“You won’t find any disagreement from me,” said Mayweather, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “If he was targeted in the way we think that creates another worry. He’d only been back with us for a few days so it would suggest someone has got a direct line in to us.” She paused for a moment and pursed her lips. “The worst thing about these situations is that you start to doubt the people around you. I keep wondering about the Commissioner and his team. Apart from us they were the only ones who knew that he had found that secret room. Then we have to think about our own team. What if it’s someone in the unit?”
They sat in silence for a moment, neither keen to pursue such an unwelcome thought, but understanding they might have to. The spell was broken as Hooley’s phone pinged. He glanced at his messages and sat up. It was from his son saying he needed to take a rain-check on their dinner tonight. He breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. He’d totally forgotten he was supposed to be going out.
25
The moment Roper walked into his flat he felt a compulsion to check doors and windows for any signs of intrusion. Despite having installed CCTV he knew he couldn’t relax until he’d carried out a physical inspection. Walking through the door he paused to check the carpet in the hallway; nothing to see. Then a careful check of the open plan living area; also clear. Finally he checked the bedrooms and bathrooms. While his flat had three double bedrooms, each with a bathroom, only his own had a bed because he never had anyone to stay and didn’t think that would ever change. Of the remaining pair, one was totally bare while the last had a comfortable chair placed dead centre, and thick curtains with black-out blinds. Sometimes he came in here to sit in the darkness and enjoy a sense of total solitude; it helped him calm down after spending time with other people. While the flat was too big for his physical needs it provided the space he needed to restore his emotional well-being.
“Brilliant view you’ve got here,” the voice of the PC surprised him then he noticed that the sun was shining down at such an angle that the light was bouncing back off the river and the Thames was alive with different types of boats ploughing up and down. The whole thing was framed by the floor to ceiling windows. It looked spectacular.
“Oh yes, thanks. It is nice. It also looks brilliant at night with the all the lights on. It’s almost as though the buildings are alive, at least that’s what I think” he added, looking away in case the policemen thought he was saying something silly.
Roper moved over to the kitchen area. He only used the kettle, microwave and fridge. He loved eating but had no interest in the process of making food. Opening the refrigerator he checked the dates on his supply of ready-meals. Although they had a day or two on them they were all thrown away. He had an abiding terror of food poisoning after researching the topic online and being horrified at the potential for becoming seriously unwell. He tried to get rid of everything at least two days before the sell-by date.
The PC, who was married with two young children and living in near chaos, was marveling at how immaculate the flat was. Roper thought of his decorative style as minimalist. Others said it was stark. There were no paintings on the wall, no ornaments or mementos. In the living area was a pair of plain black-leather sofas that faced each other with a smoked-glass coffee table between. There were no cushions, side-tables or lamps. The only other features were the large flat-screen TV, wall mounted, and a small office table on which he kept his lap-top and printer. All his paperwork was stored in the second bedroom. It was the sort of home that looked like someone was just moving in, or maybe moving out.
The uniformed officer enjoyed the view a moment longer then turned to Roper.
“Everything seems fine so I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready to go.”
Roper heaved a sigh of relief as the man left. He really hated having other people in his private space. It made him feel jittery. This was one space where he could be himself and not feel he was under constant scrutiny. He quickly stripped off his clothing. His shirt and suit were covered in blood so he threw them away. He went into the bathroom, turning on the shower before shaving. Then he checked the water temperature, he liked it just short of ‘too hot’, which meant he had the tap turned to a fraction past the mid-point on the red band. Then he stepped under the pressurised flow and just stood there for ten minutes, enjoying the sensation. Finally he spent five minutes carefully shampooing and soaping before switching the water to its coldest setting and gasping at the sudden change.
Getting out he went into his usual energetic drying technique, wincing as he went over the emerging bruises but determined to stick to his routine. Doing the same things every day was an important part of the way he prepared to face the world, and his showering ritual was one of the most effective ways to do that. Being in hospital had deprived him of this necessary treat.
He didn’t bother checking in the mirror - he knew what he looked like - and padded into the bedroom to pick out a new black suit and white shirt, matched with a black tie. Once dressed he assembled what he needed for his stay with Hooley. Four more black suits, four more white shirts, four more black ties, plus, of course, an equal number of black socks, polished shoes and white underpants. He would make sure his used outfits were taken straight to the cleaners ensuring a strict rotation of clothing. Ideally, he would have taken more shoes but four pairs should be enough, especially as he would be taking his cleaning kit.
With everything packed away in matching black-leather travel bags, he carefully made his cup of tea. Six heaped tea spoons of sugar were added to the mug together with three bags of extra strong tea and then freshly boiled water. This was left to steep for five minutes before the bags were removed and only then adding the milk. The resulting concoction was drunk as rapidly as possible. For some reason it had the opposite affect it had on most people. Instead of being wired by combined sugar and caffeine rush, it had a soothing effect. It was time to leave. Picking up his luggage he left without a backward glance, the front door locking automatically behind him. Reaching the car he placed his gear in the boot and got into the front passenger seat of the unmarked BMW.
