Reflex Action

by Andrew Heasman

  “Good luck with that one, sir.” Both men went their separate ways.

  ...

  “DI Peterson, what’s up?” asked Superintendent Mitchelson.

  The DI had already updated his superior about the discovery of Malachi Maclean’s remains, and had told him of his suspicions that Petrov and the Karpov Brothers were responsible.

  “I think Petrov has gone underground again, sir, just like after London,” Colin said.

  “Seems likely. Raiding those addresses must have looked like a huge great sign telling him that we were after him.”

  “What else were we supposed to do?” Colin could feel the anger and resentment building in him again. Mitchelson had a knack for pressing his buttons.

  “I’m not saying you did wrong, Inspector, just that it’s a bit of a giveaway that we are on to them. What have the two prisoners got to say for themselves?”

  “They’re saying nothing, sir.” Colin paused. “We’ve got alerts out at the ports, airports, train stations, everywhere. Patrols are aware, as are CCTV, and we’re conducting Live Obs on the Havering, but so far, nothing, not one sighting of the Russians. It’s my guess that they’ve gone to ground, found someplace to hide until things calm down a bit. If he follows his example after London, we’d better find him fast, or he might never resurface.”

  “So, what’s the plan?” asked Mitchelson.

  “I was thinking you might want to hold a press conference, splash their faces across the media, and get Joe Public to be our eyes and ears.”

  Colin had expected Mitchelson to jump at the opportunity of getting his own face in front of the cameras again, but for some reason he seemed reluctant. “Hmmm, maybe, but I was thinking I’d just get the Press Office to release a statement. If they name names, show mug shots, and warn the public that they are armed and dangerous, that ought to do the job.”

  “If you say so, sir,” replied Colin.

  He was confused. This was a perfect opportunity for his boss to be the face of the investigation. Why turn it down? It was not like him. Mitchelson seemed to be distancing himself from the whole business. Maybe he felt the case was falling apart and he did not want it to tarnish his glorious reputation? Or maybe he considered that having worked on the Drug Squad operation in London; he had already failed to capture Petrov once, failing twice would pretty much end his career? Or maybe there was some other reason that Colin was unaware of? Whatever the case, Mitchelson seemed out of sorts. Something did not seem right, but he could not put his finger on it.

  “Well, I’ll leave it up to you, sir. I’d better be on my way, lots to do.” With that, Colin left the office leaving Mitchelson staring into space, a worried expression spread across his face.

  ...

  Having left Alexandria Park in the dead of night, Sergei, Ivan, and Roman had moved quickly, heading for the industrial estates on the edge of the city. Using the cover of darkness, they had infiltrated a disused factory and warehouse complex.

  The industrial estate had not been used in years, and yet its fenced compound was still littered with discarded lumps of pig iron, rusted steel girders, and mounds of household waste dumped by some unscrupulous fly-tippers. The buildings were locked, or at least, as secure as they could be, having become home to numerous homeless itinerants. Most of the windows were smashed, targets for the hordes of stone-throwing truants during daylight hours. But at that time of night, the site appeared deserted and deathly silent. There were many building dotted about the complex. Some were large cavernous warehouses, others single-storey workshops, but Sergei headed directly to the former office building, a darkened network of interconnected boxlike rooms and corridors.

  With Roman having levered open a boarded-up doorway, they entered the administration building, following a ground-floor corridor to a room near the rear. It was not clean, but it was warmer than it was outside, and it offered a chance to keep a low profile until Sergei had devised a plan for their escape.

  Sergei had switched his mobile phone to silent mode before his rendezvous with Malachi. Now had been the first opportunity that he had to check it. There was a message waiting for him from Anon.

  “Police know who you are – They are hunting you – Hide/disappear.”

  Sergei read it twice, but showed no emotion. He had expected the police to discover his identity eventually; this was just a little sooner than he had anticipated. He sent a quick reply.

