by Sarah Flint
Perhaps realising why she’d followed him, he turned towards her, his voice formal. ‘I’ll see you later when I’ve finished helping Naz and Sabira. They’ve come in especially after receiving information yesterday that the Punjabi suspect has booked flights and is scheduled to try to leave the country this evening. I’ll be heading towards Heathrow with them, to liaise with the airport police to get the suspect apprehended before he leaves. If you need me I’ll be on the phone.’ He made a point of emphasising his last words as if blaming her for mentioning the missed calls a few minutes earlier. ‘DCI O’Connor and I are not exactly on the same wavelength at the moment. You can work out your next course of action with him.’
Charlie stood, her cheeks burning red, while Naz and Sabira looked on clearly confused at the scene playing out in front of them. There was nothing she could say or do, and as he turned his back on her to speak further with her two colleagues; she felt the sting of disapproval as hard as if he’d slapped her around the face.
*
DCI O’Connor was certainly taking charge. By the time Charlie returned, Paul had started the paperwork to get directed surveillance targeting both Shirley Sangster and Dennis Walters up and running. The DCI himself, was making calls to get the right people teed up ready to go as soon as possible. They needed more evidence of what exactly Shirley Sangster had in mind for Dennis Walters to do this evening but, more importantly, they needed to prevent another murder taking place. Forensics, phone downloads, CCTV evidence all took time and Samson Powell had killed three officers within a very short spell.
With the killings looking to have restarted with a new perpetrator, there was every likelihood that the suspect, or suspects, organising things in the background could work just as fast again… and they had to consider Hayley Boyle to be part of the conspiracy now too. Whether she was the one co-ordinating the whole killing spree; a fully participating partner; or just a loose tongue, they didn’t know. Either way, it appeared that she was the conduit for the methodology.
Charlie set to work on a full briefing, returning to the office to do so. She knew the ins and outs of the case better than anyone and could put life to the faces she spoke about. Hunter, Naz and Sabira were leaving as she walked in; it was clear the two girls still didn’t know what was going on, any more than she did. Sadly, she watched them go; it didn’t feel right with the team split.
The room became quiet. Charlie copied the faces of Sangster and Walters on to the briefing. The role of Hayley Boyle was not yet to be mentioned. DCI O’Connor was still liaising with Ray Hooper at DPS, to discuss the best way forward in dealing with her.
Paul came in with the paperwork, printed and authorised, and walked across to where she sat. Within minutes Bet pushed the door open and came bustling through too. Charlie looked up, and the sight of her friend and confidante lifted her spirits immediately.
‘Nothing like a Saturday afternoon call-out,’ Bet said cheerily. ‘Not that I mind. There was nothing on the box apart from the usual weekend sport and Dave, bless him, had already fallen asleep, snoring lustily after drinking a few beers and shouting at the horse racing.’ She paused for a few seconds before chortling out loud. ‘It’s the only thing he does lustily these days, before you ask, Paul.’
Charlie grinned. It was good to have the pair of them with her.
A text message pinged on to her phone. Looking down, she read Sabira’s words, promising to help out just as soon as she and Naz could. She smiled and typed her thanks, ignoring the question at the end of Sabira’s message asking what was up with Hunter. She didn’t know the answer.
‘Is Nick coming in?’ she asked instead, guessing the reply before Paul confirmed it.
‘Nah. Not answering his phone. Definitely not a team player.’
‘No. He’s just a player,’ Bet gave Charlie a nudge. ‘You’d be better off waiting for Ben to get his act together than falling for Nick’s charms.’
Before she could answer, the door opened again and a slow trickle of officers began to appear, conjured up from the weekend list of on-call surveillance staff.
When the room was full to bursting DCI O’Connor appeared. His hair looked to have been recently brushed, his tie was fixed in place and he appeared to have changed into a crease-free matching cream suit.
‘Thank you all for coming at such short notice, ladies and gents. DC Stafford here will brief you on the job and our subjects and then you will be split into four; two surveillance teams with an arrest squad attached to each, and a skipper on each taking the lead. If you need any checks or information, come straight through to our intel cell, which will be staffed by Bet.’ He pointed towards her and she lifted her hand in acknowledgement. ‘I will be co-ordinating the operation with the help of two inspectors. If I get called away for any reason, then please defer to them. Right, without further ado.’
