The Killing Club

by Paul Finch

‘Not anymore,’ she replied. ‘Frank’s told them we’re taking this one.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Just like that.’

  Heck was surprised – since when had SOCAR wielded that kind of power?

  Meanwhile, Gemma had unlocked her Merc. ‘Get in,’ she said.

  He pointed across the road to his Citroën. ‘I’m only parked over there.’

  ‘Get in!’ she hissed.

  ‘Ma’am,’ he protested, ‘this is relevant to the enquiry. Now we know what the Nice Guys are up to.’

  ‘We doesn’t exist, Heck!’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘So get in the damn car!’

  Wearily, he climbed in. Once they were both installed, she hit the central locking – and sat there, staring through the windshield. After what seemed like several minutes, she closed her eyes resignedly and pinched at the bridge of her nose. ‘It may have escaped your attention, sergeant …’ Her tone was curiously calm; if anything she sounded tired. ‘But there are actually higher powers in this job than me.’

  ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘I mean … you feel free to ignore my orders time and again, which does me no good at all professionally. I used to have a reputation for kicking arse in this job, which seems like ancient history now. But my personal circs are beside the point.’ Gemma turned to face him. ‘What I’m saying is … regardless of how content you are to disrespect me at every turn, there are people higher up the chain who at some stage, probably soon, will get so sick of your lone wolf antics that whatever I say, however I argue your case, whatever clever spin I put on it … they’ll just lean down and squash you like an annoying gnat!’

  ‘Ma’am, I …’

  ‘Shut up, Heck! Just for once, hey? Your role now is to listen, because you’ve done enough talking for one night! Way more than enough!’ Again, she took almost a minute to compose herself. ‘I’m not going to ask what it is you don’t understand when I say you’re not involved in this enquiry. Because there’s nothing you don’t understand … about anything! You’re the sharpest tool in the bloody box! What’s going on here is flagrant, pig-headed disobedience. As usual. The only difference is we’ve reached the stage where you’re leaving me no choice. If this continues, I’ll be enacting formal disciplinary procedures with a view to having you suspended from duty. That’s not a threat, Heck … that’s an absolute promise. Can I make myself any clearer?’

  Heck looked away; when Gemma’s eyes burrowed into you, you really felt it.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded.

  ‘Maybe I don’t think it’s fair, ma’am.’

  ‘This is not about fairness, Heck. It’s about one overheated individual jeopardising an entire operation.’

  He stared back at her. ‘How have I jeopardised it so far?’

  ‘Are you serious? You intruded onto a crime scene where you had no right to be. You interviewed a witness whom you shouldn’t have had any access to …’

  ‘I’m doing the job!’

  ‘Too many cooks, Heck. Too many chiefs … you’re not just treading on toes, you’re getting in the way, you’re likely duplicating the work of others …’

  ‘Ma’am, I gave you the heads-up about the Nice Guys working their way through the client list. And lo and behold, that’s exactly what they are doing!’

  ‘And we’re grateful for your insight … but that doesn’t excuse your other behaviour. I mean, weren’t you supposed to liaise with DCs Reynolds and Grimshaw last night, at Stoke Newington police station, about a series of woundings in Shoreditch?’

  ‘Ah …’ Heck had known in the back of his mind there was somewhere else he was supposed to have been.

  ‘Those lads had just finished a very busy shift. Apparently, they waited four hours extra, twiddling their thumbs in the DO … until you were available. And not only did you not show, you didn’t even send an apology or an explanation.’ Her voice thickened with disgust. ‘And you think of yourself as a bobbies’ bobby.’

  Heck could hardly argue with any of that.

  ‘Minimal use of time,’ she said. ‘Disruption of procedure. Wastage of manpower and resources. Do none of these things ring a bell? And you’ve got the nerve to talk to me about fairness? Is it fair you’re still in the job when I’d have launched almost anyone else who did this to me off the front doorstep? Is it fair you keep using my former feelings for you as leverage in your favour?’

  That last comment was almost a plea, which shook him a little. For the first time it occurred to him that he might have hurt her emotionally as well as professionally.

