by Karl Holton
“Pip’s here,” said Benedict, as he placed the tray on the table.
She stepped outside and smiled at them all. “Hello boys. Now I hope you have a good reason for bringing me here. I had a very grateful man hoping to buy me lunch.”
“Looks like we have just saved someone else,” Paddy mumbled, looking around and laughing gently.
Pip pretended to slap his face as she sat down.
Benedict picked up the cafetiere and poured into the four cups. He looked at Hanson. “Can we discuss what has been said about me and my time? I assume someone has spoken to you already?”
Hanson picked up the cup. “The Met want you to assist the Major Crime Unit. I think they want your insights … for the Homicide Unit. We’ll leave it to you to decide what you get involved in. I’m sure they will ask for more than they should, so you need to exercise some control of the situation.”
“Makes sense,” said Benedict. “They’ve already been in touch. A car is turning up in an hour or so to take me to a crime scene in Hampstead.”
Hanson sipped his coffee. “Right, I have something I need to discuss with you all. One of the key reasons I’ve brought us together is to eradicate any remaining parts of the organisation led by a man named Jasper Snyman.”
Paddy leaned forward in his chair.
Hanson put the cup on the table. “At least that was his original identity. He’s a South African national born in the 1960s, but has been underground since the mid-nineties. We’ve no idea what name he uses.”
“Is this the Jasper that I’ve been reading about in your files?” asked Pip. They had all agreed she should read everything on every agencies record related to Hanson, Paddy and Benedict and report back anything of note.
“Yes,” replied Hanson.
“The man was a fucking menace,” Paddy stated.
Benedict touched his palm with the tip of a single finger. “Simple question, Ray; why is Paddy talking past tense … when you’re not?”
“That’s because he may not be dead and … I haven’t told Paddy yet.”
“What the fuck!” Paddy shot to his feet, glaring down at Ray. “When did you find this out?”
Hanson looked up at Paddy, closed his eyes for a moment and raised a placating hand. “Chuck.”
Paddy grunted and walked over to face the river, before turning back to them.
Pip beckoned Paddy to sit down. “I’ll get everything for us on Jasper and put it on the files for us to read later today.” She turned to Hanson. “Why don’t you give us the short version of Jasper’s story?”
“Jasper was certainly involved in global drug dealing, particularly cocaine. They don’t know when it started but believe this gave him a route into arms dealing. Once he was there he moved into money laundering for terrorist organisations from about 1998 onwards. He worked with everyone and anyone who needed to move money or assets. The man created a vast criminal network. He would reinvest money into his client’s criminal activities, expecting strong returns, with dire consequences if they did not deliver. The issue is that the man is a ghost. From the time he started no agency has ever had a picture of him. They suspect his real identity has been changed, possibly more than once.”
Benedict shook his head. “Come on … that’s obviously not everything.”
Paddy placed a large hand on the table. “Tell them, Ray.”
Hanson squeezed his hands together. “Jasper tried to assassinate me on three separate occasions. During the last one in 2009 my friend, George Anderson, was killed saving me.”
Pip watched Paddy pick up his coffee cup and drink the contents in one go. He wishes that was something stronger, she thought. “You were there, Paddy?”
Hanson looked at Pip. “He saved both Anderson and me in 2001 and 2006. In 2009 —”
“That’s not right, Ray, I was just doing my —”
“Sorry you’re right, Paddy. What I should actually say is that he not only saved us; he saved many others.”
Paddy stared up the river before closing his eyes.
Benedict tapped the table with a single finger. “This sounds like a job for the NSA and CIA. Why are you doing this?”
“A few reasons,” Hanson said. “I found him last time when they couldn’t. I know how to press his buttons and bring him out in the open. I’ll be his bait; he will not resist having a chance of getting me. But also, they know I have you guys working with me and they don’t have a team as good as this working on the task.”
Benedict touched his beard. “How dangerous is this guy, Paddy?”
