by Paul Finch
‘Really, Heck?’ Marciano clambered to his feet and extricated the SCAR from the gangbanger’s unconscious hands. ‘You came all this way to save a gobby little twat like that?’
Heck shook his head. ‘I was wondering …’
Marciano kept the weapon levelled, as he made a couple of checks to ensure that it was still loaded. ‘Thought he’d never shut up.’
A lump the size of a plum lowered on the top left corner of his forehead; it was so swollen that it pulled his long, sharp features out of shape, but he didn’t seem especially angry.
‘OK, Heck … well, I had my orders, as you know. But now … as the person who issued them isn’t with us any more, perhaps there’s a deal to be done, eh?’
Heck didn’t reply.
‘Better make it good, though.’ Marciano winked. ‘Otherwise, I can’t let you walk away from here, knowing the stuff you do.’
‘Ray, you must understand I’m not authorised …’
‘And don’t give me any fucking pap.’
‘You seriously think I can make all this disappear?’
Marciano pondered their surroundings, as if only now the gravity of the situation was dawning on him. Acrid smoke drifted across the roof; bullet casings were scattered everywhere; Taylor and Rodent lay prone where they’d fallen. Sirens could be heard crossing the strait, while somewhere overhead at least one police helicopter was very close.
Marciano sighed. ‘You a man of honour, Heck?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘How about … I give you Morgan Robbins, the one who actually made this happen, and you don’t chase me so hard?’
‘What’re you talking about?’
‘It’s not like it’ll be tough for you. None of you lot think I did anything really wrong.’
‘Apart from taking money to see men killed.’
Marciano barked with laughter. ‘Are you telling me you’d pack the job in if they reinstated the death penalty, Heck? Can’t see it, somehow … and hey, we might do just that once we’ve left Europe.’
‘Ray … it’s over, mate.’
The ex-cop sniffed, his smile wilting. ‘Impossible situation to present you with, I suppose. Never mind.’ Hefting the SCAR one-handed, he retreated towards the west-facing parapet, halting en route to scoop up the pistol he’d dropped and pocketing it.
‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ Heck shouted.
‘Where do you think?’
‘You’re going to jump? Don’t be so bloody stupid!’
‘Being stupid would be staying here … and spending the rest of my life in jail with all those scumbags I was responsible for sending there.’
‘Ray, you’ll rip yourself to pieces …’
‘I seem to remember that you once jumped from a high point into deep water. You did OK out of it.’
‘This isn’t deep water … it’s the shoreline. And that was nowhere near as high as this.’
‘I’ve always taken chances, Heck …’
The thunderous roar of the local chopper now sounded directly overhead. A spotlight swept the roof. Marciano grinned broadly, before turning and running.
‘Hey, whoa!’ Heck called. ‘What about Morgan Robbins?’
When the ex-cop reached the battlements, he halted and turned, laughing loudly, though briefly Heck could hear nothing but the tinny-voiced commandments issuing from the police loudhailer high overhead.
‘Say again …’ Heck shouted.
‘Locker 342!’ Marciano repeated. ‘Liverpool Street. Look for “Spartacus”.’
‘Sparta …?’
‘So long, Heck.’
And he’d gone, vanishing through the nearest embrasure.
Heck scrambled over there, but when he looked through the gap, saw only the blackness of night and a silver sparkle of moonlight on the rolling, sighing sea.
Chapter 38
September 6 was a Wednesday. It was cool and breezy that evening, and though the nights weren’t really drawing in yet, by eight o’clock, dusk had settled on North London. A stiff breeze, faintly redolent of autumn, buffeted the leaves in the parks and along the avenues of residential streets.
Being midweek, of course, there wasn’t a great deal of activity. It was the quietest night of the police officer’s week, and if you were working late shifts, it might well provide an opportunity for you to catch up on paperwork, or to sit on some corner in your vehicle, relaxed but watchful, ear cocked to the eerie hiss of the radio.
Not so Heck. Not tonight.
