Authors: Mark Timlin
'Martine,'
said Mark.
'Don't
Martine me,' she spat back. "Will you or won't you?'
'I
couldn't,' said Mark. 'You're like my sister. It'd be like incest.'
'Incest,
you bastard!' She was screaming now, and heads were popping out of the kitchen
to see what all the fuss was about. 'You're just a fucking pussy.'
Mark
didn't reply.
'Piss
off, you wus,' she yelled, threw her napkin at him, got up and flounced towards
the door, turning before she left. 'I only ask once, and that's it. You'll be
sorry, I promise. And you can bloody well walk home or get Linda to give you a
lift.'
The
door closed behind her with a draught of cold air and Mark was left to face the
other customers and the staff. He calmly asked for the bill, paid in cash,
abandoned the food cooling on the table, and left the restaurant.
Martine's
car was gone and he did walk home through the frozen streets, to calm himself
down. When he got back to the house the Mini was parked on the front. He tried the
key that John Jenner had given him, but the door had been locked from the
inside and he had to ring the bell and wait for Chas to come from the back to
open it. 'Had a bit of a row?' he asked, but Mark just thanked him and went
upstairs to his room.
That
night he didn't lock the door, and afterwards asked himself if he'd forgotten,
or if he expected what happened to happen. It was a tough call.
He
fell asleep quickly, but woke up again at that strange hour between two and
three in the morning, when the winter night was at its darkest and bodies were
more likely to give up their souls.
As
soon as he opened his eyes he knew someone else was in the room. Someone warm
and fragrant and female who had pulled back the covers of his bed and was stroking
his naked body to arousal. He was on his back, his cock was hard, and she was
ready to lower her wetness on to him and make him hers. But Mark held her waist
and lifted her off, dropping her on to the floor by the side of his bed with a
thump and a gasp. 'I told you no,' he said, suddenly wide awake.
'You
bastard,' she said back.
'And
I thought you only asked once.'
She
hit him then, a hard blow to the side of the head, but he'd suffered worse and
just laughed in the silence of the room. 'You'll have to do better than that,'
he said. 'Now piss off.'
'You'll
be sorry,' she hissed. 'Sorrier than you'll ever know.'
'Then
do whatever you're going to do and get it over with.' He was suddenly tired
again. 'But let me get some sleep, will you?'
He
saw her naked form glowing whitely in the darkness, the darker triangle between
her legs, before she got up, gathered her dignity and her dressing gown around
herself and left, slamming the door behind her.
Mark
got up, went to the door, locked it, then went back to bed where he lay awake
much longer than he intended to.
'Sean.
In here.'
It
was shift change early the next morning and Sean had just arrived at Streatham
Police Station where his DI was waiting. The previous evening he'd spent in the
company of his sister who had been in one of the strange moods that overtook
her sometimes. He knew that the loss of her husband had affected her badly, but
sometimes he thought he could see light at the end of the tunnel of her grief.
But not last night. She'd drunk too much and had gone to bed sobbing. His heart
went out to her, but he knew that when she was in that kind of mood there was
no reaching her.
'There's
been a shooting in Loughborough Junction,' said Mobray, when Sean had sat down.
'Three Asians shot and killed. All known to us. And all known to John Jenner…'
Sean
could hardly believe his ears. Jenner again. It seemed like the man was
haunting him.
'…I know
it's not our manor,' Mobray went on, 'but it all seems to be too much of a
coincidence that his name's popped up again.'
You
can say that again, thought Sean.
'Anyway,
that's what the source says, and right now the source is God. So get down to
the scene and liaise with Superintendent Bowers from AMIP. He's in charge of
the murder squad. Area drugs is there too. These bastards have been playing
fast and loose with Class A for years and now it looks as if the chickens have
come home to roost. Take Childs with you. And tread carefully, boy. The Chief
Super at Brixton doesn't like his corns being trod on.'
'I'd
like to meet this source,' Said Sean.
'So
would I,' said Mobray. 'And maybe one day we will. But right now I want to know
if Jenner had anything to do with this latest incident. From what I can gather
it's like a butcher's shop down there and I'd dearly like to get him off the
streets if he fits the frame.'
"Why
us, guv'nor?' asked Sean. 'Seems like a waste of time to me. Haven't we got
enough going on here without going outside our jurisdiction? Sounds like the
world and his wife are already dealing with it. We'll probably just get in the
way.'
'And
you're an expert on the use of manpower from this station now, are you?'
'No,
guv. It's just a bit thin, that's all. This Jenner bloke looked like he had one
foot in the grave to me. And his sidekick wasn't too fast on his feet either.'
'They've
been a thorn in my… our side, for too long,' said Mobray. 'If there's a war
kicking off, I want to know all about it. Just go. And then come back and tell
me what's going on. Simple enough for you?'
'Yes,
guv.'
'Then
get out of here and do your job.'
Sean
found Bobby Childs at his usual table in the canteen, chewing on a.pastie. 'You
and me, Bobby,' he said. 'We're off to Loughborough Junction. I hope you can
keep that down. A bit of a nasty one by all accounts.'
'I
thrive on them, son,' said Childs swallowing the last piece of tough pastry
filled with gristle. 'What's it all about?'
Sean
explained what little he knew as they went, plus the theories about Jenner and
Chas.
