‘He said I would take over from you.’
‘With more money than you’re getting now?’
‘I don’t trust him. If he gets me to kill you, then if he’s cornered, he’ll throw me to the wolves.’
‘Am I safe?’ Hughenden asked, slightly more relaxed than five minutes previously.
‘From me you are, but if I don’t kill you now, he’ll make sure someone else does, and he’ll also deal with me.’
‘Then I need to get out of the country as well.’
‘And leave all this,’ O’Shaughnessy said, looking around the room with its exquisite furnishings.
‘You’re right. I can’t leave. If I am to die, then it will be here surrounded by what I treasure.’
‘I still need to go.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I need two hundred thousand pounds.’
‘From me?’
‘Who else?’
‘You must have earned that.’
‘I need an extra two hundred thousand pounds to see me out.’
Hughenden tensed again. He realised that his friend was desperate. ‘I need one day,’ he said.
The money was not the issue as it only meant disposing of one or two paintings, but they were important to him. He did not want to let them go, knew he could not keep them.
‘Fine. Can I stay here?’
‘If you want, but the police know this address.’
‘I’ll take my chances.’
‘The police will find you in time,’ Hughenden said.
‘Not where I’m going.’
‘And where’s that?’
‘Somewhere very remote.’
‘And warm?’
‘Maybe. I’ll make sure I have company for a few years.’
‘And then what?’
‘Cancer. It’s not apparent yet. I may last three or four years, and I intend to live it up. Slammed up in prison or floating face down in the Thames does not appeal.’
‘Steve Walters?’ Hughenden asked.
‘He’s gone up north.’
‘Is he coming back?’
‘I doubt it. It’s you and me now.’
‘And our leader.’
‘Have you met him?’ O’Shaughnessy asked.
‘Once.’
‘Do you know his name?’
‘I never asked.’
‘You must have an idea who he is.’
‘I do, but I’ve kept it to myself. I’m the only person who can connect him to what we’re doing, as well as the murders.’
‘That’s why he wants you dead. And killing Fuentes and Dougal Stewart were not good moves.
‘Fuentes can't be connected back to us.’
‘To me, you mean,’ O’Shaughnessy said.
‘To you. What about Pinto?’
‘Still frozen.’
‘You’d better dump the body.’
‘Why? No one will find it where it’s hidden.’
‘The police are smarter than you think.’
***
Two hundred yards from where the two men conversed, a group of police officers gathered. Wendy had relinquished her duty outside Hughenden’s house to a younger officer in plain clothes.
Larry addressed the group. ‘We need O’Shaughnessy,’ he said. He passed a photo around.
‘They’re still in the front room,’ Wendy said.
‘Any idea what they’re talking about?’ Larry asked.
‘We’ve not had time to conduct any monitoring.’
‘There’s no time now anyway. We want O’Shaughnessy today.’
In the group of eight assembled officers, four were heavily clad in body armour and carrying weapons. Larry and Wendy were not armed and would be standing back from the initial assault. Once the house was secured, they would enter and arrest Devlin O’Shaughnessy. Alex Hughenden would also be taken into custody as a witness.
Isaac had already outlined the plan back at Challis Street. O’Shaughnessy would be in one interview room, Hughenden in another. Two officers outside would be monitoring both interviews, listening for inconsistencies between the two men’s statements.
With the briefing completed by the side of the road, the eight police officers made their way to Hughenden’s house. Two officers would enter through the front door, two through the back. Another two would monitor in case one or both of the men attempted to jump from a window.
At the house, the two men continued to talk, unaware of the impending action. Wendy phoned the officer watching from outside. He confirmed that the time was optimum.
Two police officers rammed the rear door, breaking through on their second attempt. Another two police officers rammed the door at the front. O’Shaughnessy was known to be violent and probably armed, and ringing the doorbell would have been regarded as risky, though smashing two doors was perhaps excessive.