When he arrived at the Duke of Albion, he was in dapper mode: best shirt and tie, brand new suit, face cleanly shaven. A firm believer in that ‘uniform’ thing, he was no stranger to this look, though today he’d probably gone to town a little more than usual.
He made quite a contrast with Gail Honeyford, who was sitting alone in the Duke’s snug in jeans and T-shirt, her hair down and a scruffy sweatshirt tied around her shoulders. She sipped from a bottle of lager as she pored, with pen in hand, over several forms.
‘You reached the stage already where you’re taking work home with you?’ Heck said.
She seemed unsurprised by his arrival, clearly having watched him enter from the corner of her eye. ‘What are you doing here, Heck?’
‘Came to find you. Not a particularly good place to hide, the closest boozer to Staples Corner.’
‘I’m not trying to hide,’ she said. ‘I’ve just got stuff to do.’
‘Tonight?’ He frowned with disapproval. ‘Just up the road from here, there’s an SCU do on. You got your priorities in a twist, or what?’
She sat back. ‘I can’t go. I’d feel like a total fraud.’
‘A fraud? You more than played your part in Operation Sledgehammer.’
‘Yeah …’ She shot him a look. ‘But I wasn’t there for the best bit, was I!’
‘To be fair … near enough no one was.’
‘You were. And I should’ve been there with you. Instead, I was back in the office, filing.’
‘Listen …’ He plonked himself on a stool. ‘Tonight’s party is not just because we’ve accounted for most of our fugitives and locked up the Tottenham shooter, but to celebrate the charging of Morgan Robbins with conspiracy to murder before … and this is the important bit, before NPCC could even set up their new task force.’
‘You here to console me, Heck, or rub my nose in it?’
‘The point is I wasn’t there for any of that. I wasn’t the one who arrested Robbins. I didn’t interview him, I didn’t charge him … and I’m still going to the party.’
She snorted. ‘I don’t suppose even you can be expected to do everything. Especially when the brass want some of the glory for themselves. But I must’ve missed the bit where it was someone else who came up with the idea to check that locker at Liverpool Street.’
It was less easy to argue this point, he conceded.
Locker 342 at Liverpool Street Station had turned out to be a hidey-hole used by one of the late Milena Misanyan’s London-based accountants. Inside it, there was only one item: an external hard drive, which, when opened, contained masses of illicit financial data relating to the billionaire’s UK-based interests. What they’d in effect discovered was an electronic accounts book, which provided a comprehensive record of Misanyan’s illegal activities in Britain – everything from bribing public officials to fraud, from insider trading to embezzlement, from cybercrime to money laundering. More important than this though, before any of Misanyan’s affairs had been handed over to the City of London Police’s Economic Crime Directorate, Operation Sledgehammer had taken personal charge of one particular electronic folder entitled ‘Spartacus’, which solely contained intel concerning payments relevant to the gladiatorial combats at Trevallick Hall.
If Heck hadn’t seen it for himself, it would have staggered him.
The fugitives each paid a hundred grand for the privilege of being rescued. Fifty of that went into Ray Marciano’s pocket (on top of his mont
hly salary from Morgan Robbins), twenty-five of it went to Narek Sarafian, the driver, and the remaining twenty-five to Milena Misanyan or, if she wasn’t on the island at the time, one of her trusted reps. Not that she really needed it. It was little more than a minor recompense in her case, because each time there was a successful delivery, she paid Morgan Robbins the princely sum of £250,000.
For Misanyan it had been an expensive if depraved hobby, though with her fantastical net-wealth it hardly cost her anything in reality. Where Morgan Robbins was concerned, it was a different story. He might well have genuinely hated those incorrigible men he’d delivered to their deaths, but as Heck had suspected all along, ultimately it was still a case of him surrendering his principles and going for the big bucks.
In light of that, there was no question that it was Heck who’d brought a major case to a satisfactory conclusion. But only because Ray Marciano had taken a decision to give the info to him rather than to kill him. Heck still couldn’t work that out.
