Criminal Revenge

by Conrad Jones

  “So many women, and only one life,” Will sighed sarcastically.

  “Quite,” the doctor replied in an acid tone. “We have the early results back. The blood in the alleyway matches the missing boy, Abdul Salim, but we don’t have DNA yet.”

  Graham Libby turned, and walked down the alleyway. He waved his hand, beckoning the detectives to follow him. Yellow tabs made a trail between the two tower blocks, each one numbered, marking a vital piece of evidence.

  “They were shot out there, and then dragged down here, towards the loading bay at the rear of the buildings.”

  The air became chill as they walked deeper, out of the reaches of the sunlight. Chewing gum splodges littered the pavement, and the stench of urine clawed at their throats. Dark trails of congealed blood reached off into the distance.

  “The bullets were nine millimetre rounds, hollow points, fired with uncanny accuracy.”

  The detectives looked at each other with concern. Hollow points were manufactured for one reason and one reason only, to decimate the interior skeletal structure and internal organs of a human target. Accuracy with a pistol can only be developed by practice, which hinted at a military career, perhaps a law enforcement background. They emerged at the rear of the buildings, cast in shadows. The air was just as rank, if not worse.

  “The bodies and the mountain bikes were here, and here.”

  “Have you seen anything like this recently?” Alec asked. Dr Libby attended most of the violent deaths in the city.

  “Dead drug dealers, yes,” he frowned and shook his head. “This is a new one on me.”

  “What makes you say that?” Will asked. He was completely unfazed by the doctor’s dislike of him. The technician he’d been sleeping with resigned because her husband forced her to. He wouldn’t allow her to return to work, where she could come into contact with Will. How was that his fault?

  “The accuracy of the shots, they were centre of the forehead. And the ammunition.” He counted the reasons on his fingers as he talked. “The drugs and the money were left at the scene.”

  Will looked around the crime scene while he thought about it. The note left on the victim specified that the young dealers worked for Malik Shah. Initial investigations supported that, although it was mostly rumour and speculation.

  “Why leave the money and the drugs behind?” Will said.

  “I don’t think that is why they came here,” Alec replied. “They didn’t kill them to rob them.” He crossed the delivery bay to a recess in the towering building. There was a double delivery door padlocked and barred with a rusty chain. On the floor, a cardboard box looked out of place. It was clean and dry. “Have we had officers here at night?”

  “No, guv, why?”

  “Someone’s been sleeping in this doorway, recently.” Alec kneeled down and looked back to where his colleagues stood. “Will, have a look around. I can’t see you from here. We may have found a witness.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The Major Investigation Team – Present Day

  Agent Spence reluctantly handed over two computer disks. The commander took them and placed them on the desk in front of him. He gestured to a chair and the agent smoothed his grey suit before sitting down.

  “Where’s Alec?” The commander clicked the intercom on his desk.

  “He’s gone to meet the Chief at the town hall, commander. Something to do with a body found there, sir.”

  “Well it’s just you and me for now,” the commander picked up the disks. “What are these going to tell us?”

  “Where do you want me to start?” Spence shrugged. “There’s information going back years on there. The paper files will be with you this afternoon.”

  “I want to know why Malik Shah is still at liberty if you have been watching him for so long.”

  “He’s smart, that’s why. Every time we have got near him he’s onto us immediately, and you know about the witness that we had. Malik Shah made him disappear from under our noses.”

  There was a knock at the door and Alec walked in, closing the door behind him. He nodded a greeting to the commander and sat down without acknowledging Agent Spence at all.

  “Agent Spence was just about to explain why Shah has not been neutralised yet,” the commander smiled.

  “Should be enlightening, I’m glad I didn’t miss it,” Alec replied deadpan. He looked at the agent for the first time, and Spence shifted uncomfortably. Alec’s eyes were icy blue and they seemed to look inside you.

  “Shah is slippery. All our investigations have hit brick walls before we can get close to him,” the agent pointed to the disks. “He doesn’t have a hair out of place, never gets physically involved in anything illegal, and neither do his partners. They hire people to work for them, and so they’re expendable. If anyone does get caught, and that’s rare, then there are no direct links back to Shah.”

  “Have you had any infiltrators in his organisation?” The commander raised an eyebrow. It was an obvious question, but it needed asking.

  “We looked at it, but he doesn’t have any outsiders on the team. Not a single person, his close associates are all family or old friends going back years. Nobody else gets close to them. An outsider would be spotted immediately.”

  “What about the drugs smuggling?” Alec asked. There was always a link between drugs and drug dealers, and they usually leave a trail leading back to the kingpin.

  “We know the Shah family made their fortune in the eighties, bringing heroin in from Pakistan and Afghanistan. Later on, they pioneered ecstasy smuggling from Amsterdam. Malik worked his way through the ranks, and as he progressed several of his older cousins met sticky endings, if you know what I mean.”

  “Why have they never been busted, if you know where and what they were trafficking?” Alec pushed.

  “They target poor Asian families, both here and in Pakistan. They lend them money or drugs, and then they whack the interest sky high. Their enforcers are brutal, and they start applying pressure. The next thing they offer them an easy way out of the debt.”