  ‘It doesn’t surprise me you want to get involved in this,’ she said, apparently forcing herself to be calm. ‘But surely you can understand my objection? Mark, it’s starting to look as if your first scrap with the Nice Guys burned you very badly indeed. Some would say too badly. Which brings me back to my former point. I can’t wave a magic wand on your behalf indefinitely. So when I say you have to pay attention to me now, you really have to. For your own good!’ She looked him dead in the eye, with as much concern as anger. ‘I need your solemn promise … not to Detective Superintendent Piper, but to me, to Gemma … that you will cease your participation in this investigation forthwith! That you will have nothing further to do with this case unless your assistance is specifically requested. If any promise we’ve ever made to each other means anything, Mark, this has to be it. Because if you don’t do as I say, I’ll report everything that’s happened to Professional Standards … in addition, I will voice genuine personal concerns about your mental fitness to continue functioning as a police officer.’

  ‘You don’t think that’s a bit OTT,’ Heck said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. That’s how far I’m prepared to go.’

  He could tell she was in earnest. And he couldn’t blame her for that; he’d pushed the elastic to breaking-point this time.

  ‘You’ve got my word, ma’am.’

  ‘Gemma.’

  ‘You’ve got my word, Gemma. I promise.’

  She sighed – it was almost a sigh of relief. ‘Now … very first thing tomorrow, you get in touch with DCs Reynolds and Grimshaw at Stoke Newington, and you apologise for failing to make the rendezvous last night. I don’t care what piece of guff you give them, but make it sound good. And then get up there at the first opportunity, and get after the Shoreditch Slasher, or whatever the press have started calling him.’ She paused. ‘Do we understand each other, Mark?’

  ‘Yes ma’am. And …’ he looked away, ‘for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’

  ‘You always are. When it’s too late.’

  ‘I don’t mean for disobeying orders. I can’t feel regret for ignoring commands I don’t agree with. Especially when they’ve come down from some flash bastard like Frank Tasker …’

  ‘I’ve worked with Commander Tasker for several weeks now,’ she interrupted sharply. ‘He’s a good departmental boss and a very proficient police officer. And don’t treat me like your bloody confidant if all you’re going to do is spread dissent!’

  ‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘The point I’m making is that … I’m sorry to you personally. I mean, if I’ve put you in an awkward position.’

  ‘Let’s hope you take this on board,’ she said huffily. ‘So we don’t both end up being really sorry.’

  They sat in silence. There was no sound from the house, where Commander Tasker was presumably going through everything with Mrs Trevelyan that Heck had gone through earlier. There was no doubt, Heck supposed – it had been a tad perverse to inject himself into the enquiry like this. He’d known Gemma was on the trail, yet something inside had provoked him to get there first. It was no surprise she wasn’t just furious, but offended as well. The retaliation she’d threatened had been a bit unnerving too, even if she did view it as a necessary last resort.

  ‘You take this job away from me, ma’am,’ he said quietly, ‘and I’ll have nothing.’

  ‘That’s something else that worries me,’ she replied. ‘There’s
actually a wider world out there than police-work, you know. Are you going to bury yourself in this crap forever?’

  He turned to face her again. ‘Since when was willingness to work a negative in CID?’

  ‘Since it started endangering your health. You think I don’t know what you’re doing, Mark? Your career is like the longest suicide note in history.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘That’s why you take on the gunmen when you’re not armed yourself. That’s why you chase fugitives to the point where it might give you a heart attack.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘Hit a nerve, have I?’

  ‘That’s just bollocks, ma’am.’

  ‘It’s not your fault what happened to Tom. You were a school kid at the time.’

  ‘My career has nothing to do with Tom,’ Heck asserted.