  “Like a ghost...”

  He smiled to himself. Part of him enjoyed the subterfuge, the playing of cat and mouse games. Within seconds, another text message arrived.

  “Out of my hands now – On your own – Do NOT contact me again.”

  Sergei saw red. How dare he wash his hands of me, he thought. He replied without thinking.

  “You think so? – If I go down, you do too.”

  Fuck you, he thought. At that, he switched off the phone to conserve battery power. He knew that he would need it later to organise his escape plan.

  Chapter 27

  “I saw The Russian’s face all over the national news tonight,” said Matt Carmine.

  “Yep, that’s why I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, Matt. He’s shown up in connection with the murder of PC Griffiths,” replied Colin.

  Colin had popped round to his friend’s home to tell him about how the focus of the murder enquiry had changed. He told him how the bodycam had been discovered, and of the footage that had been salvaged. He told him how he had been in shock having come face-to-face with Sergei Petrov’s image on the screen, and how he appeared to be the ringleader of the gang that had killed PC Griffiths. And he told him of the latest revelations - the discovery of Malachi’s corpse, and the subsequent manhunt for Sergei and the Karpov Brothers. Matt sat quietly, listening carefully, letting Colin speak uninterrupted.

  “So why has he reappeared up here in Manchester?” asked Matt.

  “No idea, mate. I spoke to DCI Stern, and he said that after our operation went tits-up, The Russian vanished. As far as the Met could ascertain, he’d either gone abroad or been killed by a rival gang. They didn’t hear anything more about him.”

  “How is the old man, by the way?” asked Matt. “He was pretty good to me after...you know...the beating.”

  “Yeah, he’s fine. He’s retired now, lives on the edge of the city.”

  “Good.” Matt smiled. “What’s this Russian’s connection to Manchester?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. We didn’t even know he was here. He’d kept himself below the radar. There were rumours of a Russian having taken control of the estate’s gangs, but no names or faces were ever put to him. It wasn’t until I saw Petrov on the camera footage that we put two and two together.”

  “I bet Mitchelson was happy to see his grinning face, eh?” asked Matt, sarcastically.

  “Nah, he was as shocked as me. He looked like he’d seen a ghost when I brought out the image at the briefing.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t have thought he’d have been that bothered. He hardly had anything to do with him back in the day; it wasn’t like he infiltrated the gang or had a gun put to his head.”

  “You’re right, that does seem a bit strange, doesn’t it? He’s being a bit odd all round, actually. I went to see him earlier about doing a press conference, exactly the sort of thing he’d normally be all over. But he wasn’t interested. I figured he’s trying to avoid putting his face to the investigation in case it all goes wrong.”

  Matt thought about it for a moment. “Well, that does sound like him actually. He always was one to cover his own back.” They both laughed.

  “Is it just me, or does it seem strange that we both had a run-in with this Russian bloke down in London, we both move up to Manchester afterwards, and now he appears up here too?” asked Matt.

  “You’re not thinking conspiracy theories, are you?” Colin chuckled.

  “Could he be following us? Is there any connection between what happened down south, and him turning up
on our doorstep?”

  “Are you being serious?” Colin asked. Matt’s straight face suggested that he was. “Look, if there was a connection, I’d have known about him sooner, or had some sort of contact with him, wouldn’t I? It’s just a coincidence.”

  “Maybe? But, as we always used to say in the squad, we don’t believe in coincidences!” Colin had to admit, now that it had been mentioned; it did seem a bit strange. Was there a connection that he was unaware of?

  Matt changed the subject, “Just a thought, but, as and when you catch Petrov, are the Met looking to prosecute him for the attempted murder on us?”

  “Good question. I dunno actually. I’ll ask Malcolm when I speak to him next. Maybe he’d know. I’d assume the case is still open, so it’s quite likely,” said Colin. “Anyway, I’d better be off, mate. With our three suspects having gone to ground, it’s all hands on deck.”

