“I take it you’ve just arrived sir,” he was keeping things formal for now. “How did you know the break-in had happened?”
Roper produced his phone and talked him through the alarm system and pointed out the cameras before showing the brief video clip. The second officer, an older man similar in age to Hooley, was also looking at the clip.
“Friend of yours,” he said as they watched the intruder making a cutting gesture to his throat.
Hooley stepped in before Roper could demonstrate he was an irony free zone.
“Two days ago Jonathan was attacked right outside this block. He suffered minor injuries and suspected concussion so he’s staying with me until we are sure he is fully recovered.” He gestured at the flat. “Not wishing to state the bleedin’ obvious but I think we have to examine the possibility that the two incidents are related.”
The older of the two constables gave him a knowing look.
“Which unit are you attached to Sir?”
“Special Investigations.”
“Ah, I see,” said the officer. “So I take it you could tell us what is going on but then you’d have to kill us afterwards.”
Hooley smiled his appreciation at the man’s perception.
“Something like that. Sorry to keep you in the dark but my boss would have my guts if I said anything out of turn.”
He looked around and then carried on.
“We’ll need to arrange for someone to guard this place. Jonathan and I can stay here while I get that in motion and you guys can get back to some real work.”
The older officer was nodding.
“Fine by us. There’s only a couple of patrol units around tonight. It’s a good job people don’t realise how stretched things can get in the early hours.”
The two officers departed, handing over a number for a 24 hour lock-up service that would come and make the flat secure. As soon as they had vanished from view Roper gave his boss a particularly earnest look.
“That stuff about us killing them. That was a joke? Like the joke about tasering traffic wardens?”
“Well done.” Even in the middle of the night Roper could be relentless in his pursuit of what constituted humour.
“I don’t understand why it’s funny though.”
Hooley sighed. Right now neither could he.
“Tell you what, call that emergency number and then we can go inside to see what damage has been done.”
They finally got away just before 6am. The flat had been secured and Roper had wanted to dash into work but Hooley insisted they went back to Pimlico to wash and change. He knew it was going to be a long day. He was also quietly impressed at the way Roper was handling it. Although nothing had been taken, the sofas had been slashed and tipped over and the coffee table was broken. People got upset about a lot less.
Once back at his flat he rang Mayweather, who was already on her way to work. She didn’t waste time worrying about why he hadn’t called earlier and just said she would see them the moment they got in.
29
Mayweather had barely moved during the briefing but the way her eyes narrowed showed how angry she was.
“You’ve lived there almost ten years and never had any problems?”
“Actually it’s been nine years and 252 days,” he replied.
Mayweather just stopped herself from saying that was nearly ten years. She should have remembered that Roper was nothing if not precise. Tomorrow it would be nine years and 253 days. A lot of people dismissed him because he was pedantic but he was right, real facts mattered and she found it engaging that he knew precisely how long he had lived somewhere. She struggled with what day of the week it was.
She said. “I think you’ve been there long enough to be able to say this sort of thing doesn’t happen very often. I think we are all in agreement that the assault on you, followed by the break-in, is related.”
Hooley looked at Roper. He wanted to hear what he had to say after he had a little while to reflect. “How are you feeling about it? There’s one thing sitting around talking about it but quite another to be the victim in all this.”
Roper crossed his arms as he replied, “I just want to catch the people behind this. They’re not going to frighten me.” Short, sweet and straight to the point. The two senior officers were relieved.
Mayweather was the first to respond. “One of the many things that concerns me is the thought that whoever is behind this could have access to information about how our investigation is going. I mean Jonathan has barely rejoined the team and he’s been targeted twice. But if the plan is to try and upset you then I think they have seriously underestimated how much you have changed - for the better.”
Hooley nodded along. He was about to offer some thoughts of his own when Roper blurted out the word ‘Taxi.’
The two stared at him.
“What do you mean Jonathan?” Asked the DCI.
Roper had gone quite still and Hooley knew he must have been studying a replay of something that happened very recently, slowly rewinding some part of his memory to check his facts before speaking again. The silence stretched on to become almost uncomfortable before Roper said. “The drive from my flat to Pimlico. There was a taxi behind us all the way.”
He closed his eyes briefly and nodded before continuing. “I’m fairly certain that we were followed by a London black cab which pulled up when we got to Brian’s place.”
“A black cab?” said Mayweather. “I don’t mean to rain on your parade but there are hundreds and hundreds of those in London.”
Roper nodded. “I’ve just replayed the journey and there are things I didn’t notice at the time. The driver had a green T-shirt, the light was off and there was no passenger in the back.”
“When you say ‘replay’, do you mean like replaying a film clip?” she asked.
“Of course,” came the rather irritable reply. She shook her head. Reading her notes was as close as she ever got to that.
“Are you sure it was the same cab,” she said. “There’s all sorts of reasons a driver might not be carrying passengers and as for green t-shirts, my husband’s got one.”