The two men at the rear moved quickly through the kitchen and along the hallway. The two men at the front were quickly into the room where O’Shaughnessy and Hughenden sat. Both men were on their feet, the more timid of the two in one corner.
O’Shaughnessy, full of Irish adrenaline and not willing to be captured, was shielding himself behind a sofa. ‘Come one step closer, you bastards, and I’ll let you have it,’ he said.
The police officers held back.
‘Devlin, you can’t hold out,’ Hughenden said.
‘I’ll not let them take me.’
‘Please, sir. You are surrounded,’ one of the officers said.
There’s no way I’m going to let you take me,’ O’Shaughnessy shouted.
The police officer’s instructions were to arrest, not to kill, the man who was waving a gun at them. They knew he was an easy target to take down, but they had been told that the man had vital information.
The lead armed response officer, Inspector Jeff Freestone, was glad of the instruction, cognisant of the paperwork afterwards if a gun had been fired.
Larry and Wendy stood outside some distance away. A small crowd of onlookers was forming. The uniforms were trying to move them along, although they were having difficulty. One person was videoing the proceedings. Larry knew that it would be on social media before the television. In the world of instant communication, not only would the news-seeking public be aware of what was happening in Bayswater, but so too would the villains, the Mister Big who the team at Challis Street wanted to bring in. Not that he was guilty of carrying out any murders personally, too smart for that Isaac had reasoned, but the man would have known what was going on, had no doubt given the order for the killing of two men, three if Pinto was ever found, and others, although they were unknown.
Len Donaldson was aware of the events in Bayswater and soon on the phone to Isaac. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
Isaac, satisfied with the way things were proceeding and confident that one murderer would be behind bars that night and charged with murder, was ebullient. ‘O’Shaughnessy,’ he replied.
‘Hughenden?’ Donaldson asked.
‘We’ve nothing on him.’
‘Is he in the house?’
‘He’s there. We know that O’Shaughnessy picked him up not far from his shop.’
‘Have you been staking out his shop?’
‘Only today.’
‘We’ve had people watching him for weeks and nothing. You’ve been lucky.’
‘Not luck, just good policing,’ Isaac said smugly.
‘That’s as may be, but this time I want to be present when you interview Hughenden. I could make it official.’
Isaac could understand the man’s sentiments. There he was, a senior man in the Serious and Organised Crime Command, and the Challis Street Homicide team, Isaac’s team, were stealing his thunder. ‘I’d be pleased to have you there,’ Isaac replied.
O’Shaughnessy would talk when threatened with a life sentence in prison, and he would point the finger at Hughenden, Isaac was sure of that, but the jewellery shop owner was going to be harder to
crack, and Len Donaldson had more knowledge of how the drug syndicate operated.
‘I’ll be in your office within thirty minutes,’ Donaldson said.
One minute after Isaac had terminated his call with Donaldson, his phone rang. ‘We’ve got Hughenden,’ Larry said.
‘And O’Shaughnessy?’
‘Stalemate.’
‘Bring Hughenden down to Challis Street. We can start with him. This time he’s going to talk. And remind those attempting to arrest O’Shaughnessy that we want him alive and unharmed.’
Larry moved over to the house and spoke to one of the team members who passed the message on.
Freestone, still holding his position just outside the room where a desperate and increasingly irritated man cowered, received the instruction given by Larry. He acknowledged with a nod of his head.
‘Our instructions are not to harm you,’ Freestone shouted to O’Shaughnessy.
‘You’ll need to.’
A desperate man considered his position. If he surrendered, he would die in prison. The cancer that racked his body would see him succumb in three or four years. If he fought it out in the house, one of the policemen would shoot him. He could see no solution to his dilemma. He regretted coming to the house as he kneeled behind the sofa, keeping a clear view to his front and rear. He was surrounded, and he knew it. He realised that with the education he had received in prison and his intelligence, he could have come out of there and found a decent job and a decent woman, but what had happened: the inevitable. A friend of a friend offering to help him get on his feet with just one little job, no risk and the money’s good, and he was back into crime.
