“Out back of some dingy boozer. Same MO. One shot. Clean. Precise. The plods are all over it, but we’re going to stick our oar in.” He stopped. “The victim’s name was Colin Wilson. Know anyone by that name?”
“No, Sarge.”
Faulkner studied him for a moment before replying. “You sure? It was practically on your patch. The pub was over near the Locksley Estate.”
Danny felt a chill. “Which pub?”
“The Wolfe Tone.”
Danny grunted, careful not to let his sudden unease show on his face. Was that where Ro had gone last night, after she’d stormed off? “That’s a Kelley pub.”
Faulkner frowned. He knew who the Kelleys were. Albion operatives had produced stacks of dossiers on the Kelley Clan and the other criminal gangs who’d divvied up East London between them. The order hadn’t come down to move against the Kelleys or any of the others thus far, but privately Danny figured it was only a matter of time. The only real way to get the East End under control was to remove the gangs from the equation.
“So you do know it,” Faulkner said.
“Even my mum knows it, Sarge. Everyone does. The Kelleys don’t exactly hide it.” Danny paused. “Do we think they’re are involved?”
Faulkner scratched his chin. “Good question, my lad. I want you to find out.”
Danny looked at him in confusion. “Sarge?”
“You and Hattersley. I want you to look into this. You’ll start with the poor sod who got slotted last night.” Faulkner turned away. “Come with me.”
“Sarge, I’m not an investigator,” Danny said, as he hurried to keep up with Faulkner. “Come to that, are we are even allowed to investigate crimes in the borough?”
“Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” Faulkner said, not looking at him. “Tower Hamlets is our forward fire support base. And these shootings are making the natives restless. The plods won’t solve it, so we need to – and fast. If that means a few politicians get their noses out of joint, well fuck ’em sideways, says I.”
“Yeah, but–” Danny began.
Faulkner glanced at him. “Danny, shut it and screw the cap tight, eh? Orders is orders, and I expect you to do as you’re told. Can you do that for me, lad?”
Danny nodded. “Yes, Sarge.”
“Good lad. Now, there’s someone you need to talk to.”
“Yeah, who?”
“A guest in the custody suites.”
The custody suite was a small block of a dozen temporary cells at the back of the warehouse. Each of the cells was soundproofed, with a steel door and a viewing slot. All were currently empty, insofar as Danny knew. Albion didn’t yet have official permission to hold suspects. But when they did, they would be ready.
“I thought we weren’t allowed to detain suspects yet,” Danny said, as Faulkner led him down the row of cells. “Or is this another one of those forgiveness permission things?”
Faulkner snorted. “Don’t play the clever clogs, Danny, it don’t suit you.” He led Danny to the cell on the end, tapped a code into the digital lock, and swung the door open. Inside, a man sat on the cell’s bench, looking very nervous and very tired. “I need to take a piss,” he said, as he stood. Faulkner hit him in the gut.
“What you need to do is tell young Danny here what you told me,” he growled. He shoved the prisoner back against the bench and turned. “This is Gary. Gary was at The Wolfe Tone last night, weren’t you, Gary?”
Gary wheezed and nodded, one arm pressed to his stomach. Faulkner sat down beside him, and put a companionable arm over the man’s hunched shoulders. “Gary got picked up for having a slash in public. Not exactly a criminal genius.” Faulkner looked at Gary. “Tell him what you told me, Gary.”
“If I do, are you going to let me go?”
“We’ll consider it. Now talk.”
Gary talked. He hadn’t witnessed the shooting, but he’d known the victim. Wilson had been a white van man, which Danny mentally translated as a courier for the Kelleys. He also knew where Wilson lived.
Faulkner patted Gary on the shoulder when he’d finished, and rose to his feet. “I want you to start with the flat. See if there’s anything there that’ll tell us what we need to know.”
“The plods will have picked it clean by now.”
Faulkner smiled. “Gary, tell young Danny what happened after the shooting.”
Gary looked away. “The Kelleys stripped the body. Took his Optik, his wallet, his keys. Everything that could identify him.” He paused. “They told us to keep quiet about it, until they say otherwise.”
