by Paul Finch
‘It’s not impossible so late in the day,’ Gribbins said.
‘Maybe not, but if I was going to pull that abduction off, I’d have to have known beforehand that Laycock would be in that particular pub at that particular time. Even then I’d be cutting it close.’
‘You could have observed him on other nights. Laycock had turned into a pisshead. He pub-crawled all the time.’
‘And do pissheads stick to rigorous schedules when they pub-crawl?’ Heck wondered.
Gribbins had no answer for this; in any case, he was still cradling his injured right wrist, which had badly discoloured.
‘Why don’t we talk about this ongoing feud that existed between you and DI Laycock?’ Fowler said.
‘Hardly ongoing,’ Heck replied. ‘I hadn’t spoken to the guy in a year and a half.’
‘And yet yesterday, while talking to Commander Tasker, you said quite specifically that it wasn’t a holiday you had in mind for Jim Laycock. True or false?’
‘I said something like that, yeah. But take anything out of context and it can look suspicious.’
‘You really had it in for Laycock, didn’t you?’ Fowler argued. ‘You blamed him several times for the near-collapse of your first enquiry into the Nice Guys Club.’
‘He did his best to scuttle that enquiry – for no obvious reason. As such, I developed a strong suspicion that he was trying to protect a vested interest.’
‘That Laycock was himself a Nice Guys’ client?’
‘Not just that … that he was acting as their informant too.’
‘Even though there was no evidence to that effect?’
‘There was circumstantial evidence. At least by the end.’
‘There was no evidence, DS Heckenburg,’ she said. ‘None at all. Thanks to some persistent lobbying by you, Laycock was investigated after the first Nice Guys enquiry and exonerated of having any involvement with them. What he was found to be at fault for was his generally poor decision-making. He was subsequently demoted in rank.’
‘And that wasn’t enough for you, was it?’ Gribbins said.
Heck smiled. ‘You make it sound so bloody unreasonable of me. I’ve just told you, I flat-out suspected Laycock of being the Nice Guys’ mole.’
‘Yeah, but you couldn’t prove it, could you?’
‘Well … obviously not.’
‘So why not just admit this drove you round the bend?’ Fowler said. ‘That you’ve had a bee in your bonnet about Jim Laycock ever since?’
Heck shrugged. ‘If having a bee in your bonnet is the same as suspecting someone of criminality, then yes, I guess that’s probably true.’
‘And when Mike Silver escaped from Gull Rock, it became a burning issue for you, didn’t it?’ Gribbins said. ‘Because that might mean Laycock was about to get spirited away overseas, at which point he’d be out of your reach for good.’
‘As I implied to your guv’nor yesterday,’ Heck said, ‘I’d started having doubts they were planning a safe haven for Laycock.’
‘But a minute ago you were trying to tell us Laycock was the Nice Guys’ best mate.’
‘I don’t think the Nice Guys actually have mates,’ Heck replied. ‘At the end of the day, he was a former customer who was briefly useful to them. But they’re a tight crew. Ex-comrades-in-arms. They weren’t going to trust an outsider indefinitely – not when he knew as much as Laycock did.’
‘So why wait two years to move against him?’
‘Clearly something’s changed.’
‘Such as?’ Gribbins said.
‘How do I know? I’m sitting here answering your dumb questions rather than going after them. Listen fellas …’ Heck leaned forward. ‘Any investigating officers worth their salt, which I’m sure you two are despite all appearances to the contrary, should already have recognised there’s at least a possibility the Nice Guys killed Jim Laycock because they’re tying up loose ends before disappearing back into whichever banana republic is currently hosting them. They’d also recognise the possibility Laycock may not be the last.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Fowler said.
‘You’ve done some homework on this,’ Heck answered. ‘You must know I suspected that Laycock held details of all Nice Guys’ clients in the UK. If this new team have now got hold of those details – which is just possible, don’t you think – they’ll likely have found there are quite a lot of loose ends.’
Fowler regarded him warily. ‘Specify what you mean by “loose ends”.’
‘Former clients, former contacts, anyone they confided in or did business with … anyone in a position to give evidence against them should we move in and make arrests.’
