CHAPTER 21
‘Emily Ryker! I knew I’d find you trying on jeans!’ George said.
Ryker spun instantly on her heels and took a defensive stance. Then she seemed to soften when she saw the smiling face staring at her from his seated position. The female changing room of the Debenhams store in Langthorne town centre was the last place she would have expected to hear any male voice, let alone his. She had also dropped the pile of jeans she had been holding.
‘George!’
‘Surprise! And sorry, I suppose. I didn’t mean to scare you quite that much,’ George explained.
She stepped backwards. ‘You meant to scare me a little bit then?’
‘Not at all, Ryker. Besides, I didn’t think anything scared you.’ George wasn’t joking. Emily Ryker was one of the most ferocious personalities he had come across in his time in the police. It didn’t surprise him that she had earned herself an excellent reputation up in the north of the county.
She was small, but solidly built. Her standard wear for work was a hoodie and a pair of jeans. She also had a sardonic outlook on the world, and George had always enjoyed her company.
They had spent a lot of time together at one time. They had met while on training courses at police headquarters. George was learning to drive a flashing police vehicle and Ryker was already moving into the intelligence world. After their classes they would meet for a beer or two, mostly in the Wheatsheaf, a large pub near their accommodation block. Ryker had first visited the pub to watch her beloved Tottenham, while George just needed to get out of the formal surroundings of police premises. George and Ryker struck up an instant friendship. Both were young and single, and by the end of the week they were sharing a room. Ryker had arrived to sit her final exam in a wave of alcohol fumes. She achieved such an impressive result that she was immediately offered a permanent job in intel. George arrived at his final drive in a similar state and was promptly sent back to his room to get himself “sufficiently” sober. Five hours later, he too passed.
‘Seems there’s a fair bit to be scared of down here at the moment, your old lot are dropping like flies,’ Ryker said, hanging up the jeans and crossing her arms.
‘So I hear.’ George was sitting inside the cubicle on a low bench under a full-length mirror. ‘Officers certainly shouldn’t be out on their own.’
‘Like I give a fuck! Based on what I’ve heard, this fucker don’t scare me in the slightest! Sounds like a right pussy.’
‘Only you could label a quadruple murderer a pussy.’
‘He is a pussy! The man’s gunning down unarmed grannies, right? Give me a fully loaded pistol and I’ll take out as many as come at me! Pussy.’
They were both laughing when they heard a woman’s voice calling from outside the cubicle. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Ryker replied, looking at George and stifling a giggle. ‘Just a bit of trouble getting these jeans on. Reckon I’ll need a size or two up.’
‘Would you like me to get the next size up in both styles for you?’
George shook his head. ‘I need to talk to you,’ he whispered.
Ryker called back through the door, ‘No, no! I’ll grab them myself if I need to. I’ll be done in a minute.’ The assistant moved away, and Ryker turned to George. ‘Talk to me? Bit risky, isn’t it?’
‘I can hardly make things worse, can I?’
‘Risky for me I meant, you dopey bastard. I get called down here to work on an investigation and straight away I have a little secret meeting with the only suspect, in the female changing rooms of Debenhams. I wouldn’t mind but I only got here this morning. I haven’t unpacked my fucking desk yet.’
Ryker chuckled and George knew he had been right to speak to her. Ryker could easily have raised the alarm and reported straight back to her superiors at Langthorne Police Station, but she was unfazed and just as cool as George remembered her.
‘It’s probably my old desk anyway,’ George said.
‘Hardly. That’s a crime scene. Now what could you possibly want to see me about?’
George smiled. ‘I wonder.’
‘Out with it, then. Let’s get the questions asked so I can tell you to fuck off.’ Ryker’s expression was serious.
‘All right. I get nicked for this job, for all four jobs, and find they’ve got next to nothing on me. I want to know what else there is that’s linking me to this.’