Most likely, Marciano had opted for a scorched-earth policy, seeking to take down the entire UK-based Misanyan operation, to weaken it to the point where it couldn’t pursue him. Of course, this was based on the assumption that he would survive jumping from the castle parapet – which was one reason at least why Heck wasn’t yet convinced that the ex-cop was dead.
‘Hello?’ Gail said tetchily. ‘Earth to Heck!’
‘What … oh yeah, sorry. Look, the important stuff was spoon-fed to me.’
‘Yeah. Spoon-fed with a machine gun.’
‘Gail … you need to grow up. You really wish you’d been there for that?’
‘Hey, I’m not like you, Heck. I do care whether I live or die, but I didn’t join SCU because it’s a safe haven. And whether I like it or not, you and me were partners on this, so I should’ve been there.’
Heck sighed. He was no closer to understanding Gail Honeyford now than he had been the first time they’d worked together. But her desire to assert herself was not unusual for someone with high ambition, and he couldn’t criticise her for that just because he had none.
‘Look …’ he said, ‘have a drink, eh?’
‘I’ve already got one.’
He lumbered to the bar and bought himself a pint of bitter. When he sat down again, they sipped in aimless silence.
‘On reflection,’ he eventually said, ‘it doesn’t surprise me that Gemma ended up sending you indoors.’
Gail’s expression hardened. ‘Oh, really?’
‘She’s been a bit screwed up recently. I mean, by her normal standards. She’s looked tired, she’s not been seeing stuff as clearly as she usually does.’
‘Gee …’ Gail chuckled without humour, ‘I wonder why.’
‘The reason doesn’t matter. The point is … she gave you a gig that you weren’t quite ready for. Soon as she saw you were in danger of going under, she pulled you.’
‘She never pulls you, and you seem to be in danger of going under all the time.’
‘She probably has higher hopes for you than for me.’
‘Well …’ Gail swilled more lager, ‘that’s unfortunate.’
Heck was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You might as well be the first to know,’ she said. ‘I owe you that much at least. First thing tomorrow morning, I’m—’
He jabbed a finger. ‘Don’t you dare say you’re putting in for a transfer.’
She watched him guardedly. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Because … because this is the crème de la crème. Look, Gail, NCG’s the serious end of the market, and SCU’s the serious end of that.’ He shook his head. ‘It’ll be seen as a massive step back if you decide you can’t hack it.’
‘It won’t be about that.’
‘No, but that’s how it’ll be seen. And you know that in your bones. You hung on in Surrey and fought your corner for years after that Ron Pavey business, because you knew what they’d all have said.’
Her belligerence diminished a little, as she recalled that Heck had been one of the few people on her side during that most difficult period of her career; in fact, he’d been a help, a huge help. ‘Look, Mark … you’re one of the good guys. I’m sorry for sounding off at you.’
‘If sounding off is what it takes to keep you here, do it. It’s at least partly my fault, anyway.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘I should never have dragged you into my world. Not without prepping you properly …’
‘Damn it, Heck! I’m not a rookie! I voluntarily did my bit up in Hull, even though I knew I’d likely catch it. I’m the one who slagged DI Warnock off, not you.’
‘And now you want to leave?’ He gave a crooked smile. ‘Really? Even though you’ve had a good old taste of it …’
‘All right, I don’t want to leave.’ She made a wild, frustrated gesture. ‘This is everything I want in the job. I mean, apart from the getting stuck behind the filing cabinets bit …’
‘I understand that, and Gemma does too. But you’ve gotta walk before you can run. Gail … come to the party tonight, eh? At least show your face for half an hour.’
‘Just like that? Drive over there with you, so we can walk in arm in arm?’
‘I wasn’t meaning that.’
‘I know you weren’t.’ She sat back. ‘But be honest. Isn’t it the case that you wouldn’t mind Gemma seeing us doing that? Getting her a bit jealous.’
‘I don’t follow.’ He felt genuinely puzzled.
