‘No one move!’ I shouted, swinging the gun from left to right.
Grimes was down and clutching his belly, so I guessed he’d taken a hit there; Cleaver Man was pawing at his legs; and the young guy in the cap, who’d now lost his cap, had one hand on his balls, the other stretched out in front of him in a gesture of surrender, his face crumpled in pain.
I turned the gun on Mitchell, who’d once again reappeared, but this time with his hands in the air, a very sober expression on his face, and his knife nowhere to be seen. ‘OK, mon, OK. Take it easy now.’
Still panting, I stood up, moving the gun round so that it kept everyone covered, my heart hammering in my chest as I began to come to terms with what I’d just done. I’d never fired a gun in anger in my life, but now I’d crossed a line, and there was no going back.
‘I’m not a copper, all right?’ I told Mitchell. ‘I’m not a fucking copper. Do you understand?’
‘Sure, mon. OK. No problem.’
I picked up the holdall. ‘I’m going to walk out of here, and I want that to be the end of it. You’ve got your money, and I’ve got my guns, so we’re both happy. OK?’
‘Sure, mon, sure.’
‘He’s a cop,’ hissed Grimes through gritted teeth, the agony on his long face almost making me feel sorry for him.
‘Shut the fuck up, arsehole!’ yelled Mitchell, who’d clearly had enough of this particular strand of conversation.
Still keeping the gun trained on all of them, I backed out of the room, then as soon as I was out of sight I stuffed the gun in my jeans and ran for it, unlocking the door and feeling a desperate relief as I got back out on the street.
I sprinted all the way back to the car, checking my watch as I did so. Eight minutes. That was how long the whole thing had taken, and now my life had changed dramatically and irreversibly.
‘What’s happened?’ demanded Tommy as I jumped in the passenger side and threw the holdall in the back, narrowly missing Tommy Junior.
‘Just drive. Now.’
The engine was already running and he pulled away in a screech of tyres. ‘Talk to me, Sean,’ he said as we turned on to the Barking Road, heading back into town. ‘What happened in there?’
‘We had a disagreement,’ I said at last, the adrenalin still pumping through me. ‘I got the guns but one of them accused me of being an undercover copper, things got a bit heated, so I shot him. And one of his mates.’ As I spoke the words, the whole thing seemed utterly surreal. I still couldn’t believe I’d done it.
Tommy’s eyes widened. ‘Not Mitchell. Tell me you didn’t shoot that loon Mitchell.’
‘No, he’s still standing. Don’t worry.’
‘And the blokes you shot. Are they dead?’
I shook my head. ‘They’ll need patching up, though.’
For a couple of seconds Tommy didn’t say anything, and I wondered if I’d blown it. But then he hit the steering wheel and burst into a fit of loud, throaty laughter. ‘Christ, Sean, you’re like some sort of ice man! I can’t believe you popped two of Mitchell’s people. Wolfe’ll be tearing his hair out!’
He clapped me on the shoulder, staring at me with an expression that looked dangerously close to admiration. And I knew then that, although it might have cost me my career, at least now I was one of them.
Eight
It was at exactly 1.15 p.m., and with the images of the Night Creeper’s brutal murders still fresh in her mind, that Tina took her seat in the interview room with DCI MacLeod to begin the final stage of Andrew Kent’s questioning.
Kent clearly sensed that something was wrong because he looked nervously from one officer to the other and kept licking his lips. Jacobs, his brief, just looked impatient.
Tina made the necessary introductions for the camera, then stared hard at Kent, wondering what it was like to have such a base disregard for human life. He’d inflicted unquantifiable levels of pain and misery, not only on his victims, but on their families and friends too. She hated him then. Hated every single fibre of his being because, sitting there acting innocent, he reminded her of everything that had gone wrong in her own life as a result of someone like him.
Steadying herself, and conscious of MacLeod waiting for her to begin, she finally spoke. ‘We’ve found a number of home videos on your computer, Mr Kent, that depict the murder of several of the Night Creeper’s victims.’
Kent looked stunned. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t have anything like that on my computer.’