‘You’re saying the Nice Guys are just going to kill them all?’
Heck smiled at her incredulity. ‘DS Fowler … murder is their game. It’s what they excel at. If they’ve opted to clean house here in the UK – which seems highly feasible now they’ve got their boss back – if they’ve opted to close down the whole British operation, they won’t hesitate to wipe out anyone who might endanger that. They won’t hesitate for a second. We saw that up at Brancaster.’
Gribbins looked amused. ‘Let’s get this straight. You’re saying that we need to release you quickly … because there are going to be lots more murders. Is that really the best you’ve got?’
‘It’s bloody better than you’ve got, Gribbins! I express concern for a suspect’s safety, and that puts me in the frame? Seriously?’
There was a sudden disturbance in a room nearby – it sounded like muffled shouting. The two-way mirror shuddered as a door was banged open and closed. A split-second later, the door to the interview room flew open and Gemma strode in, raincoat swirling around her.
‘I think that seems an appropriate place to end this charade,’ she said.
‘For the benefit of the tape,’ Gribbins said in a casual tone, ‘Detective Superintendent Piper has just entered the interview.’
‘For the benefit of the tape,’ Gemma countered, ‘Detective Superintendent Piper is terminating the interview.’ She crossed the room and jabbed her finger down like a bayonet, knocking the tape machine off.
‘Ma’am!’ Fowler jumped to her feet, but not before Gemma had rounded on the two SOCAR officers.
‘Are you two actually for real, or did Frank Tasker find a pair of cardboard cut-outs with movable parts!’ They regarded her with open mouths. ‘Who’s the arresting officer?’
‘That would be me, ma’am,’ Fowler said, pink-cheeked. ‘But you need to understand, this was a clean pinch …’
‘I want Sergeant Heckenburg’s underclothes returned to him forthwith! Apparently that’s all he was wearing when you brought him in here, which is strictly against the rules, so I could have both your backsides for that if I wanted to. I also want some clean, warm clothing provided for him – right now. And I want every trace of this arrest erased from the databanks.’
‘Ma’am …’ Gribbins stuttered, ‘you … can’t do that!’
Gemma spun to face him. ‘What’s that phrase we all love and cherish so much in the police service? Oh yes … “we’re the cops, we can do anything we want”. See to it, Gribbins! Now!’
Abashed, and still gripping his injured wrist, Gribbins stumbled from the room.
Fowler stood her ground. ‘Ma’am, I protest in the strongest possible terms. This is a serious breach of procedure … you need to speak to Commander Tasker about this.’
‘Oh don’t you worry, Sergeant Fowler … I will.’ Gemma stalked back towards the door. ‘And tell Derek O’Dowd … when he finally stops hiding in the toilets, because that’s apparently the direction he ran in when I parked out back, I want any damage caused to Sergeant Heckenburg’s premises and property paid for promptly and without quibble, out of his own pocket. Do you get that, Fowler? Out of O’Dowd’s own pocket! If I don’t see proof of that within the week – proof, as in receipts from contractors, retailers and so forth, I’ll be speaking to the tax of
fice about that sideline of his doing up and selling on old Traffic cars, which he thinks no one knows about.’
And she swept out of the room, no doubt to consult again with the Hammersmith custody suite team, a good set of lads who most likely were the ones responsible for tipping her off that Heck had been brought in.
Fowler could only stand there, stunned.
Heck rose to his feet. ‘Guess now you know why I didn’t ask for my Federation rep. Or a solicitor.’
She scowled. ‘You think you’re so fucking clever!’
‘You know, all that effing and blinding doesn’t suit you.’
‘I lost a lot of friends at Gull Rock, Heckenburg … forgive me if keeping it clean isn’t one of my priorities.’
‘It’s more a pity that using your noggin isn’t one of them. Seriously, Fowler … if I’d murdered Laycock because of some vendetta from the past … why were you sent to arrest me when you’re investigating the murders of your mates? You think I murdered them too?’ Her expression remained taut, but it was clear she was listening. ‘Your boss is playing games.’ He stepped out into the corridor.