  “Mules,” Alec mused.

  “Exactly, and they never know who they are working for, so they couldn’t tell us even if we catch them at it. If the drugs are seized the debt passes back to the family, with the cost of the drugs on top. They never escape the cycle and there is an endless supply of people desperate to clear the debts.”

  “What information did the informer have that made him such a target for Shah to risk attacking a safe house?” Alec asked. He wanted to ask a number of questions about the loss of a witness from the protection programme, but he had to take it softly to glean the information from the MI5 agent. MI5 were not his favourite agency but he respected the ability of their agents. To snatch a witness from a safe house was incredibly daring.

  Agent Spence paused a moment. He smoothed his gelled grey hair back from his face with his hand. Alec noticed that he did this when he was under pressure. He looked at the floor in front of him for a second, thinking about what he was about to say, and then met Alec’s gaze.

  “The informer was arrested in Amsterdam, driving a truck onto a ferry. The truck was supposed to be empty, but the driver screwed up. Over a period of a week or so, he was supposed to find the vehicle waiting areas, choose a British car, break into it and stash some of the drugs and a couple of weapons in the door panels. He would then note down the registration and leave it, so that the owners were completely unaware. Then he had to move onto another one, and another one, until the contraband was gone.”

  “You have to admire their thinking,” Alec looked at the commander.

  “It’s brilliant,” the commander agreed.

  “It’s simple, they trace the number plates and a couple of weeks later they find the vehicle and break into it again, this time to recover their contraband. No one is near the gear when it comes through customs.” Agent Spence was talking freely now. He had relaxed a little.

  “So what went wrong?” Alec encouraged him
to keep talking.

  “The driver got cold feet. He was rumbled breaking into a car and panicked. He was terrified of failing and attracting the wrath of the dealers, and so he chose to drive the truck with the contraband still onboard.”

  “Okay, that makes sense, but what did he have on Malik Shah?” the commander asked.

  “He saw Shah in Pakistan, shaking hands with the men that handed over the truck to him. Shah didn’t know that the driver was from here. It became apparent that he had been at the same school, a few years below him. It’s the only time we’ve been able to place Shah at any operation.”

  “Not a lot to go on in court,” Alec said.

  “We had a witness, willing to testify against Malik Shah. We slipped him into the programme while we tried to build a case. We were in no hurry.”

  “Has there ever been any trace of the witnesses?” Alec asked.

  “Nothing, the witness’s family and both sets of in-laws disappeared. We can only assume that they’re dead.”

  “You’re sure that the leak came from the family themselves?” Alec said thoughtfully.

  “We’re sure that it didn’t come from our agents. Therefore we think that the witness contacted a member of his family, and Shah had them captured and probably tortured the information out of them.”

  “How did they get to them?” Alec asked.

  Agent Spence smoothed his hair back again before speaking. Alec thought that he would be easy to read in a poker game.

  “The property we used was a semi-detached place, built in the fifties. We used one side, and the other was rented to an elderly man. Shah’s men broke in, tied him up and then gained access to the attic.”

  “A fifties built house, conjoined loft space, right?” The commander shook his head. It was a basic oversight.

  “I think we have a way to get to Shah, and it’s staring us in the face,” Alec said.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not following,” Agent Spence looked confused.

  “You said earlier that if drugs were seized when a mule gets caught then Shah’s heavies passed the debt back to the family, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then your informer lost a large consignment of drugs and weapons when he was arrested, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then someone is being forced to pay back that debt,” Alec raised his shoulders. “We need to find out who that is, and start digging from there.”

  “What will we find? A loan shark ring at best?” the commander said slowly, shaking his head.

  “If we can pin something on him, then we can start pulling his operations apart. Don’t forget why we’re after Shah, we want the bombers that targeted the Patels. We get Shah and we’ll have a clear view of his enemies.”

  The commander handed the computer disks to Alec. “I’ll get these analysed straight away.” Alec stood up and left the room without another word.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Richards Gang

  Kenny Richards smiled at the waitress as she delivered another round of drinks to the table. It was getting on for two o’clock in the morning, and she was tired. Kenny Richards, his three brothers, and two senior lieutenants were getting drunk, becoming more obnoxious with every round. They behaved as if they owned the place, which to be fair they did. Well, as good as. The owner lost to Kenny in a poker game, and he was holding the deeds against a fifty thousand pound debt, which was gaining interest daily. Now Richards and his dragoons ate and drank for free, taking over the restaurant most nights from eleven o’clock until they were plastered. The last customers had left the Chinese restaurant hours ago. The manager locked them in and pulled the roller shutters down to avoid unwanted attention from the police.

  “Thanks, darling!” Kenny slapped her shapely behind as she placed the drinks down. His thick gold bracelet rattled when he spanked her, and his snake like grin revealed more of the precious metal in his yellowed teeth. “You know, Wendy, I’ve been looking for a princess like you all my life.”

  “Princess?” his brother slurred. “Take no notice of him, Wendy. He wants to bend you over the table.” The men laughed in unison, their eyes becoming bleary and their expressions idiot-like.

