I automatically started to look for my pressel to give a radio update before cursing as I remembered that we hadn’t kitted up before leaving the office. Schoolboy error, I thought as I turned into the road after him. He was nowhere to be seen and I had a moment of panic as we sped down the road. If someone was out and about stabbing dealers and they got to Trash after I’d lost him, there’d be hell to pay.
On a hunch I turned down Montague Street and sighed with relief as I saw Trash’s car pulling into the car park that belonged to a block of flats nearby. I pulled over on the far side of the road, managing to get a space that allowed us a clear view of where he had parked. I resisted the urge to get out for a better view, knowing that I was likely to be spotted if I did. Trash sat in his car facing the road, clearly waiting for someone.
Rudd was off the phone to Kev now and was sitting there tapping the dashboard, his anticipation finding a vent in physical action. ‘Who do you reckon he’s going to meet?’ he asked, never taking his eyes from Trash.
‘No idea. He tends to keep his hands clean so I doubt it’ll be a pickup. Maybe he’s going to meet up with some of his lads.’
Rudd shook his head. ‘Why would he wait in a car park for that? Surely he’d be in one of their houses or make them come to him?’
I shrugged. ‘I dunno. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.’
As I spoke, I saw Kev and Tate drive into the far end of the road and park outside a mechanic’s shop. Tate got out and began a conversation with the mechanic, occasionally pointing at the car while Kev stayed in the passenger seat.
My phone rang and I saw in the distance that Kev had his phone to his ear. ‘Go ahead Kev,’ I said as I answered.
‘Anything?’ he asked.
‘Nope, just sitting there. Have you got eyeball as well?’
‘Just about, although I’m partially blocked by the hedge. Can you give me a heads up if anything happens?’
‘Will do,’ I said and hung up.
We didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes after I’d spoken to Kev, Rudd tapped me frantically on the leg and I looked in the mirror to see a green Jaguar XJS pull into the road behind us. I couldn’t make out the driver as it went past, not wanting to turn and stare. I’d been on jobs too many times where the target had felt someone watching and glanced around, and eye contact was the last thing you wanted in our line of work.
The Jaguar pulled into the car park and stopped a few bays over from where Trash was parked. I stared in shock as the driver got out and looked around, showing me a face that I’d seen up close and personal in the courtroom only a few days before.
Rudd tapped my leg again and a glance at his face showed that he was as unbelieving as I was. ‘Is that…?’ he began, unable to finish the question.
‘Yeah,’ I replied as I reached for my phone, ‘it is. But what the hell is Trash doing meeting up with Quentin Davey?’
24
I ALMOST dropped my phone as I dialled Kev’s number, and then waited impatiently for him to pick up. ‘I know, I can see,’ he said as he answered.
‘Looks like we might have been right about Davey’s lot doing the knife jobs.’
‘Maybe. Let’s not judge until we’ve got a better idea. When they split, you take Davey and I’ll take Trash.’
I hung up again and returned my attention to the two dealers now standing chatting between the cars. The films would show a meeting like this with an army of goons on either side, all with hands inside coats, but the truth was just two average-looking men standing in a car park having a chat. I dearly longed to get close enough to hear what they were saying, but they had picked the spot well and anyone getting close would be spotted straight away.
I tried to lip read, but they were too far away and all I could make out was the body language. Trash seemed defensive, and Davey was being his usual bullying self by the looks of things. He was standing square on with his hands waving about and every so often the wind brought me his raised voice, sadly not clear enough to make out anything but the tone.
Trash suddenly turned as if to walk back to his car and, quick as lightning, Davey grabbed him and spun him around. Trash’s fists came up in a guard as Davey struck him in the chest and I thought we were going to have to intervene before we had another stabbing.
My hand was on the door handle when my phone rang. It was Kev again. ‘Don’t do anything unless one of them pulls a weapon,’ he warned me, and I could see him shaking his head in the distance.