‘Why the hell would he do that?’ she shouted after him.
‘Try asking him,’ he called back. ‘And when you find out, let me know.’
It took Gemma just under thirty minutes to get from Hammersmith to New Scotland Yard, and when she did, she found Commander Tasker in the old media management suite, which was about four doors down from the Serial Crimes Unit’s DO.
It was a scene of semi-organised chaos; SOCAR officers, techies and civvie staff bustling back and forth as they brought in tables, chairs, boxes of files, phones and computer terminals, gradually transforming the once large, dusty space into Operation Thunderclap’s main incident room, or MIR. Meanwhile, some of the SOCAR Special Investigations team were already hard at work, bashing keyboards, studying images on display systems.
Gemma zeroed in on Tasker as soon as she came through the double doors. ‘What the devil are you playing at, Frank? You dare put one of my detectives under arrest without consulting me first!’ Her voice was loud, harsh. It stopped most of the others in their tracks, especially when they realised it was directed at their boss.
‘Now wait a minute,’ Tasker said, face reddening. ‘Detective Superintendent Piper, I think we need to calm …’
‘You dare confiscate his clothing! Swab his hands! Stick him in a paper suit!’
Tasker’s voice hardened. ‘He’s suspected of murder, for Christ’s sake!’
‘He’s suspected of nothing … except knowing your job better than you do!’
Tasker’s snowy eyebrows arched. ‘You want to run that by me again?’
‘Heck has been saying for months that we ought to keep Jim Laycock under observation. And surprise-surprise, it looks like he was right … and how the bloody hell do you respond? By locking him up, for Christ’s sake!’
Tasker jabbed his finger at a nearby door, which connected with the smaller half-furnished sub-chamber he was planning to use as his private office. ‘We’ll talk in here … now!’
Gemma followed him in. He closed the door behind her. Through the glazed partition there was still much interest among the rank and file, so Tasker yanked a chain, closing a blind. ‘Heck forecast that Laycock was gonna get the chop,’ he said. ‘And he did. The very next day. What am I supposed to conclude – except that Heck knew it was going to happen?’
Gemma couldn’t keep the scorn from her voice. ‘You think he’d broadcast that if he was part of it? You think he’d tip us off?’
‘You are too close to this fella, Gemma. You are way too close …’
‘With all respect, sir, don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining. We’re up to our nostrils in a very serious incident here … and taking sideswipes at lesser ranks just because you suspect they’re more on the ball than you are is not going to help.’
Tasker almost reeled from that comment. He liked to think he was an easy, even-handed boss; never arrogant, never malicious. Sure, he could and would make cruel decisions, but only ever for a reason. He preferred to believe this was why he was rarely challenged by subordinates – because they respected him rather than feared him; because his managers trusted his judgement and were loyal. Of course, it had also been common if unspoken knowledge that an officer in his position could crush anyone who really gave him a hard time. And this was all the more reason why he was so taken aback now by the ferocity with which Gemma came at him.
He’d known Gemma reasonably well before all this. There were few police officers of any rank in the London area who didn’t know Gemma Piper, and who weren’t aware what a firecracker she could be: tireless and efficient; a smart problem solver; a fearless decision taker – rare traits in the modern police – but uncompromisingly adversarial if there was something she didn’t like. Even trying to stare her down now – and he was head and shoulders taller than she was – felt like a fool’s errand.
‘Let me get this straight, Gemma,’ he said, using a calmer tone. ‘You won’t even consider the possibility that Heck let his animosity towards Laycock boil over? That when Rochester escaped from jail, he lost it – went round to see Laycock and, when he got no change, beat the crap out of him?’
‘And what about that word … BDEL, left at the site where Laycock’s body was dumped?’ she wondered. ‘Did Heck leave that? Did he leave the one on the command car at Gull Rock as well, Frank? Was Heck involved in that too?’
‘The appearance of that cryptic word at Laycock’s murder scene hardly clears Heck,’ Tasker retorted. ‘He knew about its use the first time. He could have copied it.’
‘That’s not the way Heck operates!’
