The Killing Club (9 page)

Kent shook his head; doubtless he was a seasoned reporter, a man who’d witnessed the aftermath of many atrocities, but he looked genuinely shaken by what he’d witnessed on the lonely road from Brancaster to King’s Lynn.

‘Can you confirm whether or not Peter Rochester is on the casualty list, Rob?’

‘The official line is that we have no word about Rochester’s location or condition at this time. Of course, he was being transferred to hospital because he was thought to have suffered a heart attack yesterday afternoon, so what state he’s likely to be in now is anyone’s guess …’

Heck stood up, his chair scraping back so loudly that other customers jumped. ‘Tamara, love!’ he shouted. ‘You’re going to have to cancel those Benedicts.’

She turned from the range, dismayed. ‘They’re almost done!’

‘Sorry darling … I’ve got to go. I’m sure someone else’ll appreciate them.’ He hurled the requisite money onto the counter and dashed from the café.

‘Heck … you’re flaming murder!’

Various SCU detectives were present in the DO when Heck barged in, still in his day-off gear of jeans, sweatshirt and trainers. The first one to see him came hurriedly across the office. It was DC Shawna McCluskey. Originally, like Heck, a member of Greater Manchester Police, she was short, athletic and dark-haired, but a toughie too, whose pretty freckled face belied her blunt, blue-collar attitude.

‘I bloody wouldn’t, Heck!’ she advised. ‘I genuinely wouldn’t.’

‘Seriously, pal,’ DS Eric Fisher added, lumbering up. He was SCU’s main intelligence man, and possibly the oldest officer still on the team. He was heavily built and pot-bellied, wore horn-rimmed glasses, and boasted a massive red/grey beard that the average Viking would have been proud of. ‘This has hit Gemma too … like a bombshell.’

‘Yeah, she’s been up half the night and she’s at her wits’ end,’ Shawna said.

‘So she’s in?’ Heck replied.

‘For the next few minutes, yeah. Then she’s off to Norfolk.’

‘She taking point on this?’

‘Deputy SIO,’ Fisher said. ‘They’re putting a taskforce together as we speak.’

Heck gave a wry smile. ‘Let me guess … Frank Tasker’s running it?’

‘He’s in there with her now.’

‘SOCAR …’ Heck shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t pay them in washers. I presume “we have no word about Rochester’s location or condition” is a euphemism for the bastard’s been sprung, flipping us the finger as he went?’

Fisher shrugged. ‘They haven’t got a clue where he is.’

‘And I suppose SOCAR were in charge of the transfer?’

‘Yeah, but that means they’ve taken the most losses,’ Shawna said. ‘Look Heck, Tasker seems an okay bloke … but he’s going to be feeling it today.’

‘I knew we weren’t done with these murdering, raping bastards …’

‘
We
are done with them,’ Shawna insisted. ‘You’ve heard what Gemma said.
You’re
not involved.’ But he was already backing to the door. ‘Heck, don’t do this.’

He left the room.

‘Oh shit,’ Shawna said.

‘You got that right,’ Fisher agreed.

Heck walked up the central corridor to Gemma’s cramped little office. The door stood ajar and he could hear voices inside. They weren’t heated or raised, but there was tension there – he could tell that much already. He knocked.

‘This had better be really important!’ came Gemma’s whipcrack response.

‘I’d say it was important, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘Can I come in?’

There was a brief, telling silence.

‘Yeah … come in, Heck.’

He entered, finding Ben Kane in there as well as Frank Tasker.

For her part, Gemma was slumped behind her desk, while Tasker was seated on the edge of it – which posture irked Heck no end. Okay, the guy was likely to be under pressure and probably in mourning for the personnel he’d lost, but from what Heck knew of Tasker’s reputation, he was one of those ultra high-ranking cops who always made themselves at home whoever’s office they were in. His jacket was draped over the only other chair – while Kane stood.

The next thing Heck noticed was that both Gemma and Tasker had drawn pistols from the armoury: Tasker wore his in a shoulder-holster; Gemma’s lay on the desk in front of her, alongside a glossy photograph. Guns were never ever a good thing.

It was still relatively early in the day – Heck had made it from Fulham to New Scotland Yard in near record time – but Gemma was already less than her usual pristine self. A strikingly handsome woman anyway, she didn’t need much makeup, but she believed in appearances, in making a lasting impression; and yet today she looked tired and worn. Tasker, who if Heck recalled rightly, was also known for being a snazzy dresser, was suited, but in a similarly rumpled state. Even his artificially bronzed looks had paled to an ashen hue. Only Kane seemed relaxed, maintaining his usual air of scholarly attentiveness.

