What if these shooters were listening when Richard phoned her to tell her where the key was from. They had Neelkanth in the conversation. Colin’s killers might be in custody, but what if there were others? Hayes thought she was still in danger, and Charlotte believed her. There was a lot more to this case than anyone would dare admit.
Before she did anything, Charlotte decided to phone Neelkanth Safe Deposit to book a time to visit. She remembered the website stipulating that clients were required to book slots to avoid customer crossover. They didn’t want any customers bumping into one another by mistake. Security was paramount.
“Really? That’s the earliest you can fit me in? And there’s no way you can squeeze me in before that?” The manager, a steadfast man, stood his ground. 15:30 was the first available appointment. “Well, if you can’t help before, I guess I’ll see you then.”
What the hell kind of place had such a rigid schedule? Whatever Richard had left for her was hers to take; she shouldn’t have to wait. On the other hand, at least she knew when she went there, she would be the only customer inside.
Thinking about Richard made her sad. Charlotte dared not think where he was right now. The NCA had him holed up somewhere, and she had no clue where to begin looking for him. The police were useless. Remembering the desperation in Hayes’ voice, Charlotte picked up her phone again, found the detective’s number and called.
“Yeah, it’s me. I didn’t feel safe at home last night, so I phoned Sam and told him to take the girls to a hotel for a couple of nights… No, he doesn’t know what’s going on… Sure, I’ll meet you outside Neelkanth Safe Deposit… Uh-huh… Please try to find Richard. He’s in a bad place right now, I know it. I can feel it… If we don’t get him out soon, I’m afraid we might never get him out. Thank you so much. When you find him, call me, okay? I’ll see you outside Neelkanth, half three. Yeah, bringing backup might be a good idea. They could be anywhere. See you later, and thanks for your help. I really do appreciate it.”
Knowing the detectives were on the case felt better. Without their help, she might never see Richard again. The charges were bullshit; they had to be. The elusive enemy were doing a good job of burying the product, but she wasn’t about to let that happen.
The first thing she had to do: find out where she was. Then, she would drive to a service station somewhere, pick up some breakfast, go to the loo. Charlotte was counting down the minutes until she opened the safe.
61
Hayes held out her hand, as Inspector Gillan handed her two files, one for each of their suspects in custody. Her supervisor grabbed the nearest chair to him and wheeled it over to her. She took the top file and flipped it open. “Brendan Marlowe. Born March 31st 1986.” She read the boring general information about him, noting the photo on his record was an arrest picture. When she turned the page over, large swathes of writing were blanked out.
“This looks like a special forces job if you ask me. It seems our suspects might have extensive military backgrounds.”
Turning her attention to the main doors, she noticed Miller rush in, flustered, flapping. When her partner reached her desk, she apologised for being late, mouthed that she would explain later, and went about getting her things together.
Hayes held out the second file. “Here, take a look through this for me. We now know our suspects are ex-special forces.”
Miller pulled a face that told her she didn’t believe it. “Those guys? Not a chance. They’re both dumb as a post; there’s no way they’re special forces. Do you think we’d be able to take them down just like that?”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, Miller, but we did. Look, the insignia on top of the form’s blacked out, but I can tell you what it says. ‘By Strength and Guile’, and below it reads, ‘Special Boat Service’.”
Reaching over, Miller took the file. “I don’t believe it! He’s in the SBS? That’s ridiculous. But we took him down so easily.”
“He is ex-special forces. Maybe he wasn’t very good?”
Gillan got up. “My guess is, he’s into something altogether different now. Special forces don’t have their files redacted, as a rule. No, someone else has reached out and requested this. I think it’s time to go talk to your guys, what do you say?”
“Wait! What’ve you got in that other file, Miller?” Hayes waited for her partner.
“Jason Nye, born January 16th 1988,” Miller read. “Grew up all over the place by the look of it. His dad was in the marines. He grew up with four brothers; he was the youngest.” She turned the page, stopped, and turned the folder around so she could read the writing.
