Hard Landing

by Stephen Leather

  He ate a forkful of cottage pie. It was greasy and tasteless, the potato lumpy and cold.

  Another problem was getting on the gym list regularly. That would mean persuading Lloyd-Davies to put him on it or paying off Digger again. Shepherd had to know when and where he'd be talking to Carpenter: it would be far too dangerous to wear a wire all the time. And what would he do with the wire when he wasn't wearing it? There was hardly any space in the cramped cell, and it would be next to impossible to keep it hidden from Lee. Hargrove had suggested he use a recorder made to look like a CD player or Walkman, but it had to be functional or Lee would be suspicious. And Shepherd was all too well aware of how often equipment malfunctioned. He'd experienced everything from leaking batteries to microphone feedback. Usually on an undercover operation he'd have back-up close by so that if something went wrong he could be pulled out, but that wasn't possible in Shelton.

  Shepherd had confirmation that Carpenter was killing witnesses and destroying evidence, but he didn't know yet how he was doing it and who was helping him. Shepherd suspected it was Tony Stafford, but Hargrove was going to want proof. Hargrove knew exactly how dangerous it would be for Shepherd to wear a wire, but he'd still asked - because he knew that if Carpenter wasn't stopped more people would die on the outside until he got what he wanted. His freedom.

  Healey appeared at the door to Carpenter's cell. 'Got your papers here, Carpenter,' said the prison officer.

  'Thanks, Mr Healey,' said Carpenter. He went to the door and took them. The Daily Mail, the Daily Telegraph and the Guardian. 'What was the hold-up?' As a rule the papers arrived before dinner.

  'Short-staffed today. We didn't have anyone to check them. The post's running late too.'

  Carpenter took his papers over to the table and flicked through the Guardian. The spur always seemed to be short-staffed on Saturdays. The officers didn't like working weekends. The envelope was in the City section. He ripped it open and took out a single sheet of paper. The tapes had been wiped. Now only Sandy Roper stood between him and freedom. And Kim Fletcher was on the case.

  A prisoner appeared at the door. It was Andy Philpott.

  'Got your papers, Mr Carpenter.' He handed Carpenter The Times and the Mirror.

  'Thanks, Andy,' said Carpenter.

  'Got your cappuccino, too,' said Philpott. He put a box of sachets on Carpenter's bunk.

  Philpott was in his early twenties, remanded on burglary charges. Fifty-seven offences. Despite being a prolific housebreaker he had little in the way of money to show for it. His savings had soon gone to pay his lawyers, and now his wife and small child had to rely on family income support. He used his prison allowance to purchase items Carpenter wanted from the canteen, and Carpenter paid his wife on the out, ten pounds for every pound spent inside. It was an arrangement that suited them both. Philpott wasn't a smoker and didn't have a sweet tooth, and he was prepared to survive on prison food if it meant his family had an easier life.

  'Appreciate it,' said Carpenter. As Philpott left, Digger arrived at the cell door.

  'Okay if I come in, Gerry?' asked Digger.

  'Sure,' said Carpenter. He waved at the chair. 'Please.'

  Digger sat down. 'Drink?' Carpenter had a selection of bottles and cans on his table including Fanta, Coca-Cola, 7-Up, orange juice and sparkling water. He also had tea-bags, coffee, the cappuccino sachets and two flasks of hot water.

  'OJ's fine,' said Digger. Carpenter poured him some and handed the glass to him.

  'How's things?'

  'Fine,' said Digger. 'There's a new guy on the ones bringing in crack next week. He's done hard time before so he knows the score. His girlfriend can regurgitate at will, he says.'

  'More detail than I needed.' Carpenter laughed. 'How much?'

  'He says twenty grams but I'll check he's not pulling a fast one. We're taking thirty per cent but if it becomes regular we'll take more.' Digger reached into the pocket of his tracksuit and gave Carpenter a gold band. 'There's the ring you wanted.'

  Carpenter took it, pulled a face, then placed it on his pillow. 'What happened to Jurczak?'

