by Paul Finch
‘Heck … you’re a malign influence. Young detectives see the corners you cut, and they think “wow, this job’s a doddle”. And then they pull the same stunts, and because they don’t enjoy the luck of the devil, like you do, they end up wearing tall hats again. But ultimately, you never get hauled over the coals for it. You know why? Because you never told them to behave that way. It’s one hundred per cent their own fault. And it’s exactly the same with devil-worshipping idiots like the Black Chapel. Now, the cult leaders have all been charged, and like I say, if something else comes up … if one of them wants to do a deal, drop a few more names our way, we’ll be all ears. Until then, we’ve got other business, OK?’
‘Yeah, but I’m just wondering if I should do some follow-up work on this one.’
She regarded him blankly, unused to a lower rank – even Heck – completely ignoring her expressed viewpoint.
‘On the basis of what … a hunch, a wing and a prayer?’
‘Just let me run with it for a couple of weeks. See if I can dig anything up.’
‘Heck, you can’t touch Varulv anyway. They live in Scotland, they’re outside our jurisdiction.’
‘They may be outside our jurisdiction, but I can still touch them.’
‘No, no.’ She shook her head adamantly. ‘None of that. As it stands, the case against Lightfoot, Hapwood, Purdham, Renwick and Ulfskar is watertight. I’m not having you mucking things up by chucking your weight about in a foreign land.’
‘If nothing else, Varulv have encouraged all this. Ulfskar was one of their roadies. Should they just be allowed to go on as if …’
‘Heck, what don’t you understand about “no”? I need you here. In fact, I needed you here a couple of hours ago!’
The lift doors slid open. They stepped inside, and Gemma hit the button for the third floor, where SCU’s command suite and her personal office were located.
Heck stood alongside her and said nothing, but as they ascended, he pondered again the dark, black-metal entity that was Varulv. Powerful music could be a potent force, especially among the disenfranchised. But he’d never quite known anything like this, where a message of anger had been taken to such extremes. It was difficult to imagine its originators, who appeared to have spent their entire adult lives hatching this creed of hatred, simply sitting to one side while their minions were defeated, and taking no further action. After all, they’d first spread their deadly message in Norway, and having got away with it there, had moved to the UK, where the same thing had happened again, only worse.
‘You still with us?’ Gemma wondered.
‘Sorry,’ he responded. ‘I just don’t think this’ll be the last we hear from these guys.’
She visibly tried to keep a lid on her vexation.
‘And when we do hear from them again,’ he said, ‘I think it’s going to be seriously nasty.’
‘Unfortunately, Heck, serious nastiness is not in short supply at present. Which is what Operation Sledgehammer is all about … and as we’re reduced to having to do it in twos, that’s all the more reason why you can’t be spared.’
‘Sledgehammer?’ Heck was finally distracted from his ruminations. ‘We’re … we’re doing it in twos?’
‘Yes. That’s how few people we’ve got available. And you, meanwhile, want to waltz off into some distant Scottish sunset to collar someone purely on sus?’
‘Sorry, ma’am … what do you mean, we’re doing it in twos?’
‘That’s why I wanted you back here. Your new partner’s been waiting in my office for the last two hours or so.’
‘Partner?’ Heck tried not to sound too appalled by this.
‘Yeah. Now there’s a shocking concept, eh?’
The lift doors opened again, and Gemma strode onto the top floor, where many more bodies than usual were flowing back and forth, a lot of them tooled-up techies wandering in and out of the conference room.
‘That’s going to be the MIR,’ she said, as they walked past it.
‘Sledgehammer’s a major enquiry then?’
‘It’s pretty major for us, yes.’
Still carrying the box, Heck followed Gemma down the corridor to her office.
‘And I’ve got a new partner?’ he said. ‘As in someone from outside SCU?’
Gemma glanced back. ‘She’s just joined SCU, as it happens. She’s been trying to come to us for ages. She dropped your name half a dozen times during her last application. Don’t look so worried. You’re not being asked to puppy-walk someone. DC Honeyford’s been a fully operational detective for several years now. She’s clocked up some excellent arrests.’
