by Jack Probyn
‘Who paid it, Liz?’
She glanced up at him. ‘My… m-my mum.’
Jake rolled his eyes. Typical. Fucking typical.
‘Were you going to tell me at all?’
‘I… I thought I did already.’
‘Don’t bullshit me,’ Jake said, raising his voice. The look on her face told him to stop and he suddenly became conscious of the girls sleeping upstairs. Quieter this time, he continued, ‘I thought I told you I’d get us out of this mess.’
‘She offered…’
‘And if she’d offered to give birth to Maisie or Ellie for us, would you have said yes without consulting me?’
Elizabeth’s face dropped, eyes narrowed. ‘Why would you say that?’
Jake knew that he was out of line, but it was too late to go back now. He hoped the benefit of hindsight would make his next words better.
‘You heard me,’ he said with an air of stubbornness he usually only exuded when he was in the interview room with a witness or an offender.
Maybe not.
‘Don’t you dare bring them into this. You see, this is part of the problem. You can’t put your ego aside, can you? It hurts you – pains you – that my mum helped.’
‘Because this was my problem to solve!’ He slammed his hand down on the kitchen counter.
‘Why? Who told you it was? Some sort of man-god who only speaks to egotistical men like you? Did he tell you to deal with this alone? Christ, you can be such a prick sometimes. My mum was trying to help. Accept it. It doesn’t make you any less of a man; nor does it change my perception of you. In fact, if you’d have asked for help sooner, I would have probably respected you more.’
Probably…
Jake exhaled deeply and continued to stare at her. At those unrelenting, powerful eyes. At the woman who’d given birth to his two amazing children. At the woman who put up with all of his shit. The love of his life.
He had no right to be upset; Martha was just trying to help. It was nothing more than that. Nothing less. Jake looked down at his hand and pretended to play with a blemish on his skin. ‘Would it be completely out of the question to get a hug?’ he asked.
‘Does that mean you admit you’re wrong?’
‘It does.’
He forced a smile. Elizabeth reciprocated, rounded the island and embraced him. Her body felt warm against his. Argument forgotten about. He wished he could spend more time with her, but the job didn’t allow it. And it killed him every time he missed out on one of the girls’ milestones. Like the time Ellie had rolled over, Maisie’s first word, the first time she’d said daddy, the first time she’d introduced a friend to Elizabeth at nursery. They were all life-changing events that he’d missed, and he was never going to get a chance to see them again.
Before he knew it, they’d be grown up, moved out and living adult lives of their own. That was a thought that didn’t bear thinking about.
Elizabeth pulled away, keeping her hands still wrapped around his neck.
‘You didn’t really mean it what you called me a prick, did you?’ he asked. This time the smile came more naturally to him.
‘That was one hundred per cent the truth. But you’re my prick.’
Jake gave her a kiss on the lips and then another on the forehead. He snatched a look at his watch, realised he was running late and hurriedly gathered his things together. As he headed out of the door, he said: ‘How about I treat us to a takeaway tonight, something to celebrate?’
‘What’re we celebrating?’
‘Life. Family. Everything. And we’re making some real advances at work. We should be finished with the case soon.’
It wasn’t a total lie. He just didn’t want her to know about what he was dealing with. For her own good. The two needed to remain separate, because when work started to interfere with his personal life, that was when the problems would begin.
CHAPTER 39
TOYS
Liam’s body ached. His legs. Stomach. Arms. Chest. Neck. Even his head was pulsating with a gentle throb that sent the walls into a spin and his nausea into a frenzy. Yesterday’s treatment had taken it out of him. But there was a silver lining, however – no matter how small. According to his doctors and the copious number of tests he’d endured as part of the treatment, he was responding well. The cancer in his lungs was gradually diminishing. But he didn’t know how it was going to go. Some days were good. Some days were bad. Some days he felt happy to be alive, while others left him wanting to swallow a bullet. Instead of doing that, though, he’d found another way to kill himself. If the cancer didn’t, alcohol would. It was a poison. Probably the worst he’d ever taken, and that was saying something because in his time he’d reached the end of the alphabet of drugs, and he’d learnt his ABCs from scratch. But alcohol was different. Worse, yes. But different. And different, in this particular instance, was good. It warmed him, it didn’t completely derail his senses and it numbed some of the pain. But only if he consumed it in moderation.