‘Really …’ Tasker almost laughed. ‘You ever wondered if Heckenburg’s so good at catching psychopaths because he isn’t far off being one himself?’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake …’
‘No, listen. I actually pulled his file before all this started. He displays plenty of narcissistic traits. Introverted, self-contained, self-reliant … alarmingly self-reliant in fact. Doesn’t trust others. Doesn’t work easily with others. Only transmits intel up the command chain on a need-to-know basis. Resists authority almost on principle …’
‘He’s controllable.’
‘You sure about that, Gemma? You know how many kills he has to his name?’
‘Like you said, sir … we deal with the worst of the worst.’
‘He’s supposed to be a copper. Not a 00 agent.’
‘Each fatality was fully examined by the IPCC, as per the manual. And in every case Heck was cleared.’
‘The guy thinks he’s at war with the entire British underworld.’
‘So?’
‘It’s hardly rational behaviour.’
‘Oh, I agree with that,’ she said. ‘Heck puts every ounce of strength and energy he’s got into this job. There’s nothing else in his life, which is more than a little bit sad. But how the bloody hell does that make him a criminal?’
‘Look, Gemma … you want Heck out of the way of this enquiry as much as I do … so stop pretending you’re so pissed off!’
‘Yes sir, I do want him out of the way. For exactly the same reason as you. But you think that means I’d let you throw his arse in prison?’
Tasker dropped into his swivel chair. ‘If he wasn’t involved in Laycock’s death, the forensics will clear him.’ His tone was exasperated but dismissive. ‘It was a warning shot across his bows, that’s all.’
‘A warning shot?’
‘It’s time he learned that opening his big yap can have consequences.’
‘You really don’t know Heck, do you?’
‘I know him well enough to recognise trouble. I said this from the start, and you assured me you’d take care of it.’
‘I will!’ She moved to the door. ‘But it’ll be a whole lot harder after today.’
‘Gemma, we are going to be able to work together on this, aren’t we?’
Tasker said sternly. ‘We’ve got no choice … but I’m a commander and you’re a superintendent. I hope I can trust you to remember that. I also hope I can trust you to understand that I’ll find it very inconvenient, not to say completely fucking infuriating, if any more of my orders are countermanded.’
She gave that some thought. ‘Sir … if the other stuff Heck’s been saying turns out to be true, namely that Mike Silver and the Nice Guys, after getting rid of Jim Laycock, are about to start working their way through the client list as well, I don’t think we can waste any further time on silly distractions like this. So what you can really trust me to do is take any action I deem fit to ensure we stay focused on what might be the most nightmarish murder case in British history.’
And she left, leaving Tasker fuming but helpless in his half-furnished office.
Chapter 11
When Peter Rochester, aka Mad Mike Silver’s eyes flickered open, the first thing they registered was the pain of glaring sunlight. But after several seconds of grogginess and stupor, his vision slowly adjusted, and the ‘glare’ revealed itself to be the milk-pale radiance of a cloudy morning as filtered through a single window, the cracked pane of which was smudged with grime.
For the next few moments, confusion reigned. Silver was numb from the neck down, and felt as though his head had been stuffed with cotton wool. He was also aware he was lying flat on some yielding surface – he even fancied a blanket had been laid over him – but could barely move his limbs, which felt heavy as lead. And then Silver’s eyes attuned again, this time sufficiently to focus on the face of a person sitting alongside him.
It was a young, good-looking face, but also angular, strong and very distinctive – not just for its piercing green eyes and the mop of sandy blond hair over the top, but for the tight set-square of scar tissue on its left cheek.
‘You seem surprised, Mike,’ the face’s owner said with that familiar plastic grin of his. Even after all these years in exile, his accent was recognisably Danish.
‘I’m more …’ Silver tried to speak, but his mouth might as well have been crammed with feathers. The Dane offered him a paper beaker. Ice-cold water spilled over Silver’s lips, and then through into his mouth. He managed to swallow a couple of sips before coughing and choking – he was lying flat after all. He tried to move again; only now was sensation returning to his body, but slowly and dully. ‘I’m … I’m more surprised I’m not in hospital, Kurt,’ he stammered.
