Jack's Back

by Mark Romain

  When they reached a row of examination cubicles, all of which had their curtains drawn, Kelly stopped. “He’s in the last but one cubicle,” she explained.

  Tyler nodded and set off towards it. As he reached for the curtain, it was drawn back from inside and Jack almost collided with a young nurse on her way out. She smiled and offered a polite apology.

  Inside, Colin Franklin was propped up on a bed talking to Paul Evans. Apart from a large support bandage wrapped around his torso, and a whopper of a bump on his forehead, he appeared to be in remarkably good shape considering he had recently been shot.

  On seeing Tyler, his face broke into an enormous grin. “Come in, guv. The boys told me that you and Mr Dillon went after the bastard that shot me. I only wish I’d able to go with you.”

  “I don’t understand,” Tyler said, dumbfounded. “You were hit! I saw you go down.”

  DC Evans leaned down and raised Franklin’s bulletproof vest. “Colin’s Met-vest saved his life.” The remains of the bullet could still be seen, embedded in the Kevlar plate, just below chest level.

  Tyler shook his head in disbelief. As always, the R for risk assessment contained within the standard IIMARCH briefing – a convoluted acronym which stood for Information, Intention, Method, Administration, Risk assessment, Communications, Human rights issues – had stipulated that all officers involved in the deployment were to be in possession of their Met-vest and Personal Protection Equipment, but he doubted anyone else on the team had actually bothered to wear any of it. He certainly hadn’t. His equipment was sitting in the boot of the Omega, along with Dillon’s and Steve’s. “Get George,” he told Kelly. “I want that thing bagged and exhibited, pronto.”

  Bull had been waiting patiently, but now he forced his way into the small treatment area, unceremoniously elbowing his way through his bigger team-mates until he reached Franklin’s side. He clasped the younger man’s hand affectionately. “I thought I was going to have to tell your wife you were dead,” he said, blinking moisture from his eyes.

  Franklin smiled up at Bull. “You’re not gonna get rid of me that easy,” he promised.

  “Oh, please! All this sentimental crap is making me sick,” Dillon told them.

  Everyone in the cubicle laughed. They were all still alive, they had captured the bad guy, and even though there was still a lot of work to do, it looked as though the case was effectively solved. The mood quickly became jovial, and then boisterous as tension drained.

  Tyler gave them a blow-by-blow account of what had happened after they left Commercial Street in pursuit of Winston’s BMW. There were a few cheers when he recanted how Dillon had subdued Winston. Dillon acknowledged this with a modest bow.

  The BTP officer’s shooting was the low point of the story but, as his prognosis was good, the mood quickly livened up again. Eventually, a staff nurse came over and shooed them all out, complaining about the noise.

  Franklin was to be kept in overnight for observation. Arrangements had already been made for his wife to be collected and brought to the hospital. They all promised to come back and visit again as soon as they could.

  ◆◆◆

  As they headed back to the car park, Steve Bull fell in beside Copeland. “What happened to Sandra Dawson? She was on the floor when we arrived. Was she hurt?” With all the excitement since then, Steve had almost forgotten about her.

  “She’s fine. Like the seasoned old pro that she is, she dived on the floor as soon as Winston pointed the gun at her.”

  “That’s a relief,” Bull said.

  “She’s been asking about you, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. I reckon you’re in there, sunshine.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “No, I’m serious. I don’t even think she’d charge you.”

  Surprising a shudder, Bull quickly changed the subject. “What about the second shot?” he asked. “Was anyone else hurt?”

  George shook his head. “Thankfully it went wild and just took a chunk out of a wall.”

  “Thank God.”

  George was suddenly sombre. “We’ve had a couple of close calls tonight.”

  “Tell me about it,” Bull said with feeling.

  “I’m glad you got the bastard though, Steve. What he did to that poor girl was downright evil.”

  ◆◆◆

  “Right, pay attention,” Tyler instructed. He was all business as the team gathered around him in the hospital car park. “Now he’s in custody, I want Winston’s flat under our control as soon as possible. There will be a briefing at Arbour Square in forty-five minutes. Do not be late.” Without another word, Jack turned around and climbed into the back of the Omega.

  Kelly Flowers lingered as she walked past the car, smiling down at Jack. He gave her a small wave in return. Dillon, who was just getting in, noticed the gooey-eyed look she gave Tyler. He rolled his eyes and grinned to himself. “I can’t think why, but I reckon young Kelly has got the hots for you, Jack,” he said, turning to face his friend.

  “Don’t be silly,” Jack said.

  “When we arrived, she made it very obvious that she’d been worried about you, but she didn’t even ask me and Steve if we were okay. I don’t think she even noticed we were there. I’m telling you, mate, the girl fancies you something rotten.”

  “You’re imagining it,” Tyler said, dismissively. Nonetheless, now that he thought about it, she had seemed rather pleased to see him.

