Fogarty: A City of London Thriller (15 page)

“I’m locking the door, Miss. Give me a
shout when you want to be out.”

Ashley, Ben’s long lost twin sister, set the tray down on the only piece of furniture in the room, a straight backed wooden chair of indeterminable vintage. As she stood up she pulled open her jacket to reveal a black battery pack attached to her belt. She also pointed out what had been until then a concealed microphone. Ben understood her silently delivered message.

“So, Ben Fogarty, you walked right into Dennis’ trap. I thought you were smarter than that.”

“So did I,” Ben replied glumly, playing his part in the broadcast. “
I thought you were in trouble.”

“And so you came running. How galla
nt of you, if slightly stupid.”

“I trusted Lawrence. I thought he was just a concerned husband who was worried about his wife.”

“Ben, don’t judge Lawrence too harshly. He was under tremendous pressure. Dennis threatened me and, knowing that you weren’t the heartless bastard he is, he fully expected you to track me down. When my PA told me you were seeking a meeting I was already here. Dennis knew you would follow and so he laid a trail for you.” She paused. “A great many people have underestimated Dennis Grierson. He has the sort of cunning that ma
kes him a dangerous adversary.”

“You seem to admire him,” Ben
observed.

“No, that is so far from the truth it’s laughable, but I do offer every opponent in business
, or in life generally, my respect. If I didn’t I would underestimate them and probably be caught out. I suspect you know that as well as anyone, having played rugby at international level.” Ben merely nodded.

“Look, Ben, I will do what I can to persuade Dennis to go easy on you, but I haven’t had any sway over him since I cut him out of my life as a child. It was my decision, you know. The social workers and my adoptive parents were keen on me maintaining contact with Dennis, but I wouldn’t. He was mad as hell when he heard; in fact he still is. But I wasn’t prepared to be his thirteen y
ear old daughter and mistress.”

“He seemed to be making up for lost ground upstairs,”
Ben said, a little too harshly.

“That was a power play. Grierson doesn’t want me, not in a sexual way
, anyway. I’m way too old for him. No, that was the ritual humiliation of my husband. Dennis was displaying his power over Lawrence. He was showing him that he could molest me anytime he wanted and make Lawrence watch, and there would be nothing my husband could do to stop him. Dennis is big on sending messages, that’s why you’re in so much danger.”

“Will he kill me?” Ben’s question was
asked unemotionally.

“Maybe. You attacked him in his home. More than that, in the very centre of his fiefdom, you humiliated him and started a chain of events that led to his eviction from his own manor.” She paused and looked into Ben’s eyes. “He lost almost a third of a million pounds in drugs and stolen goods in the cou
p that followed your visit. He’s as mad as hell, Ben.”

“So this coul
d be our first and last visit?”

“I hope not, Ben. I would like to get to know you. I’d like us to be brother and sister, as we should have been.” Ashley moved towards her brother and hugged him. Ben felt something slip into his pocket. “I have to go now. We have visitors tonight, from Belgium. They are the ones whose drugs were lost and they want their money. Dennis is hosting a dinner upstairs to plead for time to pay. He’ll probably have to sell this place to pay them back. I’m attending to pr
ovide the glamour, apparently.”

“Why, Ashley? Why, when you had escaped his clutches, did you allow him back into your life?”

“I didn’t, Ben. Lawrence did, through business dealings mainly. I knew Grierson was trying to get at me through Lawrence but I always kept my distance. Until yesterday, that is, when you stabbed him in the leg and I became
a pawn in your power struggle.”

“I’m so
rry.” Ben was truly apologetic.

“Water under the bridge, bro. Let’s see what tomorrow brings. At short notice all I could get were sandwiches, a can of Coke and a bottle of water. You need to stay hydrated.” As Ashley pointed at the Coke she nodded but when she pointed at the water she shook her head
and mouthed the word ‘drugged’.

“Until tomorrow, then, little brother.” Ben looked puzzled. “Oh, didn’t they tell you? I am older by seven minutes.” At that she walked to the door, tapped and was let ou
t.

***

Ben ate his dinner, avoiding the water, and then felt inside his pocket. There was a key and a note. He read:

‘Ben, at precisely 7am in the morning I will call Lenny away from the cellar where he is tasked with holding you. Unlock the door with the key and relock it behind you. Place the key in Lenny’s jacket pocket and move quickly up the stairs to the ground floor where you will see opposite you a door to the library. It will be empty. It has a sash window that leads out onto the front path. Get away as quickly as possible. They plan to come for you at 9am when the Belgians have gone off to St Pancras and if you are still here it will not be pleasant. You know where to find me. Don’t forget me. Ash.’

Ben slipped the note back into his pocket, then sat on the floor with his back against the wall and dozed.

***

When Ben awoke he was till in the same position he had been, leaning against the wall. He looked at his watch. It was 1am. He had stirred at the sound of something heavy falling to the floor above him. He moved to the door and pressed his ear to the new panelled door. Ben heard Lenny grunt and then scrape back his chair. He had also been asleep, it appeared. There were urgent footsteps coming down to the cellar door.

“What are you doing down here...
?” Lenny didn’t have time to finish his question before Ben heard two pops and the sound of someone falling to the floor. The Kiwi had seen enough TV movies to know what a silenced gunshot sounded like. Fearing he was next, he flattened himself against the wall so that when the door opened he would be concealed, and anyone entering would have to expose themselves to attack before they could get off a shot. The door handle rattled as someone tried the door and discovered that it was locked. Ben held his breath. Seconds later the urgent footsteps were hurrying up the stairs, and Ben breathed out; a temporary reprieve.

