The Property

by Catriona King

  “The father’s tatty bread, boss.”

  Tatty, pronounced ‘Tay-tee’, bread, meant dead in Northern Irish rhyming slang, just as Joe Baxi meant taxi and Elephant’s, aka Elephant’s trunk, meant drunk, although the alignment of the delicious when hot and smothered in butter local potato bread with mortality wasn’t the best marketing tactic that Craig had ever heard.

  “Damn. How long?”

  “Not long. The neighbour heard some bangs from the house around six and the body was still warm when she got there. The local sergeant said Barr had two shots in his chest and one in his head.”

  Craig inhaled sharply. “A professional hit?”

  “I’d say so. Whoever they were they weren’t messing about anyway. I’ve told the locals to get the CSIs there and send the bullets to Des-”

  Craig finished his deputy’s sentence. “And the body to John.”

  “Done, and both notified to expect them. The thing is, if these were professional killers, they weren’t ours or the mainland’s special forces were they? That just leaves criminal gangs, mercenaries, or SWAT groups from the governments you were talking about before. Pakistani, Saudi or...”

  Craig had stopped listening, his eyes wide with alarm. Could the Pakistani Special Services Group (SSG) or the Saudi Arabian Special Security Force (SSF) really be involved here? Did the laundering and land grabs that The Barr Group had been involved in go so high up that those governments would take the risk of deploying their troops on foreign soil?

  He leant against the station’s rear wall, thinking. If there was foreign government involvement here, they needed to prove it before they started accusing anyone or there could be an international incident. But how the hell did they go about it? He took out his mobile, still thinking things through as he dialled directly to his senior analyst’s desk.

  “Davy. I’ve an urgent task for you, so whatever else you’re working on will have to wait a while.”

  The analyst rolled his eyes, knowing that the odds that Craig would remember he’d said that when he asked him for something later that he didn’t have were zilch, but he good-naturedly urged him on anyway.

  “Fire ahead.”

  “OK. It’s come to light that we may have had a professional hit in the country within the last hour. That means it’s likely the shooters entered the country no more than twenty-four hours ago.”

  “And you’d like me to find out who they are.”

  “And where they came from, and how they got here as well, please.”

  Davy gave a despairing sigh; he didn’t want much, did he?

  But then he remembered that he loved a challenge and cheered up.

  “OK, but I’ll need s...something more to go on, chief.”

  “They’re likely to be Pakistani or Saudi Arabian nationals, but they may be carrying UK passports as well. Male most probably.”

  Nikita might exist in fiction, but in real life female assassins were still incredibly rare.

  “Young. Say twenty to fifty.” He paused, thinking again. For people to be selected for their country’s special forces they’d usually already have served many years in the police or military, so twenty would be too young and by fifty most would either be retired or dead. “Sorry, make that thirty to forty-five.”

  Davy had been inputting the parameters as they’d spoken.

  “OK, I’ve narrowed it to fifteen men in that age range, travelling in through ports and airports all over Ireland in the past twenty-four. Six UK, four S...Saudi and five Pakistani passports. Give me a minute to try something else.”

  As Craig waited he saw that Liam was smiling at something on his phone and went across to take a look. It was a video of the D.C.I.’s two young children singing and it made Craig wonder whether he’d be carrying something similar of his own around some day. It was hard to imagine, but stranger things happened in life.

  Davy’s voice cut across his thoughts.

  “OK. I’ve narrowed it according to the flight’s point of origin and place where they’re staying, if available, and w...we have four men travelling on UK passports who flew into Northern Ireland last night from Pakistan.”

  Craig gave a puzzled frown. “That’s where their flights to here originated?”

  “Nope. That was my next point. They flew from Islamabad to London and then on to Derry airport. They didn’t have to give onward addresses because they w...were classed as UK citizens, although I’m checking how many of them hold other passports as well.”

  Craig nodded. It had been a slick move to send them through a connecting UK airport.