  Dillon raised a knowing eyebrow and smiled. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t pretend otherwise.”

  Jack was about to tell Dillon to mind his own business when Steve slipped into the driver’s seat, stopping the conversation dead. He noticed the unusual silence at once. “I’m not interrupting anything am I?” he enquired casually.

  “No,” Tyler said firmly.

  “Yes,” Dillon said at the same time.

  The two men looked at each other and began to laugh. Bull shrugged and started the car. He had long since quit trying to understand this pair.

  CHAPTER 16

  Tuesday 2nd November 1999

  It was six-fifty-five a.m., and Jack had just finished updating his decision log. It had taken some pretty creative writing to justify the pursuit of Winston and all the carnage that had ensued. Still, they had got their man, and hopefully, that would be considered when the investigation was dissected and his operational decisions were reviewed.

  The door to his Arbour Square office opened a fraction and Julia Prestwick, one of the HOLMES team, cautiously popped her head into the room.

  Jack stared enquiringly at her through bleary eyes.

  “Morning, sir,” she said softly. “I hope I’m not bothering you. I know you’ve been up all night and I thought you might appreciate this.” She produced a cup of steaming hot coffee. “It’s only instant,” she said, apologetically.

  Jack rubbed at his neck, which was stiff from where he’d been slouching over his desk for so long. “Instant’s fine, Julia,” he croaked, feeling as though his tongue had morphed into sandpaper. He managed a feeble smile as she put the cup down in front of him. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  Julia’s face lit up. She waited expectantly while he took his first sip, and then beamed when he nodded his approval.

  Tyler studied the sway of her hips as she glided out of the office, moving with the grace of a model on the catwalk. No wonder every single bloke in the building – and a couple of the married ones, from what he had heard – was trying their damnedest to get into her knickers.

  She stopped at the door, smiling again. “Call me if you need anything else.” Julia was a terrible flirt, and she had an ability to make even a simple statement appear incredibly suggestive – another reason why she had so many admirers.

  Dillon and Flowers passed Julia on her way out. Closing the door behind him, Dillon flopped down in one of the chairs opposite Jack’s desk, closed his eyes and let out a long
sigh. He looked all done in.

  Kelly appeared equally exhausted as she sat down next to him. Stifling a yawn, she gave the coffee in Jack’s hand a covetous glance.

  After leaving the hospital, Jack’s team had regrouped at Arbour Square to prepare for the next phase of the operation. Jack had liaised with Newham Borough, who had reluctantly provided two uniforms to guard Winston’s flat until a warrant was obtained, a necessary precaution in case the local scumbags tried to sneak in and remove any incriminating evidence before the murder team got their act together.

  Paul Evans had been tasked to wake up a friendly magistrate and get the warrant signed off. Charlie White was given the job of sorting out an armed guard for Winston and liaising with Witness Protection over Sandra Dawson.

  Murray, who was also an Advance Exhibits Officer, had been dispatched to the hospital to seize all of Winston’s clothing and belongings as evidence.

  Copeland had arranged a full lift for Winston’s BMW, which was being taken to the pound at Charlton pending a full forensic examination.

  Once the warrant had been obtained, Dillon led a small group of officers, including Copeland and Flowers, over to Winston’s flat to conduct a flash search. With their suspect in custody, they now had ready access to his keys, so getting in was no longer a problem.

  A Police Search Advisor – or POLSA – accompanied by a specially trained search team would be tasked to pull the place apart once the flat had been forensicated by Sam Calvin and his cohorts.

  As the driver of the pursuit car, Steve Bull had been written off to liaise with Traffic over the worryingly long list of vicinity only police accidents – or POLACCS, as they were known – that had occurred during the chase. Witness statements would eventually have to be taken from everyone affected by Winston’s driving, but that could wait until after the Traffic bods had finished dealing with the Road Traffic Act side of the investigation.

  The shootout had quickly become a major item across all the networks and, as the SIO, Tyler’s first priority had been to ensure that the Yard’s top brass were fully briefed and ready to deal with the impending shit storm. His first call had been to DCS Holland, who had gone nuclear when he discovered just how badly things had deteriorated after Tyler decided to follow Winston away from the flat, rather than just housing him for C11 to take on the following morning. Within seconds of saying goodbye to the DCS, the phone rang, and he was forced to go through the whole painful process again, this time with the area Commander, who had been even harder to placate. They say bad things happen in threes; sure enough, the phone had barely landed in its cradle when it started ringing again. It was the AC’s Staff Officer, who had the raging hump because he hadn’t been able to get through to Tyler earlier.

