Hard Landing (26 page)

‘A fair bit.’

‘You’ll need more than a fair bit. Getting out from an open-and-shut case costs.’

‘I’ve got a few hundred grand offshore. Even the wife doesn’t know about it.’

‘How good is the case against you?’

‘I was caught red-handed. I wasn’t carrying but there was a shotgun inside the warehouse.’

‘Witnesses?’

‘I think one of the guys is grassing.’

‘That’s where you start,’ said Carpenter. ‘You have to get him out of the equation.’

‘Buy him off, you mean?’

‘Whatever it takes.’

Shepherd’s heart was racing. This was what he’d been working towards. It was why he was behind bars. ‘Are you talking about something else?’

‘Like I said, whatever it takes.’

‘And what about the evidence?’

‘You make it go away.’

‘What – like abracadabra?’

‘Like paying someone to make it go away.’

‘You can do that?’

‘Anyone can do it, providing you’ve got the money and the right person to give it to.’

Shepherd was pedalling slower now. ‘The cops have got the shooter,’ he said.

‘So a cop can make it go away.’

‘And you’ve got people who can do that?’

‘We’re not talking about me,’ said Carpenter, ‘we’re talking about you. You find out where the shooter’s kept and then you get to someone in the station. Or an officer on the case.’

‘Oh, come on,’ protested Shepherd. ‘That’s Fantasy Island.’

Carpenter put his hands on the bike’s handlebars and concentrated on pedalling. Shepherd realised he’d offended him. ‘I mean, do it wrong and I’ll end up on corruption charges,’ he said.

‘So don’t do it wrong,’ said Carpenter. ‘Put out feelers. You don’t do it yourself, obviously. You get someone on the out to make the approach.’

‘What do you reckon it would cost? To get rid of evidence?’

‘Hypothetically?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Thirty grand. Forty, maybe.’

Shepherd stopped pedalling. ‘Forty thousand quid?’

‘That’s why I was asking if you had ready money. You can’t piss around, Bob. And buying off a cop has to be a hell of a lot cheaper than buying off a judge.’ He grinned again. ‘Hypothetically.’

Shepherd carried his lunch tray back to the cell. Cottage pie, chips and baked beans. Chocolate pudding and custard. It was no wonder that so many men on the spur were overweight.

Lee was still in the queue down on the ones, but Shepherd sat on his bunk and toyed with his food. The conversation he’d had with Carpenter had been a big step forward. He had been far more forthcoming than Shepherd could have hoped. He’d practically admitted to paying off cops on the outside, and come close to suggesting that Shepherd bribe a policeman and kill a witness. Shepherd’s word on its own wouldn’t be good enough to get a conviction, though. He’d have to do what Hargrove wanted and wear a wire. But that would be taking one hell of a risk.

He ate a forkful of cottage pie. It was greasy and tasteless, the potato lumpy and cold.

Another problem was getting on the gym list regularly. That would mean persuading Lloyd-Davies to put him on it or paying off Digger again. Shepherd had to know when and where he’d be talking to Carpenter: it would be far too dangerous to wear a wire all the time. And what would he do with the wire when he wasn’t wearing it? There was hardly any space in the cramped cell, and it would be next to impossible to keep it hidden from Lee. Hargrove had suggested he use a recorder made to look like a CD player or Walkman, but it had to be functional or Lee would be suspicious. And Shepherd was all too well aware of how often equipment malfunctioned. He’d experienced everything from leaking batteries to microphone feedback. Usually on an undercover operation he’d have back-up close by so that if something went wrong he could be pulled out, but that wasn’t possible in Shelton.

Shepherd had confirmation that Carpenter was killing witnesses and destroying evidence, but he didn’t know yet how he was doing it and who was helping him. Shepherd suspected it was Tony Stafford, but Hargrove was going to want proof. Hargrove knew exactly how dangerous it would be for Shepherd to wear a wire, but he’d still asked – because he knew that if Carpenter wasn’t stopped more people would die on the outside until he got what he wanted. His freedom.

Healey appeared at the door to Carpenter’s cell. ‘Got your papers here, Carpenter,’ said the prison officer.

‘Thanks, Mr Healey,’ said Carpenter. He went to the door and took them. The
Daily Mail
, the
Daily Telegraph
and the
Guardian
. ‘What was the hold-up?’ As a rule the papers arrived before dinner.