Liam lumbered out of his seat, shuffled to the back of the room and opened the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. Inside was a bottle of whiskey – Jim Beam, his favourite poison – and two burner phones. He loved the sweetness of it and the way it burnt his throat. The two phones were used for emergencies only. One of them was his discreet line for Drew – which he also used for everyone else – and the other was the one he used to communicate with The Cabal.
The sight of the burner he used for Drew gave him an idea. He kicked the drawer shut, filled his reusable plastic coffee cup with whiskey and put it in the top drawer of his desk. That would last him for the rest of the day. Just a little tipple every now and then to keep the levels up, sustain his mellowness.
He swirled the whiskey and held it against his lips, then drank. Delicious. Smooth. Neat. The only thing it needed now was some delicately placed cubes of ice, and it would have been a perfect start to the morning.
Setting the lid on the cup, Liam reached for a pack of mints in his pocket, threw one into his mouth and chewed on it. As the menthol spread like wildfire around his mouth and throat, Liam moved to the office door and called out to Drew. He was the only one in the office at the moment, save for some of the other little jumped-up shits on his team who he didn’t really care about. They kept themselves to themselves, and he let them. If they needed anything, they knew where his office was.
‘Morning, fella.’
Liam grunted by way of response. ‘Take a seat.’
Drew did as he was told, leaning back into his chair, arms spread wide on the two either side of him, one leg crossed over the other. Looking like he owned the fucking place.
‘Have you had a chance to do what I asked?’ Liam asked.
Drew dipped his head. ‘I’ve got the comms all linked up to my laptop at home. I’ll give you software and login details so you can listen as well.’
Following Liam’s instructions, Drew had placed recording devices inside Garrison and Jake’s cars, just so that he could keep a watchful ear over both their movements and discussions. Somewhere there was a snake beneath the reeds, and Liam was intent on finding out who the fucker was. He was the mongoose, readying himself to let loose.
‘Shit…’ Drew said.
‘What?’
‘Garrison’s car. He’s getting his new one today.’
‘Fuck. Already?’
Drew dipped his head again.
‘Bug it as soon as he comes back. I don’t want him getting away with anything.’
‘What about Charlotte – do you want me to do hers too?’
Charlotte? Who the fuck was Charlotte? Maybe the cup of whiskey wouldn’t last till the end of the day after all.
Liam stared at Drew blankly.
‘You didn’t hear? Erm… she’s a DI. Grayson. From Bernie’s. She’s been rostered in to help us out with the case.’
Bernie’s was the name given to Croydon’s police station, a moniker that reflected its high-profile and prevalent
drug taking during the eighties and nineties. The same way some people referred to Bow Green as Snow Bow. A lot had changed since those days; a lot of people had moved on. Drew, however, had never received the memo.
Liam breathed slowly as he absorbed Drew’s words. Croydon. Jake’s old stomping ground.
‘I must have missed all those emails.’ Liam shook his head. ‘I bet this is Penrose’s doing, jumped-up wanker. When does she start?’
‘This morning. She’ll probably be here soon.’
Liam looked down at his hands and played with his fingernails. His cuticles needed pushing back.
‘Bug her car too. I want to hear everything she’s saying. I’ll do a background check on her. See what her credentials are.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Keep an eye out on Garrison as well. He’s been showing his face a lot less recently. I don’t like it.’
Drew stopped himself as he rose out of his chair and then slowly stood up. He looked like he was just finishing up a job interview. Nine times out ten, Liam wouldn’t have given it to him.
