by Jack Probyn
‘Come on,’ she said to him, jingling the keys in her hands, a pleasant smile on her face. ‘Let’s go find them, shall we?’
CHAPTER 95
FIVE MINUTES
‘Are you sure you felt a pulse?’ Tatiana asked from the other side of the room.
‘Yes. You don’t trust me?’ Vitaly replied, standing in the doorway stubbornly with his arms folded. ‘It was there. I’m certain.’
Word had got around to them that Pete Garrison was still alive, albeit in a coma, breathing through a tube in a hospital bed, attached to a machine. Bad news, in short. And it meant that they now needed a contingency plan. If, at any point, Garrison woke up, he’d come for them. And he’d be able to finish them off, especially with the information he had on them.
‘Can we not get him first?’ Georgiy asked as he clawed at the frayed fabric on the arm of the chaise sofa. ‘We send Tat into hospital. Pull out plug.’
Tatiana shifted uncomfortably on the sofa opposite. The three of them were upstairs in the attached accommodation above the launderette, their third money laundering business. The constant, monotonous din of the washing machines they’d put on to keep up appearances echoed through the building and vibrated the floor and walls. By now, though, Georgiy had grown accustomed to it, and, oddly, it soothed him, helped him relax and clear his mind. He should have been angry, furious – at Vitaly for not killing Garrison. But he wasn’t, because the options were simple: kill him or run.
‘I don’t like that idea,’ Tatiana said, her eyes bouncing between Georgiy and Vitaly. ‘It’s too dangerous. They have cameras everywhere. I will be seen for sure.’
‘Maybe we get Vitaly to do it. As sacrifice,’ Georgiy said.
‘Sacrifice. For what?’
‘For not kill him in first place.’ He leant forward and picked up the fluff that had fallen onto the floor and balled it in his hands. ‘You make mistake. Mistakes not good. Nigel makes mistakes…’
He hoped Vitaly understood what he was talking about.
Vitaly’s expression told him that he did. ‘I… I won’t make mistake again…’
Before any of them could respond, a mobile phone rang. It was the only item on the coffee table in the centre of the room, and it shook violently as the call came through, the small screen illuminating with an unknown number.
Georgiy inched forward slowly. He didn’t recognise the number. Nor was he expecting any calls.
He reached for the device and answered, holding his breath.
‘Get out,’ came a deep voice. ‘They’re onto you. They know everything. Who you are, your names, dates of birth. Your hideouts. Everything. You have five minutes to pack everything and go, otherwise, armed officers are coming for you. Get out.’
CHAPTER 96
SQUARE ONE
The laundrette was stationed in the middle of a row of houses. As part of the decor, a large washing machine dangled a few feet above the shop floor, buried into the brick. It hung precariously on the building and looked like the smallest gust of wind would be strong enough to knock it onto the ground. It was a miracle it had ever been approved. The surrounding bricks were grey and decrepit, while the windows were made from wood, now riddled with rot. On first impression, the building appeared disused, and as though it had been that way for some time.
‘Paper houses…’ Jake whispered as he stared up at the building, not realising he’d said it loud enough for Charlotte to hear. They were inside her car, and a few hundred yards away was a blacked-out ARV, where five members of SO19, from the Metropolitan Police’s tactical firearms team, were stationed.
‘It all comes crumbling down now,’ Charlotte replied.
The radio on the dashboard bleated. ‘This is victor-bravo-four-one, checking comms, over.’
They listened intently.
‘Victor-bravo-four-one, receiving you loud and clear, from OFC, we are state amber. Prepare for state red on my command.’ Then, a few seconds later. ‘All victor bravo units, state red, state red.’
At once, the rear doors of the van burst open, and a flurry of armed officers erupted from within, spilling onto the concrete in perfect formation and sprinting towards the launderette. The last thing Jake and Charlotte heard, before they disappeared inside the building, were the customary shouts of ‘Armed police!’