‘Short-staffed today. We didn’t have anyone to check them. The post’s running late too.’

Carpenter took his papers over to the table and flicked through the
Guardian
. The spur always seemed to be short-staffed on Saturdays. The officers didn’t like working weekends. The envelope was in the City section. He ripped it open and took out a single sheet of paper. The tapes had been wiped. Now only Sandy Roper stood between him and freedom. And Kim Fletcher was on the case.

A prisoner appeared at the door. It was Andy Philpott.

‘Got your papers, Mr Carpenter.’ He handed Carpenter
The Times
and the
Mirror
.

‘Thanks, Andy,’ said Carpenter.

‘Got your cappuccino, too,’ said Philpott. He put a box of sachets on Carpenter’s bunk.

Philpott was in his early twenties, remanded on burglary charges. Fifty-seven offences. Despite being a prolific housebreaker he had little in the way of money to show for it. His savings had soon gone to pay his lawyers, and now his wife and small child had to rely on family income support. He used his prison allowance to purchase items Carpenter wanted from the canteen, and Carpenter paid his wife on the out, ten pounds for every pound spent inside. It was an arrangement that suited them both. Philpott wasn’t a smoker and didn’t have a sweet tooth, and he was prepared to survive on prison food if it meant his family had an easier life.

‘Appreciate it,’ said Carpenter. As Philpott left, Digger arrived at the cell door.

‘Okay if I come in, Gerry?’ asked Digger.

‘Sure,’ said Carpenter. He waved at the chair. ‘Please.’

Digger sat down. ‘Drink?’ Carpenter had a selection of bottles and cans on his table including Fanta, Coca-Cola, 7-Up, orange juice and sparkling water. He also had tea-bags, coffee, the cappuccino sachets and two flasks of hot water.

‘OJ’s fine,’ said Digger. Carpenter poured him some and handed the glass to him.

‘How’s things?’

‘Fine,’ said Digger. ‘There’s a new guy on the ones bringing in crack next week. He’s done hard time before so he knows the score. His girlfriend can regurgitate at will, he says.’

‘More detail than I needed.’ Carpenter laughed. ‘How much?’

‘He says twenty grams but I’ll check he’s not pulling a fast one. We’re taking thirty per cent but if it becomes regular we’ll take more.’ Digger reached into the pocket of his tracksuit and gave Carpenter a gold band. ‘There’s the ring you wanted.’

Carpenter took it, pulled a face, then placed it on his pillow. ‘What happened to Jurczak?’

‘Got stamped on. The new guy, Macdonald. He wanted to be on the cleaning crew.’

‘Sounds like he got what he wanted.’

Digger shrugged. ‘Macdonald came through with five hundred. Someone had to get the job, seemed easier to give him what he wanted.’

‘Is he going to be a problem?’

‘I can handle him.’

‘Is that what Needles thought?’

‘He caught him by surprise.’

Carpenter laughed.

Digger’s face hardened. ‘He hit him while he wasn’t looking.’

‘Is Needles letting bygones be bygones?’

‘It’s personal so I’m not interfering. If he wants to stick Macdonald, that’s his call.’

‘I don’t want the spur locked down because there’s blood on the floor,’ said Carpenter. ‘If it turns into a gang war, we’ll all suffer.’

‘Macdonald’s a loner, he won’t have anyone backing him up. But I hear what you’re saying, Gerry.’

‘What do think of him, this Macdonald?’

‘Keeps himself to himself unless there’s something he wants. Then he goes for it.’

‘Is he into you for anything?’

‘Doesn’t smoke, doesn’t do drugs. Isn’t interested in betting. Hardly ever uses the phone. Doesn’t even spend at the canteen.’

‘The man’s a saint?’

‘It’s like he’s not even here.’

‘Doesn’t look like a hard man, but Needles is no pushover.’

‘Macdonald’s hard, all right, even if he’s not big.’

‘But you can handle him?’

‘I won’t be fighting him. What he wanted wasn’t unreasonable. And he paid the five hundred straight away. Needles was taking liberties, so more fool him.’

‘Who paid?’

‘Some guy on the out. Said he was his uncle. Turned up at my sister’s with the readies in an envelope.’

‘Notes okay?’