‘DC Honeyford,’ Heck said slowly.
‘You ought to remember her. That time you were assigned to work down in Surrey, she was your right-hand man.’
‘Yeah, she was.’
‘She also has a rep for not taking any bullshit. Which also makes her the ideal choice to be paired up with you.’
‘Ma’am, she’s spiky as hell.’
‘Like I say, ideal.’ Gemma halted by her office door. ‘Yet, funnily enough … when I interviewed her, she said that you were the main reason she wanted to leave Surrey and come to the National Crime Group. She said that when she worked with you on the Laurel and Hardy murders, she learned more than she has from all the rest of the detectives she’s met put together.’ Gemma registered the disbelieving expression on his face. ‘I know, I kind of doubt that too. But we are where we are.’ She pushed the door open. ‘Come and say hello to her. Let’s hope she’s not died of old age waiting for you.’
Chapter 5
‘DC Honeyford,’ Gemma said, ‘DS Heckenburg apologises for his tardiness. The fact that he doesn’t look very apologetic is to be ignored. He doesn’t do apologies often or convincingly. However, on this occasion, despite all appearances to the contrary, he means it.’
Gail Honeyford looked much the way Heck remembered when he’d last seen her, which was just over two years ago: she was still slim and attractive; a cool brunette, with hair down to her shoulders, dark hazel eyes and a pale, ‘peaches and cream’ complexion. She wore a powder-blue trouser suit and blue heeled boots and was sitting in the chair facing Gemma’s desk. A raincoat was folded alongside her, and an empty coffee cup sat on the desktop.
‘Yeah,’ Heck said. ‘Sorry I’m late, DC Honeyford.’
She replied with a polite nod.
Gemma indicated that Heck could dump the box of paperwork in a corner, and slid behind her desk, which was a complex operation in itself, given how little room there was in here. Unlike some senior officers, Gemma had never been given to displays of power. Though she was commander here at Staples Corner, head of the Serial Crimes Unit and second in authority at the National Crime Group only to the director, Joe Wullerton, himself, her office was a cramped, closet-like space, half of it filled with filing cabinets, the rest overhung with shelves groaning beneath the weight of packed files and dog-eared legal manuals.
‘Right …’ She selected a beige folder from her wire basket in-tray. ‘Seeing as Operation Sledgehammer goes live at eight tomorrow morning, there isn’t a great deal of time for us to discuss the niceties of what’ll be expected of you as a Serial Crimes Unit detective.’
DC Honeyford, having realised that she was the one being addressed, sat up straight.
Gemma glanced at her. ‘Except to say that if you needed to learn anything, you wouldn’t be here. So, you’re not on probation. You understand that?’
‘Of course, ma’am,’ the new recruit replied.
‘There’s a serious job needs doing, and in SCU we do it to the best of our abilities,’ Gemma said. ‘If any one of us fouls up, and that includes me, we’re out. But it may even be worse than that.’ She sat back, watching her new charge carefully, probing her with that penetrating blue-eyed gaze. ‘In this department, we deal exclusively with violent psychopaths … that means we can’t afford any errors. Lives, including our own, DC Honeyford, may depend on it.’ She
paused again. ‘And … that’s it. That’s the whole of the introductory pep talk. Sorry if it wasn’t what you were expecting, but we’re all a bit short of time at present. You’ve got exactly half a day to get settled in. Because after tomorrow morning’s briefing you’ll all be expected to hit the road straight away in pursuit of the various actions that will have been allocated to you as part of Operation Sledgehammer.‘
‘I’m ready to go now, ma’am,’ DC Honeyford said.
‘Good. That means you can spend the rest of the day familiarising yourself with this.’ Gemma pushed the beige folder across the desk. ‘Consider that a welcome-to-your-new-job present. It’s a perk of sorts … no one else will know what case they’re being allocated until tomorrow morning.’
At last, Heck understood why they were being deployed in twos.