Jake watched and waited for a few anxious moments, the tension palpable and thick inside the car. Silence filled the air as the officers’ cries disappeared into the building with them, but it was soon replaced by the sound of their succinct and authoritative reports coming from the radio on the dashboard.
‘Bottom floor – clear!’
‘Top floor – clear!’
‘Bedroom – clear!’
Jake sighed dejectedly. He didn’t even need to be there with them to know that they’d lost Georgiy. The strategic firearms commander confirmed his suspicions a minute later.
‘They’ve been tipped off,’ Jake said to Charlotte as they exited the car and moved across to the launderette’s entrance.
The scene of crime officers that Charlotte had requested were in the middle of setting up their stations inside the building, and uniformed officers were cordoning off the street. For the foreseeable future, the launderette was now their playground.
‘How can you be sure?’ Charlotte asked.
‘I can’t. But my intuition is telling me that they must have been. Can we get Steve or someone to find all the phones that pinged in this area over the last twelve hours and see where they are now?’
Charlotte shrugged, non-committal. ‘He could, but it won’t give us anything accurate.’
‘It’ll be enough.’
Jake and Charlotte found themselves a forensic oversuit each, complete with overshoes, hood, gloves and face mask. As soon as they were dressed, they wasted no time in hurrying into the launderette.
As Jake entered, surrounded by the washing machines and tumble driers and racks of clothes and the smell of laundry detergent, visceral, vivid images of Drew flashed into his mind, paralysing him. The blood. The brain matter. The bones. The body slumped to the side. Jake retched beneath the heat of the forensic suit.
‘You good?’ Charlotte asked, noticing his discomfort.
‘Fine,’ he lied, swallowing the bile back down. ‘I’ll just be glad when this is all over.’
From the look in her eyes, he could tell that she was thinking the exact same thing as him: if this was over any time soon.
After quickly scanning the launderette itself – and deciding there was nothing of significance or importance – they ran upstairs to what appeared to be living quarters. Completely abandoned. The landing was empty, the kitchen cupboards and fridge were devoid of any signs of life, as were the bathroom and the bedrooms. But it was the living room that intrigued Jake and Charlotte most.
On the left was a sofa, buried deep in the corner of the room, beside it a cabinet – empty. In the opposite corner was a television, on standby. And on the right-hand side of the room was another sofa, this one in the shape of an L.
Jake sniffed. Another aroma – aside from the scent of laundry detergent – pervaded the air. And Jake’s senses.
‘You smell that?’ he asked.
‘What?’
Jake hurried around the room, searching for the source of the smell. He found it, hidden behind the chaise sofa.
‘Bleach,’ he said as he held the supermarket branded bottle in the air.
Charlotte folded her arms across her chest, then rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘I bet this place has never been so clean…’
‘Brilliant,’ he said, shooting daggers at the bleach bottle. ‘Now we’re back to square one… square fucking one.’
CHAPTER 97
WAIT
Jake slumped into the first chair he could find in the satellite office, dejected.
They’d raced back as soon as they’d checked over the property and realised there was nothing of any interest. At least, that t
hey could see. The minuscule levels of detail were up to forensics now, who, with any luck, would be able to find something microscopic they could use as evidence against Georgiy or Vitaly or Tatiana.
But that wasn’t much use to Jake and the team now. They still didn’t know where Georgiy had run off to.
‘What have we got, people?’ Charlotte asked as she moved towards the head of the room. As she arrived, a figure stepped out from beneath the shadows and pulled her into the corner of the floor.
Jake watched her go and then tilted his head back in a half-hearted attempt to fit the final pieces of the puzzle in place.
Think, he told himself. Think think think.
And so he did, starting to run through the events and information he knew, focusing on the facts.
Danny Cipriano was dead. Killed in the middle of the night after being abducted from witness protection. Murder pinned on Richard Maddison, now deceased. Suicide, allegedly. Nigel Clayton confirmed as being there. Now also deceased. And then there was Garrison and Drew. Garrison had been working with Georgiy closely, pulling the strings. But he was now in a coma, so he was useless. As for Drew? Dead. Also useless.