‘Really? Don’t you know? The radio at the scene was yours — is yours. You know yourself you just need reasonable suspicion to nick someone, and when you’re talking about murder you don’t even need that. Fuck me, we’ve both nicked people for less.’
‘Agreed.’
‘So what’s your question?’
‘There’s more to it, Ryker. The way they went about my arrest, it could so easily have bitten them on the arse. They were trying to send me a message, like they knew it was me and it was just a matter of time. I thought they must have something fucking amazing. And if I was running that investigation and all I had was a radio at the scene, I would do things different. I’d get surveillance on the guy, give him a bit of rope.’
Ryker shook her head. ‘Think about it, George. I mean, would you really? You’ve got officers dropping like flies, the media’s all over it, the chief constable’s all over it. Every fucker in a uniform is scared shitless to leave the nick and then you get this little gift, some actual evidence with a name attached to it. I know what you’re saying. We’ve had weak evidence before for cash-in-transit jobs where we’ve let them run with a surveillance team on their arses, but if that fucked up, if it all went wrong and the bad guys gave us the slip, then worst case we would have lost another cash machine out of the wall of some village Co-op. If the surveillance team fucked up on you and you got away?’ Ryker raised her eyebrows.
‘Another copper might die.’
‘They can’t take that risk, mate. And if you were them, with that atmosphere and that pressure, you probably wouldn’t either. And yeah, they sent you a message. There’s a woman running this show, the Supernintendo—’
‘Helen Webb,’ George cut in.
‘Yeah, exactly, Supernintendo Webb. I’ve only been in the office, what, six hours? And already I can tell you that she really doesn’t like you, George. She had an opportunity to ease all that pressure, to give a positive report to the media and give you a black eye at the same time, and she took it, George. Just like I would have done.’
George shook his head. ‘There’s more to it.’
‘I don’t know what you want me to say to you, mate.’
‘Why am I under surveillance? Why are they still paying me so much attention? I’ve counted fifteen different faces since my release, and there’s a fixed OP on my front door overnight.’
‘Belt and braces? I don’t know about no surveillance George. I’m not exactly on the inside yet.’ But her reply lacked conviction.
‘You have to tell me what more there is! Why won’t they leave me alone? Why are they so convinced it’s me? They’re wasting massive resources on me that should be out there looking for the fucker who did this.’
Ryker looked at her watch.
‘Ryker, common sense must tell you that there’s nothing to be lost by telling me. You know as well as me that all these resources are better off directed elsewhere.’
Ryker sighed. ‘If I were to read between the lines I would say there’s source intelligence.’
‘Source info? Naming me?’ George was incredulous. ‘Who?’ Source information was one of the most effective resources used by police. Information came direct from one criminal — the source — about another. Like all forces, Lennokshire Police spent a large amount of time, effort, and money nurturing sources at all levels of the criminal world. Someone in the criminal underworld had named George directly.
‘Give us a break, George, I’ve been down here less than one working day! I don’t know the full facts yet and I get the impression I might not get to know
them at all. The whole reason I was told I was needed was for my experience in running sources. I was told that this was a sensitive job and I would be fully briefed when I got down here. So far I have been told nothing, I am largely guessing right now. I could well be wrong.’
George was agitated. Ryker was usually right. ‘No, that would make sense. Source info,’ he mused. ‘A stitch-up.’
Ryker shrugged and pulled one of the pairs of jeans from its hanger. ‘Who knows? But if you don’t mind, I’ve already been in here too long.’
‘Thanks, Ryker.’ George got to his feet, noting that Ryker was suddenly avoiding eye contact. He decided to push his luck. ‘So you have no idea who this source might be?’
‘No, George.’ She sounded angry now, and dismissive.
‘This is my life I’m talking about, Ryker. Someone is trying to wreck it again. All I want is to know what the motive is, so I can finally get that lot off my back and ride off into the sunset with my family.’