“He’s a virus. The whole world will be better off if we can get rid of him and this time I mean completely.”
Pip pushed her sunglasses higher up on her nose. “If he has some parts of his organisation still working today, then we possibly have a way in.”
Hanson refilled the empty cups, nodding towards her. “Yes … we can certainly start working on that basis.”
“Ray, hold on,” Benedict said. “That answer rings bells for me. Is it a waste of time because you have something else planned?”
Hanson allowed a brief smile to break over his face.
Benedict had only known Hanson for two days but he was starting to feel the complex flow of currents within his new boss. There’s more to that smile, he thought. He stood up and walked over to the balustrade at the end of the decking, then turned to face the three of them. “Why am I getting the feeling that not all of those reasons are applicable in quite the way you put them.”
Pip pulled down her sunglasses and glared at Benedict.
Hanson picked up his cup. “What do you mean?”
“Well correct me if I’m wrong, but until a few days ago no one knew where you were in the world. If Jasper is still active and he knows you’re in London, then the first two reasons you just gave us are … irrelevant.”
Paddy let out a snorting laugh.
“Why ‘irrelevant’?” Hanson asked.
Benedict’s eyes tightened on Hanson. “Because we won’t need to find this ‘wild beast’ or pressure it to come out; he’ll come after you.”
Hanson enjoyed Benedict’s description. “I think you’re right. In fact, I’m banking on it.”
Chapter 6
Day 7
Ingram Avenue, Hampstead, London
6.16 p.m.
“When’s he going to come back,” said Detective Inspector Jardine, staring out beyond the end of the garden. Benedict was standing in the distance where Forensics had suggested the sniper rifle had been fired.
The sun was high in the sky, warming the early evening and shining down on the scene in the garden.
Jardine looked down at Curt’s body still lying on the garden paving, making sure not to focus on the head end. He’d struggled to become a DI and was now close to retirement. Although he had investigated murders before, he’d never investigated one quite like this. “What’s he doing now?”
Benedict was kneeling down and looking like he was playing with the ground within the wooded area.
“Be patient. I guarantee it will be worth it,” said Doctor Grant, standing at the other end of Curt’s body. She was looking around checking that she had all the parts of the body. “You might want to make sure you’re ready for the questions.”
Jardine’s brow furrowed. “Questions? What questions?”
Grant pointed her thumb into the distance towards Benedict. “From him.”
“I started trying to talk to him about what might have happened and he just looked around here and walked off. He’s fucking rude if you ask me. I’m not sure this is going to be of any use whatsoever.”
Grant remained focused on Curt’s body. “You’ve not heard about him? About the way he works?”
“I’ve heard some tales about him … that he’s something special.”
She smiled. “I’m sure you’ll get on well with each other.”
“What’s his status? Detective Superintendent Watkins was a little light on what he is.
I’m not even sure he is a copper anymore,” said Jardine, sounding like he was talking to himself.
Grant wondered how he would be feeling in a few moments once Benedict had returned. She walked towards the head end of the body and knelt down to look closely at the devastation.
Two members of the Forensics Team were recording the precise direction of the blood spatter. They had put small yellow markers around the scene recording each piece of the head. Markers were sitting on the paved floor of the garden and across the griddles of the barbeque.
Detective Sergeant Knox, who worked with Jardine, arrived at the level in the garden above and behind them. “Sir, we think we have secured everything from Johnnie Garrett. He had drugs both on his person and in the car. Forensics is saying they will go over it once they have finished here.”
“We need to get everything from the garden first,” said Grant, towards Jardine. “There is a good chance we might have rain overnight, so we must make sure we clear this scene first.”
“Ok,” Jardine replied, before turning back to Knox. “Where’s Garrett?”
“We still have him here at the moment, Boss.”
“Take him to Golders Green, caution him and put him in an interview room.”
Benedict arrived and hovered over Curt’s body. “Do you agree that he had an above average head size?”
