The Detective Jake Tanner Organised Crime Thriller Series Books 1-3 (DC Jake Tanner Crime Thriller Series Boxsets)

by Jack Probyn

  ‘Stratford Ripper petrifies police’s passion.’

  Jake felt Liam’s hand touch his shoulder.

  ‘That’s enough, ladies and gentlemen,’ AC Candy said in the background, his voice drowned out by the excitement generated by Jake’s inadequacies. ‘That will be all for today. Thank you for your time.’

  Liam grabbed Jake by the arm and hefted him out of his chair and out of the room

  ‘Nicely done, mate,’ Liam said, touching Jake’s shoulder again, although this time less violently as they breached into the corridor. ‘Made us look competent enough. I suppose now all they’ll think we do here is stand with each other’s dicks in our hands!’

  Candy tore through the door and slammed it behind him. It was just the three of them. Jake’s breathing echoed around the walls.

  The Assistant Commissioner raised his finger in the air. ‘I’m lost for words. Liam, you brought me here under the impression that this investigation was in good hands. But never in my career have I seen someone make a mistake as big as that and continue to dig fucking deeper and deeper. Strike one, DC Tanner. Strike one.’

  Candy tore off down the corridor and made a left turn into one of the connecting rooms. Jake waited for the door to close before he protested.

  ‘You could have helped!’ he said to Liam. A few inches separated them, and Jake sensed Liam’s anger and resentment oozing through his pores.

  ‘You’re the one with all the evidence. The whole point of you sitting in there with us was so that you could tell them about Archie Arnold, and you couldn’t even manage that.’ Liam paced from side to side, stopped and placed his hands on his hips. ‘What did you find anyway? Any info?’

  Jake shook his head. He’d been preparing for this. On the way back from his encounter with Bridger, he’d come up with a plan on what to tell Liam.

  ‘Nothing,’ Jake said. He swallowed and waited, expecting a reaction. There was none; so he continued. ‘Archie Arnold wasn’t there. I found his cousin and they said he’d already moved on. I tried to look for him but couldn’t find anything.’

  ‘So what were you doing all that time you were there?’

  ‘Looking for him…’

  ‘Unsuccessfully.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jesus fucking Christ, Jake. I thought you were going to be good at this. I’d heard such good things about you. When I saw your name land on my desk with those transfer requests, I thought “here we go, someone who can actually make a difference to the team”. I thought you were keen, eager to prove yourself and to succeed—’

  ‘I am,’ Jake said.

  ‘Don’t interrupt me.’ Liam raised a hand, dismissing Jake. ‘I thought you were going to become a fully functioning member of the team, capable of pulling your own weight while everyone else is handling theirs. But you’ve let me down. Big time.’

  Liam paused, reached inside his pocket and looked at a text message. ‘Right,’ he continued, ‘I want you to stay behind tonight. I want you to be the last one in the office. You’ve got a lot of making up to do.’

  CHAPTER 34

  NEED

  Night was nearing. But Lester couldn’t wait for the cover of darkness. He was too impatient. He needed to get out – now. He needed to engage in Communion. His score was rapidly losing its strength in the polls, and he had some making up to do. Even if his next victim wasn’t strictly a member of The Community, he was sure he would be able to come to some sort of arrangement with S later. The old man was as depraved as him, and he was confident S wouldn’t have any reservations about viewing the evidence. It was only fair if he gave him points in return.

  In his hands he held Jessica’s address on a piece of paper. He shuffled his fingers around the edges, enjoying the stinging sensation as the edge cut into his skin now and then.

  Lester checked his watch. There was still an hour to go.

  He pondered whether or not she would mind if he was early. Fuck it. What did it matter? She was still going to be naked either way by the end of the night – what difference did it make if he caught her like that a little sooner than planned?

  It was time.