It rapidly became apparent to Jake that the number of people who knew anything about The Farmer and his associates was low – almost none.
Except… there was one other.
Jake jumped out of his chair and hurried across to Charlotte, who had just finished speaking with the figure.
‘Jake, perfect timing,’ she said, gesturing to the man beside her. ‘This is my handler. DCS Dremel.’
Jake shook the ginormous hand of the equally ginormous man; he was nearly twice the height of Jake and only marginally wider. His hair was fire-red, and he had the grip of someone who’d been a fireman in a former life – someone who’d spent a life hefting heavy objects.
‘Pleasure to meet you, Jake,’ Dremel said, bowing his head slightly. ‘I’ve heard a great many things about you. The work you’ve done on this investigation has been a true test of your abilities.’
‘Well, thanks…’ Jake said, trying not to come off as obnoxious and rude. He just hated accepting praise. Always had. Always would.
‘What did you want, Jake?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Isaac Dawes.’
‘I need a little more than that.’
‘The witness protection officer in charge of Danny and Michael Cipriano.’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s in on it all.’ Jake swallowed and kept his focus on Charlotte as he spoke. ‘He handed Danny over to The Farmer on the night that he was killed, and he was there when I went to speak to Michael, moments before Michael was abducted and driven off the road.’ Jake paused to catch his breath. ‘He must know something about them… But… But…’
‘What is it?’ Charlotte asked. Her hand reached towards his but then she stopped herself.
‘After Michael was shoved into the back of the police car, Isaac came running over to me…’ Jake sighed and hung his head low. ‘Frantic, afraid. But he didn’t know anything about what was happening to Michael. It was all set up without him. So I don’t know if he’ll know where The Farmer is… but it’s a start.’
Charlotte placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t beat yourself up. This is the kind of information we need. This is good.’
She paused and turned her attention to a DC who was working in the background. ‘Isaac Dawes,’ she told the officer. ‘Witness protection scheme officer. Get him in custody. Let’s see if he can tell us anything about The Farmer and Danny’s and Michael’s murders.’
The DC leapt out of his chair, grabbed his things and left the room.
As soon as he was gone, Charlotte turned her attention back to Jake.
‘How’s Liam doing?’ Jake asked.
‘Quiet,’ Dremel responded. ‘Not saying a word about anything to anyone. Is there anything else he might have told you that you’ve forgotten or can’t remember?’
Jake wracked his brains, hating the feeling of being under some sort of time pressure to work it out.
‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ve told you everything.’
‘Is there anything else about Drew’s murder that seems odd or strange to you?’ Dremel asked, pulling Jake’s mind out of The Farmer investigation and dropping him into Drew’s murder.
He didn’t appreciate it, but as he thought about it, the more it made sense.
Maybe, just maybe, the two of them could be connected somehow.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘There is.’ Before he gave Dremel a chance to reply, he launched a barrage of questions at Charlotte. ‘Are we tracking the mobile numbers on the call logs we got from Liam’s and Drew’s mobiles?’
‘Yes.’
‘How are we getting along? Any numbers that are on the move?’
She shook her head. ‘A lot of them have been disconnected and are no longer active according to the service providers.’
Jake nodded, his mind free-falling down a mountain of ideas. ‘What about Drew’s mobile number… has anyone tracked that? Did anyone trace his whereabouts last night before he died?’
‘What significance does that have? Liam murdered him in his home,’ Dremel added, weighing in on the conversation.
‘One minute, sir.’ Jake waved his finger in the air. His mind was working overtime and he needed to say his piece first. ‘It didn’t strike me before, but now it’s beginning to make some sense. Liam said that Drew was a liability, a lost cause. That he’d taken the piss too many times before, and that he’d gone too far this time round. At first, I thought it was about the rape investigation against Hannah Bryant, but it wasn’t. Liam mentioned something about Drew trying to get out of the country. And he was with us all of yesterday afternoon in the station, so the only time he would have been able to do it was in the evening, shortly before he was killed.’