Danny grunted. That was fairly standard for the Kelleys. The shooting would bring the police right to their doorstep. They’d be doing everything in their power to keep any investigation to a minimum. He was surprised they hadn’t moved the body – then, that might only have made the police more suspicious.
He wondered if Ro had been involved. He hoped not, but knew there was a vanishingly small chance of that if she’d been there that night. Part of him wanted to ask Gary about it, but not with Faulkner standing right there, nodding.
“The police will figure it out soon enough, but until then, we’ve got some time,” Faulkner said. “Which is why you and Hattersley are going to get there first, and take a look around the flat before the plods stomp all over it.”
Danny hesitated. It didn’t sound entirely legal. But orders were orders. “What are we looking for exactly?” He thought about the Optik Faulkner had tried to snatch yesterday – was there a connection between the two victims? And if so, what did Faulkner know that he wasn’t saying?”
Faulkner gestured to the door, and Danny left the cell. “Anything and everything, my lad. Starting with anything related to who might have shot him.” Faulkner followed him out. “Not to mention why.”
“Oi, what about me?” Gary began. “You said I could go?”
“Danny, did I say that?” Faulkner asked, innocently.
“You might have implied it, Sarge,” Danny said, hesitantly.
“But I never said the words, did I?” Faulkner looked back at Gary and shrugged in mock-helplessness. “Shame, but there you have it, my son. Rest easy.” He shut the door on the rest of Gary’s protests.
“Are you going to let him go, Sarge?” Danny asked.
Faulkner looked at him. “Eventually. When we’re done with him. Now, don’t you have some place to be?” He gestured. “Hop to it.”
Danny went.
Billy Bricks hauled open the loading bay door and ushered Ro inside the grimy warehouse just off the Mile End Road. “Tell me again,” he said, as he closed the door behind them.
“I’ve told you five times already,” Ro said, resignedly. She was tired. She hadn’t slept. Billy had kept her awake all night, and her head was starting to pound. Too much caffeine, not enough food.
The Godfreys had stripped Colin – the corpse – on Billy’s orders. They’d taken every bit of identification on Colin’s body, and Billy had put the frighteners on all the punters, including Ro herself. No one was to talk to the Filth, if they knew what was good for them. Billy’s word carried a lot of weight. He spoke for Clan Kelley, and everyone knew it.
The plods had shown up that morning, looking peeved. Two shootings in forty-eight hours was a bad job. They weren’t happy. Neither was Billy. Ro rubbed her face, the lack of sleep catching up with her.
Billy shoved her. Not in a friendly way. “And you’ll tell me a fucking sixth, love.”
Ro spun, fists raised. Billy didn’t so much as twitch. Ro lowered her hands, forcing herself to relax. She was in enough trouble as it was. A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “You’re tired, so I’ll forgive that, Rosemary.”
“Don’t call me Rosemary.”
“It’s your name, innit? Rosemary Hayes. Daughter of Desmond and Cece Hayes. Sister of Daniel Hayes. Last person to see Colin Wilson alive.”
“Wilson?” Ro asked, without thinking.
Billy peered at her. “Yeah.
What about it?”
“Nothing. I just… never knew his last name, that’s all.”
Billy laughed. “Guess he wasn’t much of a mate, eh?” He shook his head. “You don’t have many of them, luv. Not around here. Not right now.” He grinned at her, but it wasn’t friendly. “Just me, innit? So you’d best be fucking straight with me, before we go in there. Did you know anything about this shit?”
“No. Not before last night. I hadn’t seen him in weeks. That’s the truth, swear down.”
Billy studied her for a moment, then grunted and turned away. Ro relaxed, but only slightly. “Right. Come on then.”
The warehouse had been one of the first properties the Kelley firm had bought, when they’d arrived from Northern Ireland. In the decades that followed, the Kelleys had expanded, investing in the East End and in Greater London. They’d sunk their teeth in, and refused to let go. In the bad old days, they’d gone to war with the Krays, the Richardson Gang, and a dozen others.
As far as the firms of the East End were concerned, the Kelleys were old money aristocrats. They’d earned their place at the top of the heap, and only a fool took them on if they didn’t have to.