There were clearly several investigations that needed working on at the same time, most likely of historical significance rather than dating to the here and now. So that was Operation Sledgehammer: it sounded dramatic, as if it was something right up SCU’s street, but in actual fact one of the most experienced and productive special investigations units in the British police service was being used to adjust the clean-up rates.
‘And, Heck,’ Gemma said, interrupting his thoughts, ‘let’s make this thing work.’
He nodded, trying not to look as half-hearted about it as he felt.
‘OK … off you go.’ She waggled them away with her fingers.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ DC Honeyford said, standing and tucking the file under her arm.
Heck dawdled after she’d left the room, edging the door closed behind her.
When he spoke, it was quietly. ‘Ma’am, I—’
She halted him with a raised palm. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’
‘Look, there’s something you may not know …’
‘I said I don’t want to hear it.’
She’d already opened her emails, her manicured fingers rattling on the keyboard.
‘Gemma … come on!’
Two things you never did with Gemma Piper was raise your voice or lose your temper. Even though Heck felt that, on occasion, he might have earned the right, he hadn’t intended it to slip out quite so abrasively. But rather to his surprise, her reaction was mild.
‘Don’t get too cocky, Sergeant.’ Her voice remained level; she didn’t even look up. ‘You may find this thing more of a challenge than you think.’
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he muttered, leaving the room and half-blundering into Jack Reed outside.
‘Sorry, Heck,’ Reed said. ‘My fault. Don’t worry, I wasn’t eavesdropping.’
Heck had never known such politeness in the police environment as he routinely heard from Reed, especially not from a supervisor to an underling. It surely had its origins in the Officers’ Mess, though Heck had never enquired about the DI’s background, and never would – as that would imply that he was interested in getting to know the guy.
‘It’s OK, sir,’ Heck grunted. ‘Nothing to hear anyway.’
‘I’ve told you, mate … it’s “Jack”. I don’t do formalities.’
‘Yeah, no probs.’
Gail Honeyford was waiting a few yards along the corridor, picking through the folder’s contents. He stumped towards her. Behind him, he heard Reed tap on Gemma’s door.
‘Busy!’ she called out. ‘Unless it’s exceedingly important.’
‘It’s me, ma’am,’ Reed replied. ‘Can I come in?’
Heck was now too far away to hear her muffled response, but whatever it was, Reed went in.
‘You don’t look very pleased to see me,’ Gail said, as they walked side by side down to the detectives’ office.
‘I’m not displeased.’ Heck tried not to sound tetchy, though it was a struggle. The truth was that he rated Gail as a police officer. How could he not when he owed his life to her? But there were other issues here, which, frankly, he didn’t think he could deal with at this moment. ‘I’m just … surprised.’
‘I gave you a heads-up that I was going to try and join SCU,’ she said. ‘Roughly around the same time you said you’d try to give me a leg-up. Just because I didn’t hear anything else from you, that doesn’t mean I didn’t stick with my ambition.’
‘In a way, I did give you a leg-up,’ he said. ‘You name-dropped me during your interview.’
‘Yeah, funny that. When I reminded DSU Piper that I’d worked with you before and that we got on well together, she said something to the effect of: “Ordinarily, that would be a reason for me not to appoint you.” What do you think she meant by that?’
‘She plays games,’ he grunted. ‘Likes to keep us on our toes.’
‘I hear they call her “the Lioness”.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Why?’
‘Muck up this enquiry, and you’ll find out.’
Gail nodded as she pondered this.
‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Why did she?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She told you that “ordinarily” she wouldn’t have appointed you. What changed her mind?’
‘Oh … she also noted that aside from that one case you and me worked together, my career’s been pretty straight-laced and that I’ve had some good results, all of them by the book. She added that she was certain the experience of this, plus the passage of time, would probably ensure that I’ve got over any bad habits I might have picked up from you.’
‘Might have picked up from you, Sergeant,’ he corrected her.
‘Sorry, yes … Sergeant,’ she agreed primly.
That was one bad habit she’d dispensed with, he noted. The previous incarnation of Gail had bridled at the merest hint that she was under someone else’s control, especially a male’s. This was explainable by the tough time she’d had with some of the idiot men in her life, but it hadn’t been likely to do her any good in the long run. At the end of the day, rank was rank.