He nodded towards Charlie who ran through the slides, explaining the associations and the main subjects, before finishing on a slide with a split screen showing the two faces of Dennis Walters and Shirley Sangster.’
‘Those are your two main subjects,’ DCI O’Connor concluded, as Charlie sat down. ‘Do not attempt to detain them without prior authority and do not, whatever you do, let them out of your sight. I’m not being overdramatic when I say the safety of every officer in the Met could be in your hands and… more to the point, the press will be all over us if we fail. If they get a sniff that we’ve screwed up, there’ll be a few more officers whose heads will roll.’
*
It didn’t take long before everyone was deployed. One surveillance team and an arrest squad were watching Walters’ block in the Elephant and Castle, code named OP1, and the other team was holed up near Sangster’s house, on the Angell Town Estate, OP2. It would be a difficult operation; the locals on both estates were notoriously wary of strangers, but Walters and Sangster needed to be monitored for as long as it took. They couldn’t risk leaving them to their own devices.
Charlie was driving an unmarked car with Paul as her radio operator and the DCI maintaining overall control from the rear. They parked up in a quiet street between the two addresses to monitor the three radio channels in use.
Declan O’Connor was in his element. It had obviously been a while since he’d got out of the office and done ‘proper’ police work, as Hunter always called it. He had been liaising almost constantly with Ray Hooper and was providing updates as he got them. They now had a small team of trusted tech guys continually cell-siting the mobiles of Shirley Sangster and Hayley Boyle to monitor their up-to-date locations. The DCI had also ordered an immediate download of Jason Lloyd’s phone as a matter of urgency, while they waited for any possible forensics from the crime scene. Now they had a live operation running they needed to research any phone contacts he might have inadvertently made with his killer and to track back to dating websites used in the hours, days and weeks leading up to his murder. If they could find details of relevant conversations, they may then be able to establish the email details of the contacts and IP addresses for the computers used. The chances of identifying Lloyd’s murderer were slim but they had to try; they couldn’t afford not to.
‘All units standby, there’s movement at OP1. Door opened and male out, out, out. Positive ID on Subject 1, Dennis Walters, wearing black T-shirt and black trousers with a brown belt, carrying a dark-coloured rucksack. He’s walking along the landing and now into the lift. Standby.’
‘Here we go,’ Charlie felt her pulse rate increase.
‘Out of the lift now and on foot towards the shopping centre.’
‘All units standby, there’s movement at OP2.’ The other radio channel sparked up into life. ‘Subject 2 out of venue, Positive ID on Shirley Sangster, wearing dark leggings, long red top and heels. Turning right, right, right.’
Charlie listened as both subjects were tracked on foot. Walters disappeared straight into the underground station, closely followed by an undercover officer, the wait nerve-wracking unt
il he finally appeared out on to the streets of Stockwell. Sangster was no less easy, walking through a maze of alleyways, into the middle of Brixton and the hustle and bustle of Saturday-evening revellers.
‘They’re heading towards each other,’ Paul commented as the follows continued.
‘Walters is now on Acre Lane, heading east towards Brixton, just crossed over on to the South footway.’
‘Sangster is now on Acre Lane, heading west towards Stockwell, crossing over on to the South footway.’
‘They are literally going to bump into each other in a minute.’ Charlie held her breath.
‘Standby, Walters has stopped, eyes about and in, in, in to “Hair Today” hairdressers at junction with Holborn Street.’
‘Standby, Sangster crossing Holborn Street and in, in, in to hairdressers called “Hair Today”.
Both radio channels went quiet. Charlie could almost hear her own heartbeat thumping within the interior of the car.
Bet called up on the third channel, her voice serious. ‘Boss, I’ve done some immediate checks and “Hair Today” is flagged with a firearms warning marker. It’s shown as a front for a busy bar, used by many of the high-ranking Acre Lane gang members in Brixton. Entry is either through the hairdressers and down into a large basement or through a side entrance from a small car park. The bar is unlicensed at present and the licensing department at Lambeth are in the process of taking steps to get it closed. A firearm was discharged at the venue last weekend.’