  'Got stamped on. The new guy, Macdonald. He wanted to be on the cleaning crew.'

  'Sounds like he got what he wanted.'

  Digger shrugged. 'Macdonald came through with five hundred. Someone had to get the job, seemed easier to give him what he wanted.'

  'Is he going to be a problem?'

  'I can handle him.'

  'Is that what Needles thought?'

  'He caught him by surprise.'

  Carpenter laughed.

  Digger's face hardened. 'He hit him while he wasn't looking.'

  'Is Needles letting bygones be bygones?'

  'It's personal so I'm not interfering. If he wants to stick Macdonald, that's his call.'

  'I don't want the spur locked down because there's blood on the floor,' said Carpenter. 'If it turns into a gang war, we'll all suffer.'

  'Macdonald's a loner, he won't have anyone backing him up. But I hear what you're saying, Gerry.'

  'What do think of him, this Macdonald?'

  'Keeps himself to himself unless there's something he wants. Then he goes for it.'

  'Is he into you for anything?'

  'Doesn't smoke, doesn't do drugs. Isn't interested in betting. Hardly ever uses the phone. Doesn't even spend at the canteen.'

  'The man's a saint?'

  'It's like he's not even here.'

  'Doesn't look like a hard man, but Needles is no pushover.'

  'Macdonald's hard, all right, even if he's not big.'

  'But you can handle him?'

  'I won't be fighting him. What he wanted wasn't unreasonable. And he paid the five hundred straight away. Needles was taking liberties, so more fool him.'

  'Who paid?'

  'Some guy on the out. Said he was his uncle. Turned up at my sister's with the readies in an envelope.'

  'Notes okay?'

  'Do me a favour, Gerry, I wasn't born yesterday.' He drained his glass and placed it on the table. 'Thanks for the juice.'

  'Thanks for dropping by.'

  Carpenter picked up the wedding ring and examined it as Digger left. It was a simple band, twenty-four-carat gold. Inside was an inscription: 'Simon and Louise. For ever.'

  Alice Roper popped her head round the sitting-room door and told her two boys to get ready for bed.

  'What's the point, Mum? It's not like we've got school tomorrow, is it?' moaned David. 'It's Sunday.'

  'It's almost ten,' said Alice. 'Do as you're told.'

  'When can we go back to school?' asked Ben.

  'Soon.'

  'When's soon? Monday?'

  Alice didn't know what to say to her children. They'd been kept away from school since the day Ben had been approached in the street and they'd had to move away from the family home. She didn't want to worry her children, but obviously they knew something was wrong. No school. Moving to a strange house. She didn't want to lie to them, but how could she tell them the truth, that men were trying to kill their father? 'I don't know, Ben. As soon as I do, so will you. Believe me, it's no fun having you under my feet all day.'

  'I hate this house,' said David.

  'You and me both,' responded Alice. 'Now bed. Both of you.'

  Her husband was sitting at the kitchen table, his hands round a mug of tea that she'd made almost an hour earlier. The kitchen was tiny, about a third of the size of the one in their own home. Everything about the so-called safe-house was small, And there were only two cramped bedrooms so the boys had to share a double bed.

  'Sandy, we can't go on like this,' said Alice. She sat down opposite him.

  Roper looked up, his eyes blank, as if his thoughts were a million miles away. 'What?'

  Alice waved a hand round the kitchen. 'This place. It's just not suitable.'

  'It's temporary. And it's safe.'

  The house was in the middle of a sand-coloured brick terrace at the end of a small cul-de-sac in one of the
older areas of Milton Keynes, the anonymous new town some fifty miles to the north of London. The Church had also arranged to use a room in a house at the entrance to the cul-de-sac. The owners were being paid handsomely and had been told that the men in the room were Drugs Squad officers on a surveillance operation. From their position they could monitor everyone who entered and left the dead-end street. There were only two ways into the house: the front door, which was approached across a small paved courtyard separated from the road by a low brick wall, and the rear door, which opened on to a walled garden. Beyond the garden there was a school playing-field. Anyone approaching the rear of the house could easily be seen from the upstairs bathroom window, where a man from the Church was permanently stationed with binoculars and night-vision goggles. Roper could see the advantages of being in the house, but the rooms were small and, other than the garden, there was nowhere for the children to play safely.