Jardine felt his irritation increase. “What sort of question is that?”
Benedict ignored him.
Grant started measuring what remained of Curt’s head lying on the floor in front of her.
Benedict’s attention turned to the Forensic Team. “Have we found the bullet?”
Grant looked at him, noticing the now recognisable cheeky grin. “Yes, his head was large.”
“Hold the fuck on,” snapped Jardine. “Can we just continue now with the discussion that you walked away from fifteen minutes ago?”
Benedict took two steps towards the large barbeques and looked at the marked up pieces of the head. “I would hardly call that a discussion.”
“You don’t think that Johnnie might have been the real target?” asked Jardine.
“Why do you think he was?”
“Johnnie is a drug dealer. He probably has plenty of people who want to kill him. This guy is a City of London knob.”
Benedict continued to look around at each marker. “Keenly observed, DI Jardine.”
“Come on, they were so close together,” he said. “Johnnie has stated that Curt had grabbed his arm and was pulling him. The shooter meant to hit Johnnie but accidentally hit Curt. It makes sense.”
“Maybe you did not hear me properly. I asked if you could explain it?” asked Benedict, who started to say the words slowly one-by-one, before noticing a glare from Grant. “You’re suggesting that we have a rather clumsy sniper shooting from that point, where the constable is standing?”
“It’s possible,” said Jardine, looking at Benedict and noticing the man’s face appear to look like many of his weary teachers from his youth.
“Possible … but not probable,” said Benedict, noticing that Jardine wanted to continue talking. “If you wouldn’t mind listening to the conversation I’m about to have with Doctor Grant, then you might get some insight into the scene that may not otherwise be obvious.”
Jardine noticed the look on Grant’s face and decided to stay quiet.
Benedict turned to Grant. “Have we found the bullet?”
“Why do I get the feeling you already know the answer to this?”
“Come on, Doctor. Let’s have a bit of fun. It’s such a lovely evening,” said Benedict. He winked at Jardine.
“As you know, the bullet was probably damaged on impact and we believe the main part is currently inside that piece of the left-hand side of his head over there,” said Grant.
Benedict had noticed the lump underneath a piece of forensic cloth. It appeared to be about the size of a small fist.
Jardine turned to look where Grant was pointing.
Benedict continued looking around the scene. “Was it a fragmenting bullet?”
“What does that mean?” asked Jardine.
“He is asking about the bullet type,” said Grant. “Clearly, it is an expanding bullet which was made to deliberately create a massive amount of damage when it impacted with Mr Garrett’s head. You might know it as a hollow point or a few other names.”
“You mean a ‘dum-dum’?” asked Jardine.
“Something like that, yes,” said Grant, hoping that this would not instigate a joke from Benedict. “A bullet like this would explain why Mr Garrett’s head is currently spread around here in front of us.”
Jardine felt a slight churning in his stomach.
“Any idea of the calibre?”
“Well until I see the bullet I cannot be precise and I’m not going to speculate. Why don’t you tell me what you think based on what you’ve seen?”
Jardine laughed at the suggestion. “How the fuck would he know?”
Grant stared at him. “DI Jardine, please just listen. As he said, I think you might find it useful.” She turned to Benedict. “Come on. Let’s have a bit of fun. It’s such a lovely evening. Tell me what you think and we can confirm it later.”
“Well based on the shot profile and the resulting damage from the transfer of kinetic energy … I would say it was a 5.56 NATO.”
Grant nodded as she looked out into the distance and then back down at the body.
Jardine stepped towards Benedict, who continued to ignore him. “And what do you mean by shot profile?”
“The sniper ensured he had an almost perfect scenario for the shot, which you said happened around 2.30pm. The sunlight on the scene would have given him a perfect view and hidden him in that wood, especially if combined with decent camouflage. With the sun above him no one in the house would have seen a reflection of him, the gun or the scope. He was slightly above his target with the wind travelling southwards directly at him, so very little making the shot difficult. Given we are talking about 175 metres and the muzzle velocity involved being high, the trajectory was fairly flat. The bullet hit him about 0.2 seconds after he pulled the trigger. It’s a fairly standard shot and under such conditions hitting something the size of a large human head would have felt reasonably simple.”