'Those
bastards will never quit until they're dead,' said Childs, lighting a cigarette
as they walked to Sean's car. 'Don't smoke in my car, Bobby,' said Sean.
'Health
police,' mumbled Childs, but he dropped the quarter-smoked cigarette and ground
it into the tarmac of the carpark before he climbed aboard. 'By the way,' he
said en route, 'I checked the numbers of those motors outside Jenner's house
that day.'
'And?'
'The
black Merc belongs to a security company up west. Top drawer. Look after the
likes of Madonna and Tom Cruise when they're in town. Ex- SAS, you know the
sort of thing. Wouldn't tell me a dicky bird. As soon as I said who I was they
put me on hold. I listened to twenty minutes of
Bridge Over Troubled Waters
easy listening style before I hung up. The Range Rover was more interesting.
Belonged to a dotcom - or should it be
dotcon -
company based in Lisle,
France. Went down the tubes with the rest of them a couple of years back. I
spoke to interplod. No trace lost or stolen. No trace at all, so I suppose
Jenner
could've
taken it as part payment for a debt.'
'Dead
end?' said Sean.
'Yeah.
And the Bentley's legit. Registered to Jenner.'
'So
nothing.'
'Apart
from the fact he thinks he needs a couple of heavy duty, heavy money minders,
no. The Rover could be of interest to Customs and Excise. I gave them a bell,
but they didn't seem too keen, so I left it.'
'We'll
catch them on the flip side,' said Sean.
They
drove to the warehouse in Loughborough Junction, which was already a hive of
activity by the time they arrived. The whole place had been cordoned off with
blue police tape and there were the usual collection of plain and marked police
vehicles parked around the perimeter, inside which white-suited SOCOs were
busily searching every cranny. Outside the cordon, a crowd had gathered, with
several recognisable journalists already there and at least two television
crews setting up.
Sean
showed his ID to a uniformed sergeant who pointed him in the direction of a
soberly attired, iron grey haired man talking to a young woman by a skip that
was being searched by uniformed officers.
'Superintendent
Bowers?' said Sean, as he and Childs approached them. The grey haired man
frowned. 'Who wants him?'
'Sergeant
Sean Pierce from Streatham,' said Sean. 'And DC Childs. My guv'nor DI Mobray
sends his compliments. Seems like all this could have something to do with a
target we're investigating.'
'Name?'
'John
Jenner.'
'John
Jenner, eh? I thought he was dead.'
'So
did a lot of people apparently, sir, but he's still with us. Although not
looking too good.'
'Well,
that's improved my day. I always did fancy dancing on that particular
individual's grave.'
'Something
for us, sir?' asked the woman, a tall blonde wearing a woollen hat and a puffa
jacket over jeans and boots.
'Maybe,'
said Bowers. 'Pierce, is it?' Sean nodded. 'This is DI Cooper. Sally Cooper. My
good right arm. Have a chat with her. If you're lucky she might let you have a
look inside although it's not something I recommend. Me, I'm going for a scout
round. Sally, look after these two, but make sure they don't step into anything
that might be important.'
'Understood,'
said Cooper, and Bowers moved off, looking around as he went, as if for
important clues.
'What
exactly happened?' Sean asked Cooper as they walked towards the building.
'The
two blokes who run this place, Ali and Tommo - that's Ali Gulati and Tommo
Alahan - plus their warehouse manager, Jimmi Faress, also known as Geezer, were
all shot and killed here sometime during the last two days. Ali's wife
eventually called us in. Apparently none of them were exactly what you'd call
pipe and slipper men. They came and went pretty much as they pleased. They
liked a drink and girls and a game of cards. Some of these card games went on
for a week or more. So when none of them showed up for their teas the other
night, no one was particularly worried. But then a few customers turned up to
collect orders and found the place locked up, so, eventually, Mrs Ali came down
with a spare set, found the remains of the three of them inside and went into
one big style. She's in King's College now, under sedation.'
'When
exactly was this?'
'Early
this morning. The sparrows were still coughing.'
'And
the bodies are still
in situ?'
'Nice
turn of phrase,' said the young female detective inspector. 'Yep, still there.
Want to take a look?'
'If
we must.'
'Up
to you. But you'll have to dress up.'
'Bobby?'
said Sean.
'We'd
better. The guv'll want the full SP.'
So,
the trio, once dressed in white paper coveralls, hats and overshoes, went
inside, through the warehouse and towards the office door. Cooper took the two
men to one side where they had a view through the glass front of the office.
'Better- not go inside,' she said. 'Forensic will do their collective nuts. But
you can see pretty well from here.'
'Too
well,' said Sean. 'Christ, it's like a bloody massacre.'
'Yep,'
said Cooper, which appeared to be her word of the day.
Inside
it was carnage.
The
heater had been turned off but it was still warm in there and the air now stunk
of blood and bodily waste as well as the other odours that Mark had noticed on
his visit. Three bodies were sprawled haphazardly across the floor. Ali had
lost half his head to a shotgun blast and the rest was spread across one wall
like so much brown porridge. Geezer was half on, half off a secretary's chair,
his innards in his lap as though someone had tossed several kilos of sausage
there. Tommo was in the doorway, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling
with open eyes. There were several bullet wounds in his chest and Sean could
see the whiteness of bone through the dried blood.