  Wendy tried to smile again even though her buttocks stung to the point that her eyes were watering. She grimaced and walked away without speaking, embarrassed and annoyed. The sound of the men’s raucous laughter faded as she entered the kitchens.

  “God, I hate that man!” she complained to the manager. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye: tiredness was catching up with her. “I really don’t need this job that much.”

  “Don’t be hasty, Wendy, it pays your way through college, remember?” The manager couldn’t afford to lose any more staff, especially a good one like Wendy. China Town was a rough area to work in late at night, frequented by drunks and clubbers. “Ignore them, they’re drunk.”

  “They’re always drunk!” Wendy choked back a sob and tried to smile. Things weren’t going well at college either. She had flunked her exams, was behind with her coursework, and her boyfriend had ditched her for her best friend. “I’ve had enough, I’m going home.” The last bus had gone, and it would cost her two hours graft to get back to her damp-ridden bedsit. Coming to the big city to complete a university degree wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. She was thousands in debt already, and would have nothing to show for it if she was kicked off the course.

  “Get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” the manager said considerately. She took off her apron and he handed her her coat. “I’ll sort this lot out, they’re the only customers left now anyway.”

  “That’s because they’ve insulted the rest and made them leave. Three complaints I had about them tonight,” she whined, still sobbing. “At this rate you won’t have any other customers to worry about.” Wendy turned and pushed her way through the chain fly-curtain at the back of the kitchen. It jingled as she went out into the night. The manager sighed and looked up at the strip lights on the ceiling. They were being dive-bombed by a squadron of flying insects, testament to how well the fly-curtain worked.

  “Fucking marvellous, now I’ve got to clean up on my own.” The manager pulled a pack of menthol cigarettes from his apron pocket. There was no one left in the restaurant to complain if he lit up. He sparked his lighter and inhaled deeply as Wendy came back through the metal curtain. He frowned, as she looked terrified. “You forgotten something?” he laughed, drawing on the cigarette again. “You’ve caught me puffing away in the kitchen! Don’t tell anyone!”

  The chain links rattled again as first one masked man and then a second followed Wendy into the kitchen. The first man had an Uzi pressed into the small of her back. The second had one aimed directly at the manager’s face. His index finger was to his lips, indicating that he should be silent. The manager nodded his compliance and raised his hands in the air. The menthol still burned in his hand. Wendy was shoved towards a backroom area where the sink tubs where situated and the gunman beckoned the manager to them. Reluctantly he edged towards the backroom. The Uzis looked dull but deadly. They had been adapted to take a fat suppressor on the barrel, homemade silencers.

  “Kenny Richards is in the restaurant, right?” the gunman whispered. Wendy and the manager looked at each other, and then nodded. “How many of his goons are with him?”

  The gunmen were dressed in black, and the ski-masks they wore revealed only their eyes. Wendy couldn’t be certain, but she thought the men had dark skin. Not African, Asian. The manager looked at Wendy to answer the question. She had been serving them all night, and he hadn’t really noticed how many of them there were. He’d stayed in the kitchen area, out of the way. Wendy made a mental note of where they sat around the table, and how many drinks she poured each round. She held up five digits.

  “Five including him, or five plus him?”

  Wendy thought for a second, and then held up six digits. The gunman opened a steel door, which led into a walk-in
refrigerator. He hustled the terrified employees inside.

  “Get in there, keep quiet and you won’t get hurt, understand?”

  The door closed and Wendy heard a metal clunk as the bolt was thrown. It wasn’t long before the shooting started.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Witness

  Ronald Theakston pushed his belongings along the pavement in a shopping trolley. The front wheels were wonky, but it was his shopping trolley. The sun was going down, and night was closing in. It was time to head home to his box. A quick trundle to the local bargain booze stop, and he was set for the night: six litres of strong cider, dry roasted peanuts, and for dessert, vodka. He could hardly contain his excitement. Drinking to oblivion was his only pleasure now. As he turned the corner to reach the delivery bay, which had become his latest home, his heart stopped beating for a second.

  “Hello,” DI Will Naylor said. “You come around here often?”

  “Piss off!” Ronald put his head down and pushed his trolley faster. The man in the suit looked like trouble. In fact, most people looked like trouble. He wanted to get to his doorway, and drink.

  “Can’t do that I’m afraid, I need a word with you.” Will grabbed the homeless man’s arm, and then immediately wished that he hadn’t. His sleeve was encrusted with God only knows what bodily fluids. “What’s your name?”

  “What’s it to you?” Ronald tried to break free, but his wasted muscles were no match for the young detective. “Get off me!”

  “Look, I’m a police officer,” Will showed him his identity card, still maintaining his grip on the man. “I think you can help me, and there’s a few quid in it for you.”

  Ronald stopped struggling. He’d spent all of his money at the booze station, and there was two full days until he could claim his pension again. He eyed the detective suspiciously. There had been lots of funny goings-on in the last few days, mostly blurred memories now, almost dreams, but not good ones. There were police officers all over the place, but none of them had shown any interest in Ronald. He stayed away from the loading bay until night-time when they had gone.