He knew he would not surrender, the odds were not in his favour. There was no way that he was innocent, and the police had a watertight case. He was sure that Alex would eventually break.
Inspector Freestone relinquished his position to another policeman and walked out through the front door of the house.
‘What’s the situation?’ Larry asked him.
‘He’s determined.’
‘What’s the plan?’
‘Give him a few hours, just wait until he’s got an empty belly. He’ll not remain alert for much longer, and come nightfall, he’ll start falling asleep. We’ve got him eyeballed from the front and rear of the house.’
‘Before midnight,’ Larry said. ‘It’s important.’
‘I hope so,’ Freestone replied. ‘I don’t fancy waiting around for that long.’ He looked around and saw the crowd watching their every move. He retreated back inside.
Resuming his position, Freestone spoke calmly to O’Shaughnessy. ‘Devlin, our instructions are to wait for you to surrender.’
‘I’ll not surrender.’
‘That’s fine, we’ve got time. We’ve got plenty of hot food, even cigarettes and beer. We’ll make ourselves comfortable, not that you will. Once our people are tired, we’ll bring in a fresh team. We’re taking bets on how long you’ll last.’
‘Forever.’
‘I’ve got my money on four hours.’
‘And the others?’
‘One of them reckons you’re good for two, another officer reckons six, but there’s no way. If you make six, it’ll be a new record.’
With one of the team keeping a watch on O’Shaughnessy from the front of the house, Freestone sipped coffee, the smell pervading the air where the desperate man crouched. O’Shaughnessy knew his stomach was rumbling and he was desperate for a visit to the bathroom.
He wet himself, although he did not associate it with the jocularity that he and Steve Walters had felt when Pinto had done the same thing at the warehouse.
Meanwhile, Alex Hughenden was down at Challis Street Police Station. Isaac knew he could not keep him there for long, as ostensibly the man had committed no crime and had put up no resistance to the police storming his house, although he was mighty angry, demanding compensation for the damage done to his property and for sullying his reputation.
Isaac gave little credence to the man’s protestations. He knew Hughenden was guilty. Len Donaldson was in the office, excited that there was progress.
Wendy had left Bayswater and returned to Challis Street. Larry did not intend to come back until the police had their man, which according to Freestone shouldn’t be too long, as O’Shaughnessy was starting to fall asleep.
Larry understood how he felt. He had drunk four pints with Rasta Joe, and he was feeling the after-effects. At least, by the time he got home, they would have worn off, and his wife would be pleasant, although when that would be was unclear. With both O’Shaughnessy and Hughenden in the police station, it was bound to be the following morning before he arrived home, probably after daylight, but he would be able to take the children to school.
Inside the house, O’Shaughnessy’s eyes were closing. Freestone made a tentative move forward, only to watch the man wake up with a start.
‘I’m going to lose my bet,’ Freestone said.
‘You’ll not take me.’
‘You’ll not last three. I give you another fifteen minutes.’
‘Not a chance.’ O’Shaughnessy attempted to move his legs, but one was cramping. His throat was parched after drinking two beers before, and his stomach was aching. Freestone watched as he attempted to stretch and to force his eyes open.
‘Ten minutes.’ The instruction was relayed to the team at the front and rear of the house.
Within five minutes, the man behind the sofa was asleep. ‘Now,’ Freestone commanded.
From both doors into the room, the police entered. The man who was never going to give in was arrested with barely a murmur. His hands were pulled behind his back, the handcuffs applied. The gun was placed in a plastic evidence bag.
Freestone, pleased that the arrest was successful, would deal with the paperwork the next day. However, Larry did not have such a luxury. O’Shaughnessy was bundled out of the house and into the back of a waiting police van. Larry phoned ahead; Isaac would be ready on their arrival.