  'They won't even let me out to buy food,' complained Alice. 'I have to give them a shopping list, like I was an invalid or something. Half the potatoes they came back with this morning were rotten.'

  'I'll speak to them about the potatoes,' said Roper. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes had dark circles under them. Neither had slept much the previous night. The man on bathroom duty had a smoker's cough and an irritating sniff, and the walls had little in the way of soundproofing.

  'This isn't about potatoes, it's about living like animals,' said Alice. 'It's like we're the ones in prison here. Every time we want to use the bathroom we have to ask permission. I bet Carpenter has more freedom than we do.'

  'It won't be for ever.'

  'It feels like we've been here for ever already,' she said. 'This isn't fair on the children.'

  'I know.'

  'Why can't they go and stay with my parents?'

  'Because if Carpenter knows who I am he'll know everything else about us. Every friend, every relative. Nowhere will be safe.'

  'I can't even go for a walk.'

  Roper leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, exasperated. There was a small damp patch above the kitchen sink. The house had been neglected for many years: the once-white paintwork had yellowed, the door handles on the kitchen units were loose and the gas cooker was caked with burnt grease. Alice had done her best to clean the place, but she was right, it wasn't suitable for a family - although with the best will in the world, Roper didn't see what he could do to remedy the situation. The purpose of the safe-house was protection, not comfort. And, as he kept telling his wife, it wouldn't be for ever. Gerald Carpenter wasn't being vindictive and his attempts to put pressure on Roper weren't personal. All he wanted was to keep his freedom, and once a judge had handed down a sentence that would be an end to it.

  Roper's mobile phone rang. He stood up, grateful for the interruption. It was in the hallway, on a glass table with ornate brass legs. There was a regular phone on the table but the Ropers had been told not to use it. The only people who knew the number of the landline were the Church and it would only be used in the event of an emergency. Roper picked up his mobile. The caller had blocked his number. Nothing unusual in that. Most of his Church colleagues routinely withheld their numbers and when he was working undercover virtually every call he received was from a blocked number. He put the phone to his ear. 'Roper,' he said.

  'How's it going, Sandy?' someone asked.

  Roper frowned. It was a guttural voice with an accent he couldn't quite place. West Country, maybe, but flattened out from years of living in London. It wasn't a voice he recognised. The mobile was his personal phone so the only people who had the number were friends, family, and the Church.

  'Who's that?' he asked.

  'Someone with your best interests at heart,' said the man. 'What did you think of the pictures, then?'

  Roper bit down on his lower lip. The call was almost certainly from a throwaway mobile and therefore virtually untraceable. Even with the full resources of the Church technical boys they'd only be able to pinpoint the general area where the phone was being used. If he could have recorded the conversation then maybe they'd have been able to pick up clues from the background noise but as it was Roper was helpless.

  'What do you want?' he asked.

  'You know what we want,' said the man.

  Alice came out of the kitchen and stood behind him, evidently sensing that something was wrong. Roper turned away from her, not wanting her to hear. 'How did you get this number?' he asked. He didn't expect an answer but he wanted to keep the man talking until he could think of something to say, something that would help him identify the voice.

  The man chuckled. 'How's the missus?'

  'You can tell Carpenter he's wasting his time,' said Roper. Alice put a hand on his shoulder but Roper went into the sitting room. Through the net curtains he could see two Church bodyguards sitting in a blue saloon, but he knew there was no point in attracting their attention. There was nothing they could do. Nothing anyone could do.

  'Tell him yourself when he gets out,' said the man.

  Alice followed Roper into the sitting room and stood in front of him, her arms folded across her chest. 'Who is it?' she mouthed, but Roper turned his back on her.

  'There aren't many ways you could have got this number,' he said. 'It isn't listed.'

  'We've given you every chance to save yourself and your family any grief,' said the man. 'What happens next is up to you.'