‘Okay. Let’s just make sure we don’t leave it too late though,’ I replied, not taking my hand off the handle just in case.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not about to let someone get stabbed while I’m watching.’
I put the phone down and turned my attention back to the two men. They seemed to have calmed down now and Davey had his hands up placatingly. After a bit more chat, Trash actually stuck his hand out and Davey shook it. They got back into their respective cars and I started the engine as I got ready to follow Davey.
He pulled out and drove on past Kev, deeper into Kemp Town, not batting an eyelid as he passed the other car. I knew that Kev and Davey had had dealings with each other a few years back but there was no sign of recognition in the way he drove.
I pulled out and followed at a distance, leaving the others to follow Trash, who still sat behind the wheel of his stationary car. Davey hung a left towards Eastern Road and I followed him across and up Sutherland towards the racecourse. Yet again I wished for another couple of cars on the follow, but we didn’t have anyone spare so I kept my opinions to myself and concentrated on not losing Davey. He drove all over town, taking random turns and running lights, but I managed to stay with him without being spotted – as far as I could tell.
Eventually we ended up on Dyke Road Drive, cruising past houses that were so far out of my price range it wasn’t funny. Davey owned one of them though, and every time I drove past the six-bedroom detached house with its two-car drive and security fence, I always liked to remind myself that crime doesn’t pay. Davey pulled in, the gates swinging open as he approached, and I pulled up across the road and slightly past the address.
As soon as we stopped I got back on the phone to Kev. ‘He’s gone back home. What have you got?’
‘Trash is still driving. We’re down past Wilson Avenue now and still going.’
‘What do you want us to do? If we stay here for more than a few minutes we’re going to need a RIPA.’
‘Good point. You find an OP and tell Rudd to take the car and go back to the Nick and get an urgent authority sorted out.’
I hung up and turned to Rudd. ‘Good news mate. I get to go and sit in someone’s house and you get to go back to the Nick and spend an hour sorting out paperwork!’
Rudd rolled his eyes. ‘RIPA?’
‘Yeah. Get an urgent one; we should be able to sleeve most of the paperwork until later.’ I left the keys in the ignition and got out, scanning the houses opposite Davey’s for one that would be suitable to use as an observation post. I marked out two that had cars in the drive, a good sign that someone was in, and then phoned Sally.
‘Gareth?’ she answered.
‘Yeah, hi. I’ve got a couple of houses I need checked on CIS to make sure that they’re clean.’ I gave her the house numbers and she put me on hold while she ran me through the system.
‘They’re clean. The second one you gave me had a burglary a few months ago and we caught the offenders down the road, so they’ll probably be more receptive.’
‘Okay, thanks Sally. You’re a star.’
She rang off without replying and I was left with a slightly guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to fix things between us but I wasn’t quite sure how to do it. I could see now why Kev didn’t like relationships in the office.
I strolled to the second house, a sprawling red brick building with a top-of-the-range Mercedes in the drive, and crunched up the gravel to the house. The front door was solid oak with
cast iron hinges and as I rang the doorbell I half expected a butler to answer the door. Instead, a slim, harried-looking man in his forties answered. ‘Yes, can I help you?’ He looked me up and down suspiciously.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, I’m PC Bell from Brighton police station. Can I pop in and have a word? It’s nothing to worry about.’ I showed him my warrant card, making sure that he saw both the badge and the picture.
His frown deepened, his mind obviously churning over trying to work out why I was on his doorstep. ‘Yes, yes come in. I’m sorry, I’m right in the middle of some work and I wasn’t expecting visitors. Please excuse the mess.’
‘The mess’ turned out to be one of the magazines on his stylish coffee table being ever so slightly out of place. The house was spotless, expensively decorated and bigger than mine and my dad’s put together. ‘What’s all this about, Officer?’ he asked as I sat carefully on the edge of the leather sofa.
