Authors: Max China
Brooks pulled into the car park and stopped. He turned to look at Tanner… "A man like that?" he looked bemused. "That's as maybe, Mr Quinn, but you'll be getting no more from me. Good day to you."
Tanner frowned as he stood by his car.
Is Brooks just naturally guarded, or does he know something?
In order to maintain Quinn's credibility, he would have to get their story out there. He'd pass the tape and his notes on to his friend. She'd do the story for him. After all, she owed him a favour.
Then he called Kennedy to bring him up to date. "At least we have something to go on now, sir. I'll get straight onto it."
Kennedy cleared his throat. "We'll get someone else onto it, you have an assignment tonight. Wharton has confirmed the meet. I'll fill you in with the details when you get to the office."
Chapter 100
April 1st Evening
The Sat Nav in Billy Wharton's car took him into the heart of the industrial estate and announced:
You have arrived at your destination
.
The address he sought was actually around the other side of a high security fence. Streetlamps lit the maze of roads with a distinctive soft yellow glow. He drove on taking the next two right turns before completing the circuit with a final turn into the cul de sac he'd seen from the opposite side. The entrance gates were the only ones left open. The long run of linked units appeared deserted. Drawing up to the raised loading apron halfway down, he reversed into position and left the car running. He turned off his lights, not wanting to attract unwelcome attention.
After a few moments, he got out of the car to stretch his legs. Deciding he'd hear better without the engine running, he leant back in and turned the ignition off. Distant sounds reached him, workshop motors, shutters rolling up or down, occasional voices, too far off to make out what they were saying. He looked around. Bright yellow lights pooled down onto the area he'd parked in. Penned in by pale grey anti-climb railings, he was alone. He felt claustrophobic. There was only one way out that he could see. Back the way he came in.
He took a cigarette from his pocket without removing the pack and lit it. Inhaling deeply, he blew the smoke out, watching as the cloud of yellow smog billowed into the night air, disappearing into the darkness beyond the light. Taking another drag, he blew a further cloud into the night.
The sound of a vehicle's approach alerted him. As it neared, he saw it was a white transit van. The lights swung into view through the gates and it pulled up alongside him.
He flicked the cigarette out in a high arc, away from where he stood. He moved round to the driver's door, which was already opening.
Bishop stepped out. Wary, he surveyed the deserted estate around them. "Bill . . ." He offered a hand. Wharton took it.
"Terry - I heard you were out. Where's Tony?"
"He's gone on ahead. Are you on your own, Bill?"
"Yeah, he doesn't pay me enough to split it with anyone else; you know what I'm saying?" He grinned. Bishop nodded his assent.
"Bill, we gotta go round the corner mate - someone else is taking us the rest of the way . . ."
Wharton looked confused. "I thought it was just me and Tony going, meeting the others…"
"Change of plan, Bill. Come on let's get going."
Bishop led the way. A few yards down, he turned.
Wharton hadn't moved. He was lighting a cigarette. Holding the pack up, he raised his eyebrows and offered them.
"No, thanks mate. Are you coming?"
Strange, it's not like the Terry I know to turn a smoke down. He must've given it up in the nick
. Putting the cigarettes away, he started after him.
Behind a boarded up window, armed police watched the two men through a slot cut into the sheeting.
Tanner arrived back from the toilet, holding his stomach. "I had a bad feeling about that kebab I had earlier, and I was right . . ." He pressed his lips together at each new griping pain.
He peered through the opening. "Where are they going?"
"Oh, shit! They're heading up towards the corner."
"Is it just those two, no one else here?"
"No, but that's where our backup is. Shall I tell them to hide?"
The two suspects still had fifty yards to cover before they'd reach the corner.
"Christ! Who told them to plot up there? They'll have to shift - and fast! No wait, they've stopped. What are they doing?"
At the point where the semicircular arc of brightness gave way to the darkness of the alley; Wharton stopped suddenly. He licked his lips anxiously, eyes filled with trepidation.
"What are you doing, Bill?"
"Where have they parked, mate? Why haven't they parked where we did?" he said, searching Bishop's face for an answer. "What's going on, mate?"
"Bill, that alleyway leads through to the street the other side. That's where the other's are, just up there. See, if anything happened, there's only the one way out round this side. What's the problem?"
"You know I can't go down a dark alley that close to the fence, not with my claustrophobia. I'm going to get the car. I'll meet you round there."
He turned around and headed back.
"Shit," Bishop breathed. He hadn't wanted to do it out there in the light, didn't want to have to drag the body out of sight, get covered in blood. He didn't even really want to kill him, but if he didn't, someone else would, and he'd be as good as dead himself. He probably would have been dead already if he'd refused. Something had happened with Lynch's state of mind and it wasn't just the coke.