“I’m sorry! I don’t know what that’s supposed to say.” Hayes shrugged.
“Look closely, you’ll be able to read it.”
“I can read the numbers 63, and UKSF, but that’s it. Sorry!”
“This guy was a member of the 63 Signal Squadron,” Gillan clarified. When she shrugged again, he continued. “Signal Squadron are the top of the top in communications, far in advance of the army. That means he knows his way around comms.”
“So? Why is that important?” Hayes looked to Gillan for guidance, feeling stupid for not knowing. But why should she? She wasn’t ex-army. “Please help me fill in the blanks here. Don’t make me beg.”
“There’s no earthly reason why these two should be together, okay? The SAS, the SBS, Signal Squadron, they’re all part of Special Forces. But they hate each other. An SAS guy would like to think they would eat an SBS guy for breakfast, right? Do you get it? They assist one another on the surface; deep down they loathe each other.”
“Exactly, like they tried to tear into each other in the back of our car.” Hayes thought back to the previous night. “So, why were they tailing us together in the van, then?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Gillan said, hurrying them to follow him. “Travis, I’m helping Hayes and Miller in an interview.”
Following Gillan and Miller into the interview room, the first thing Hayes noticed was how handsome he was in the daylight. She hadn’t even noticed the previous night. Brendan Marlowe was a looker, with a head full of dark hair, a strong chin, and all over stubble. He looked like he worked out. She closed the door behind her.
“It’s about bloody time! What the hell are you lot waiting for?” Handcuffed to the table, which in turn was screwed to the floor, Hayes and Gillan were taking no chances with him. “I’ve already told you I’m ready to deal. What more do you want?”
“You’re SBS, yes?” Miller sat on a chair opposite him.
Marlowe smiled. “You’ve read my file, huh? I mean, what you can read of it. I should imagine that’s not a lot.”
Hayes stood at the back of the room, observing. She wanted to give Miller the chance to lead for once. “Just answer the questions, okay?”
“Yes, I’m ex-SBS.” He rolled his eyes. “Look, the longer you keep me here, the more likely they’re going to send someone in to execute me. You need to get me into witness protection, or something.”
“Answer me this, Mr Marlowe, if you’re ex-SBS, why were you with Jason Nye? Huh? On what planet would you be working with a member of Signal Squadron?”
He grinned. “Ah, so you really don’t know what’s going on at all, do you? You have no idea the shitstorm that’s about to rain down on you.” He leaned back in his chair. “It’s going to cost you: get me in a safe house somewhere, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know. I’ve been covering my arse since I started with The Company. I have enough intel on them to put them away. If you get me into witness protection, I’ll show you where that intel is, and you’ll be able to bring them all down. What do you say?”
Crossing her arms, Hayes was getting restless. “First, tell us what Richard Fisher’s product is. What is it you’re trying to destroy, hmm?”
“You want me to do your job for you, is that it? If I give you all this intel now, what do I get, huh? Nothing. Screwed, that’s what. No way! You get me
a deal, and I tell you everything, or we go our separate ways.”
Miller turned and smiled at Hayes, before turning back to Marlowe. “Go our separate ways? No, you’re going to prison for the murder of four people, that we know of. In a couple of hours ballistics will confirm your gun was that used to shoot Colin Fisher, Brandy Reid, and Kurt Austin. Then we have the comparisons of your boot sole impression, which I’m sure will match those found on Fisher’s chest. We have trace all over the place in Henry Curtis’ home. The muzzle mark on the back of Curtis’ head will match your pistol, or your partner’s. Basically, all this adds up to a bad diagnosis for you.”
Glad to see the fear in his eyes, Hayes stepped up to the table. “You’re going to have to give us something pretty big if you want our help. Right now, we have our suspects. You guys go to prison, we’ve done our jobs; we’ve brought two murderers to justice. I’m happy with that. Are you, Miller?”
“Oh, I’m ecstatic. I don’t understand why we’re even talking to him. He’s already confessed. This is a slam-dunk case if ever I saw one.”