  'And what is going to happen?' asked Roper.

  'Sandy?' said Alice, but Roper silenced her by pressing a finger to her lips.

  'You know what happened to the cop. We can get to you just as easily as we got to him.'

  'So why the phone call?'

  'Last resort,' said the man. Roper could definitely hear a trace of West Country in his accent. 'We were told to look for alternatives. We'd offer you money but the word is that you're one of the untouchables, Sandy. Tell me I'm wrong and we can put six figures in your bank account tomorrow.'

  'That's a possibility,' said Roper. If he could persuade them to transfer money into his account it would leave a trail the Church could follow, a trail that would lead, hopefully, to Carpenter.

  The man chuckled again. 'Do I sound as if I've got "fuckwit" tattooed across my forehead?' he asked. 'We've had you well checked, Roper, and you've never got your hands dirty, not once. You and that cop are whiter than white.'

  It was good to hear that a villain considered him incorruptible, Roper thought, even though that was what had put him in his present precarious position. 'Which leaves us where?'

  'We've asked nicely. Now we're telling you. Let it be known that you've had a sudden lapse of memory. That's all you have to do.'

  'I can't.'

  'We understand how that would be your first reaction,' said the man. 'You're career Customs, worked your way up through the ranks, done your bit for Queen and country. Probably get a minor gong when you hang up your white hat for good. But you've got to understand who you are and who we are, Sandy, what we've got to lose and what you've got to lose. And is what you've got to lose worth what you're going to gain by seeing my boss stay behind bars? What do you win? You get the satisfaction of seeing a family man like yourself sitting in a cell for ten years. Fifteen, maybe. And what have you got to lose? Well, you know exactly what you've got to lose. How old are you now, Sandy? Fifty-three, yeah? Birthday coming up next month. Retirement on the horizon. Those years with your wife and kids, that's what you're going to throw away.'

  Roper said nothing. His wife stood in front of him, deep furrows across her brow. 'Who is it?' she mouthed again.

  'This is the last time you'll hear from us,' said the man. 'If we don't hear by tomorrow that you're refusing to give evidence, you'll be a dead man. That's not a threat, that's a promise.'

  Roper put the phone down.

  'For God's sake, Sandy, who was it?' shouted his wife.

  Roper wanted to lie to her, to tell her that everything was fine, but he knew it was too late t
o tell her anything but the truth. So he told her. And when the tears came, he held her tight.

  Shepherd had been asked what religion he practised when he was brought into Shelton and he'd answered truthfully: none. But religious services were one of the few occasions when prisoners from the different blocks got together and he wanted to see if Carpenter talked to anyone. Shepherd had asked to be put on the Church of England list. The Catholics were taken from the spur at nine fifteen for their service, and returned to their cells an hour later. Lee was also down for the C of E service so when their cell door was unlocked at ten thirty they both went down to the bubble. More than thirty prisoners were waiting to go to the service. 'Didn't realise we were in with such a religious lot,' Shepherd said to Lee.

  Lee wiped his nose with the back of his hand. 'This is the big get-together,' he said. 'It's when you chase up debts, catch the gossip on the other spurs, find out who's been ghosted in.'

  'Ghosted?'

  'It's when the screws move a troublemaker around at short notice. Shove him in a van and deliver him to another prison across the country.' Lee grinned. 'Carry on the way you're going and you'll maybe get ghosted one day.'

  Carpenter came down the stairs from the threes with Gilly Gilchrist.

  Lloyd-Davies checked off all their names on her clipboard, then unlocked the barred gate and walked them through to the secure corridor. Hundreds of other prisoners were on the move, all being escorted by prison officers.

  At the entrance to the room where the service was to be held, the prisoners were given a thorough pat-down. Shepherd figured that religious services were the main opportunity they had for moving contraband between blocks so the guards had to be extra-vigilant.

  He took a seat at the back of the room. There was seating for almost a hundred in front of a small wooden lectern and, in the far corner, a small electronic keyboard where a middle-aged woman in a flowery print dress and a wide-brimmed hat was playing a hymn.