I found myself slipping easily into the patter that I’d used a hundred times before. ‘The reason I’m here is that we’re conducting some surveillance in the area, on one of the houses nearby. I can’t tell you what the person has done, but suffice it to say that it isn’t the sort of thing that you want happening in the area. Your window faces the area that we’re looking at and I’d very much like to just sit here for a couple of hours and keep an eye on them if that’s all right with you?’
He looked slightly taken aback by the request. ‘Erm, are you sure you’re really a police officer?’
I nodded. I was used to this; dressing scruffily didn’t always have advantages. ‘Yes I am. You can call the “0845” number and confirm it if you like?’
‘Er, no, I’m sure that’s fine, I’ve just never heard of anything like this before!’
I laughed. ‘We tend not to advertise; it lets on to the criminals.’
He smiled. ‘I can see that. Of course it’s fine. I’ll be in the next room working. Just call me if you need anything. Oh, did you want to use upstairs or down here?’
‘Upstairs would be great if you don’t mind?’
He led me up to the spare bedroom at the front of the house. I sank into a computer chair and peered through the net curtains, pleased to see that I had a clear view of Davey’s house and a fair bit of the road to either side.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ my host said with a smile, and I returned my attention to the target premises.
I spent the first five minutes getting to know Davey’s house as well as I could. He had updated his security since he was arrested for stabbing Jimmy and I was keen to get an idea of the sort of security measures he had installed. From where I sat I could make out three CCTV cameras and a burglar alarm, and was searching for more when a black Grand Cherokee four-wheel drive with darkened windows pulled up about twenty feet down the road.
A man in his forties with a bald head got out of the passenger seat and walked towards Davey’s gate while talking on his mobile phone. He looked like a bruiser, all bulging muscles and bad attitude, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was part of the hired help I was beginning to suspect Davey had brought in. He certainly looked the part.
I scribbled down the index of the vehicle and was about to phone it through to PNC when the male bolted back to the vehicle and jumped in. A few moments later, I saw Davey’s car pull out of the gates and drive towards town. As soon as he was on the road the Cherokee pulled out and followed.
I dialled Kev’s number, sprinting out of the room and down the stairs past the startled owner, who was bringing me up a mug of tea. I almost wrenched the front door off its hinges as I ran outside and onto the road, desperate to see where the cars were going. I finally got through to Kev as I reached the kerb, cursing as I scanned the empty road.
‘He’s gone mate. He and a second vehicle drove off together. Any joy your end?’
‘Well I’d hardly call it joy. I’ll send a car to pick you up, there’s been another development.’
‘What sort of development?’
‘Put it this way; I hope you’re not squeamish.’
25
THE DEVELOPMENT turned out to be a block of flats in Albion Street, just a few roads over from the police station. The outside of the building was taped off, with uniformed officers standing every ten feet or so to keep back the large crowd of onlookers, residents and photographers. I never knew how they got wind of things so fast and had long suspected that someone in the job was getting cash for tip-offs.
I flashed my badge at the officer tasked with the scene log and paused long enough for him to scribble my name down before ducking under the tape and walking into the main entrance to the block. Detectives and SOCOs were everywhere, measuring and scraping and writing in notebooks. I could hear Kev’s voice coming from inside the flat nearest to the main door and, as I approached, I could see the flash of a camera going off inside. I pushed the door open carefully, making sure that I didn’t touch it any more than I had to, and stepped into a scene out of Hellraiser.
The flat was actually a bedsit with a mattress in one corner covered in filthy blankets. The kitchen area was covered in stains and filthy crockery, but what drew my eyes was the thing hanging from the ceiling. I say ‘thing’ because you couldn’t call it a person anymore. Metal hooks had been driven into the ceiling about five feet apart, and then para-cord had been strung between them to support the weight of the poor bastard hanging there now.
Whoever had hung him there had then proceeded to cut pieces off him and had left them lying discarded underneath. The smell was horrendous and blood was liberally splashed all over the floor and ceiling. Even though I was no stranger to death, this was brutal and I had to look away as my stomach churned.
