head.
‘The man you want banged up,’ said Sean.
‘Believe it.’
‘What did he do?’
Mark smiled. ‘That’s for me to know.’
‘Fair enough. How can I get in touch?’
‘You can’t. I’ll call you later.’ He got up then and made as to leave. ‘There’s no one outside waiting to follow me is there?’ he asked.
It was Sean’s turn to shake his head. ‘No,’ he said.
‘OK, I believe you.’ But even so, when he left the pub, he took a very circuitous route back to his hotel, even though he was eventually convinced he wasn’t being followed.
He phoned the nick again late that afternoon and Sean was waiting for his call. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ve been up to Canning Town. There’s something happening there for sure. I’ve got a provisional go ahead. But I’ll need to know more. Can we meet again?’
‘Sure. But just you. And don’t be clever. I can spot a tail a mile off.’
‘Fair enough.’
They arranged to meet at a car park in Crystal Palace and Mark walked the short distance from his hotel. Sean was waiting in his Mondeo. Mark got in and said: ‘Drive.’
They talked as they went. Mark turned the rearview mirror so that he could see the road behind and, just as he thought, two cars joined them. But he said nothing. It was just what he expected.
‘I’m going to take a look-see tomorrow at the depository,’ said Sean.
‘Well, be cool.’
‘I will. My guv’nors have spoken to the bosses there. They’re having kittens. I’m going in as public health.’
One of the cars following turned off, but then another appeared and the first car overtook them and vanished into the traffic. Mark knew that three or four cars was the minimum for a good tail. ‘You disappoint me, Sean,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘You know we’ve got company. That’s no way to build up trust.’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Course you don’t. But I hope you’re better at finding some way for me to get out,’ Mark said as he set the mirror straight.
‘Don’t worry, I will. Tell me more about the numbers and weapons.’
‘Seven are going in. Like I told you, armed with automatic and semiautomatic weapons.’
‘Any names?’
‘First names only. And some are using fakes. I don’t know who the fuck they are. I’m just a driver, don’t forget. Low man in the pecking order. I do what I’m told and that’s that.’
‘How’d you get the job?’
Mark smiled without mirth. ‘Someone dropped out,’ he replied.
‘What’s your share?’
‘An even split after the top men take their cut.’
‘Is that the problem?’
‘No, I keep telling you. It’s not money I’m interested in. There’s someo
ne there I want to see go down for a long time.’
‘Well, you must know his name.’
‘Course.’
‘So tell me, and I’ll make sure.’
‘That’s not part of the deal.’
‘Dark horse, aincha?’
The dusk was gathering in the early summer evening and Sean saw Mark nod his head in the light from the street lamps that were popping on one after another on the main Camberwell road. ‘OK,’ said Sean. ‘But how can I make sure we get him?’
‘Oh, you’ll get him all right. I’ll make sure of that.’
‘Are you going to be armed?’
‘What do you think?’
‘You’ll have to lose your weapon.’
‘I don’t care. I don’t intend to use it,’ Mark lied.
‘Right. I’ve written my mobile number down. Use that from now on.’
‘I don’t want to meet you again,’ said Mark.
‘Maybe just once more, over the weekend.’
‘Maybe. But it’s risky.’
‘A favour for a favour.’
‘OK, Sean, but make it brief.’
‘Do you have a mobile number?’
‘Yes. But I’m not giving it to you. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Where do you want to be dropped off?’
‘Anywhere here will do,’ said Mark. He had nothing to do, and didn’t want to make it easy for whoever was following them to get on his tail. When Sean stopped the car, Mark jumped out, ducked into a side road, went to the end, stopped and lit a cigarette. A young couple, man and woman entered the street too, and he waited until they were close and walked back towards them. He saw just a slight look of alarm from the bloke and he smiled and passed them, went back to the main road and joined the queue for a bus that was just stopping. He chucked the driver a pound coin and saw the couple on the corner, the woman talking into a mobile phone or radio. The bus pulled away and Mark immediately rang the bell for the next stop, jumped off and walked into a pub on the corner. He ordered a lager and watched the door. The only person to enter in the next fifteen minutes was a grey-haired man with a grey-haired dog. Mark finished his drink and went outside. It was twilight by then and he pulled up his collar and walked down the road until he came to a minicab office with a couple of old bangers parked outside. A bubble driver was only too pleased to run him up to Crystal Palace, and Mark got him to drop him off round the corner from the hotel. Even so, he still didn’t go straight back but took another circuitous route until he was sure he was clean, and then went in and had a drink at the bar before going to bed.