‘As your lawyer, I’m advising you not to say anything else, Mr Kent,’ said Jacobs, who also looked shocked. ‘Not until we’ve spoken about this.’ He turned to Tina. ‘I need a few moments alone with my client, officers.’
But Kent didn’t seem to be listening. He was staring at Tina and MacLeod. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly. I don’t have any graphic videos on my laptop. Did you find this stuff on a computer in my flat?’
‘I think we need time alone,’ said Jacobs firmly, putting a hand on his arm.
Kent pulled away and leaned across the desk, getting close enough to Tina that she could smell the sourness of his sweat. ‘Someone’s setting me up,’ he pleaded, getting louder. ‘They’ve got to be. I don’t know why, but someone’s setting me up.’
‘Calm down, Mr Kent,’ said MacLeod, speaking for the first time.
‘What computer did you find? Just tell me that. Because I’ve got a Dell Inspiron. That’s my one. I promise.’
MacLeod told him it was an Apple Mac and Kent continued with his frenzied denials: he’d never even owned an Apple Mac, let alone put graphic videos on one.
Tina sat back and watched him. She’d been on no end of training courses over the years on body language, in which she’d been taught to spot the tell-tale signs of a liar: lack of hand movements, defensive posture, failure to make eye contact. But Kent was exhibiting none of these.
Tina forced down the shred of doubt she was feeling. He was obviously just an incredible actor, as were a small but not insignificant minority of criminals. With a quick glance at MacLeod, who gave her a barely perceptible nod, she looked her suspect right in the eye, and charged him with murder.
Kent leaped to his feet and shouted that he was innocent, his face stretched into an expression of dismay and righteous anger. ‘Can’t you understand that? I’m innocent!’
‘Sit down,’ demanded Jacobs, grabbing him by the arm.
Kent angrily swatted his hand aside and stared again at Tina, his eyes wide in the kind of little-boy-lost impression that might have worked before she knew what type of man he was. ‘Please . . .’ he whispered.
‘Do what your lawyer says and sit down, Mr Kent,’ she told him. ‘You’ll get your opportunity to put your side of the story in court.’
She noticed he was shaking and, concerned that he was about to lash out, maybe even make a break for it, she tensed, placing a hand on her CS spray under the table, remembering all too well how fast he could move when he wanted to, and how dangerous he could be.
But he didn’t, and it took Tina a second to realize there were tears running down his cheeks. Then, finally, he fell back into his seat, and as Tina continued to charge him with each of the five murders, he put his head in his hands and sobbed quietly, Jacobs looking down at him with an expression of distaste. Once she’d finished, Tina stood and she and MacLeod left the room, but as she did so she glanced back at Kent and felt that twinge of doubt reappear.
Could it possibly be that he was telling the truth?
Nine
It had just turned three o’clock and I was still buzzing with the after-effects of the adrenalin when we pulled into a deserted pay and display car park just west of the Brent Cross shopping centre, where we were going to be rendezvousing with Wolfe and Haddock. Tommy had already called Wolfe to say that, although we had the goods and they seemed in order, there’d been a problem. He hadn’t elaborated, being cunning enough never to say too much on the phone, but I’d he
ard Wolfe’s distinctive growl down the other end, the volume notched up a few levels, and it was clear he wasn’t happy.
‘Don’t worry, Sean,’ said Tommy as he found a spot in the corner of the car park, near a couple of anaemic-looking trees that were the only greenery I’d seen in the last ten minutes. ‘Wolfe’ll smooth things over with Mitchell and his people. The relationship we’ve got with them’s good, and Wolfe’s got enough clout to make sure there are no comebacks. Know what I’m saying?’
‘Sure,’ I answered, still finding it hard to come to terms with what I’d done.
I’ve come close to the edge before. One time, not long after I’d started out in undercover, I infiltrated a gang of West Ham football hooligans to try to gather evidence against some of their top guys, who were suspected of involvement in drug dealing and gun running. The assignment lasted four months, and during that time I had to prove myself by joining in the clashes with rival fans. This meant hand-to-hand fighting. Hitting people in the face; kicking them when they were on the ground; chucking chairs through pub windows (I did that twice). I’d like to say that I tried to do as little damage to people as possible, but that’s not entirely true. Several times I found myself caught up in the thrill of the moment – it’s difficult not to when the war cries break out and the adrenalin’s pumping through you. You’re surrounded by your mates, guys you know will always watch your back, and it was the nearest thing to going into battle that I’ve ever experienced. It was wrong, I always knew that, but I justified it by telling myself that joining in was the only way I was going to keep my cover intact. And anyway, the men I was fighting against were football hooligans too, and knew the score when they got involved.