As the policeman began to negotiate the busy rush-hour traffic, Roper leaned back against the seat. He decided it was time to ‘reboot’. After the attack he had shut down his emotions. It was the only way he could cope with something so traumatic but now he felt stronger and could allow his feelings back in, although this was a recent occurrence and he still needed to tread carefully or risk being overwhelmed. He sometimes thought that it wasn’t so much he had no on-switch; his problem was having no off-switch.
By the time they arrived in Pimlico he felt he was as close to one hundred per cent as he ever would be, although he doubted if his one hundred per cent was the same as anyone else’s. Getting out of the car he grabbed his stuff and was about to head off when he froze at a sudden thought. He turned back to the car where the officer was watching him through the open window.
“I forgot to say thank you,” he said.
Then he turned and headed off. The man shrugged. He’d been warned that Roper was a bit of an odd-ball. He stayed where he was until he saw the DCI appear to welcome his guest and only then drove away. He didn’t notice the black taxi that had followed them from Tower Bridge and was now parked 50 yards away.
The ‘cabbie’ watched Roper and Hooley disappear into the building before putting his camera down. He was pretty sure he had got a clear shot of the middle aged man who had greeted Roper and now he connected his camera to his phone and emailed the pictures before reporting in with his information. He was congratulated and told to leave the area before anyone spotted him. No one notices a black cab driving around in London, but parking up for too long might draw attention.
26
Dan Sykes was feeling very pleased with himself. It had been his own idea to stake out Roper’s property and now they knew he had moved out. The beating must have shaken him up, as hoped. Studying the set of photographs he zeroed in on t
he older man greeting Roper. Presumably this was Brian Hooley. According to his contact the DCI was the key to keeping Roper on track. Using his encrypted server he forwarded the photos to his informant at the Yard with instructions for an urgent identification and more details. If it was Hooley how could the man afford to live in that part of Pimlico? None of that area was cheap but it looked like the policeman lived in a prime location.
He swung his feet on to his desk and leaned back in his chair enjoying the sense of superiority that came from knowing so much about people while they had no idea you existed. He smiled at a sudden thought. Why not send a team in to trash Roper’s place over at Tower Bridge? If he was already rattled that would certainly ramp up the pressure. He decided to use Pat again. He’d done a perfect number on the bean-pole and could be entrusted with this task.
He stood and walked over to a filing cabinet. Opening the top drawer he pulled out a bottle of Bells and looked at it. Nothing fancy, it did the job just as well as an expensive single-malt. He was a wealthy man and could easily have afforded something from the top of the range, but hated spending money when he didn’t have to. He carried the bottle back to the desk and poured a small measure. He picked up the glass, inhaled carefully, and then drank it down quickly. He sat and enjoyed the warming sensation for several minutes and then put the bottle back. He never drank a lot; he’d seen too many people suffer from excess.
With little else to do he flicked on the TV. Might as well catch up on the news while he had time on his hands. He took a professional interest in a report on the fighting in Syria. It wasn’t that long ago he’d been out there himself but after a few minutes he decided there was very little new going on. At least there had been no more news about Sir James, which was a good thing. He was watching the weather report when Pat rang in to receive his instructions. They were short and blunt. “Just smash the door down, make a bit of mess and then scarper. Same drill as before. Make sure he knows about it but nothing too serious.”
He recognised the disappointment in Pat’s voice when he told him that Roper wouldn’t be there. The man did take his work very seriously and once pointed at a target was terrier-like in his determination to see it through.
“I’ve got a gut feeling that this won’t be the end of our interest in him, so when it comes time to do him properly, you get the job.” Mollified, Pat rang off saying he would go in after midnight tonight. Sykes rang off then decided to go for a run. He still had a few hours to go before he met the latest new arrivals.
*
Two hours later he was back in Mayfair. The house didn’t just serve as his office; it was big enough to provide him accommodation. He was upstairs naked having just come out of the shower when his contact responded with confirmation that the man in the picture was DCI Hooley. He could not explain why they were in Pimlico. As far as he knew the officer was living in his family home in a suburban house in Croydon, to the South of London.
27
Hooley studied the fistful of spaghetti he was holding in his right hand. Then he looked at Roper and doubled it. He was making his signature dish, the only one he didn’t need to refer to a recipe. Fifty minutes later a steaming bowl of spaghetti Bolognese was placed in the centre of the small dining table. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for cooking extra pasta after watching Roper make short work of two heaped portions, finishing both comfortably ahead of Hooley’s single plateful. As he watched his boss finish the final strand of pasta he said. “I would only eat food that was white when I was younger.”
Hooley, who had long ago learned to take Roper’s off-beat observations in his stride, was genuinely impressed by this one.
“Really? How did that work then? It must have been a nightmare for your parents.”
Roper put his fork down.
“Well, there’s milk, I used to drink a lot of that. Potatoes, but only boiled, I didn’t like them fried or roasted as they changed colour. Also some potatoes are quite yellow so they didn’t work. White bread, but no brown crusts, egg whites, most pasta and some white cheese and chicken breast. And there’s fish. I used to eat a lot of plain cod.” He thought for a moment. “And bananas, so long as they had been peeled first. In fact bananas and vanilla ice cream, without those black seeds you can get, was my favourite meal.”