Jake hesitated a moment as he waited for Charlotte and Dremel to catch up. ‘So Liam must have found out, travelled to his house, waited for him and killed him. I was outside Liam’s house the whole night, and I didn’t see him once until after he’d killed Drew. Someone must have tipped him off.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. But Drew must have had himself an insurance package of his own. He couldn’t leave the country with his current identity… he’d never be able to outrun it. He’d already seen what happened to Garrison – he was afraid the same thing would happen to him.’
‘So he potentially had a contact sort him out a new identity, new details…’ Charlotte said, her eyes widening as they quickly got on the same wavelength.
‘Exactly… and he must have met up with them in the afternoon. Someone saw him, who then tipped off Liam, and then he went home to his death.’
Charlotte skipped past him and paced towards Steve in the centre of the room. She spoke hurriedly with him and then waved Jake over.
‘Steve already had a quick look,’ Charlotte explained as he loaded up software on his computer.
A map of Stratford appeared on the screen, complete with road markings, railway lines, places of interest and traffic lights. Three large circles, representing local telecommunications pylons, appeared in the top, right and left. In the epicentre of where the three overlapped was a small dot. Steve pointed to it.
‘That’s roughly where Drew’s phone pinged on the local transmitters.’
‘How accurate?’
‘Given there are a lot more phone towers in the area than in the middle of nowhere, the area’s roughly a half mile wide.’
‘Brilliant,’ Jake said.
Now they had the location, they homed in on sourcing Drew’s whereabouts on the night he’d died using the CCTV in the area. It took them forty-five minutes to find him, and forty-five seconds to realise who the contact was.
On the screen, they watched Drew’s car pull out of a multi-storey car park behind another one. The first car made a left turn at the junction, while Drew turned right. The CCTV footage was film
ed from such an angle that they saw the entrance to the multi-storey, as well as the convenience store beside it. And, more importantly, the Russian contract killer standing in front of it.
‘Contact the owner,’ Jake said, speaking to no one, yet hoping someone would follow his orders. ‘Request the CCTV footage from inside the shop; find out what he purchased.’
Someone, somewhere in the office was put to the task. They came back with the results half an hour later.
‘Six SIM cards,’ said the officer who’d been sent to check. ‘Vodafone. All unregistered, pay as you go.’
‘And…’ Jake said impatiently. He’d been forced to wait an infuriatingly long time.
‘Putting a trace on them all now, assuming they’re live.’
‘How long’s that going to take?’
The officer checked her watch. ‘Maybe an hour.’
Jake puffed out a lot of air and paced about the room. There was nothing left for him to do now except wait.
CHAPTER 98
MISTAKE
Georgiy didn’t like to live with regrets. Regrets implied mistakes. Mistakes implied weak character. Weak character implied failure.
And yet, here he was, sitting in a safe house in the middle of nowhere, a living, breathing, walking failure.
It was a mistake to bring Nigel into the business.
It was a mistake to trust Vitaly again.
It was a mistake to get close to Tatiana.
It was a mistake to think he could build a group of contract killers.
‘How long we have to be here?’ Vitaly asked as he paced across the dining room.
‘Until we know is safe…’ Georgiy replied. His eyes fell on Tatiana, who was leaning against the dinner table, playing with her fingers. Georgiy pulled himself away from the window and sat beside her. ‘How you say you find this place?’
They were in Tatiana’s hideout, an abandoned detached house just on the outskirts of the Hatfield Forest in Hertfordshire, east of the M11. Surrounded by a picket fence that was their only form of protection, they were isolated. It was the place she’d told them about moments before they’d been forced to leave the launderette. Initially, she’d been shy on the details, but now they were alone and in the security of the property, it was time for her to explain herself.