  Lester closed his laptop, grabbed his wallet and keys, and headed out of the door. He was on his way to Clapton, a few miles away near Hackney Marshes. He had planned the route beforehand – a few minutes after speaking with the Eastern European man who had given him Jessica’s address, in fact. He would have to get the Overground service from Stratford Station to Hackney Central, and then walk the rest of the journey. It would take thirty minutes in total, and he would still be there with plenty of time to spare. It was risky being out in the open. Exposing himself. It went against everything S had ever trained him to do. Anonymity was the mask of deceit and corruption, S had always told him. And now he was breaking the cardinal rule. But he couldn’t deny The Nasties raging within him. He couldn’t deny the beast that had already developed a taste for his lascivious tendencies. The feeling was too strong, and he couldn’t wait for it to take hold of him again. He’d already prepared with his masturbation and exercise routine. Now his testosterone was at an all-time high.

  Lester arrived at Stratford Station a few minutes after leaving his house, purchased his ticket and wandered jauntily up to the platform. It was deserted, save for a teenager wearing a hood and carrying a gym bag over his shoulder. A set of earphones were plugged into his head and he tapped away at his phone screen. Lester moved to the other end of the platform, as far away from the kid as possible, keeping his head low, and waited for the train to arrive.

  Nine minutes later, he pulled into Hackney Central where he started the next leg of his journey: a twenty-minute walk to Jessica’s address. The station was quiet. The air was quiet. The streets were quiet.

  He would be there in no time.

  As he left the station, he threw his train ticket into the bin.

  He had no further need for it.

  CHAPTER 35

  L DY CO K

  Jessica the Prostitute lived in a river boat along the Hackney Cut. She was stationed at the north end of Hackney Marshes, one of Hackney’s green lungs, and Lester had made it there within twenty minutes of leaving the station.

  He was standing in the middle of the bridge that crossed the river, watching, waiting, observing. The area was empty, desolate, and there was nobody in sight – as he’d expected at this time of night. The river wasn’t much of a river; it was a few metres wide, at best, and was littered with weeds, reeds, plastic bottles, crisp packets and other pieces of litter people were too lazy to put in the bin. Skeletons of branches and leaves hung overhead, almost covering him in complete darkness. Jessica’s canal boat was long – Lester estimated about seventy feet – and poorly maintained. From what he was able to see from the low light of the setting sun that peered through the branches, the fascia was decrepit and falling apart. Mountains of rust had begun to form on the underside, and the name of the boat was missing a few letters. It read: L DY CO K.

  From his vantage point, he was able to discern where the living room was, the kitchen and also the bedroom. At the far end, middle and near end, respectively. Lights were on in each of the rooms, and he noticed a shadow flicker past the windows as Jessica moved about her home, teasing him from the other side of the curtains.

  Lester had had enough of waiting. It was time to pay her a visit.

  He crossed the bridge, wandered along the gravel path and then pressed his ear against the boat’s door. The thud of music emanated from behind, but as soon as he knocked, it stopped. There was a long pause. Then he knocked again.

  This time the door opened. Jessica was wearing a dressing robe pulled tightly around her body. It was a thin material – either silk or nylon – and Lester glimpsed her nipples through it. They made no impression upon him. He observed the minutiae of her face. She wasn’t anything like the other two. She was still tall, slim and had brown hair, but there was something different about her face – something that he couldn’t quite de
cipher. Perhaps it was the nose. The eyebrows. The intricate pores and whiskers on the top of her lip and cheeks. But… either way, it was too late to back out now. She was good enough.

  ‘Jessica?’ Lester asked.

  Jessica retreated a little. ‘Steven?’

  ‘Yes,’ he lied. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Have you got the money?’

  Lester gasped. ‘Already? We haven’t even got to know one another yet.’

  ‘I like to make sure my clients have the money first. It makes good business sense.’

  ‘Now that I can agree with,’ Lester said, smiling. He reached for his back pocket, produced his wallet and pulled out a cheque. It was made out for five hundred pounds. ‘Half for you. Half for the man who made the deal. That’s what we agreed.’

  ‘A cheque. Seriously? I thought these were extinct,’ Jessica said, swiping it from him.

  Lester snatched it back from her and said, ‘Fine, don’t have the money then.’

  She grabbed it back, almost tearing the top of the paper. ‘Don’t have the sex then.’ Jessica placed it in the cleavage of her top and invited Lester in. He ducked as he entered, and he felt the boat sink under his weight.

  ‘You’re early,’ she said. ‘I was just putting my make-up on.’