Then, during a mass brawl on the Seven Sisters Road with Spurs fans, I was one of ten people caught on CCTV throwing punches and kicks. Stills of the footage were shown on Crimestoppers, and though it was thankfully pretty grainy (this being the early days of CCTV), I was still recognized by both my bosses at the time, Dougie MacLeod and Captain Bob, as well as several colleagues. Not surprisingly, this caused huge embarrassment among the Met’s brass who, desperate to avoid a scandal, got Crimestoppers to remove my mug from their website, stopped any further broadcasts, and told Captain Bob to pull me off the job immediately.
The grim irony in all this was that my guest appearance on Crimestoppers improved my credibility within the Firm no end. On the day I was told it was all over, I got a call from the Firm’s head honcho, and our main target, saying that he wanted a meet. But it was too late. I tried to persuade Captain Bob that it had to be worth carrying on now that I was finally in with the people we were after, but he wasn’t having any of it. Sometimes as an undercover copper you’ve got to commit crimes to prevent other, bigger ones from happening further down the line. The key is not to get caught. I did, and it cost me a black mark on my record.
What I’d just done was different, though, because I’d deliberately shot two men. The fact that it was self-defence, and that they’d almost certainly survive if they received medical treatment, wasn’t making me feel better either. There was always the chance that they were seriously wounded, or that they wouldn’t get help in time, and then I’d have one, maybe even two deaths on my conscience. And if they did get help, it was also possible that one of them might talk to the cops. I was pretty sure that the big guy I’d taken in the legs wasn’t the sort to blab, but Weyman Grimes was a small-time scrote, and he could get me into a whole shedload of trouble. And not the slap-on-the-wrist kind either. A shooting meant I was looking at an attempted murder charge, regardless of the circumstances. Even if I got off, I’d lose my job and my pension and end up on the scrapheap at the age of only thirty-three. And if I was found guilty I was looking at the next ten years of my life at least inside, cooped up with the paedophiles and rapists for my own safety.
I don’t usually worry about things. You can’t in my job, otherwise you’d end up with a coronary. But it was difficult to get over the enormity of what I’d just done, and on the journey over I’d been contemplating the idea of coming clean. Getting Tommy to stop the car, making my excuses and walking free, then calling Captain Bob to let him know what I’d done.
But in the end, I decided not to. I’d worked for too long now to infiltrate Tyrone Wolfe’s crew simply to walk away as soon as the going got tough. I wanted to bring these guys down – Wolfe, Haddock, even Tommy – and I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of that.
I still had the gun. Unloaded now and pushed down the back of my jeans. I’d break it up and get rid of it later, so it wouldn’t be found. In the meantime, pressed against my coccyx, it was just serving as a constant and uncomfortable reminder of my recklessness. The device in my watch had also recorded the whole thing, as well as my conversation with Tommy on the way over there, and now I was going to have to bin the recording in the name of self-preservation.
Tommy picked up the holdall containing the guns from the back seat, gave a couple of dog treats to Tommy Junior, telling him we’d be back soon, and we got out of the car. I followed him along a dirt path to the anaemic trees then down an alleyway until we came to the back entrance of a shabby-looking 1930s townhouse. A flight of birdcrap-infested steps led down to a derelict-looking basement flat with filthy windows and a set of ancient net curtains that made seeing inside impossible. I crowded in behind Tommy, ducking my head as he knocked hard three times on the door, which rattled under the force of his blows.
It opened almost immediately, and Clarence Haddock’s huge dreadlocked head appeared looking none too happy, as seemed to be the usual case with him.