‘Something else?’ Liam asked, fearing he already knew the answer.
‘Any… any news on Matheson?’
There it was. There it fucking was. Henry Matheson again. Typical. Single-minded prick.
‘No. Now go and find the old bastard.’
That cut the conversation off immediately. And as soon as the door was closed, Liam removed The Cabal’s burner phone from the cabinet and dialled.
There was no answer.
Liam gripped the phone hard and held the bottom of it in his mouth. He clamped down on the buttons, his teeth breaking into the plastic, splintering some of the internal mechanisms of the device.
Liam let it fall from his mouth and removed his personal mobile.
If there was someone who would know what was going on, it would be Assistant Commissioner Richard Candy. The man had his finger in a lot of pies – the nature of the job. He was the type of career officer, nine times out of ten, who knew what was happening and when it was happening. He’d been that way ever since he’d joined the police, and that was one habit that was never going to die.
‘Candy speaking.’
‘It’s Liam. What’s this I hear about a DI from Croydon being called in to help with my investigation?’
‘What’s your question exactly?’
Liam and Candy had been friends for a long time. They’d started their careers at the same time, and plenty of back-scratching had taken place since then, but right now, Liam sensed the man was about to be a colossal cunt.
‘Let’s start with why shall we? Why’s she joining us?’
‘The investigation needs help.’
‘That didn’t answer my question.’
‘It did. It’s just not what you wanted to hear.’
Liam grabbed his computer mouse and squeezed like it was a stress ball. Through gritted teeth, he hissed, ‘Don’t fuck with me on this one, Richard. I swear to Christ.’
Candy said nothing. From experience, Liam knew his friend was letting him calm down, think about what he was saying and who he was saying it to. The power play between the two of them had begun. And there was always only one winner.
Once Liam’s breathing was controlled, he continued, ‘Who authorised it?’
‘I did. On your behalf.’
Liam sighed, let go of the mouse.
‘When does she leave?’
‘As soon as the case is put to bed.’
‘Who does she report to?’
‘You. She’s a part of your team. Treat her like it.’ There was a pause – welcomed. ‘Think of it as an extra incentive to get it done sooner rather than later.’
And there it was. Hard and obvious, like a slap in the face. Richard might not have noticed it, but he’d just given away the real reason she was there.
‘You buckled that easy?’ Liam began. ‘I’m disappointed. One little fuck-up in a press conference, one little telling-off from a lord, and you lose your shit and get the next available officer to help us out.’
‘You heard him, Liam. Penrose wants this swept away. The world’s eyes are watching.’
‘Sell-out.’
‘Like I said, it’s an incentive to solve the case quicker.’
‘No need,’ Liam said. ‘We’ve already made a breakthrough. Yesterday. Our prime suspect killed himself. We’re waiting on forensics now.’
‘Then you can put your toys back in the pram.’
Liam hung up and threw the phone onto the table.
If only things were that simple. Richard Maddison. The suicide. Getting the investigation squared away as soon as he would have liked. The dynamic of the investigation had changed. They had an outsider. Someone who was no doubt not of the same ilk as Liam and Drew and Garrison and now Jake. Which meant she would question everything about Richard Maddison’s suicide and threaten to overturn all their hard work.
From here on they were going to have to be extra careful if they were going to carry on with their part of the plan. And Liam was going to have to do everything in his power to make sure she didn’t discover the truth.
And that started with sending her back to the shithole she’d just come from.
CHAPTER 40
RULES
There were certain rules in the contract killing business. Some dos and don’ts.
The first rule was to never use any names. The second was to never discuss the job after it had been carried out. And the third was to take a deposit payment upfront and then settle the rest on completion of the contract.
They weren’t hard and fast rules, but they were Georgiy’s own.
And he’d broken every single one of them.