  Lester stood awkwardly in the narrow corridor. It was so small it felt like the walls were closing in on him.

  ‘I don’t mind. I won’t be seeing much of your face anyway.’

  Jessica pulled him into the bedroom, to the left. The room was red. The curtains were pulled and there was a plush red throw draped over the duvet. A mirror hung from the ceiling.

  Lester pointed to it. ‘Is that for your pleasure or mine?’

  ‘Both.’ She dropped her robe and pushed him onto the bed. ‘How do you like it?’

  ‘Wild.’

  ‘I can handle that,’ Jessica said, winking at him.

  Lester lifted himself off the bed and stood. ‘Where’s your bathroom? I want to drain the beast before we begin.’

  ‘It’s… er… down the other end, past the kitchen. On your right.’

  Lester gave her a smile before he slipped out of the bedroom. He wandered carefully along the length of the boat, keeping his eyes wide open in search of a blade. It had become another habit of his, using his victim’s weapons against them; that they should trip and fall at the mercy of their own swords. In his mind, it was oddly poetic.

  A few seconds later, Lester found one in the kitchen, resting on the surface beside a couple of peeled lemons and a jug of water. It was small – much smaller than he was used to – but it would suffice. If it was sharp enough to skin a lemon, it was enough to slice a throat.

  Lester bypassed the kitchen and went into the toilet. There, a toothbrush had been abandoned on the sink, with toothpaste stains left on the mirror. He waited there for a moment, pretending to go for a piss. After thirty seconds, he flushed, pretended to wash his hands and left.

  Carefully closing the bathroom door behind him, Lester glanced up the length of the boat. Jessica was out of sight, the sound of rustling coming from within the bedroom. He tiptoed along the hallway and dipped into the kitchen, grabbed the knife and sheathed it in his trousers, before starting back to the bedroom.

  ‘Everything ready?’ he asked, leaning against the door frame.

  ‘Ready when you are.’ Jessica perched herself on the edge of the bed and tapped the duvet for Lester to join her. ‘What would you like to do first?’

  ‘I have an idea in mind.’

  Lester crossed the threshold into the room – this was it: there was no going back now – then grabbed Jessica by the shoulder and forced her onto all fours. She gave a slight yelp as Lester’s force overwhelmed her. Most of his Communion encounters had been surprised by his sheer strength, and it was flattering to know that this Jessica was no different.

  He climbed onto the bed and reached behind his back. As his hand grabbed the kitchen blade and removed it from his pocket, Jessica glanced back at him. Her eyes widened as they fell on the demonic blade – the way it reflected the room’s sensuous light. Jessica was first to react. She kicked her leg out, colliding with Lester’s balls. He flew off the bed and smashed his back against a wooden wardrobe. In an instant, Jessica clambered off the bed, grabbed her robe from the floor and dashed out of the bedroom. Lester regained his composure and chased after her. She was already outside the boat by the time Lester was on his feet, and he knew that he needed to be quick. The low light would soon mean that visibility was poor – and under the blanket of trees, it would be non-existent.

  Lester disembarked from the boat and chased after Jessica. She’d made a left turn and was running along the riverside. She cried out in pain as the stones underfoot tore through her skin. It slowed her down massively, and within seconds, Lester was upon her.

  He reached his arm around her waist from behind and plunged the blade into her neck. He’d buried the knife so deep into her throat that, despite its length, it looked as though it had come out the other side. For a short while, Jessica struggled, but it was over within a few seconds. His hands and arms were covered in her blood, and her body felt heavy against his. Dead weight. He expunged the blade from her neck and let her body drop to the ground. It landed with a dull thud.

  Lester paused to look up and down the path. It was empty; there were no late-night dog walkers or doggers to disrupt him. He was faced with two options. One: drag Jessica to the bedroom and do everything he’d planned for her there; or two: save the hassle of dragging her back to the boat and do it here for the sheer heightened enjoyment of it.

  Lester opted for the latter option.

  Before beginning, he removed Jessica’s tongue from her throat and placed it in his pocket. He saved the fingers for later.

  Now, he could begin.

  CHAPTER 36

  REG 13

  ‘How much longer are you going to be?’ Elizabeth asked.