Jardine scratched his head and let out a laugh. “I suppose you’re going to tell me the weapon now?”
Benedict knelt down at the top of Curt’s body and started inspecting the head closely. “I would suggest something in the SA80 family. He probably could’ve done this with any one of the L85 or L86 variants. I don’t think he would have used an L22 or L98. Whatever he used it probably had a twenty-inch barrel length.”
Jardine shook his head wishing he’d said nothing.
Grant knelt opposite Benedict. “Are you going to tell him why you think it’s a 5.56 NATO?”
“Well the kinetic energy transfer was large. You don’t blow the side of a man’s head off easily at this range because anything with such high muzzle velocity will likely pass straight through. He needed two factors to work. He was aiming for the hardest part of the skull, namely the forehead, and with Curt’s large head this gave him more scope to transfer the energy. Then he needs a highly frangible bullet, which he might have even adjusted himself specifically for this shot. The killer wanted to literally blow Mr Garrett’s head off. The turning you mentioned may have happened in that 0.2 seconds pulling Curt slightly to his left making the bullet hit closer to the right ear. But the frangible bullet slowed down quickly once it hit one side causing the massive wound.”
“That, DI Jardine, is the definition of ‘probable’,” said Grant.
Benedict stood up and smiled at Grant before turning to walk away in the direction of the steps. “Send me your report later and I will go through it and let you have any other comments or thoughts.”
“Hold on, so you think Curt Garrett was the target then?” asked Jardine.
“No. I know Curt
Garrett was the target,” said Benedict. “Now I have to go, but I will be in touch with some more questions and some steps we need to take.”
Grant was still kneeling beside Curt’s head. She looked up at Benedict, who was making his way up the steps to the upper garden level. “Benedict. This is all supposition. Where is the evidence that anything that you have just said is true?”
Benedict smiled at the ecclesiastical feeling of the scene, with Grant and Jardine awaiting a sermon. “I believe this Constable is about to give you what you need.” He turned and continued up the steps, making his way back to the house.
Grant and Jardine turned to see the young constable who’d been with Benedict at the scene of the shot returning to them. He was jogging over towards them and after a few seconds he arrived beside them. “Has Mr Benedict gone?” he asked, sounding slightly out of breath.
“Yes, what is it, Constable?” asked Jardine.
“Mr Benedict asked me to come and see you once he had left the scene.”
“Why?” said Grant.
“He wanted someone from Forensics to come and look at what he found out in the wood. It was sitting on the ground. We left it where he found it out there,” said the constable, pointing at the wood. “He told me the sniper had used it and then placed it standing up. He asked that I only come over and tell you once he’d gone.”
Jardine’s face reddened. “What is it?”
The constable took out his small black notebook and turned to the first page. “He told me to tell you that it was a ‘5.56 NATO shell casing’.”
Chapter 7
Day 7
Coggeshall, Essex
8.19 p.m.
Tommy slid the knife through the breast of chicken, jabbing his fork into the small piece he’d created and raised it up into his mouth. He chewed the succulent flesh as his fork quickly came back down to the plate to scoop up some of the mash that came with the meal. He didn’t know what ‘wasabi mash’ was but he enjoyed the powerful mustard tang; it felt like he was sitting there like a fire-snorting dragon.
He laughed inwardly as the sensation cooled in his sinuses, before taking another mouthful. He remembered that he could have been eating the fillet of beef, his favourite dish here. This diet he had promised his third wife to start was annoying him and when the menu arrived he had told himself to avoid the ribeye and fillet and go for the chicken. His wife had told him that chicken was better for him, but he was still letting the thoughts of beef weave through his mind.