Ben waited a good ten minutes before he unlocked the door and ventured out of his prison. Lenny lay slumped on the floor beside an old office chair on castors. His eyes were open and empty, dead eyes that declared to anyone looking that the soul had left the body. Looking more closely, Ben saw that the grouping of the shots had been poor; one was through the heart and one had entered via the throat. These were inexpert shots from someone standing just feet away. The bottom of the stairs was just ten feet from Lenny’s makeshift desk. There was no point in checking for signs of life.

‘I wonder if the Belgians are cleaning house?” Ben thought as he checked through Lenny’s pockets. Sure enough, he found what he was looking for - a mobile phone. He picked up the phone and pressed the call button to awaken it. The phone was password protected. He typed in 1,2,3,4 but that failed to work. He typed 0,0,0,0 - another factory default - but that didn’t work either. Finally he tried 1,1,1,1 and the phone showed a message: phone locked, emergency call only. Ben dialled 111, then remembered he w
as in London and redialled 999.

Having quietly relayed the information to an operator, he was assured that an armed response team would be sent immediately but that it would take some time to get to Blackheath from the nearest main police station. The operator told him to stay where he was and keep quiet until help
arrived.

Curiosity, concern for his sister and the absence of any sound at all from above gave Ben the courage to explore the rectory a little further. Before he set off he checked Lenny’s belt and there, tucked into it at the small of his back, was his gun. Ben took the gun, a Glock 19 semi compact. The battleship grey polymer frame supported steel sides, and Ben had used enough Glocks to know that there would be up to five kilos of pressure required on the trigger each time he wanted to fire a 9mm round. He checked the magazine. It was full. That was good. He had te
n rounds to call on, if needed.

Holding the gun ready,
and in two-handed mode, Ben climbed the stairs as quietly as he could. The bare wooden treads had been replaced in the refurbishment and did not creak. Ben had always known that one day he would be grateful to a builder for something.

Scanning the ground floor corridor, Ben listened for the slightest sound. Years earlier, in the bush with his Maori mentor, Ben had learned how to stand silently for up to an hour, listening for game and trying to sense its presence. He called on those old tribal skills now. Nothing moved. The house was silent and might be empty;
there were no signs of life. One room at a time, and beginning with the Library, Ben cleared the ground floor. All doors and windows were secure, and so whoever it was who killed Lenny had to have been invited in.

Upstairs Ben waited again. He knew that he had to be careful. The first door he tried was a bathroom; empty. The next two rooms were small bedrooms and were unfurnished. There were two more doors and a staircase to the upper floor. He stood with his ear to the first door. There was no sound coming from within. Ben turned the handle whilst pressing his body to the block wall, not wanting to take a round fired through the door, and then threw the door open. There was no response and so he entered the room in a protective stance, with his gun levelled. What h
e saw shocked and appalled him.

Dennis Grierson was lying on what had been pristine white bedding. He was dressed only in a pair of briefs, his mangled leg bloody and badly bandaged; that had been Ben’s doing. But the cause of death was glaringly obvious. Grierson’s head was attached to his body by nothing more than a few tendons and his spine. From the look of shock frozen on his face, and the damage caused to his throat, Ben imagined that his throat
had been slit from behind with the sort of venom that only an angry drug dealer could muster. The damage was terrible. Ben had little sympathy for the man who had provided him with the spark of life, but no one deserved to die like that. A wet red stain was still spreading slowly underneath the body as the Egyptian cotton soaked up the blood by capillary action. The sweet metallic smell of blood hung in the still air. Ben moved to a door on the other side of the room and opened it. The en suite bathroom attached to the bedroom was empty.

Ben moved back into the corridor and placed his hand on the doorknob, and was about to turn it qui
etly when all hell broke loose.

The front door smashed against the wall and heav
y feet ran along the corridor.

“Armed police! Stay where you are! Do not move!” was being repeated by numerous voices in a confusion of shouting and yelling. Remembering that he was carrying a gun, he laid it on the floor and stood at the top of the stai
rs with his hands on his head.

“Library clear!
” was followed by other officers declaring the other ground floor rooms clear of threat.

“One dead, lower ground floor.” They had found Lenny. Two officers with assault rifles started to ascend the stairs, yelling, “Armed police!
Nobody move!” Then they caught sight of Ben. “Turn around slowly, keep your hands on your head and kneel down.” It was almost impossible to fall to his knees without using his hands but Ben managed it. Handcuffs were snapped onto his wrists. He could have complained and explained who he was, but now was not the time. A dozen armed men driven by adrenaline were looking for a target, and Ben did not want to be in their sights.

The two me
n cleared Grierson’s room, shouting that they had another man dead on the first floor. They stood either side of the final bedroom door and pushed it open, racing in, yelling at anyone inside to remain still. The only person who Ben could see in the bedroom was very still indeed. Lawrence, his brother in law, lay on his side, a single hole in his forehead and remnants of the exit wound spread over the bedding and carpet. “One more dead,” the policeman shouted.

“Three so far,” another voice shouted from downstairs. Ben was now panicking. Where was Ashley? He didn’t have to wait for long to find out.

“Female body in the bathtub. No signs
of life. Get a medic up here.”

Ben collapsed onto his haunches. What had he started?

The Rectory, Duke Humphreys Road, Blackheath, London.

Wednesday 17
th
August 2011; 2am.

Gus Patterson had been a paramedic for five years, but until today he had never encountered a dead body that had met its end by violence. Obviously he had seen people badly injured, even maimed, in violent attacks, but every death he had encountered had been accidental or natural. Now, in the space of a few minutes, he had decided no ‘attempt to revive’ was necessary on three males who had been either shot or stabbed. It was not his call to declare them ‘lifeless’ or dead; that was for the hospital or the coroner’s people. Instead he headed into the en suite bathroom, where a police officer had encountered signs of life. Maybe Gus could save someone today. He hoped so. This house of horrors would live in his memory long after Halloween.