by GB Williams
‘Then maybe we should release all their names.’
Her eyes snapped to Mr White. She suspected her skin went that shade, too.
13
Charlie was worried. Worried about things he couldn’t do anything about. That felt like a waste of time, so he pushed it away. He needed to distract himself for a few minutes at least. Remember why you’re here.
When he’d bumped into Piper in that pub, his old boss had, quite rightly, kicked his arse for being a self-pitying layabout. The words that had cut him with the keenness of a samurai sword were simple, ‘you can’t be a cop, but that doesn’t stop you investigating.’
Simple and true.
If he could bust Rhys Mansel-Jones’ organisation from the inside, he was still busting it. So, joining an ex-con on a blag was his way in. The nebulous idea of The Don just cemented his interest.
They’d started hearing rumours about The Don around six, maybe seven years ago. But that was all they got—rumours. Linguistically mafioso, and connected with organised crime. Everything about The Don was whisper and shadow, smoke and mirrors. Nothing concrete. Nothing that linked directly to any individual. Nothing he could even link to Mansel-Jones. No matter how much he listened, what he looked into, The Don remained a ghost.
If he could find The Don before the police, it would be… sod ‘feather in his cap’, it’d be a one-finger salute to all the bastards who’d turned on him, spat on him, told him he was worthless. He hated the way they made him feel, because he believed them. He had to prove to himself that he was worth something again.
He’d failed his family. He’d failed his son. God, he hadn’t been back to the grave yet; that was just one more birch twig to beat himself with. And he’d failed the only person whose good opinion he cared about.
His eyes slipped over to Teddington. What would she do when she found out? Not that he was here; there was a good chance she’d already figured that out, or would soon. What would she do when she found out what he had done to get here? He felt sick just remembering it.
Charlie felt sick. The copper taste of adrenalin coated his throat. The bad beer wasn’t making it any better. He leaned on the sticky bar and figured if this was their best, he did not want to taste their worst.
The interior of the pub, The Prosser Arms, was even shabbier than he remembered from his pre-incarceration days. The only thing the place had managed to maintain was the reason it was alternatively known as The Prozzie Arms. Charlie was about as welcome as a fart in a lift.
Being in here was risk enough; which was doubtless the reason why Lincoln had selected the place. Far too many people knew him from his old life—most knew him as their arresting officer. There again, that was part of the point.
Stealing a wallet was next to nothing, a minor test. It wasn’t enough to secure his place in Lincoln’s trust, not after all he’d done. Lincoln had suspected links to Mansel-Jones and The Don. He’d know of Charlie’s part in the downfall of Peter ‘Leo’ Jones. If Charlie was going to gain Lincoln’s trust, it had to be something major.
As major crimes go, murder was pretty much at the top of the list. The weight of knowing what had to be done was a ten-tonne anchor against the turbulent sea he navigated.
Lincoln had it all worked out. The bar. A random pick up. The alley with CCTV he could hack into. He wanted to watch, wanted to be sure Charlie did what he was told—wanted to gather his evidence.
Charlie had opened the block of flats front door that morning to see Lincoln’s car parked on the road side. The big Asian driver opened the rear door and, without a word, Charlie got in. He hadn’t responded when Lincoln had told him what was required. Then he let him out the car. Charlie had had to jog the route to work to avoid being late. All the time his head screaming that he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—kill again. There was one incontrovertible truth. He had to gain Lincoln’s trust, and one last stipulation: it had to be done by midnight tonight.
Charlie checked his watch. 10:02 p.m. There wasn’t much time left. Looking around the room he recognised several faces. Several glares were sharpened in his direction, most he understood. Then one face caught his attention.
The man was a stranger to Charlie, but he was watching him intently. There was something unnerving about the man’s hooded eyes. Maybe it was the lack of blinking. If the guy had been a girl, Charlie would have wondered if it was a come-on. One the other hand, after three and a half years in prison, he’d learned gender had less to do with advertising for sex than he’d realised before. Only he wasn’t that way inclined. Deciding not to care one way or the other, Charlie looked away. Charlie didn’t recognise the man, but figured if he did start something, he, Charlie, would be able to finish it.