‘Heck,’ Gemma said. ‘You know Commander Tasker? Serious Offender Control and Retrieval. He heads up their Special Investigations unit …’

‘I know him, yeah,’ Heck replied.

‘Sergeant Heckenburg,’ Tasker said with a curt nod.

‘Sir.’ Heck turned back to Gemma. ‘What a bloody disaster.’

She sighed. ‘By any standards. Before you ask, we’re working on the basis it’s down to a Nice Guys team who’ve come in from abroad. Somehow or other, they managed to bring an entire arsenal of high-tech weapons with them …’

‘Unless the weapons were already here,’ Heck said. ‘I know two or three underworld quartermasters we can lean on straight away …’

‘For the record!’ she interrupted. ‘We’ve lost sixteen officers, two prison personnel and two ambulance crew. There are no wounded … no survivors.’

‘A courting couple got the chop too,’ Tasker added. ‘Two civvies.’

‘How’s that?’ Heck asked.

Tasker glanced at Kane, who rummaged through his pocket-book. ‘A Jenny Barker and Ronald Withersnap,’ Kane said. ‘Looks like they were out for a late-night canoodle when the Nice Guys ran over their parked car in a JCB, killing them both in the process. They then used their bodies and the wreck of their car to stage the accident.’

‘Jesus Christ …’ Heck breathed.

‘Worst of the worst, this lot,’ Tasker said, his eyes meeting Heck’s – their gaze was cold, distinctly unfriendly. ‘Which of course you won’t need us to tell
you
about. Anyway, now you’re as clued-in as we are, sergeant.’

It seemed to be a morning for euphemisms. That one clearly meant ‘so fuck off back to your own office’.

Instead of taking the hint, Heck continued to ask questions. ‘What about Silver?’

‘No sign of him,’ Gemma said, with another ill-disguised sigh.

‘They just whisked him away?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘Isn’t he supposed to be ill?’

‘Not “supposed to be”,’ Tasker said. ‘He
is
ill. The prison infirmary confirmed it.’

‘Is it serious? I mean, how far do we expect him to get?’

‘We don’t know, Heck … okay?’ Gemma replied in a patient tone. ‘It’s too early to say.’

Heck pondered. ‘Well, I suppose the next question is did he actually tell you anything useful before he disappeared? I mean during the prison interviews?’ Their expressions remained blank. ‘Surely you’re allowed to discuss that now he’s gone?’

‘We’re not going to discuss it at this stage,’ Gemma said.

‘Which means he told you nothing …’

‘Which means we’re not discussing it,’ Tasker asserted.

‘Heck,’ Gemma said. ‘You know the kind of intel we were trying to glean from those interviews. We wanted to know about other Nice Guys associates. About Nice Guys operations abroad … how many there are, where they are, who they are. Regardless of where Peter Rochester is now, there’s still a significant amount of sensitivity surrounding that information.’

Heck shook his head. ‘I don’t see why.’

‘Because if you
must
know, sergeant,’ Tasker interjected, ‘the various law enforcement agencies we’re in contact with overseas are well aware of the damage done to your own enquiry into the Nice Guys by a British police insider. They don’t want their investigations to suffer in the same way.’

Which, Heck had to admit, made a kind of sense.

‘Subsequently, all info related to the prison interviews with Peter Rochester is still being handled on a need-to-know basis,’ Tasker added.

Heck nodded. ‘Okay, okay … but just out of interest, what’s this?’

He indicated the photograph on Gemma’s desk, which appeared to depict a dented car door, marked here and there with bullet holes, but in the centre of which a jumble of apparently meaningless letters had been crudely inscribed in the paintwork.

BDEL

‘That was carved into the driver’s door of the SOCAR command vehicle,’ Kane said. ‘We’re not sure what it means yet … if it means anything.’

‘
BDEL
…?’ Heck mused.

‘We’re not going to town on that yet,’ Gemma added. ‘For all we know it could have been done before – at the prison, maybe even before then. The car was a fully marked police vehicle. If the driver had parked up somewhere, I dunno … to buy chips. Some lowlife with an attitude comes along …’

Heck looked sceptical. ‘Wouldn’t the driver have noticed? It’s on his door.’

‘We don’t know what it is yet,’ Tasker replied. ‘All options are still on the table.’

‘But in the event it turns out to be relevant,’ Gemma said, ‘and is perhaps some kind of signature, we’re keeping it in-house, yeah?’

Heck shrugged. ‘Yeah, sure. So … I suppose it’s down to practicalities. Do we know how many casualties we inflicted on the ambushers? If we bagged a few of them, we can be checking hospitals and …’

‘None,’ Ben Kane said.