The warehouse was bigger now than it had been. Like its owners, it had expanded. Stacks of plastic crates and cardboard boxes towered over concrete floors marked by old, obsolete drains. The warehouse wasn’t used for meat, these days. Instead it was the hub of the Kelleys’ black-market commodities ring.
Over the years, the firm had moved on from the old standbys. Now, instead of prostitution, weapons and drugs, they sold food, water, furniture, bootleg electronics – if you could buy it cheap online, the Kelleys could provide it for half that. They left the drugs and the guns to the street dealers, though Ro had heard that the firm was looking into buying surplus from the army and selling it at cost to independent contractors.
Ro had never paid much attention to any of that. She was in collection, not sales. But looking around, the sheer amount of stuff was impressive. Labourers hauled boxes and picked orders, loading trucks for afternoon deliveries. Automated dollies rolled through the stacks, carrying loads. She stopped as one skidded across her path, and Billy gave her a shove. “Keep walking, love. No time to waste.”
“Touch me again, Billy, and I’ll break your fucking hand.”
Billy laughed. “I’d like to see you try, girl. Maybe when all of this is said and done, we’ll go a few rounds.” Ro shook her head, but kept walking.
The offices were in the back. And so was Mary Kelley.
There were guards of course – hard-faced men and women, standing near the door to the enclosed square of office space erected against the back wall of the warehouse. Ro recognised a few of them, but none of them met her gaze. Her unease grew. She didn’t know why she was nervous. She hadn’t done anything. Then, that might not matter. She’d seen it before – someone needed to get the blame, and she was handy. Her hands balled into fists as Billy knocked on the door. He glanced at her.
“Relax,” he said, softly, as he opened the door. “If she wanted you done over, I’d already be looking for your replacement.” He gestured, and Ro stepped past him.
The office was old fashioned. A desk, filing cabinets, a desktop computer. There were pictures on the walls, some black and white, all taken throughout the warehouse’s history. The light flickered overhead as Billy shut the door behind them.
Mary Kelley sat on the edge of the desk, waiting for them. She was an older woman, dressed stylishly in red and black, with short iron grey hair and a sour look on her face. Ro had only ever heard about her second-hand, but she had no trouble identifying the leader of Clan Kelley and the undisputed queen of the East End.
Mary Kelley had earned her crown the hard way. She’d outlived, outfought and out schemed everyone who could have been considered a rival, including members of her own family. She’d brought the firm back from the edge of irrelevance one bloody inch at a time, until they were the preeminent criminal fraternity in London. After the pound had tanked and most of the UK had switched over to cryptocurrencies, Mary had overseen the gang’s switch to dark web transactions.
“Do I look upset?” Mary asked by way of greeting, as Ro came to a stop before her.
Ro hesitated. “What?”
“A simple question, sweetheart. Do I look upset to you?”
“Y-yes?” Ro replied, uneasily.
“Too bloody right I’m upset. And do you know why, girl?”
“No. No, Mrs Kelley.”
Mary’s eyes narrowed. “Could you take a fucking guess?”
Ro swallowed. “I– I don’t…”
Mary’s gaze flickered to Billy. “Billy. Help her out.”
“I can only guess, mum, that your current mood is the result of several intersecting factors, so to speak.”
“Don’t be clever, Billy, it don’t suit you,” Mary said, but she smiled. The smile faded as she turned her attentions back to Ro. “Billy tells me that you and Colin were mates, yes?”
“We knew each other,” Ro said.
“So you knew he was double-dipping, then,” Mary said, almost gently. “No shame, luv, just tell me up front. Before we go any further.”
“No, I didn’t know anything…”
Mary picked up a knife off the desk. She touched the tip with a finger. “I have always prided myself on being able to spot a liar.” She pointed the knife at Ro. “Would you like to try again?”
Ro glanced at Billy, but there was no help there. The world narrowed to Mary Kelley and the tip of her knife. There were stories about that knife – about what Mary had done with it. It was said that she liked to keep her hand in, when it came to the messy end of things. Ro swallowed and said, “I figured it out. But only, like, ten minutes before he got topped.”