  ...

  Sergei Petrov had spent the last few hours within the derelict office building on the industrial complex. The sun had risen, and with the increased light, he had explored the various floors and rooms looking for items to make his stay a little more comfortable.

  Ivan had been sent to the upper storey to find a suitable vantage point overlooking the road to the front of the gated compound. From there, he ought to have advance warning should anyone attempt to take them by surprise. His brother, Roman, had been posted by the doorway that they had entered through in an attempt to delay anybody foolish enough to try and enter the building. Both men were armed with handguns.

  As Sergei sat on his dilapidated kitchen chair, his feet raised and propped against a tired wooden desk, he considered his options.

  With the police now aware of his presence in Manchester, and him now being wanted in connection with two murders (one of which was a police officer), his time in the UK was limited. To stand any chance of a future, he needed to escape the country. The problem was that he needed a passport. His own one was stowed inside a secret hiding place in his apartment on the Havering. There was no way that he could get to it without being seen by the police. Besides, even if he could lay his hands on it, he could not use his own name, the ports and airports would already be looking for him. He needed a fake passport with a new identity. He knew a person who could arrange it, that was not a problem. However, new passports were expensive – how could he pay for it? The drugs that he had got from Liverpool would have been an option. If he could sell them to someone, he would be rolling in cash. But, again, the drugs were secreted out of harm’s way, and beyond his reach. It would be too risky to attempt to fetch them. With a new passport, a new ID, and a change in appearance, he could reach the south coast and cross the channel by boat. Slowly, a plan was coming together. At no point did Sergei ever consider how the Karpov Brothers were going to escape. Not my problem, he thought, every man for himself.

  Having arranged a fake driving licence and a new ID for Malachi, he knew exactly the person to contact. The forger, Charlie York (aka “Yorkie”), was already implicated in the drugs shipment supplied from Liverpool, and also the murder of a police officer, by association. It was in his own interests to help Sergei escape from the country. After all, if he was captured, he would ensure that all of his associates would pay the price too.

  Having switched on his mobile phone, Sergei called the forger.

  “Yorkie? I’ve got a job for you,” he said calmly.

  “Ah, Mr Petrov, you’re a very popular man, your face is all over the news,” replied Charlie York.

  “Fuck that. I need a passport and a new ID. Can you do it?”

  “Well, I could sort it for you, but it’ll be expensive, especially at short notice,” he said.

  “Just do it, whatever the cost.” He had no intention of paying him for his services anyway.

  “OK, but we’re talking...I dunno...ten grand.”

  “Are you taking the piss?” roared Sergei. He thought about it for a moment. “Oh, whatever...”

  “I’ll need a portrait photo of you.”

  “No problem, I’ll do it now.”

  “How are you gonna pay me? How will I get the items to you? I take it you ain’t on the estate no more, not with all this police presence? You know, they raided the Karpov’s addresses, and Malachi Maclean’s? None of this better come back on me...” York sounded nervous.

  “Stop worrying, you’ll be fine, I’ll sort it. You just concentrate on getting me my passport and ID, leave the arrangements to me. How long’s it gonna take?” asked Sergei.

  “Two-three days.”

  “Do it. I’ll be in touch.”

  With that, Sergei sent a head and shoulders photo to the forger, and then switched off the phone again. Two or three days having to stay in this hovel was asking a lot, but if he got what he wanted, and the police were none the wiser, he would be on his way to freedom. As for the money, he was still armed. When it came to collecting his documents, he would dispose of York himself. What difference would another murder make?

  ...

  Sergei had underestimated Charlie York. He had assumed that his formidable reputation, and the fear factor, would ensure that the forger followed his instructions to the letter. What he could not know from his secluded hideout, was the intense police efforts on the Havering Estate to locate him, and the Karpov Brothers.