  But deep down, they both knew it did. The death of Heck’s brother, Tom, when Heck was still at school, was something he could hardly bear to think about even now. Tom, who was three years older than Heck, had been an out-of-work drug addict. He’d fallen foul of the law several times, but only for minor infringements. But things had turned a hell of a lot more serious when he was framed for a series of burglaries, during the course of which several senior citizens were very badly beaten up. The CID team responsible pinned the crime on Tom because they were under pressure to get a result, and because as far as they were concerned he was a revolting human wreck whom society had no use for. Tom’s name was cleared some time later, but only after he’d committed suicide in prison. He’d served one month of a life sentence, but had been raped and tortured repeatedly by fellow inmates. The event had devastated Heck’s family, his parents blaming themselves for their failure to cope with their eldest son’s problems, but refusing to admit this guilt. Heck himself had then made things a whole lot worse when, a couple of years later, he suddenly – inexplicably and traitorously, where his family were concerned – joined the police.

  ‘That isn’t why you enlisted?’ Gemma asked. ‘To show the rest of us lazy bastard coppers how the job should be done? Was that a pack of lies then? Was it just some big sob story you gave me back when we were DCs?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘But that isn’t what you just said. I’m not suicidal.’

  ‘Maybe not consciously.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘So why you sitting there like a firecracker’s just gone off under your jacksie?’

  ‘I’m not.’ He tried to relax his posture.

  ‘Why do you live in the worst flat in London?’

  ‘What’s wrong with my flat?’

  ‘It’s godawful, that’s what. It’s got trains under the bedroom window every five minutes, and the best view of litter and rail-side rats anyone’s ever seen. Admit it, Heck … you picked that place so you wouldn’t want to be there. So you’d spend even more time in the office. And that’ll kill you as surely as any gun or knife.’

  ‘This is a wind-up, isn’t it?’ he said slowly.

  ‘Maybe,’ she mused. ‘But what I said earlier wasn’t. You’re off this case, Mark … for all our sakes. Because the outcome otherwise will hurt me just as much as you.’

  He now realised she was keeping it close and personal for a reason, having assumed – correctly – that he’d be more likely to respond on that level than if things remained cold and official. Not that he’d bloody show it.

  ‘I’ve already said you’ve got my word, ma’am.’

  ‘You’ve got my word, Gemma.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Gemma.’

  No wonder she’d decided to hold this conversation in the privacy of her car, he thought. Damn, but she was clever.

  Chapter 16

  ‘As you’re aware, Operation Thunderclap is going to be a cross-department enquiry,’ Tasker said, addressing the two hundred or so officers crammed into the MIR. ‘Separate incident rooms have now been set up in Oxford and near to the ambush site at Gull Rock, but Gold and Silver Command have been located here.’

  The crowd attending him didn’t just consist of SOCAR Special Investigations personnel. Members of the SOCAR uniform branch were also present, now in plain clothes, along with senior officers from the Met’s SCO19, whose firearms expertise was likely to be necessary, and a sprinkling of detectives from SCU, including Shawna McCluskey, whom Gemma had appointed Chief Statement Reader.

  Heck, who wasn’t invited to the party, eavesdropped enviously from the open door at the back. Tasker and Gemma were at the far end, making a complex but thorough presentation, aided by flip-charts and videos.

  ‘But there’s a real urgency here, people,’ Tasker added. ‘It’s only four days since the prison break, and our targets, the so-called Nice Guys, appear to be shooting people like it’s open season …’

  He’d stripped down to his shirt and tie before he’d started; it was cool, professional, businesslike. There was something reassuring about it. He spoke clearly and articulately, interacting easily with team members when they raised their hands to ask questions. Gemma hadn’t been lying when she’d said Tasker was an impressive operator. And she was usually a pretty good judge of character. Increasingly, Heck felt that it was he himself who wasn’t.