  “The odds are they’ll also hold Pakistani or Saudi passports, Davy. Once you’re sure get their photos circulated to every police and army station and unit in Northern Ireland, especially around Belfast, and I want any sightings reported directly to me. And if you get time, I’d like you or Ash to locate Dalir Barr and Farshid Lund.”

  He was about to hang up when he remembered to say, “Good work”, at the same moment as Davy asked him a question. “Are you briefing again this evening?”

  Craig glanced at his watch, thinking through his likely next steps before he replied.

  “No. Call it for tomorrow at ten.”

  “OK...”

  At the analyst’s hesitation Craig knew there was something more he’d wanted to say.

  “Something else?”

  “W...Well, it’s just that I’ve a few quick updates.”

  He didn’t really have the time, but...

  “Fire ahead.”

  “OK, so Babra Talpur is clean, Hamid Lund has never travelled to the UK or Ireland, but Farshid Lund flew here in oh-seven. although not since. That’s everything. Oh, no, s...sorry, it isn’t. When I heard Maureen Clarke was thirty-nine I ran her against all the missing persons over thirty, but there was nothing. No-one else reported her gone.”

  Craig sighed at the pathos of it and signed off. “OK. Ask Aidan to keep everyone working until I phone him, please, and I’m on the mobile for anything you need.”

  The analyst didn’t bother mentioning that Kyle had left thirty minutes before, after making a series of phone-calls out by the lifts, the location suggesting that the calls had had nothing to do with their case but everything to do with something that the D.I. had wanted to keep secret.

  Liam had been listening and as Craig hung up he asked, “So are they SSF or G?”

  “SSG’s likely since the call to Hazzard came from the Pakistani Embassy, but the Saudis are probably on board as well. We won’t know for sure until we’ve nailed them. I’m going back in to finish things up with Barr, but I want you to call Bill McEwan in armed response and tell him we’ll need some of his men here in about half-an-hour. They’re to come in the rear entrance and use an unmarked vehicle. I want others posted outside Barr’s apartment, but tell them they’re to stay well out of sight. I don’t want our assassins spotting them and disappearing. Ask them to bring some spare head sets and radios for us.”

  He’d turned to re-enter the station when he remembered something else. “Don’t tell Barr his father’s dead, Liam, even if he asks you directly. Just say we’ve sent men out to check that he’s all right and we’re waiting to hear back.”

  The D.C.I. stared at him reprovingly. “I know Barr’s a scrote, but surely that’s a bit rough, boss? Isn’t he entitled to know that his old man’s gone toes up?”

  Craig raised an eyebrow at his deputy’s uncharacteristic sensitivity.

  “Rough or not, we need Barr to cooperate and that includes him risking his life in the next few hours. He already knows he’s a dead man unless we do something, so do you think it’ll make him feel better if he finds out the men coming after him are crack shots?”

  It was a sharp reminder to the D.C.I. of the steel that ran though his boss.

  ****

  Twenty minutes later armed response had been organised, Kamran Barr had been reassured that his father was being checked on and Lavinia Hazzard that her daughter was safe,
and both client and solicitor had agreed that the only way to capture the men threatening them and have a worry-free future was to flush the bastards out.

  Agreement obtained, Craig got down to the details.

  “The men who are after you clearly know that you’re inside this station, Mister Barr, that both of you are in fact. So that opens up two possibilities for them. Scenario one: Ms Hazzard did as she was asked and counselled you to say nothing, so we release you on to the street without charge and they kill you within the next few hours just in case you suddenly change your mind and decide to tell the truth about everything. Scenario two: You’ve already told us everything about the murders and money-laundering, and named names, but they believe that your statement will be rendered useless unless you’re there to testify to it personally in court, so they kill you in the hope that any potential case against them will collapse. Knowing that you’ll probably get bailed because of your high-powered solicitor here”, he gave Hazzard a courteous nod, “they wait until you are and then they’ll kill you. The difference between scenarios one and two is a few hours.”