  Jake sighed through the phone. ‘Hopefully not long. I’ll try and get done as quick as I can, but when you’ve got the worst serial killer since Jack the Ripper in your borough, there’s just so much that we have to do.’

  Jake scanned the office. It was 10 p.m., and by now the office had cleared out. Save one. Drew. And for the past hour, Drew had done nothing but sit and pretend to work on his computer. It didn’t take a genius to work out that he was only there to further Jake’s punishment for his earlier mistake.

  The fallout from Jake’s poor judgment during the press conference had been immense. Within hours, lies had spread like venom that the police were disinterested in the case and were putting their feet up until the next body arrived. But the reality of the situation was that they were doing everything they could, that they were working as fast as they could. Although… as Jake sat there staring into space, he questioned whether that was necessarily true. Had he done everything possible? Had he worked his arse off to get closer to the killer? No. He’d spent a few hours of the day chasing after Bridger, focusing his efforts on The Crimsons when he had no right to. And that wasn’t good enough. Especially now that Bridger had left his life in Jake’s hands and he could no longer get anywhere near Danny and Michael Cipriano without putting Bridger’s life at risk. He had no choice but to focus his entire efforts on the Stratford Ripper. But how?

  The implications of his blunder would undoubtedly be severe to his career. Through his mistake, he’d changed the public perception of the Metropolitan Police Service. If the public couldn’t trust Jake and the rest of the team to find the killer, then who would? But it wasn’t just the public who now couldn’t trust them – it extended further than that. Up the higher echelons of the Met. How could he focus while all that paranoia was going on his head?

  ‘Jake,’ a voice called. ‘Jake.’

  It was Elizabeth. She was slowly bringing him out of his reverie.

  ‘Jake, are you there?’

  ‘What… er… yeah, sorry.’

  ‘This is
the second night in a row, Jake. Please don’t be too late,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I miss you. Maisie misses you. She wanted you to read her to sleep tonight.’

  Jake’s heart warmed. ‘I’m sorry, Liz. Really, I am. I’ll try and get home as soon as I can.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll see you when I see you. Text me when you’re on your way.’

  And that was that. Elizabeth rung off and left Jake with the sound of the disconnected tone ringing in his ear.

  In the corner of the room, Drew sneezed, lifted himself out of his chair and moved towards the printer. Jake eyed him suspiciously.

  ‘You going to be much longer?’ he called across.

  Drew ignored his question. Instead, he grabbed the paper from the printer, stapled it in the top-left corner and wandered over to Jake.

  Then he placed the documents on Jake’s desk.

  ‘What’s this?’ Jake asked, holding the paper in his hands.

  ‘A Regulation 13 notice,’ Drew said as he walked back to his own desk and grabbed his car keys. ‘If it was up to me, you would have had it a long time ago, so you should count yourself lucky. You know the drill. Ten days to respond. Get your evidence ready. Get your police buddy prepared. And I suppose we’ll see you at your performance meeting. Have a good evening, Jake. Say hi to the missus for me.’

  CHAPTER 37

  DISEASE

  Jake rattled on Liam’s office door repeatedly until his knuckles hurt. He was furious, and his emotions were only amplified by his tiredness; he hadn’t slept a wink last night. An hour, max. The other six had been spent tossing and turning, staring into the ceiling, then at Elizabeth. She was already asleep by the time Jake got home. She apparently hadn’t stayed up much later after their phone call.

  As he’d stared at her, he’d started to consider the implications of the notice. It was a regulation notice for his performance, which meant he was in immediate breach of the Code of Ethics and Police Performance Regulations Act – the one that he’d lived by for so long. It wasn’t career-ending, he knew that – the worst-case scenario was a Written Improvement Notice – but he also knew that it would be on his record, and that it would tarnish his chances of transferring to a separate team or any future promotions he wanted to put himself forward for. He’d only been in the service for a few years, and he couldn’t believe he was already being given a Reg 13. It was embarrassing and made him feel worthless, useless, like a piece of shit. He’d let everyone down – Elizabeth, Maisie, their unborn child, his mum, them all – and never before had he felt so small and insignificant. His career was just beginning, just starting to develop and flourish into what he’d hoped it would be. And now he’d been handed this.