Taking another unpleasant sip, Charlie wondered how much longer he’d have to nurse this horror. He prayed his contact wouldn’t let him down. Arrangements had, by necessity, been hastily made that morning, but he needed them to be carried through. He couldn’t actually just pick a woman, working girl or not, at random and kill. He wasn’t that kind of man. He wasn’t that kind of killer.
The door opened and a young girl, slightly tubby and a bit stooped, which given the size of her breasts was hardly a surprise, walked in. The size of the soles on her heels might have had something to do with the terrible posture and inability to walk straight, though, at this time of night, there were other probable reasons for that.
She wobbled haphazardly up to the bar and asked for a zing and topic.
The barman just looked at her.
‘Oh get her a gin and tonic,’ Charlie told the man, ‘on me.’
That was all it took; the price of a single drink and she was all over him. Which wasn’t unusual in here. The fact that it was prearranged didn’t mean that they didn’t have to make it look real. She even haggled over the price, raising him by a tenner and wanting the money up front.
Ten minutes later, he took her hand and led her out of the pub.
The alley was twenty yards down the road. It ran between the off-licence and the betting shop. It used to lead to a school, but the school had been pulled down ready for redevelopment and the alleyway blocked off. There hadn’t been any development for twelve years, just a blocked alley that led nowhere. Crucially for Lincoln, there was a CCTV camera on the opposite side of the road that could be hacked into. Charlie knew where it was and was careful not to show his face to it.
The girl, Lexi, was all over him. Her hands everywhere. Apparently, she was determined to have a bit of a good time at his expense. Another time that might have been exciting, but right now it did nothing for him. Lexi worked at the morgue and had been surprisingly eager to help when he’d explained the problem. They’d always got on; he knew she was slightly twisted in her choice of lifestyle, but he wouldn’t judge her for it, only use her for it. The turn-off might also come from knowing her buff boyfriend, Pip, and his roid-head mates who would happily beat seven bells out of Charlie if anything actually happened to Lexi. It also didn’t help that he knew the enlarged breasts were fakes prepared by her boyfriend, a surprisingly talented special effects enthusiast. He was an event organiser who did most of the work for the local zombocalypse attraction.
Without going too far into the alley, just enough so they were only half in shadow, Charlie pressed Lexi to the wall. Leaning down he pressed his mouth to her, surprised when she deepened the kiss, even more surprised when he discovered she had a tongue stud. Careful to avoid the breasts, just in case he showed up their fakeness, he raised his hand to her throat.
‘Squeeze harder,’ she whispered when he broke their kiss to take in air.
‘I’ll hurt you.’
‘Good.’
Suddenly her hands were in his hair, it needed a cut and she grabbed a handful to pull his head back. His grip tightened, hers did too. For a moment he read increased pleasure in her eyes. He was worried about the girl, not because he’d hurt her, but the idea of getting pleasure from being strangled just seemed odd to him. He sho
ok her a little and she changed her fake sex action for fake fight action. Thankfully he’d got her pinned against the wall, he suspected she might have kneed him in the nuts otherwise, he was certain to have bruises on his calves from the way her heels cut into him.
‘Ease up, Lexi,’ he learned forward to whisper in her ear, ‘I’ve still got to walk away from this remember. And make sure you look at that camera.’
Soon enough her struggles diminished, stopped, and she sagged against him. Once he was certain she was ready to play dead, he leaned slightly back, gathered her against him before starting to lay her on her back. Her feet were to towards the entrance of the alley, her torso and head in shadow. Charlie used his body to block the camera’s view of Lexi as much as possible. He figured Lincoln would still see enough, but not enough to know what Charlie was really up to.
Lexi lay prone on the cold, filthy and frankly stinking alley floor as he pulled a bag from his pocket. He lay the bag to one side, pulled out some items ready for use. The first was a scalpel, one Lexi herself had given him earlier. He pulled the safety cap off.