‘You mean none that we know about?’ When Heck received no answer, he glanced from one to the other. ‘What’re you saying … our people didn’t even return fire?’

‘A couple of the police weapons found at the scene had been discharged, but it looks as if that was in panic,’ Tasker said.

‘Seems like they were taken totally by surprise,’ Gemma added. ‘And by overwhelming forces.’

Heck could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Hadn’t SOCAR known they were escorting one of the most dangerous criminals in Britain? Or had they been too busy taking it all in their stride, playing it cool? He wanted to ask that question aloud. Wanted to give full voice to exactly how such arrogant incompetence made him feel, but of course it would be impolitic – it was always impolitic. ‘I hear you’re forming a taskforce to go after them, ma’am?’

She appraised him carefully. ‘It’s a SOCAR taskforce, Heck. That means we’ve more than enough bodies. Every spare officer Frank’s got is now on the case.’

‘Well …
you’re
not SOCAR.’

‘DSU Piper has maintained a dialogue with Silver for the last few months, as you’re no doubt aware,’ Tasker said. ‘She probably knows the guy better than
anyone else
in the job.’ He made a point of stressing
anyone else
. ‘It would be impossible to leave her out.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Gemma replied. ‘Frank and his team are well-resourced and very experienced.’

But they’re not detectives, Heck wanted to say. They’re like Special Branch; knuckle-dragging ex-squaddies or pumped-up government agents playing at being CID.

‘We’ll be getting used to each other in the future, anyway,’ she added. ‘You know National Crime Group is moving from the Yard next year?’

‘Yeah …?’ Heck said, baffled as to where this might be leading.

‘It’s early days yet, but we’ll likely be sharing a building with SOCAR. We may even be on the same floor.’

Heck gave her a long, blank look. ‘That’s marvellous, ma’am. Truly. Any more good news today?’

‘Look … what’s your problem, sergeant?’ Tasker asked. ‘You’ve had an attitude since you came in here. Call me an idiot, but I can’t think there’s anything about me or my staff that might have got on your nerves.’

‘I don’t know, sir,’ Heck said. ‘If we spent a couple of days together, I’m sure I could produce a catalogue.’ He turned and left the office.

For a second, Tasker looked astounded. ‘What the actual
FUCK
!’

‘Leave this to me, Frank,’ Gemma said, jumping to her feet.
‘HECK!’

She caught up with him twenty yards down the corridor.

‘You’ve got five seconds to tell me what that was all about!’ she said, pinning him to the wall with her index finger. ‘And make it good, because trust me, I’m not in the mood for any chip-on-the-shoulder bullshit today!’

‘I don’t like seeing fellas I don’t know treat your desk like an armchair.’

‘I’m not going to dignify that garbage with a response. Try again.’

‘Ma’am …
I
should be the one going after Mike Silver. Two reasons. First of all, I have unfinished business with him. Very unfinished. Secondly, I’m the one who caught him last time. No one else managed it.’

‘Oh yes?’ She folded her arms. ‘Who made the arrest?’

‘Okay, me and you should be going after him then.’

‘You know it doesn’t work like that.’

‘Says who … SOCAR? The fucking idiots who let Mike Silver go?’

‘Hey! Now just watch how you talk to me, sergeant … alright?’ She kept it low-key, but as always with Gemma when her back was up, there was intense ferocity in her tone. ‘And you might try showing a bit of respect, and remember that most of those “fucking idiots” are dead!
And
that they were fellow police officers!
And
that they died in the line of duty!
And
that they left young families, children …’

‘Okay …’ He already regretted that part of his outburst. ‘That was out of order …’

‘We’re all upset, Heck … but at least stop embarrassing yourself, and more importantly, stop bloody embarrassing me! And get your sodding head screwed on! You know you
can’t
be involved in this enquiry. I’ve explained it to you half a dozen times, so I’m not going to explain it again. Your job, as far as the Nice Guys is concerned, is done.’

‘No disrespect, ma’am … but that’s what you think.’

‘Heck …’ Gemma gave him a searching gaze. ‘Be absolutely one hundred per cent sure, I will
not
tolerate any monkey business from you on this. Operation Thunderclap – yes, it’s got a name and everything – Operation Thunderclap is way too serious to be jeopardised by an officer as emotionally scarred by past events as you are.’ Her tone levelled off, but she continued to nail him with those laser-blue eyes. ‘You and me have been close for a long time, but trust me on this, Mark … I will take
any
disciplinary measures necessary. Any at all … to protect this SOCAR enquiry from interference by outside elements, especially you.’