‘Damn it,’ DCI O’Connor muttered. ‘That’s all I need. We have no idea what our subjects are doing and there’s no way I can risk sending any surveillance guys in, they’d stand out a mile… and it would take a full scale armed op for any uniform to enter.’
‘Standby. Subject 1, Walters out, out. Eyes about. Crossing Acre Lane and east towards Brixton town centre. On, on, on.’ There was a pause. ‘Stopped now, talking with a group of males on the corner outside KFC. I’m walking past. I need someone else to take over the eye.’
There was another pause.
‘Subject in sight,’ another voice came on to the channel. ‘But I’m a long way off. Subject moving away now, heading north in Brixton Road, he’s jogging across the main road, through traffic towards Brixton underground station. Standby, loss, loss, between moving buses. Any other units nearby?’ The radio became a hive of activity, various units calling up to assist. Mobile and foot units converged and there was a general melee of voices and movements.
‘Come on, come on,’ DCI O’Connor growled. ‘Find him, for fuck’s sake. We can’t afford to lose him now.’
Charlie held her breath. The heat in the car was reaching boiling point. She opened the window and a waft of air brought with it the statement that Dennis Walters was confirmed as lost by the surveillance team. Cars were being despatched to the nearest underground stations on the line and other units were crawling all over the town centre trying to re-establish sight of their subject but there wasn’t much hope. The railway station lay behind the underground station and a whole array of buses passed through the centre of town. Walters could have slipped on to any one of these, or he could have just passed across the road right in front of them, secreted within a group of revellers and into one of the numerous passages that led to a labyrinth of alleyways crisscrossing the main shopping area.
‘Fucking hell,’ DCI O’Connor exploded. ‘Both our subjects are lost to us now and we haven’t a clue what they’re up to. Sangster could be in that bar all night co-ordinating things and we don’t have a mobile number to track Walters.’ He picked up his phone and keyed in a number, speaking urgently to Ray Hooper.
Charlie waited, thinking through what she would do if she had to make the decision. In her book there was only one option left and it meant showing their hand earlier than they would have liked… but they had no choice.
‘Head towards Kew and get shifting,’ the DCI commanded, as if reading her mind. ‘We’re going to have to see what Hayley Boyle knows.’
Chapter 35
Hayley Boyle lived on the first floor of a converted house, almost opposite Kew Gardens, home to one of the largest living botanical plant collections in the world. Paul gave a low whistle as they got closer; the houses seemed to get larger and more spacious with every mile they travelled.
As they pulled up outside, Charlie peered up at the windows, willing her to be in. Paul was to remain in the car, overseeing any liaison with Ray Hooper, Bet or the surveillance units, allowing her and DCI O’Connor to speak with Boyle. The mobile phone number they had for her was sited to the address but they all knew that, in this investigation, that meant nothing. The curtains were open and a light was on.
DCI O’Connor climbed out of the car and strode up the path towards the house, pushing the doorbell several times. A face appeared at the window, squinting down at the visitors with a frown. It was Hayley Boyle.
Charlie jumped out of their car and joined the DCI, relief washing over her. At least they might get some answers now.
The door was opened and the detective sergeant stood in front of them, flanked by her husband, who Charlie recalled was a superintendent. He was older than she, grey-haired and heavy-jawed, with glasses that perched on the end of his nose.
‘Can we come in, Hayley?’ DCI O’Connor said, taking a step forward.
‘It’s Saturday evening and this looks official. Can’t it wait?’ her husband stayed firmly planted in front of them.
‘No, it can’t wait,’ the DCI drew his other foot level so that he was standing directly in the husband’s space. Their eyes locked, neither wanting to back down first.
Charlie turned to Hayley Boyle.
‘Please, Hayley. It is actually very important. Otherwise we wouldn’t have come.’ Charlie looked directly at the sergeant, who gave the slightest of nods in return, before placing one hand on her husband’s arm. The other hand flew to the same crucifix necklace she always wore, fingering each angle of the cross.