Ryker stood with her hand on the door handle and her head bowed. ‘Alright. I did some snooping . . . and it’s my job and my life if you repeat any part of this conversation.’
‘You know me, Ryker. You have my word,’ he said to her back.
She stood facing the door. ‘All I’ve got is a street name.’
George licked his lips. ‘Go on.’
‘He’s local based — I’m guessing a big player in the drug scene. They call him “the Russian.” That’s all I know. I was going to try and find out who he might be this afternoon, but I’ll probably have to wait to be told. It’s all very hush-hush. Your mate Helen Webb is under a lot of pressure, George. From what I’ve gathered, she’s running this source herself and she doesn’t like the arrangement at all. That really is all I know.’
‘Thank you, Ryker.’
She stepped out of the cubicle and was gone.
George remained standing in the cubicle for a couple of minutes, then slipped out unobserved and made his way onto the high street. The team of surveillance officers waiting outside had swapped around but he could pick out one for certain. George knew he could achieve little else now. He set off as slowly as he could manage.
CHAPTER 22
Helen Webb’s white Range Rover Evoque bounced along an unpaved road. A front wheel made a popping noise as a large stone spun out from underneath it. She realised she’d passed the address she was looking for.
‘Shit,’ she said
Helen turned the vehicle round and stopped the car just short of a black iron gate in front of a large mock-Tudor house. ‘Nice place,’ she said sourly to herself. She knew that Lennokshire Police had found themselves meeting the monthly rent on behalf of the occupant. For now, anyway. Soon Helen would have her way and this piece of shit would be out on the street. She stumbled in her high heels up to the gate, and onto a more even block-paved path leading to an imposing front door. It was her first visit, and she stopped a few paces from the door to peer up at the frontage.
The door opened while she was still looking for the doorbell.
‘I don’t have one. That way I can choose not to be disturbed,’ the man said.
Helen didn’t smile. ‘I need to speak to you, Mr Kavski.’
‘It must be pretty damned important for you to make the trip in person.’ He was supporting his considerable bulk against the doorframe, blocking access. ‘And alone.’
Helen’s jaw tightened. ‘Not on your doorstep.’
Kavski stepped aside. ‘Come on in.’
Helen walked past him into a large hall, which had open doors leading off both sides. In front of her was a wooden staircase. The Tudor colour scheme was matched by the large black and white tiles. It all looked expensive.
He led her through double doors to the rear of the house, a cavernous open plan living area, dominated by the kitchen, also in black and white. Light flooded in through doors opening to a glass-roofed conservatory. Beyond that was a swimming pool. A half-naked woman was lying on a deckchair in the conservatory. She briefly turned her head to look at Helen.
Kavski smirked at Helen. ‘Tea?’
‘No.’
‘Coffee?’
‘I don’t want a drink, Mr Kavski. I don’t intend being here long.’
‘Then what do you want?’
‘What I always want. You know the agreement.’
Kavski looked puzzled. ‘Of course I do. Have I not been keeping up my side of the bargain?’
‘You told me about the firearm. You said it was sold to George Elms by one of your associates. We arrested Elms based on your information. We searched everywhere and there was no gun. We had no choice but to release him.’
Kavski puffed out his cheeks. ‘I told you what I had. I didn’t realise I also needed to tell you that a man with his knowledge of police methods won’t be keeping a weapon on his coffee table or in the glovebox of his car. It’ll be somewhere non-attributable. That’s common sense, surely?’
Helen knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to tell Kavski that. ‘Mr Kavski, I need to know that you aren’t sending us on some wild goose chase just because you have history with this man.’
His tone hardened. ‘I have no interest in wild goose chases.’
‘You have an interest in George Elms,’ Helen persisted.
‘I did have. He’s nothing to me now, and besides, there are easier ways to get rid of a fly in the ointment.’
Helen softened her stance. ‘Alright. I had to ask, and I had to see your face when I did so.’