I followed Tommy inside, still feeling pumped up and not in the mood for shit. Although I’d just put my job and my liberty on the line that day, it was still amazing what shooting your way out of a life-threatening situation could do for your confidence. Haddock slipped into place behind me, but I ignored him.
The room we entered was dark, dusty and devoid of furniture, and smelled strongly of damp. Tyrone Wolfe stood off in one corner squinting at us angrily.
‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ I told him, feeling bizarrely relaxed. ‘I was hoping your line of work paid better than this.’
‘Don’t take the piss, Sean,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t like it when people take the piss out of me. Understand?’
I shrugged, unfazed. ‘Sure.’
He came off the wall and took the holdall from Tommy, briefly looking inside before setting it down. ‘Now, what the fuck happened?’ he snapped. ‘You said there was a problem.’
He looked at Tommy when he said this but it was me who answered. ‘Yeah, there was a problem. One of Mitchell’s little runts accused me of being an undercover cop, and they all went for me. I had to take evasive action.’
‘What kind of evasive action?’
‘One of them had a gun. I got it off him, there was a struggle, and I shot a couple of them.’
‘But not Mitchell,’ put in Tommy hurriedly. ‘He’s fine.’
‘Are they dead?’ demanded Wolfe, clearly working hard to keep his voice down.
I shook my head. ‘I took one of them with leg shots. The other got hit in the gut with a ricochet, but they’ll both live.’
‘I don’t believe this. Mitchell’s a reliable source. Nothing like this has ever happened before.’
‘I don’t like being insulted, no matter who the hell it is. And being called an undercover cop is an insult in my book.’
I became conscious of Haddock standing very close to me. ‘Why’s he accusing you of being a cop if you ain’t one?’ he said quietly, bringing his immense head close to my ear. ‘Why’d he bother saying that, uh?’
I’d taken a big risk by admitting to them that I’d been accused by one of Mitchell’s people of being a cop, but in my experience, it’s always best to confront these sorts of issues head-on. Keeping up my aggrieved act, I turned and looked Haddock in the eye. ‘Because he made a mistake, that’s why.’
A low gr
owl came from deep inside him, and he began to sniff, his nose going up and down with exaggerated movements.
‘What’s your problem, friend? You got hay fever or something?’
He stopped, glaring at me with slit-thin eyes. ‘You think you’re funny, boy, but you ain’t.’
I knew then that I’d made an enemy of Clarence Haddock, but I also had no choice but to act the way I did. So much of criminal life is macho posturing, using your personality, your reputation, your size as a means of intimidating those around you. To back down in a confrontation is a sign of weakness, and if you want to be taken seriously by the big boys like Tyrone Wolfe, you just don’t do it.
‘He can’t be an undercover cop, Clarence,’ said Tommy. ‘He shot two blokes. Coppers don’t do that.’
‘It’s a good point, Clarence,’ put in Wolfe, seeming to appreciate this pretty obvious point for the first time. ‘But I’m going to need to speak to Mitchell and iron this shit out. Either of you two got a clean mobile?’
‘I got one,’ Haddock answered, still staring at me, although he’d moved his face back a little now so we were no longer quite so intimate. He pulled one out of one of the dozen or so pockets of his knee-length black shorts and chucked it over. ‘I got my eye on you,’ he said, pointing a stubby finger at me as Wolfe went through a door at the end of the room to make the call.
Deciding to bin my two-a-day habit for now, I lit a much-needed cigarette.
It wasn’t long before Wolfe was back in the room. ‘Mitchell ain’t happy, Sean,’ he told me, shaking his head.
I was prepared for this and had already thought of my retort. ‘Neither am I, Wolfe. You think I want to have to go off shooting people? It’s risky and it’s bad for business. I’m no nutter. I’m just an ordinary bloke looking for a decent job, that’s all. Now, you send me out on a delivery to pick up your guns, and I don’t complain, I just do it. And then some toerag who needs his eyes tested, a poxy little chef who was probably stoned up to the eyeballs, reckons I’m a copper who nicked him years back, and then suddenly the guns are out and it’s looking like I’m a dead man if I don’t do something, when all I was guilty of was doing you a favour. It’s not even as if you were paying me for it, for Christ’s sake.’
The Last 10 Seconds Page 6