Billy grunted.
Ro didn’t look at him. “I was going to tell Billy, but–”
“But what?” Mary asked, rising to her feet. “Why the hesitation?”
“I wanted to be sure.”
“That’s not your job, luv.” Mary leaned close and pressed the tip of her blade lightly to Ro’s cheek. “That’s Billy’s job, and he’s very good at it, so he is. Your job is to hit who we tell you to hit, and break what we tell you to break.”
“I– I know. It’s just…”
“Just what?” Mary glanced at Billy. “Was she sweet on this Colin, then?”
“Don’t think so, mum. She’s just a soft-hearted girl, our Rosemary.”
Mary smiled. “People once said that about me.” Her smile faded. “They were wrong, of course. My heart is like the proverbial stone of judgement, pressing down on those brought before me. Is your heart soft, Rosemary? Is it light, like a feather? Or is it weighed down by your sins?” She tapped Ro’s cheek with the knife. “Don’t answer, sweetheart. I can read it in your eyes. Is that why you and him went outside then?”
“He wanted to talk,” Rosemary said.
“He wanted to confess all, is that it?” Mary circled her slowly, tapping her shoulders with the flat of the knife. “And what did he say?”
“He – Colin – he was doing some extra runs on the side.”
“For whom?”
“He didn’t say.” Ro paused. “He didn’t have a chance.”
Mary sat back down on the desk. “So what happened then?”
“Someone shot him.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t see them.”
“How could you not see them?”
“I– I wasn’t looking. I mean, I was looking right at him. When he…” She shook her head. “When he got hit. I was looking at him when he died.”
“What were you two talking about out there?”
“I’d figured out Colin was the one what Billy was after. Or, I thought he might be the one. So I was trying to find out. For Billy.”
Mary’s eyes flicked to Billy. “Hark at her now.”
“Rosemary is a good girl, mum. Sensible. If she says she was, she wa
s.”
“Hear that? Billy is on your side. That means you must be on my side.” Mary leaned forward, still playing with the knife. “You are on my side aren’t you, luv?”
Ro nodded, watching the knife. Mary sat back. “Good. That makes things easier. Not for you, of course. For me.” She pointed the knife at Ro. “I want you to find out what that little gobshite Colin was up to, eh? And then I want you to find out who did for him, and pay them back in kind.”
Ro blinked. “What?”
“Are you deaf all of a sudden now? I want you to do what you do, only more so. And if you don’t do it, and quickly, I will lose my patience and I will give you what was coming to Colin. Only worse. Now, did you get all that?”
Ro nodded. “Yeah, I got it.”
Mary smiled. “That’s what I like to hear. Now toddle off and get to it. Billy will see you out. Won’t you, Billy?”
“My pleasure, mum.” Billy caught Ro by the arm and jerked her towards the door. “Out we go, love. You’ve wasted enough of everybody’s time.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she asked, in a low hiss.
“I’d start with Colin’s gaff, if I were you,” Billy said. “See if he wrote anything down. Check his van too. And I’d be sharpish about it. The Filth will identify our boy soon enough, and then they’ll confiscate everything and you’ll be shit out of luck.”
He left Ro on the street, closing the door behind him. She stared at it for a moment and then turned away with a deep exhale of breath. “Fucking hell.”
9: Gearing Up
“Your boss in, my dear?”
Hannah looked up. A man stood in the doorway of her office. Older, heavyset, but dressed well. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “Only I need to see her. It’s about yesterday.”
“Are you with the police?” Hannah asked. Her Optik gave a trill, and a slow trickle of data spilled across her display – more slowly than normal, as if the program had a glitch. The facial recognition software coughed up a name: George Holden.
“No need to look nervous, sweetheart. I’m with Albion, not the plods.”
Hannah didn’t smile. “If anything, that makes me more nervous – not less. But what can I do for you, Mr Holden?” She let a bit of annoyance creep into her voice. She was busy. The life of a political PA was on of paperwork, emails and scheduling apps. She had half a dozen tasks to complete before Sarah got back from her lunch with Winston Natha.
Day Zero Page 10