“You’d better give them something, Mr Marlowe,” Gillan chirped. “I’ve seen them like this before. They’ll just walk out any minute if you don’t start helping us.”
“What is the product you’re trying to destroy?”
“You’ll have to find out for yourself, won’t you? But when you do, be sure to come and find me, and I’ll tell you what you’re up against. Shit, the way you’re going about this, you’ll be lucky to live past lunchtime. Give me a deal and I’ll tell you now.”
Hayes turned at a knock on the door. Travis poked his head in, gestured for her to join him outside in the corridor. Making her excuses, she stepped into the hallway, closed the door, then waited for Travis to speak.
“I’ve just heard, Richard Fisher’s dead.”
She gasped. “What? How?”
“According to the NCA officer, he committed suicide using his bed sheet and the handle on the cell door. He died of asphyxiation. I’m sorry! I know this is a blow to your case.”
Not knowing how to feel, Hayes stepped back into the interview room. “Richard Fisher’s dead. He committed suicide in his cell.”
“What? No fucking way! Don’t you see? How can you be so blind? The Company’s just had him killed. How did he commit suicide?”
“With his bedsheet tied to the door handle.”
Marlowe laughed. “And you believe that? You must be dumber than you look. They sent someone in there to silence him. It’s what they do; it’s how they operate.”
“Right, I’m sick of this! You tell us what you know, or I swear we’re going to throw you in prison and leave you there to rot, you horrible piece of shit.” Hayes glared down at him, hands on the table. “What’s The Company you keep mentioning?”
Marlowe sighed. “Okay, I’ll give you this in good faith. Me and Jay, we’re both ex-special forces, hired by The Company to carry out various tasks. Every member of The Company is ex-armed forces, and we’re put into units. There are six units of six in total. The colonel chooses the operations, we go where the money is. Is that enough for you?”
“So, you’re mercenaries? Is that what you’re saying?” Miller looked her way.
“Hired guns, mercenaries, whatever. It doesn’t matter now, does it? I’m a dead man. My best chance of getting out of here is a deal with you guys. So, please, I’ve told you what you’re up against. You’ve got ten ‘mercenaries’ out there looking for that product, ready to take out anyone, and I mean anyone, who gets in their way. These guys won’t hesitate in taking out a cop, trust me. They’ll shoot you where you stand, leave your brains sliding down a wall, and be gone before your body hits the ground.”
“Why only ten? I thought you said there were thirty-six of you?”
“There are, but the colonel only assigned two units to this operation. The rest are overseas on other ops. But, if the colonel sees this op going south, he won’t hesitate in deploying the entire Company. Bottom line, the colonel doesn’t lose.”
Hayes unfolded her arms. “Guess what? He’s going to have to learn. This colonel of yours isn’t going to get away with this.”
62
Walker kept an eye on Vodicka in the rear passenger seat. She was busy on the comms, working the radio, while his front passenger, Sarge, sat stony faced next to him. It was lunchtime, the streets were quiet, or so it seemed, yet he caught Vodicka’s stare every so often. Nothing was said about the previous night/that morning.
Walker left Rachel’s place under the illusion of having reported his team to the Independent Office of Police Conduct. While he’d gone as far as typing out his report, Rachel went to the toilet as he’d finished typing. Instead of hitting “Send”, he’d clicked on the X, then lied to her that he’d sent it. She kissed him in praise of his bravery.
What the hell kind of guy was he if he went and snitched on his own people? It was bad enough having covert informants on the streets, ratting everyone out for a step up the ladder, without police officers squealing on one another. As he hit the “X”, he vowed to finish this his way, and on his time. He couldn’t let them get away with it, and he couldn’t go getting the IOPC involved either. There had to be a better way.
All morning he’d driven the BMW around the capital, going from one dodgy area to the next, looking, craving for some action. It seemed action wasn’t in their immediate future, though. The radio was quiet.
There was an eeriness inside the car as well. Sarge had barely said a word to him, or Vodicka all morning. The rest of the team were in their BMW.