‘It’s alright Andrew, I’ll deal with this.’
Andrew Boyle turned and looked at her questioningly, before stepping to one side. DCI O’Connor walked forward immediately, starting towards the stairs, with the rest of them scampering upwards in his wake.
The flat was shabbier than Charlie had expected, piles of books and files of correspondence stacked haphazardly on a range of bookshelves along one wall of the lounge. A large fan circulated air from one corner of the room; the breeze expelled blowing the edges of loose paperwork up and down as it oscillated slowly from one side to the other. An arrangement of slightly dusty dried flowers swayed in time to the fan at the base of an ornate black Victorian fireplace.
DCI O’Connor positioned himself in front of the fireplace, standing with arms folded in centre stage. The rest of them sat stony-faced around a cluttered dining room table.
‘It’s come to our notice that confidential information may be getting leaked to members of the public,’ he started. ‘And we’ve got reason to think it might be coming from your office.’ He was like a bull in a china shop and Charlie could see, by the looks on both their faces, that their guards had gone up. Neither spoke.
‘Hayley, I’ve spoken with your Chief Superintendent, Ray Hooper, and he’s found some irregularities in your paperwork,’ he tried again.
Andrew Boyle stood up and shook his head. ‘And you’ve chosen a Saturday evening to come and tell Hayley this!’ He turned to his wife. ‘Hayley, you know the proper procedures for doing this, as do I. And it isn’t in your own house at the weekend. May I advise you not to say a word until you’ve been properly briefed by a federation representative and have been served with the appropriate paperwork?’
‘In that case I might have to think about arresting you.’ The DCI was making things worse.
Hayley Boyle gasped audibly and her hand flew to her mouth. If she was the brains behind the killing spree, her lips would now be sealed.
Her husband turned towards her and then spun around,
squaring up to the DCI.
‘I don’t know what this is about, but I think you should either arrest my wife and allow her to seek proper legal advice or get out. This conversation is now concluded.’
Charlie stared at both men. If Hayley Boyle was indeed implicated with Sangster and Walters they desperately needed to know. Either option was untenable. Walking out would leave them with nothing. Arrest would lead to a silent impasse.
‘DS Boyle,’ she turned to the woman, hoping that neither the DCI nor Andrew Boyle would cut her down. ‘Do you remember when we last spoke, I asked you about Shirley Sangster?’
The mention of her name seemed to send a shock wave across the room, silencing them all. Hayley Boyle nodded mutely, her face visibly paling. She put her hand out on her husband’s arm again, staying him from speaking further.
Charlie ploughed on, ‘You said she surrounded herself with the wrong sort of people, and we wondered whether she could have influenced one of them to kill Leonard Cookson.’ The DS was staring at her, with the same look of anxiety as she’d seen before, her hands twisting the crucifix around her neck manically.
Charlie continued. ‘We think she might be in the process of doing that again tonight, but we need your help. She seems to know exactly which complaints each officer had against them. You know her well. Could you have inadvertently let slip any information?’
She needed to give the DS an escape route.
‘Chief Superintendent Hooper has found a spreadsheet on your computer…’ DCI O’Connor interrupted.
Andrew Boyle broke his silence. ‘Hayley, you don’t have to say a thing.’
Charlie put her hand up towards both men. Neither was helping.
‘Hayley, please. You know what could be at stake. We’ve looked at your phone data and you received a phone call on Monday 26th June, from the same person Samuel Powell had as a contact on the phone we found near him, when he committed suicide. It was the only number Samson had on his cheap Nokia and it wasn’t assigned to a contact on your phone. Could that number have belonged to Shirley Sangster, Hayley? You spoke to her earlier that day on her usual number; maybe there was something wrong with her phone, maybe she phoned back on a different number to ask you something else? Do you remember speaking to her again? It would have been after DCI O’Connor here cancelled your meeting with Hunter and me. Could you have accidentally passed on any snippet of information that could have alerted her to the fact that we knew that Samuel Powell was Cookson’s killer?’