Roper closed his eyes again, this time tilting his head back and to the side. The DCI thought that, to all intent, he might have been operating a freeze-frame application.
“No, I’m sure it was the same man. The t-shirt was a v-neck and sort of light green and plain. I couldn’t see his face clearly but he had sloping shoulders, more than most people.”
Mayweather wasn’t totally convinced but Hooley was starting to feel more confident.
“A couple of days ago I saw him locate a hidden room by listening to echoes of me shouting. Being able to remember a taxi is probably a piece of cake.”
“OK,” she said, deciding to put her doubts to one side. “If you’re sure then I am going to take it seriously. And that means we need to step up security…for both of you. If Jonathan’s right then it means they know where you live as well Brian. I’m going to organise a security detail on your flat, round the clock, until we know this is over.”
They talked about the case a little longer but once it became obvious there was nothing new to add, Mayweather closed the meeting and said she would come back to them once she had spoken to the Chief Constable.
“I doubt the patronising bugger can accuse me of over reacting this time, but who knows with that man.”
*
As Hooley sat down at his own desk his stomach rumbled. They’d been up most of the night and hadn’t eaten. He looked at Roper.
“Don’t know about you but I could eat a scabby horse.”
As the words emerged he realised he had made an error. In a bid to head-off the inevitable he came out with a lame sounding “Just an expression.” It was too late. Roper’s eager expression showed he had picked up on the phrase.
“Actually there are people who eat horse meat; it’s very popular in France. I read an article that said many people actually prefer it to beef. T
hey also argue that it gives the animal a proper value at the end of its working life which ensures they are slaughtered properly. But why would you want to eat a ‘scabby’ horse? That would be horrible. It might have a disease.”
Against his better judgement Hooley tried to explain.
“The idea is that you are so hungry you would eat anything, even a scabby horse.”
“Well that’s just stupid.” Roper could be quite dismissive when he didn’t like what people were saying. Hooley realised he should back away quietly.
“You’re right Jonathan and I have a much better idea about what to eat. How about a bacon sandwich made from prime pigs? Your choice of ketchup or brown sauce.” He was relieved as his diversion tactic worked.
“Brilliant. Are you going to that new organic place?” He beamed as Hooley nodded. “In that case, can I have two of their bacon and sausage sandwiches, with tomato sauce on one and brown sauce on the other?”
For an overweight man Hooley could be fast on his feet and was out of the door before Roper could say anymore.
30
Dan Sykes knew he had a fearsome temper. Over the years he had managed to gain a degree of control over his ‘anger management issues’ but there were times when what he really wanted to do was hurt someone. His rage had driven him to his feet. It took a huge effort to sit down again. Fighting his temper he groped around at the back of one of the desk drawers. Finding what he was looking for he pulled out a sewing needle and without pause rammed it under the nail of the little finger on his left-hand. Then he twisted it.
The intense pain felt like it was shooting up into his armpit. He welcomed it. It squashed his temper and brought him back to the moment. Panting he leaned back in his seat and the room swam back into view. Then he carefully pulled the pin from under the nail, watching as a thin tickle of blood flowed onto his finger tip.
He stood up again and started pacing round in front of his desk, unconsciously recreating the space he had used for exercise when being held in a Syrian jail. He had spent nine months in solitary in a room just big enough to hold a rough cot, a bucket and a few spare feet of space. After five minutes he felt he was back under control. The fury hadn’t gone away and someone was going to suffer later, but for now he could use it as fuel to sort out his next task. He decided he’d do this job himself.
*
The uniformed officer was trying to think of something more boring than guarding an empty house. Even one that had belonged to a murdered billionaire. He decided there wasn’t much. There was train spotting, very dull; watching one of those political broadcasts and the old favourite of watching paint dry. He bounced gently on his toes; at least he could keep his blood circulating. But he’d given up hoping for an urgent shout to call him away. To help pass the time he was keeping a running total of all the delivery vehicles which were coming and going. He’d seen liveried vans from Harrods and Fortnum and Mason plus a lot of flowers; huge bouquets that probably cost more than he earned in a week. It had taken six people four trips each just to supply flowers to the house four doors down. That was just the stuff he could see. With so many wrapped parcels he wouldn’t have been surprised if someone was delivering drugs or even money and guns.
He watched as a highly polished black Mercedes van parked-up, the rear doors facing him. A man dressed in what looked like designer camouflage gear, complete with a peaked cap, jumped out of the passenger side. There was something about the way he moved which drew his attention. It seemed as though the man was operating well within his physical limits; like a boxer just before the start of a fight; he was on his toes and nicely balanced.
The man trotted to the back of the van and opened the doors to get at a large cardboard box. Despite its size he hefted it easily and moved onto the pavement. The driver appeared then the two men made their way over to the watching officer.