“But you’re OK now. I mean I’ve seen you eat all sorts of different coloured things,” he gestured at the remains of the meat sauce in the bowl.
Roper’s expression changed and he stared into the middle distance something Hooley had learned to recognise as showing he was reviewing the past. His choice of the word review was quite deliberate. He had learned Roper’s memory had cinematic qualities. He could call up the past and watch it like a TV show. If that wasn’t astonishing enough he had also revealed another factor. His recall mirrored the technology of the moment. This meant his early memories appeared as if on a VHS tape while the more recent ones were in digital format. Hooley had once speculated that had Roper been born a hundred years earlier his memories would have been on a flickering, black and white film reel.
Roper had clearly found what he was looking for. His eyes cleared as he refocussed. “It lasted from when I was five-years-old to seven-years-old. I thought anything that was a different colour, like green and red or brown and orange, had a really strong smell. I can’t tell you what the smell was like; just that it was a very big smell which I hated. White food just smelt like fresh air. My mum, and then my grandmother, tried to make me eat different things but I refused. Even putting a carrot on my plate used to make me feel sick.
“They used to get really cross and make me sit at the table until I did eat, but I was never going to and after the first couple of times they gave up. I sat there for two hours once.”
Hooley stood up and started to collect the plates and bowl for the dishwasher. He said: “So what happened to get you eating different food?”
Roper smiled. “It was because of Popeye. When I was seven I started reading the cartoon and he used to eat spinach to make himself strong. I wanted to be strong so I did the same. It didn’t give me big muscles though.”
Hooley looked at him:”I used to think we had problems getting our kids to eat properly, but compared to you they were little Gordon Ramsay’s. Still, I can imagine that must have been a day of celebration in your house when you did eat something different.”
He clapped his hands together. “While I tidy up, why don’t you make the tea, and I won’t have mine as strong as yours, then we can see what’s on TV.”
*
Hooley’s phone dragged him out of deep sleep. He fumbled for his mobile and picked it up to see who was calling. It was Roper. Why was he calling if he was in the flat?
“Jonathan, where are you?”
“Outside your door. I didn’t know what to do. Someone’s broken into my flat.”
The DCI sat bolt upright, his heart was pounding from being dragged awake. He gave the phone he was holding a puzzled look and then shouted at the door.
“It’s OK Jonathan, come in. How do you know you’re flat is being burgled.”
The door opened and a wild-eyed Roper stood on the threshold. Hooley turned on his bedside light, blinking at the sudden glare. Roper was holding his phone up.
“My alarm system is linked to my phone so if there is any problem it sends me an email. I’ve also got CCTV in there so I can see what’s happening. There’s someone in there now.”
Hooley clambered out of bed, glad he was wearing his pyjamas, and looked at the screen on the phone. He could make out a hooded figure that appeared to be throwing objects around. Just then the man looked up at the camera, flicked a finger, and ran from view. The DCI called 999, giving the operator the details.
He glanced at the time, and saw it was just after 3am. He thought about ringing Mayweather but decided it would be best to leave her for a couple of hours. Their priority for now was to make sure the intruder had left and then make the flat secure.
�
��Let me just get some clothes on and I’ll drive us over there,” he told Roper. He suddenly realised the younger man was already dressed and wondered if he’d been asleep at all.
28
Blue light washed over the entrance to Roper’s apartment block. As Hooley pulled up Roper was already out of his seat-belt and reaching for the door handle. His boss leaned across to gently restrain him by placing a hand on his arm.
“Hold on a minute. If you go charging in there you are going to alarm the officers inside. We’ll go in together, nice and slowly.”
Roper looked at him, clearly thinking about shrugging him off. He was breathing hard as if he’d been running. The DCI kept his hand in place a little longer, letting go once he was sure the message had got through. The pair climbed out of the car and Hooley looked around. Even at this hour there were people around. A couple of young men were standing in the shadows, lured to the possibility of trouble by the police lights. One of them waved a can of lager in mocking salute as they walked up to the entrance of the block.
Roper was glaring in their direction. “Do you think those two might have something to do with the break-in?”
“Not a chance,” said Hooley, gripping his arm and pulling him toward the entrance. “Just a couple of pissed up muppets. Ignore them; we’ve got better things to do.”
At Hooley’s insistence they took the stairs slowly and approached the shattered doorway of Roper’s flat. The DCI called out and a stern looking policeman appeared and stared at them. The DCI held up his warrant card.
“DCI Hooley. This is my colleague Jonathan Roper. This is his flat and we’re the ones who called it in.”
After checking the ID the officer visibly relaxed, as did Hooley. He had noted the Taser the man was carrying. If Roper had gone charging in he might well have been shot. The constable turned and called over his shoulder to alert his colleague that all was well. Then he turned back to Roper.
Going Underground (Jonathan Roper Investigates Book 1) Page 9