  As if fielding the barrage of angry calls hadn’t been hard enough in itself, the Yard’s Central Press Office was being inundated with media enquiries, and an irate press officer, unable to reach him on the phone, had been paging him constantly. The first message had been firm but polite. The second had been more robust. By the time the fifth message arrived, a senior press officer had become involved, and he or she was demanding that Tyler drop whatever he was doing and call the press office at once. The messages had reached double figures now, and the latest one to come through, from a media and communications manager, who was presumably even more senior in rank, had warned him that if he wanted to keep his rank – and his testicles – he should make immediate contact. The pager’s incessant vibrating was driving him mad. Wondering if this was what it felt to have a stalker, he had finally switched the annoying thing off.

  “So, how did the flash search go?” Jack asked, hoping Dillon had some good news for him.

  He didn’t.

  Under Copeland’s guidance they had carried out as thorough a search as they could without jeopardising the scene from a forensic perspective, but they hadn’t found anything to connect Winston to the murder. On a positive note, they had recovered a significant quantity of white powder, which they believed to be uncut cocaine. They had also seized ten rounds of .38 calibre ammunition, a bunch of stolen credit cards and driving licences, and several blank British passports. Under normal circumstances, a seizure like that would have been great news. Today, it felt like a very poor consolation prize.

  “What’s the score here?” Dillon asked.

  Jack rolled his eyes, a look of exasperation crossing his face.

  “I see. Like that, was it?” Dillon asked, sympathetically.

  “Yep.” Tyler took a deep breath before continuing. “I must’ve been given a dressing down by the entire chain of command for northeast London.”

  Dillon grimaced. “Really? That’s quite impressive, even for you.”

  Tyler leaned an elbow on the edge of his desk and wearily buried his chin in the palm of his hand. “A new record, if I’m not mistaken.” He looked hungover, which was pretty much on a par with how he felt. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot, the Chief Inspector at Information Room phoned me. He wanted to know what I was going to do about a certain DI who developed an acute case of selective deafness when ordered to disengage from a vehicle pursuit.” His tone was one of mild rebuke, and he raised an eyebrow accusingly.

  “What did you say?” Dillon asked, neutrally.

  Jack allowed himself a mirthless smile. “I told him I was having trouble with my phone and couldn’t hear him. He hung up on me after that.”

  Dillon grinned. “So, what now?” he asked, trying to stifle a yawn. He felt fatigued to the point where he could no longer think straight, and he began rubbing his eyes, which were dry and sore. They immediately felt worse, as though he’d massaged grit into them.

  “We’ve done all we can, for now,” Jack told them. “As soon as you’re finished downstairs, go home and get some sleep. I’ll wait here to see Mr Holland, and then I’ll do the same. The DNA results from the flesh under Tracey’s nails won’t be in till late today at the earliest. I’ll ask Chris Deakin to call me at home if he hears anything.”

  “What time do you want everyone back in?” Dillon asked.

  “Winston’s going to be hospitalised for a good few days, which takes some of the pressure off us. The team has already been on the go for twenty-four hours solid, and if they don’t get some sleep soon, they’ll drop. Make sure they finish their statements, tidy up anything that’s urgent and get away as quickly as they can. I don’t want them back in today.”

  “What about the flat? Won’t we need to supply an exhibits officer for that?”

  Jack shook his head. “He didn’t kill her there, Dill. I don’t think we’re going to get anything worthwhile out of that flat.”

  “But Sam Calvin’s got people coming over to start work on it this morning,” Dillon said. “George was sorting it out when Kelly and I came in to see you.”

  “I’ll speak to Mr Holland. I’m sure he can blag us an exhibits officer from another team for a day.”

  “Okay, I’ll spread the word. Steve’ll be especially pleased, it means he can go around and visit Colin again later today.”

  “Tell him to pass on my regards if he does,” Tyler said. “Now scat. Go get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

  ◆◆◆

  As Dillon wearily descended the stairs towards the car park, he bumped into DCS Holland, who was on his way up.

  “Ah, Dillon, I’m just on my way up to see Jack. Your team did damn good work catching Winston. Is everyone okay?”

  “We’re all fine, sir. Just a little tired.”

  “So, how long before we can bring Winston back for questioning?” Holland was eager to see him on the charge sheet as soon as possible.

  “They reckon he’ll be hospitalised for about a week.”

  Holland grimaced. A quick charge might have lessened the brass’s interest in the carnage that preceded the arrest. It would have made the media easier to handle, too. “That’s a pity, but it can’t be helped, I suppose. What sort of security have we got on him?”

  “An
ARV crew was still there, the last I heard,” Dillon said, “but I imagine the DPG will take over later this morning.” It was policy that the crew of an SO19 Armed Response Vehicle should only be used to provide an armed hospital guard until a team from the Diplomatic Protection Group could take over.

  “I see.”

  Holland cleared his throat, and then glanced around to make sure no one else was within earshot. Lowering his voice, he said, “I trust that the bastard was well and truly spoken to when he was arrested?” The inference being that the man had been given a good hiding for his troubles. Holland was old school. If a villain wanted to play rough, you made sure that you played rougher. That way, they thought twice about trying it on next time.