They went into the detectives’ office – or ‘DO’ as it was known – to find the place reorganised in terms of its furniture. Heck’s own desk had been moved several feet from its south-facing window and turned around ninety degrees. Another desk, previously empty, had been drawn up to face it. It wasn’t hugely inconvenient. All Heck’s electricals were still plugged in and he could still reach his shelves and filing cabinet. But the fact that everything had been shifted around, without his even being consulted, was the last thing he needed on a day like today.
The bloke responsible was still in the middle of it.
Approaching his late fifties, DS Eric Fisher had outlived his usefulness to SCU as an outdoors man, and if his age hadn’t been against him, his colossal girth could have done the job on its own. But as an analyst, intelligence officer and now the unit’s official account manager for HOLMES 2 – the latest IT system used by UK police forces for the investigation of serious crime – Fisher was second to none. In case that wasn’t quite enough in this new age of extreme cost-efficiency, Gemma also had him double-hatting as a kind of unofficial office manager – a role he was currently occupying comfortably, as he issued orders to DCs Quinnell, Rawlins, Cunliffe and Finnegan, who, with much clattering of tables and scraping of chair legs, were trying to pair up their own furniture.
‘What’s all this?’ Heck demanded.
Fisher scratched his beard. ‘We’re working Sledgehammer in pairs. Haven’t you heard?’
‘Yeah, I heard.’ Heck toed irritably at his desk. ‘But, given the option, I might have wanted to do things slightly differently.’
‘Fair enough.’ Fisher pushed his glasses back up his sweat-greased nose. ‘How many permutations of two desks do you want me to go through before you settle on one you like?’
‘I’m sure this’ll be all right,’ Gail said, throwing her coat, bag and the Sledgehammer file onto the empty desk facing Heck’s.
Fisher turned to Heck and arched his caterpillar-thick eyebrows.
‘It’ll
do for the moment,’ Heck grumbled. He cleared his throat and raised his voice. ‘Everyone … listen up. Meet our newest recruit, DC Gail Honeyford.’
The rest of the men – and they were exclusively men at present – gathered, grinning, catching as much of an eyeful as they dared in the twenty-first century. A lot had changed in British policing, even during Gail’s relatively short service, but boys would always be boys.
‘DS Eric Fisher,’ Heck said, sticking a thumb towards the big man.
‘Please to meet you, love,’ Fisher nodded genially, which belied his barbaric appearance.
‘DC Gary Quinnell,’ Heck said. ‘He’s our conscience.’
Quinnell nodded too. Gail nodded back.
Heck then went through the rest of them: Andy Rawlins, who was short, tubby, balding on top and possessed of a beard as scraggy as Eric Fisher’s – he smiled shyly; Burt Cunliffe, who was squat and solid, with a grey buzz cut and a tan that indicated he’d recently been abroad for his holidays; and Charlie Finnegan, who was lean, with black, slicked hair and an odd foxy look about him.
‘There are a few more of us, of course,’ Heck said. ‘Out on the job, scattered around the building. We have actually got a few other women on the plot. You’ve met Gemma. DI Ronni James is on leave. Up to last year, we had DC Shawna McCluskey …’
‘Big shoes to fill there, girl,’ Quinnell interrupted; he’d been a particularly close friend of Shawna’s, even more so than Heck.
‘Promoted?’ Gail wondered.
‘Shot,’ Charlie Finnegan said matter-of-factly. ‘And savagely beaten.’
Gail glanced at Heck. ‘Fatality? Only I didn’t hear anything …’
‘No,’ he said. ‘But she went on a full medical. She’s OK. The Federation looked after her.’
‘Yep,’ Finnegan said. ‘There’s always that consolation. If you catch a few bullets … the Federation will look after you.’
‘There but for the grace of God go all of us,’ Gail said, pointedly unfazed by his sneery smile.
‘Sounding like my kind of girl already,’ Quinnell guffawed, slapping her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, though … I’m already spoken for.’