By now, Georgiy knew the name of the man he was about to meet and vice versa. DC Pete Garrison. A real arsehole of a man. Always had something to say, always had to voice his opinion. Like a backseat contract killer. As part of his agreement with The Cabal, it was his responsibility to report every minute detail of Danny Cipriano’s and Richard Maddison’s deaths. That way The Cabal could plan and prepare for any fallout afterwards if necessary. Georgiy hadn’t approved, but if he wanted his money, he was going to have to play ball. And that had led to the final rule being broken. For both hits, he hadn’t received a single penny.
The location was the Warwick Reservoirs just a few miles north of Stratford and the Olympic Stadium. Garrison’s choice. It was open, expansive and, to Georgiy’s surprise, almost entirely deserted – save for a dog walker taking a Labrador out for a walk. A slight chill whipped along the roads, if they could be called that, and the early morning sun glistened on the dew on the gravel and grass. On the other side of a steep bank and thin line of trees was one of the reservoirs, a vast expanse of murky water. On the other side of that was a train line, distorting the quiet serenity of the place.
Georgiy was parked in the middle of a manmade pathway. He exited the car and leant against the bonnet, surveying his surroundings. He was wearing one of his favourite suits, and the blazer flapped about in the steady breeze. When it came to business, he liked to dress appropriately.
Far off in the distance were the towering skyscrapers of Canary Wharf, home to some of the country’s biggest criminals. A few feet in front of him, a duck emerged from behind a bush, stopped and stared. Georgiy eyed the creature suspiciously.
Then he heard the sound of an engine piercing the stillness. Georgiy spun on the spot as Garrison pulled up behind him.
He checked his watch. ‘You’re late,’ Georgiy said as he wandered across to Garrison’s door. The duck followed.
‘Sorry,’ Garrison replied, stepping out. ‘I was picking her up. What d’you think?’
The man pointed to the brand-new Jaguar. It had that new-car authenticity to it. The shine. The brand-new number plate. The perfectly untouched and unscathed windshield. The unblemished tyres and alloy rims. It was a beautiful piece of machinery, Georgiy conceded, but it wasn’t what he’d come to see.<
br />
‘Who’s your little friend?’ Garrison asked, pointing to the duck that had followed Georgiy. ‘Reckon he suspects some fowl play?’
‘What?’
‘Never mind.’
‘You have money?’
‘In the boot.’
Garrison rounded the back of the car and opened the boot.
‘Remember what we said. Keep a low profile.’
‘Don’t tell me how to do job.’
‘We don’t want anyone catching wind of this or seeing this.’
Georgiy looked around him. ‘You choose somewhere in open for exchange… Stupid.’
‘There’s always method to the madness.’
Garrison reached inside the boot and produced two large black gym bags, unbranded and inconspicuous.
‘Everything?’ Georgiy asked as he took the bags from the policeman.
‘It’s all there. Five hundred grand. Half a million. More money than I’ll ever see in my life.’
‘Then I know where to go if some missing.’
The comment incited a smirk from Garrison, and as he closed the boot, he wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve.
‘The Cabal was very impressed with your disposal of Maddison, by the way.’
‘Oh?’
‘I thought you should know.’
Georgiy accepted the compliment, deciding there was no need to tell him that Richard Maddison had been almost dead already, gasping for air and clinging to what remained of his life when they’d found him. There was no need to tell him that Nigel had made a mess of the crime scene as he tried to drown Richard before the rapid blood loss could steal his soul from the planet; no need to tell him that it was the easiest money they’d ever earned.
‘I was very impressed too,’ Garrison continued. ‘You know, if my wife ever gets too much and I need to get rid of her, you’ll be the first name that comes to mind.’
Georgiy glanced at the duck. ‘You can’t afford me.’
Garrison chuckled, pointed his finger at Georgiy. ‘I like you. You’re funny.’
He moved back to the driver’s side of the car and opened the door. ‘Remember what I said. Keep yourselves quiet for a bit, all right.’