  Barr laughed at his bluntness, although Hazzard’s sudden pallor said that she was far less impressed.

  “Thank-you for being honest, Chief Superintendent. I like people who tell me the truth.”

  The businessman sat forward, linking his hands together on the desk and giving them another flash of the cufflinks that Liam reckoned were worth more than his mortgage for the year. Craig unconsciously echoed the posture, making his deputy smirk.

  “So… knowing the situation, what do you propose we do, Mister Craig?”

  “I have armed response, ARC, officers coming here now and they’ll also be surrounding your home. They won’t be visible, so your pursuers won’t be aware that you’re being protected. In ten minutes you will leave here in your own car and D.C.I. Cullen and I will be inside with you, armed and well out of sight. ARC will be following in a separate vehicle-”

  The solicitor cut in. “In case they attack en route?”

  Craig nodded. “Yes, but it’s very unlikely. Professional hits on UK soil tend to get noticed so they need to keep their operation low key. Shooting someone in the middle of a city during rush-hour wouldn’t be. Plus, if I remember correctly, your car has darkened windows, Mister Barr, so it would make for a very tricky shot.”

  Barr nodded. “I understand. You think they’ll do it at my home.”

  “Yes. But not until later tonight. Darkness will provide them with cover. By that time we’ll be inside your apartment with you and we’ll have ARC officers outside. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

  Even more so if the ARC could pick off the assassins in the bushes before they entered the building.

  Lavinia Hazzard wasn’t feeling comforted at all. “I hate to ask this… but what about me? Will I have protection?”

  Craig moved to reassure her.

  “You’ll remain here with an ARC officer until the operation is over, and then we’ll reunite you with your daughter. But I honestly don’t think that you should worry, Ms Hazzard. If I’m correct then the man who threatened you forgot about the threat as soon as he hung up. You weren’t his target; his aim was simply to intimidate you to keep Mister Barr quiet. Whether he was or not is moot now because they believe he’ll soon be dead.”

  As the businessman’s eyes widened, he hastened to add. “I mean that’s their plan, but it will fail.”

  Zafir Barr’s death made Liam feel far less sure.

  ****

  Police Headquarters. The Car Park.

  It had taken some judicious phone enquiries and more than a few slick words with secretaries to locate his prey, but Kyle Spence had finally managed it, and apart from having to loiter in a place where a different copper parked their car or walked past him every couple of minutes, each of them shooting him a suspicious look like their job description required, it was so far so good. Although it did occur to him to ask the gimlet eyed officers, “If I was a car thief, would I really be standing here in the constables’ section beside some clapped-out Vauxhall, or over at the other side by the big boys’ flashy cars?”

  He didn’t of course, and there was method in his positioning, namely that he was waiting at the beginning of the perimeter path that led from headquarters around the whole parking compound, and as, when his target finally appeared, he would need time to make his case, he reckoned that having as long a distance as possible available to walk with them would be a good idea.

  The ex-spy’s theory was about to be put to the test as the sound of heavy footsteps made him turn around, and a flash of evening sunlight reflecting off a highly polished epaulette badge focused his gaze. Its heavy, grey-haired owner was strolling, no actually, Christopher Price was sauntering towards him down the path; a man who looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world, a man who was about to be disabused of that belief.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  Kyle was rarely polite to his seniors but he thought that now should probably be that time.

  Price beamed at him cheerfully as he passed. “Good evening to you too.”

  It was several seconds later that he realised that Kyle had joined him and was now walking in step alongside. Like everyone in such a situation several thoughts raced through the A.C.C.’s mind: Do I know this man, and if I do what the heck is his name? Is he about to mug me and if so should I just give him what he wants and not fight back? I’m bigger than him even though he’s younger, so maybe I could take him if I tried. No, he can’t possibly be going to mug me; he’s clean shaven and wearing a suit! Such judgements being made every day by people, on the erroneous basis that muggers only ever wear sports gear/ baseball caps/stubble, or smell of dope or booze.