They stopped in front of him and made a point of looking at the number on the front door and then looking at the delivery sheet. The driver cocked his head, staring at the building. “Got an urgent delivery for a Sir James Taylor.” he said. “This is his address right? We weren’t expecting a copper here though. Been a naughty boy has he?”
The officer studied the pair; he was incredulous that anybody could be unaware that Sir James Taylor was dead; the brutality of his murder was still dominating the headlines. Something was also beginning to nibble at his sense of danger. The pair didn’t seem like typical delivery men. In fact, now he thought about it he didn’t like the way they were staring at him. There was something predatory about them and he was starting to feel like the prey.
In an attempt to get on the front foot he tried to take command. He said. “You need to move on. I’m afraid you’re out of luck. This is a crime scene so there’s no way you can deliver that. You’re going to have take that back with you.”
Sykes - the man holding the box - looked puzzled. He placed it on the ground and moved closer. His right hand reached into his inside pocket. “I’ve got more documents here. Came in this afternoon the order did.”
Then he was moving fast, very fast. The loaded syringe plunged into the officer’s neck. The needle pierced the skin easily. It delivered a lethal dose of a potent nerve agent. As the sharp pain of the injection registered with his conscious brain his body was going into shock. The two men deftly caught him as he started to fall and they pushed into the house, carrying him between them. He was dead by the time they laid him on the floor. Sykes looked down at the body. The eyes were open but they had the glaze of death. Something he was all too familiar with. A trickle of dirty-yellow foam emerged from the corner of the victim’s mouth and ran down his chin.
“Sweet,” said Sykes. He rubbed his hands together. He felt much better.
“What are we doing with that?” said the driver, nudging the body with his foot.
“Leave him for his mates to find. That’ll get the fuckers hopping about.” Sykes set off for the study. “Let’s get to it. We should have an hour before his replacement turns up. The boss is mad about us missing the secret room and he wants us to check it all over again, especially all the books.”
31
The call for an “officer down” came as Roper and Hooley were about to set off for Pimlico. They raced round to Eaton Square, arriving to a scene of barely controlled chaos. Armed officers in full protective gear were already in place and in no mood to allow free access. They were finally allowed in and after suiting-up, Hooley went straight into the house. He didn’t notice that Roper was taking his time.
The DCI walked inside and saw the body lying, more or less, in the centre of the entranceway. That was where he had been found and nothing would be touched until the scenes of crime team arrived. Hooley knew only the best people would be working this case. Killing a police officer always triggered a massive response. Hooley was astonished that anyone would risk stirring up such a reaction.
Looking down he recognised the man as the officer he had shared a joke with just a few days ago. For a moment his eyes pricked with tears, he was struck by unexpected emotion as he thought of the grief this death would bring to his family and friends. Then he made a deliberate effort to put that to one side; there was work to do that couldn’t wait if they were going to get the killer.
As he looked away he realised that Roper had appeared, stared briefly at the body, and then walked into the study. He followed the younger man and saw the room had been trashed. All the books had been thrown from the shelves, the furniture, with the exception of the heavy desk, had been tossed around and even the televisions had been pulled off the walls.
With such chaos he reasoned that it would take some time to go through the mess. He left Roper staring at the empty bookshelves and went back into the hallway where he found a uniformed inspector and a grey-faced constable. Moving closer he could pick up the conversation. It was clear the PC had discovered the body when he had arrived to replace his colleague. “I only had to take one look to know he was dead. I called
it in and waited outside.”
Hooley moved over to join them and was able to discover a few more details. The man said he had been surprised not to see his colleague outside on the steps, then noticed the front door was slightly ajar. He assumed he must have been caught short and had gone inside to use the toilet. Pushing inside he’d seen the body, taken a moment to confirm he was dead and then stepped outside to radio for help. He hadn’t been in any other part of the house.
At that point Roper reappeared and abruptly took over the conversation. Wasting no time on introducing himself he simply launched into an explanation. “I have concluded that the officer was attacked outside, by at least two men. He was given a lethal injection and then dragged in here as he was dying. The men dumped his body here in the hallway and then went to search Sir James’s study but found nothing.”
In the silence that followed Hooley tried to think of what to say but was beaten to it by the Inspector who glared at Roper. “Can I remind you that this is a crime scene that needs to be carefully examined. We don’t need some clown jumping in with whatever theory is flitting around inside his head. How could you possibly have worked all that out? You’ve only been here a few minutes. Is there something we’ve missed?”
Roper looked puzzled and Hooley took the opportunity to try to calm things down. “Actually Jonathan I really need you go through that again and this time don’t leave anything out. I want us all to hear what you have seen that has led to your conclusions.” He held up a hand as Roper went to reply. “Right from the very start please.”
Roper nodded several times and then started to explain.
“Two days ago Chief Inspector Hooley and I met the officer when we came to inspect the house. I realised then he was quite a big man as he was my height but much more heavily built.
Going Underground (Jonathan Roper Investigates Book 1) Page 10