‘Be gentle with me, Tiger,’ she whispered, her lips barely moving.
‘Hush now, or I won’t let Pip spank you later.’
‘Spoilsport.’
First thing, Charlie pushed up her faux-leather jacket and cut away the T-shirt exposing what to the naked eye was clearly plastic, but would look real enough on black and white CCTV. With precision and care he pushed the scalpel into the plastic above her clavicle. The spurt of blood that shot into his eye was a surprise. He tried to blink it away, but had to reach instead for a wet wipe to clear the gloop. As he did so, a dark pool spread from Lexi’s shoulder. Thank God it wasn’t real blood, or at least not hers.
Returning to his work, he made a full slit across her shoulder. Lexi had said that there were only two ways to get the heart out: break open the chest or delve into the ribcage from above or below. Below and up was easier, above and down was easier to fake. ‘Blood’ pouring over the floor, Charlie quickly rolled his sleeve up, and forced his hand into the slit in her shoulder. There wasn’t any real resistance, but he had to make it look good. He had to hurry too. The CCTV could be hacked, but it was still monitored, he wasn’t sure how long he would have before the first responding officer got here.
He walked his hand down, able to feel the swell of her real breast under his palm, and the feel of something that felt like hard kidney slipping over his hand. That had to be the heart. He twisted his hand, took hold of it and pulled his hand back.
He pushed down the nausea of knowing he had an actual human heart in his hand, one that looked ripped from a body rather than cut, as there was a hole where an artery would have gone in.
‘Did you actually tear this out?’ He placed the thing on Lexi’s chest and wiped his hand.
‘Authenticity.’
‘Warmth?’ The sound of opening up a plastic bag covered his word.
‘Sat it on a hot water bottle for an hour before I come ou’.’ Her accent was slurred as she avoided moving her lips.
Turning the bag inside out, he grabbed the heart and tipped it into the bag. Concurrently wiping blood off the outside as he ziplocked it, he put it into the large pocket of his jacket. He took a moment to wipe the last off his hand and bung the soiled wipes into a second bag along with the re-capped scalpel. That bundle went into the other pocket.
‘They’ll be here soon.’
Pushing himself away, forcing himself not to look back, Charlie rushed away from the area. Already he could hear sirens of approaching emergency vehicles. He prayed it was the crew he’d put on standby. If it was another crew, their discovery that Lexi was very much alive would not go down well and might even give him away before he got to Lincoln.
Two minutes later he met with Lincoln and passed the prize across.
‘It’s still warm.’
‘What did you expect?’
Lexi.
Charlie thought about her. Alexandra Galfario.
So far they’d kept the wraps on that, but it couldn’t last forever. It was going to come out at some point and God alone knew what would happen when it did.
Pulling away from the all too familiar downward spiral, Charlie shook the memories from his head to concentrate on the here and now.
14
Piper scrubbed his hands over his face and stepped from the van. Andrews had gone ahead to advise Broughton what had happened while he stayed in the van to call Family Liaison. Strictly speaking, he should have made the call from the meeting point, but he didn’t need extra scrutiny from Sheldrake. The constable who answered his call simply accepted the address and the direction to get Family Liaison out there to be with Mrs Whittaker. As Piper walked along the street, a mere five steps, he ignored the calls from the TV journalist across the way. He vaguely recognised her face from the local news, but couldn’t be bothered to remember her name. He disappeared into the field office without a word.
‘I’ve spoken to the Family Liaison,’ Piper said in answer to Sheldrake’s question as he joined the knot of officers in the front corner of the hairdresser’s, ‘they’re going to send someone over to see Mrs Teddington’s mother.’
‘Do they have a contact at the prison to get the details?’
Piper regarded Sheldrake for a moment, trying not to react to the fact that yet again she’d asked the very question he didn’t want to answer. ‘I’ve a good memory. I know Teddington’s address from previous dealings, and I know she lives with her mother. There’s no need to make a delay by contacting the prison.’