Kev stood nearby talking to Detective Chief Inspector Morris from CID, and waved me over when he saw me. ‘Gareth, you know DCI Morris?’
We nodded at each other. ‘Sir.’
‘Well,’ Kev continued, pulling out a hanky to hold over his nose, ‘we got a call from the neighbours about four hours ago. It came in as a noise complaint. They thought the victim was having a loud party with lots of screaming and music. A response vehicle finally turned up about half an hour ago and found this.’ He gestured to the body hanging there.
As I looked over at it again I had to fight the urge not to retch. Whoever had done this had really gone to town. There wasn’t a single part of the torso or face left without brutal-looking slash marks that showed bone glinting whitely through the lacerated flesh.
‘Any idea who he is?’ I asked, trying to breathe through my mouth so that I didn’t have to smell the stench of death.
‘Your unit seems to think that this is Bob Neams, a small cog in Trash’s organisation. He’s been living here for about three months,’ Morris answered.
‘He used to work for Davey,’ Kev interjected, ‘but a few months ago he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He was quite high up by all accounts but he got kicked out and had to go running to Trash.’
I gave up trying to breathe through my mouth; I swear I could actually taste the smell. My eyes kept straying to the gently swaying body despite my attempts to ignore it, so I forced myself to look rigidly ahead as I spoke. ‘Yeah, I know the guy. So this adds weight to the theory that Davey is cleaning house then?’
Kev nodded. ‘It does indeed. Who did you see with Davey?’
I filled them both in on the Cherokee and the one occupant I’d spotted.
‘Maybe Davey has hired outside help then. Let’s get back and run it through the box, see what comes up. Unless there’s anything else sir?’
Morris shook his head, letting Kev and me exit gratefully into the fresh air.
‘That was unpleasant,’ I said, unable to get the picture of the body out of my mind.
‘That it was. You okay?’
I nodded and wished for a cigarette to wash away the aftertaste of the room. ‘Yeah. I’ve seen too many bodies to get worked up over it, but I try and avoid it if I can.’ I
was lying of course. No matter how many you see, it can still affect you. I’d probably only seen twenty or so bodies in my career but I hated to appear weak so I brazened it out.
Kev nodded in understanding and motioned me over to his car. We drove back to the Nick in silence and headed back up to the office. The first thing I did was get Sally to run the index of the Cherokee through PNC.
‘Stolen from Walthamstow three days ago,’ she confirmed when she got off the phone.
‘Well that clinches it. What would a stolen vehicle from London be doing hanging around Davey if it wasn’t up to no good. Can you put that vehicle out with a “do not divulge police interest” marker?’
She nodded and began trawling for the right form. Then she stopped suddenly and went into the log from the murder in Albion Street.
‘What you got?’ I asked, puzzled.
‘I’m sure I saw that index on the log somewhere. There!’ She pointed to an entry made only ten minutes before, about the time Kev and I had left. A member of public who lived in the next block had seen a black Cherokee drive away from ‘the party’ in the other block. The index they’d given was two digits out, but it was close enough for me.
‘You’re brilliant!’ I squeezed her shoulder and kissed her on the top of the head.
She looked up at me, half annoyed and half amused.
‘Go on then, go tell Kev and get all the credit.’
I all but ran over to Kev’s desk and filled him in on the details.
‘Right. Get Rudd and go and find that vehicle. I don’t care how long it takes you, but I want to prove a link between whoever is in it and Davey, then we’ll nick him for conspiracy to commit murder as well as taking them down. Kit up, make sure you’ve got vests on and don’t do anything stupid. Clear?’
I nodded and Rudd and I left the office once again.
Rudd was driving this time, so I busied myself listening to the divisional channel and looking out of the window for any sign of the vehicle. Rudd and I both agreed that it was probably a wild goose chase, but orders are orders so we drove around the city, swinging by Davey’s house once every half an hour or so in case they had returned there.
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