‘Do me a favour, Gerry, I wasn’t born yesterday.’ He drained his glass and placed it on the table. ‘Thanks for the juice.’

‘Thanks for dropping by.’

Carpenter picked up the wedding ring and examined it as Digger left. It was a simple band, twenty-four-carat gold. Inside was an inscription: ‘Simon and Louise. For ever.’

Alice Roper popped her head round the sitting-room door and told her two boys to get ready for bed.

‘What’s the point, Mum? It’s not like we’ve got school tomorrow, is it?’ moaned David. ‘It’s Sunday.’

‘It’s almost ten,’ said Alice. ‘Do as you’re told.’

‘When can we go back to school?’ asked Ben.

‘Soon.’

‘When’s soon? Monday?’

Alice didn’t know what to say to her children. They’d been kept away from school since the day Ben had been approached in the street and they’d had to move away from the family home. She didn’t want to worry her children, but obviously they knew something was wrong. No school. Moving to a strange house. She didn’t want to lie to them, but how could she tell them the truth, that men were trying to kill their father? ‘I don’t know, Ben. As soon as I do, so will you. Believe me, it’s no fun having you under my feet all day.’

‘I hate this house,’ said David.

‘You and me both,’ responded Alice. ‘Now bed. Both of you.’

Her husband was sitting at the kitchen table, his hands round a mug of tea that she’d made almost an hour earlier. The kitchen was tiny, about a third of the size of the one in their own home. Everything about the so-called safe-house was small, And there were only two cramped bedrooms so the boys had to share a double bed.

‘Sandy, we can’t go on like this,’ said Alice. She sat down opposite him.

Roper looked up, his eyes blank, as if his thoughts were a million miles away. ‘What?’

Alice waved a hand round the kitchen. ‘This place. It’s just not suitable.’

‘It’s temporary. And it’s safe.’

The house was in the middle of a sand-coloured brick terrace at the end of a small cul-de-sac in one of the older areas of Milton Keynes, the anonymous new town some fifty miles to the north of London. The Church had also arranged to use a room in a house at the entrance to the cul-de-sac. The owners were being paid handsomely and had been told that the men in the room were Drugs Squad officers on a surveillance operation. From their position they could monitor everyone who entered and left the dead-end street. There were only two ways into the house: the front door, which was approached across a small paved courtyard separated from the road by a low brick wall, and the rear door, which opened on to a walled garden. Beyond the garden there was a school playing-field. Anyone approaching the rear of the house could easily be seen from the upstairs bathroom window, where a man from the Church was permanently stationed with binoculars and night-vision goggles. Roper could see the advantages of being in the house, but the rooms were small and, other than the garden, there was nowhere for the children to play safely.

‘They won’t even let me out to buy food,’ complained Alice. ‘I have to give them a shopping list, like I was an invalid or something. Half the potatoes they came back with this morning were rotten.’

‘I’ll speak to them about the potatoes,’ said Roper. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes had dark circles under them. Neither had slept much the previous night. The man on bathroom duty had a smoker’s cough and an irritating sniff, and the walls had little in the way of soundproofing.

‘This isn’t about potatoes, it’s about living like animals,’ said Alice. ‘It’s like we’re the ones in prison here. Every time we want to use the bathroom we have to ask permission. I bet Carpenter has more freedom than we do.’

‘It won’t be for ever.’

‘It feels like we’ve been here for ever already,’ she said. ‘This isn’t fair on the children.’

‘I know.’

‘Why can’t they go and stay with my parents?’

‘Because if Carpenter knows who I am he’ll know everything else about us. Every friend, every relative. Nowhere will be safe.’

‘I can’t even go for a walk.’

Roper leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, exasperated. There was a small damp patch above the kitchen sink. The house had been neglected for many years: the once-white paintwork had yellowed, the door handles on the kitchen units were loose and the gas cooker was caked with burnt grease. Alice had done her best to clean the place, but she was right, it wasn’t suitable for a family – although with the best will in the world, Roper didn’t see what he could do to remedy the situation. The purpose of the safe-house was protection, not comfort. And, as he kept telling his wife, it wouldn’t be for ever. Gerald Carpenter wasn’t being vindictive and his attempts to put pressure on Roper weren’t personal. All he wanted was to keep his freedom, and once a judge had handed down a sentence that would be an end to it.