Kavski glanced at the naked woman, who appeared to be dozing. He leaned towards Helen and spoke quietly, ‘We have an arrangement that is very much mutually beneficial. Thanks to you, I have worked myself a very nice position, and I’m not going to be rocking any boats, am I?’
Helen bit her tongue. ‘Fine. Get back to your people and find out something that I can use. I need solid evidence on George, tangible proof that he’s the killer.’
Kavski smiled. ‘I imagine you do. You can’t have him running round shooting cops, can you? Who knows who he’ll be after next?’
Helen stared at him. ‘I’ll see myself out, Mr Kavski.’
* * *
Kavski watched the chief superintendent march back to her car, slam the door shut and gun the vehicle to life, spitting loose gravel as she pulled away. He checked over his shoulder to make sure he was still alone and padded up the stairs.
His call was answered immediately. ‘Yes?’
‘The police were just here,’ Kavski said.
‘And what did they want?’
‘Nothing, really. They’re just pissed they had to release Elms. They’re scared and clutching at straws. The time is now. Where are you with Elms?’
‘Where do you want me to be?’
Kavski raised his voice. ‘I want you to get it done. I want you to stop playing games with him, that’s what I want!’
There was a slight pause, then, ‘I can get it done tonight.’
‘Tonight?
‘Yes, tonight. It seems fortune has smiled on the brave.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘An opportunity arose and I took it.’
Kavski settled the phone against his cheek. ‘This is not a game. We need to be certain. You came to me because you wanted access to George Elms and the tools to make your point. You’re where you wanted to be, now finish the job. And make it clean.’
‘By the end of tonight, I will be finished. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, Mr Kavski, but don’t pretend like I’m not removing a problem for you too. Tonight will be final and it will be clean, you have my assurance on that.’
‘Just let me know when it’s done.’
‘You’ll know.’
CHAPTER 23
George dropped to his knees to greet his daughter. He held her so tightly he could feel her heart beating. He brushed strands of her hair out of his mouth and his body shook with a single sob. He never wanted to let her go.
&nb
sp; Charley squeezed him back just as hard, her thin arms wrapped around his neck. She had sprinted over to greet him, and was panting hard.
He heard a voice behind them. ‘Are you okay, George?’
George opened his eyes and relaxed his grip slightly. ‘I am, yeah. I am now.’ His wife was watching him closely, probably to satisfy herself that her husband wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t. He couldn’t have his daughter seeing him in a state like that again. He kissed Charley’s forehead, inhaling her scent one last time. Then he moved back and they smiled into each other’s eyes, grinning as if they were both six years old.
Sarah stood over them. ‘She misses her dad.’
‘Oh God, and do I miss her too.’ George was finding it hard not to cry.
The seafront was busy. Langthorne’s residents were determined to make the most of the prolonged summer. The Elms family walked a short distance to where children were playing under the jets of a fountain, while the parents sat on wooden benches away from the spray. As he walked hand in hand with his daughter, George couldn’t help looking over towards an ugly, concrete block of flats and bedsits known as Peto Court. The last time George had entered that building he had been armed with a stolen Glock 17 sidearm and was minutes away from shooting his best friend and colleague.
Sarah followed his gaze. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have come here.’
George shook his head. ‘I can’t avoid it forever. It’s just a place.’ Saying these words made him feel better. ‘And besides, my girl fancies going to the fair.’
The fair was packed. It was situated on a large, stone platform, all that remained of the more permanent attractions that had once made up Langthorne’s seafront in the days when a British seaside resort was still a popular holiday destination. Charley was already chatting excitedly as she saw the numerous teddies and dolls that were on show next to a row of plastic horses. Each chose a horse and shouted as the horses raced across the length of the display. Sarah’s horse won, and she passed her prize — a Peppa Pig lookalike — to her daughter. Clutching her pig, Charley ran towards a stall where two boys were throwing hoops over glass bottles.
PANIC BUTTON a gripping crime thriller full of twists Page 12