Chapter 15
The pact that had served all the four Old Etonians for so long was unravelling, and they were meeting for the second time in as many weeks. The fourth man, the acknowledged leader of the group was neither a politician or a businessman or an aristocrat. His friends knew that well enough when they had joined with him in his latest criminal venture.
He had brought them in when he needed them, ensured they were well compensated. He had respected their wishes not to be involved, other than to supply the necessary cash in the early days and to reap the financial rewards later on, and now, when it was becoming precarious, they were ready to isolate him.
‘What you wanted was all the profit, none of the risks,’ the fourth man said.
‘That was what we agreed to,’ Griffiths said.
‘The agreement’s changed. If I go down, so do you three.’
‘That was never the agreement,’ Allerton reminded him.
‘Where does it say that in writing?’ demanded the fourth man, angry that his fair-weather friends were willing to sacrifice him.
‘You know there’s nothing in writing,’ Fortescue said.
‘That’s because we trusted each other. You’re only interested in protecting yourselves.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Allerton asked.
The fourth man stood to one side of the other three. He was a good-looking man who had taken care of himself, not like Miles Fortescue with his safe electorate, Jacob Griffiths with his supermarkets, and certainly not like that upper-class snob Lord Allerton, with his stately home and his seat in the House of Lords. The fourth man knew why he had been at Eton: his parents had worked incredibly hard, and he had received a partial scholarship due to his academic brilliance. Also, as the son of a cousin of Allerton’s father, he was blue-blooded enough for the prestigious Eton College.
‘Is that a threat?’ Fortescue asked.
‘Take it whichever way you like. I’ll take you three sanctimonious bastards
with me.’
Allerton sat up, Fortescue adopted an expression of disbelief. Griffiths, a tough man who had dealt with equally tough men in trade, felt the need to respond. ‘Are you certain you want to take us on?’ he asked.
‘If I must. I’ve put at least thirty million pounds into each of your pockets, and now it’s getting dangerous, you’re willing to pull out.’
‘I don’t think anyone mentioned our pulling out. We’re still a team,’ Griffiths said, although he had enough money now and the risk was too high, he knew that. He did not fancy the idea of a prison cell any more than the others.
Fortescue nodded his head in agreement, although the politician recognised a serious threat. Allerton sat mute, hoping only that the nightmare would go away.
‘That’s good,’ the fourth man said. ‘However, there’s a problem.’
‘More deaths?’ Griffiths asked.
‘The money you made came at a cost.’
‘But murder?’ Allerton asked, resigning himself to the situation.
‘There is one person who can threaten us.’
‘Don’t you mean you?’ Fortescue said.
‘I thought we were clear on this matter. If I go down, so do you three.’
‘Not if we deal with you first.’
‘Fortescue, if your threats are as impotent as you and your parliamentary career are, then I’ve got nothing to worry about.’
‘We could expose you, strike a deal with the police,’ Fortescue said, aiming to secure a way out, knowing full well that any deal would result in their facing charges. The ‘impotent’ jibe had struck home. He had been married for nearly thirty years, and no children had resulted from the marriage, although they had ceased to sleep together after the first two years. One or two of his subsequent mistresses had wanted children, but he had failed to fulfil their requests, not that it had stopped them taking his money. There was one who had become pregnant, said it was his, but he knew the truth. A doctor in Harley Street had checked him out, declared him fit and able to make love, but incapable of giving a woman a child.
After the woman had bled him for a few more weeks, he had wished her well and left her to her own devices. His parliamentary career had been the same. Initially, he had tried, and had stood up in Parliament on a few occasions to take part in a debate, but each time his arguments had fallen short, and the last time he had made a fool of himself by stuttering. The Speaker had had to tell him to spit it out and then sit down. After that, he attended when his vote was needed, but apart from that he did not impact on the regular business of Parliament.
The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 4 - 6: Murder (The DCI Isaac Cook Thrillers Series Boxset) Page 13