  ‘As well as the two massacres near Gull Rock and in Stanton St John, which ballistics reports have now connected, we’re also focusing on several additional, apparently motiveless homicides, which have occurred in different parts of the country in the last few days,’ Tasker confirmed. ‘All were apparently the work of pro assassins who were well organised and appeared to know exactly what they were doing, but all were marked clearly …’ he held up a photograph, ‘by this BDEL signature, which we’ve deduced is an oblique reference to a punishment supposedly doled out to prostitutes in the ancient Middle East. As for Peter Rochester, better known as Mad Mike Silver, there are a lot of unanswered questions. We don’t know if he was really taken ill in Gull Rock, or if he somehow managed to fake it. If it’s the latter, we don’t know how he got word out to the Nice Guys that he was being transferred to hospital. We don’t know how they were able to respond to it so quickly. But Rochester’s obviously the key to all this. If we get him back, and we’ve got to get him back, ladies and gentlemen, that will enable us to wrap up the rest of these bastards too. But it’s not going to be easy, I’ll tell you now. These Nice Guys … I mean I’m sorry but I hate that term, these Nice Guys, are almost entirely composed of combat veterans and spec-ops turned mercenary. That means they’re what I’d call “do or die” criminals, who’ll show no mercy to anyone who gets in their way. More to the point, they’ll have safe boltholes overseas, so it will never be in their interest to surrender. They’ll attempt to shoot their way out of every situation when they get cornered …’

  Heck was still listening intently when someone tapped his shoulder.

  He turned, to see Detective Constable Gary Quinnell there. Quinnell grinned and said, ‘Someone’s been illegally peeing.’

  ‘Come again?’

  Quinnell grinned all the more. He was a gigantic Welshman with a dusting of red-gold bristles on his pate, a battered, craggy face and a nose that had been broken more times than he’d had leeks for his tea, mainly while playing rugby union for South Wales Police. ‘Up in Shoreditch. You know … peeing, slashing? The Shoreditch Slasher, for God’s sake!’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Heck accompanied him along the corridor. ‘You on that one as well?’

  ‘Yep, it’s me and you. Probably sending me along to puppy-walk you. Make sure you don’t lose interest halfway through and bugger off somewhere else.’

  Heck wasn’t displeased to hear that Quinnell would be accompanying him. The two of them went back some way, having worked together closely on several cases. They weren’t natural bedfellows. Quinnell had an affable nature and liked to joke around. He also held staunch Anglican beliefs – which occasionally left Heck nonplussed as they didn’t seem to moderate the big guy’s effectiveness in a tight spot one iota. But that was a g
ood thing. There was no one Heck would rather go across the pavement with than Gary Quinnell.

  Ben Kane was waiting for them in the DO. He regarded Heck with thinly disguised irritation. ‘I take it you’re not too busy to do some SCU work today?’

  ‘No sir, I’m sorry about that,’ Heck replied. They were, of course, Kane’s orders that Heck had blatantly flouted the previous day – not intentionally, but it was still disrespectful to a supervisory officer. ‘I’ve had my knackers chewed off about it, I assure you.’

  Kane harrumphed. ‘I ought to make you drop your kecks and prove it.’

  Heck cleared his throat at the sound of suppressed sniggers from the surrounding desks. ‘Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Like I believe that,’ Kane said. ‘Anyway, enough bullshit. Let’s get on with it.’ He showed them a couple of photos that had just been emailed through. ‘I’m sending Gary to Stoke Newington with you, Heck, because this thing’s getting serious at a rate of knots. Apparently there was another one last night. This one also suffered severe damage to her left eye. As usual, the mugger seemed more interested in striping the victim with a knife – probably a Stanley – than in taking her handbag. But he did take the handbag.’

  ‘Perk of the job, I suppose,’ Quinnell said, hands in pockets.

  Kane glanced at him with distaste. ‘The Met reckon it’s only a matter of time before someone dies.’

  Heck nodded, but said nothing.

  ‘I know it’s small potatoes compared to the Nice Guys,’ Kane added. ‘But it’s worrying stuff and the local lads could use some help.’

  Heck nodded again. ‘That’s what we’re here for, sir.’

  ‘Good. Now’s an excellent time to remember that. So get up there. Liaise with DCs Reynolds and Grimshaw.’ They slouched to their desks to get their stuff together. ‘And get a sodding move on!’ Kane bawled after them. ‘Take the quickest, shortest route … no dawdling or pissing around. That lot have waited long enough!’

  ‘You can bring the worst out of anyone, you can, boyo,’ Quinnell said as they sauntered down to the car park. ‘Now Schoolmaster Ben’s shouting and carrying on!’