  York had heard about the police raids on Malachi’s address, and the subsequent riot. He had heard that Malachi had been suspected of killing a police officer, and that he had subsequently been found dead in the park. And he had seen for himself, the police raids on addresses connected to Malachi, including those of the Karpov’s. Charlie knew that two men had been arrested in those raids, and word on the street was that both were talking to the police, telling them everything that they knew. He knew from the TV news that Petrov was the primary suspect and that the police were using every resource that they could muster to locate him. The Russian’s days of power, ruling over the estate, were over.

  However, York also understood that if he helped Sergei to get out of the country, he would always be looking over his shoulder, waiting for him to reappear, to threaten him, or to drag him deeper into trouble. And if Sergei was arrested, he would be implicated because he had provided the driving licence and cloned credit card used by Malachi, and would have provided Sergei’s new passport. He needed a way out, a way of getting Sergei off his back, once and for all. But how?

  Sergei always contacted him by mobile phone, a pay-as-you-go phone, a burner phone. It was unregistered, untraceable, but York had its number. What if he anonymously passed it to the police? They could triangulate its location from the mobile network’s masts and find Sergei. But how could he pass on this information without implicating himself? It came to him in a flash. He could call the freephone number advertised on TV. He was not 100% sure how it worked, but he knew that it was an anonymous way of reporting crime, and that, depending on the information supplied, he might even receive a reward. His mind was made up.

  Using his own mobile phone, Charlie called the number and offered to provide the mobile phone details for the fugitive, Sergei Petrov, in return for a reasonable reward. Those taking the call were understandably dubious about the validity of the information, but over a number of subsequent phone calls, a deal was arranged, and the number was passed to the police.

  Charlie was relieved. A huge weight had been removed from his shoulders. If all went to plan, anonymous information (untraceable to him) would result in the arrest of Petrov in the next day or two. As far as Petrov was concerned, he was still preparing his new passport for him; he would have no idea that it was him who had leaked the information. The plan might just work. He would finally be rid of the unpredictable Russian (and he would be getting paid by the police as a bonus). But still, in the back of his mind, was the nagging doubt that maybe the police could trace his number and identify him, despite the call handler stating that his calls were totally confidential. It was a risk he was willing to take.

>   Chapter 28

  The murder investigation had come to a standstill.

  Every effort to locate Petrov and the Karpov Brothers was being made. Enquiries were ongoing, CCTV was being monitored constantly, and every informant had been offered incentives to supply information leading to their arrests. And yet, it had been the best part of a whole day without any positive news. Colin was feeling the strain. He felt despondent.

  “Guv, Guv, you ain’t gonna believe this.” Gary rushed into the DI’s office brandishing a sheet of paper. “We’ve had an anonymous tip-off.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Colin, totally disbelieving what his Sergeant was saying.

  “Someone’s given us Petrov’s mobile number. It’s been checked, it came through official channels. It’s a burner phone, unregistered, but they claim it belongs to Sergei, and that he has it on him now, wherever he’s hiding.”

  Colin pondered what he had just been told. He scratched his head, tugging at his hair. “It could be a wind-up,” he said, sceptically.

  “Yeah, it could be, sir. But on the other hand, what if it’s legit? It might lead us straight to our man.”

  Both men stood in silence, each deep in their own thoughts.

  “Right,” said the DI, decisively. “Sort out all of the legal paperwork and permissions to get a trace put on that number. If it’s switched on, I want it triangulated, and a location obtained. If it’s off, we’ve got nothing.”

  “Yes, Guv, I’ll get it done ASAP. If it’s off, I’ll get them to monitor its status around the clock. As soon as he switches it on, I’ll get them to ping the number and get its location.”

  Later that afternoon, DS French returned to Colin’s office.

  “The trace is now LIVE, sir, but the bad news is that the phone’s switched off.”

  “Shit,” Colin replied. “Maybe Petrov knows that we can trace his phone so he’s switched it off on purpose, or destroyed it totally?”