  In the seconds that it took Christopher Price to have his thoughts Kyle spoke again, making a statement that said this wasn’t about mugging but something else; well, not a physical mugging anyway.

  “I can see you’re wondering who I am and what this is about, so I’ll come to the point. The first of July two-thousand-and-seven at The Pierrot Hotel.”

  The A.C.C. stopped dead in his tracks, his ruddy face immediately draining of colour. After a few seconds of his mouth opening and closing silently Kyle spoke again.

  “I’m a D.I., sir, and in the course of an investigation your sealed file on that incident became unsealed. Necessary and fully authorised, I promise you, and it’s now been resealed and locked away again.”

  At the sight of Price’s fleshy lips parting again more purposefully Kyle stopped speaking, curious to hear what the man might say.

  “How many?”

  The spook understood instantly.

  “How many of us know the contents? Five all told, but you don’t need to worry about four of them.”

  This time the A.C.C.’s question came in the form of a finger pointed at Kyle’s chest.

  “Me? Yes, that’s right. I’m the fifth.”

  As Price walked on very slowly Kyle tried to imagine what was running through his head. Should I report this little bastard? No, then it could all come out. Does he want money, and if I pay him will he come back for more? Or is this about something else?

  After a few steps during which Kyle had remained where he was, the corpulent senior officer swung around to face him, a scowl covering his now raspberry coloured face.

  “Go ahead and blackmail me, you bastard! You won’t get a penny!”

  It made the detective smile; the old man had more balls that he’d given him credit for. Kyle said nothing for a moment as a W.P.C. passed by, climbed into her car and drove away, picking up the conversation only when she had gone.

  “Blackmail you? You mean for money... to keep quiet like the girl did? What would you pay me for? Not to give your story to The Chronicle?”

  The A.C.C.’s earlier pallor returned. Evidently the man feared public humiliation most of all; useful to know. It was a threat that he might resort to one day if Price didn’t give him what he wanted, although i
t would have to be done anonymously of course; he had no intention of going to jail.

  “The thing is, sir...”, he paused to give the uniformed boss more time to sweat, “...I don’t really want your money, or to expose you. I want a job. A better job than I have now, and I’m prepared to work hard for it.”

  The senior officer gawped at him. “A job? As what?”

  Kyle perched on the bonnet of the nearest car and folded his arms loosely, making it look as if they were just two mates having a friendly chat.

  “Well, let me see. I’m a D.I. now, so I’d like to be a D.C.I. somewhere for a year or so, then I’d like to be transferred back to Intelligence, that’s where I was for years, but this time as the boss. How would that be?”

  Roy Barrett’s perceived disloyalty in not restricting the sealed file’s access to him alone was going to come back to bite him in the ass.

  The two policemen faced each other in the car-park, neither confiding his innermost thoughts. Kyle knew from his years in Intelligence that the best thing about someone’s dirty secrets was when you held them for leverage but never had to use them, it gave repeated rewards instead of just one big bang; but had Price just had the guts to tell him to sod off then he probably never would have done either, simply walked away with a shrug and said, “Ah well, it was worth a try.”

  But Christopher Price was thinking that he only had three years to go until he could take his big fat pension, and he had far bigger skeletons in his closet than the one Kyle knew about, so the last thing he wanted was for anything, and then everything to be exposed. Besides, although he didn’t like the man in front of him part of him almost admired him; he’d been a chancer all his life and he could spot another one.

  So to Kyle’s surprise, never really believing that his approach would work, a glimmer of amusement appeared in the A.C.C.’s eye and he gave a small but definite nod.

  “Hand in your notice where you are, you’re joining Gang Crime at the end of the month. The next D.C.I. Board’s in October. I can help a bit there but you’ll still have to hit the books.”