She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re obviously still mad for her, Heck. Why don’t you just go and get her?’
‘Take a club, you mean? Drag her off by the hair to my man cave? I can’t believe that you of all people are suggesting that …’
‘I’m not, you big bloody ape!’ She leaned forward. ‘Just tell her how you feel. Lay it out once and for all.’
‘I already have.’ He made a hopeless gesture. ‘She doesn’t want me. And even if she did … she can’t see any way to make it happen that would suit us both. Least, I think that’s what she said. Mind, I don’t think she’s as keen on Jack Reed as I first thought.’
Gail waved her bottle dismissively. ‘He cuts a dash, that’s all.’
‘I think he made a bit of an impression.’
‘Look …’ She shook her head, ‘everything I’ve said about her notwithstanding, a woman like Gemma can take her pick. She’s got the looks, the intellect, the personality … not to mention the power. She still gets hit on, of course. There must be a dozen blokes have asked her out since you and her broke up, all of whom she’s sent off with a thick ear.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘They don’t measure up, Heck. None of them. But then along comes Jack bloody Reed. Maybe he’s a bit closer to her exacting standards. Maybe she’s briefly taken aback and she wonders could this be the guy. But she’s not exactly made a move on him, has she? How long’s he been in SCU?’
‘I dunno … four months.’
‘OK …’ She shrugged. ‘Four months, and they’re still at arm’s length.’
‘But when I asked her, she didn’t deny there was interest there …’
‘Of course she didn’t deny it. Look … you say she’s been acting screwy recently? That she’s seemed tired, distracted. You don’t know why? I mean, come on, Heck, you’re the most intuitive detective I’ve ever worked with. Surely you can figure this out?’
‘If you’re trying to say that deep down she’s got real feelings for me …’
‘Well, what do you think?’ She shook her head, amazed that he could be so slow. ‘And it’s a problem for her, isn’t it? It’s clearly been a problem for some time, but now she’s getting tired of it, now she’s trying to find a way to make it disappear. And then along comes Jack Reed, and he seems like a viable option. Except …’
Heck shrugged, nonplussed. ‘Except …?’
‘Lord help us.’ Gail rolled her eyes. ‘Except you can’t force yourself to feel a
ffection for someone if those emotions are already spoken for.’
Heck gazed at her with fascination, his mouth slowly turning dry.
‘She doesn’t just have feelings for you,’ she continued. ‘It goes way further than that. This is why she’s been distracted, why she’s been off her game. Because she’s finally tried to face this thing off … and she can’t.’
‘Is it …?’ He didn’t quite know how to phrase the question. ‘Is it because you’re a woman that you know this …?’
‘No, it’s because I’m a normal person, and at least fifty per cent of my bandwidth is tuned to normal life. Unlike yours, which is entirely focused somewhere else.’
‘You …’ he shook his head, ‘Gail, you couldn’t be mistaken about this?’
‘The only way you’re going to know, Heck, is if you go to that party right now, and talk to Gemma …’
‘But I’ve told you … it can’t happen.’
She leaned forward and stuck a finger into his shoulder. ‘You have to find a way to make it happen.’
‘Like how?’
‘I don’t know. If things are impossible as they are, change them. You’re the one who’s going to have to do it, Heck … and soon, because Gemma might realise she’s made a mistake with Reed, but she’s still going to keep pulling the other way.’
He sat rigid, pondering.
Gemma Piper had been Heck’s first and only serious adult crush, he realised, and somewhere inside he knew she’d be his last. He needed to be with her.
Whatever it took.
That last bit was the difficult part. Yet, all of a sudden, from nowhere, an idea was germinating. In truth, it wasn’t out of nowhere – it must’ve existed just below his consciousness for a long time. But only now, with the clarity of vision Gail had provided, did he decide that it was time to recognise the only truly important thing in his life.
He jumped up from the table so fast that Gail moved her chair back in surprise.
‘You little belter.’ He clutched her hand in both of his own. ‘You bloody little belter.’