‘According to Andrews here, that’s what Teddington told you to do. Why would she ask that, if your personal relationship with her means you’re already aware of her address?’
Piper controlled his reaction to her tone, but his jaw was tight as he spoke, ‘I do not have a personal relationship with Mrs Teddington. I have been to her home twice.’ That was a small lie, but the third visit, chronologically the second, was one that had never made it to any official report. He wasn’t going to report that now. ‘First time in connection with Bell’s running after the funeral, second time in connection with the riot. Ari’s not to know that I’ve a good memory for names and addresses. She probably thought she was being helpful, and if I were anyone else, I would need to go to the prison for the contact details. Don’t forget that she’s already the target for hate from the gunmen in there because she’s been recognised as a prison officer. If she made it clear we already know each other, she’d only increase her present risk level.’
‘Is it possible to increase her risk level?’
Piper swallowed as he looked over Sheldrake’s head to consider the point. What he saw when he contemplated the worst-case scenarios wasn’t pretty. He looked back to the commissioner. ‘Probably not, but pissing off gunmen is always best avoided.’ Pissing off the Police and Crime Commissioner and your commanding officer isn’t recommended either, and it looks like that’s where I’m going.
‘And yet you’re still convinced that she’s not in on this operation?’
‘Yes,’ Broughton insisted.
Piper was glad he and Broughton were in agreement on something for once.
‘Hhmm.’ Sheldrake took a deep breath, glancing between them. Piper felt the urge to squirm but controlled it. Finally, she pinned him with the kind of hard stare Peruvian bears would be proud of. ‘Why do you think it was a good idea to register Bell as an informant?’
Piper was getting sick of having to defend his decision. ‘Charlie Bell was one of the best officers I ever worked with. He’s intelligent, capable and honest.’
‘He’s a murderer and apparently a bank robber,’ Sheldrake threw back.
‘He’s a good man!’
‘Yeah, sure, amazing someone hasn’t proposed him for canonisation.’
A ragged clearing of a throat sliced the air between them and they turned to Young, the Press Officer, who made a small movement of her eyes and head to indic
ate behind her. Piper saw in the mirrors behind Sheldrake that they were being watched with intense interest by other plainclothes officers and various uniforms. The owners had been cleared out. Piper’s eyes flicked back to Sheldrake. This wasn’t the time or, more importantly, the place for this discussion. He flexed his shoulders and dragged in a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
At last Piper had to say something. He didn’t usually get the urge to fill silences, but felt it was important here. ‘We know who we were expecting to be here, but clearly they aren’t. Why things changed, we don’t know. I requested a check on the mens’ addresses. None of them are at home, but that really isn’t confirmation of anything. Right now I’m treating this as I would any other robbery, as if I have no idea of who is in there or why.’
‘Which is pretty much the truth right now, isn’t it, Inspector?’
‘Yes,’ the word was forced out through nearly clenched teeth, ‘and it’s Chief Inspector.’ And that crashing silence is the death knell of my career. Still, may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. ‘What they want, just to remind you, is a van.’
‘No.’
Sod the sheep, let’s go for the flock. ‘No? That’s a really bad idea.’
‘All the time they’re in the bank, Chief Inspector, they’re contained. It’s bad enough we’ve endangered the lives of the nine civilians in that building; I won’t allow the endangerment of any more by giving mad men with guns free rein to roam. While we have them contained, they stay contained. Clear?’
Piper clenched his jaw to avoid grinding his teeth.
Teddington looked at her palm. It wasn’t sore any more. Or maybe she just couldn’t feel it because of all the newer aches and pains. Today was her rota day off, but she’d been offered overtime to help with one of the inmate training courses. She’d said no so she could change all the house locks. If she hadn’t, she’d be safe at work, in prison, and knowing she’d be going home safe in about… she checked the time on her phone… ten minutes. One more bloody thing to hate that thieving scumbag bitch of a lodger for. That particular problem was in the past, though. For now, she had this problem to deal with.