“Left here, Luke,” Sarge ordered.
Walker slowed the car, indicated left, and followed the main road around, noting the youngsters all out on the street playing football. They stood back, let them through, recognising the yellow dots on their windscreen, knowing they were heavy. He had to admit to enjoying the adrenaline rush of being an armed response officer.
63
Charlotte parked her car in a side road, a two-minute walk away from Neelkanth Safe Deposit, on Allenby Avenue. When she drove past the safe depository building she didn’t see Hayes and Miller’s white Peugeot, or any armed response vehicles nearby. Switching off the engine, she glanced at her watch: 15:31. They were late. “Shit!”
When she opened her door and got out, she heard a woman behind her. Upon turning, Hayes beckoned her over. Looking around, she couldn’t see anyone suspicious, no vans, or cars out of place.
How she hadn’t spotted it, she didn’t know, but five cars behind hers sat two armed response vehicles, BMWs, and between them was Hayes’ white Peugeot. “Aren’t we walking there?” Was she being naïve?
“Erm, no, we’re not. Get in the back, we’ll get a move on.”
She said hello to Detective Miller as she got in the rear, her bag slung over her shoulder. “You don’t think they’re going to try to do something out in the open, in broad daylight, do you?”
“We’re playing it safe, okay?” Hayes nodded to Miller, who pulled out after the first armed response vehicle. “Before we get out, check you have everything you need. We don’t want any last-minute surprises.”
Charlotte checked her bag. The two keys were in one pocket, the locker key and the Ford car key. She had her passport as proof of identification, which she’d retrieved from home before heading to the workshop, just in case. “I’ve checked and double-checked.” She felt the car swerve to the left, slow and park outside the building.
“Wait until the response team are ready,” Hayes ordered, her hand on the door handle. “Here we go.”
Charlotte had to wait for Hayes to open her door, as the child locks were on to prevent detainees escaping. Once out of the car she noticed the stony faces of the armed police officers, all six of them. The drivers remained in their seats.
The manager of the facility met her, Hayes and Miller at the brown wooden double doors, under the green sign with white writing. Blue blinds in the front windows kept nosy
outsiders at bay. After a brief introduction, Charlotte showed the manager her passport, telling him she needed to open her locker. “I hope it’s not too much trouble, but my brother has asked me to collect what’s inside.”
Reassuring him that they will retain the locker for future purposes, he relaxed a little, as he walked them through the rooms until they came to one room in particular, which was home to hundreds of lockers. “This is it?”
When she retrieved her key, Charlotte and the manager unlocked the safe deposit box together, using two keys. She peered inside: a bag of some sort. Taking out the rucksack, she placed it on the floor, knelt, then opened it. Above her, she could feel the detectives’ excitement.
“Well? What is it?” Miller demanded to know.
Uncovering a black plastic object, she lifted it out of its bag and held it. Whatever it was it weighed next to nothing. Its lightness surprised her. “I’ve no idea. What do you think?” She held it up.
In her hands was an object she was no nearer saying what it was now than ten minutes earlier. “The only thing I do know is it’s no valve.”
“Is there anything with it? Anything that explains what it is?” Hayes asked.
Charlotte rummaged around inside the rucksack. Empty. In one of the outside pockets, however, she felt a thin oblong lump. After unzipping the pocket, she took out a USB stick and smiled up at the two detectives. “Let’s go and find out what this thing is, shall we?”
“Even now, looking at it, we’re still none the wiser.” Frustration was evident in Hayes’ voice. “Right, pack it up and let’s get out of here.”
“I’m with you on that.” Charlotte placed the black plastic object back in its bag, the word “Prototype” emblazoned on its side. Charlotte put the bag on her back and followed Hayes and Miller out of the building.
With all the testosterone nearby, when she stepped out of the safe deposit building, she half-expected to hear the crackle of gunfire. Charlotte ducked inside the white Peugeot, closed her door and sank in her seat, barely able to see out of the window.
The Hard Way Page 23