I'll do this job, get the twenty-five grand and then put some distance between him and me. Might even go straight.
The unlikelihood of the last thought had him grinning.
He produced a gun and screwed a silencer onto the end.
"Bill?" He couldn't bring himself to shoot him in the back.
Wharton turned and saw the gun. It all suddenly made sense to him. They'd found out about his arrest somehow. They thought he'd talked. He raised both hands in the air. "Terry. Don't. I . . ."
"Sorry, Bill. " He sounded genuinely sad as he fired a single shot into his head.
All hell broke loose. Portable arc lights switched on. The team hiding around the corner raced out. Heckler and Koch carbines at shoulders, they advanced on him. Caught in the dazzling light, centre stage, he couldn't see. Someone shouted, "Armed Police, drop your weapon!" Shutters rolled up. The sound of approaching heavy boots drummed on the ground.
"What just happened?" Tanner shouted, and threw open the door to join the melee.
"He's just shot Wharton!"
"Oh, shit!"
In the light of recent criticism on the shooting of an innocent man in
London and police failure to warn the suspect, Bishop was given the benefit of an additional warning.
"Armed police, drop your weapon!"
He couldn't see beyond the dazzling brightness. He lost his sense of direction and perspective. His head spun.
He faced a lifetime in prison if he surrendered.
If I can just get away.
Faced with hard choices, he hesitated a moment longer. Fingers were jittery on triggers. He made a wrong move. Turning quickly in the direction of where he thought he'd left the van, he broke into a sprint. Straight towards the armed officers, the gun was still in his hand.
Two simultaneous shots cut him down. One passed through his head, the other his heart.
At the subsequent inquest, held weeks later, the Specialist Firearms Officer's would testify that they'd shouted two clear warnings before the suspect raised his gun and ran towards them. Faced with the clear and imminent threat of further loss of life, they'd shot him.
The coroner's court would record a verdict of lawful killing by the police
Chapter 101
Monday 2nd April
Knowing Kennedy was under increasing pressure from all directions; the caller cranked it up.
"I've got you stitched up tighter than a duck's arse, Jack, and even if you think you can still get out of it, mate, I gotta tell you, you can't. So from now on, whatever I tell you I want done, you do it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"You can't blackmail a police officer and think you're going to get away with it," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
He's been ahead of you all the way, Johnny.
"Get away with it? Jack, what I've done to you is irreversible, incontrovertible." A cigarette lighter clicked at the other end of the line, followed by the sounds of exaggerated puffing on his cigarette.
A feeling of dread grew within him. The first acid pangs of indigestion assailed his stomach. He knew instinctively that whatever it was the caller had in store for him, it was going to be bad.
The caller outlined the series of predicaments that faced him.
Kennedy recognised more than a grain of truth in the claims. The acid levels increased in line with his rising heartbeat as the caller delivered the events in sequence. Every word was a barb in a line of wire hooking in and tightening.
"They'll investigate you, Jack, you know that . . ." the caller said.
His thoughts raced. His prospects diminished. Left with nowhere to go, he suddenly remembered Tanner's report; someone had cloned his motorbike registration number, and he realised it was probably the caller who had done that too.
Ten seconds of silence had passed. "Are you clear about where we are with all this, Jack?"
Face grim, he said nothing.
I need time to think
. He nodded, forgetting that he was on the telephone.
"I said, Jack, ARE YOU CLEAR!"
Kennedy snapped the phone away from his ear. Stung by the sudden blast of the shout, he looked out through the window in the office partition, worried that someone else might have heard it. He switched the phone to the other side of his head and wiggled a finger around inside his damaged ear, hoping to gain some relief for it.
You have to play for time.
"Yes," he replied.
The line disconnected.
With no idea of the caller's ultimate aim, Kennedy's thought processes had reduced to going round in circles. In frustration, he slammed his fist into the wall, skinning his knuckles. He immediately regretted it as blood welled where skin had been. He didn't hear Theresa knock on the door; he looked up, and she was just …
there
. Opening a drawer quickly, he put his bleeding hand inside, hoping she hadn't seen it.
"Coffee? Are you all right, John, you look like you've seen a ghost."
He faked a smile. "Yes - coffee . . . that'll be fine."
As she left, Theresa wondered what she'd done to make him so obsessed with her and whether the haunted look in his eyes had something to do with it.
If it did…
Feeling bad enough already, she dismissed the thought. She hadn't asked for any of it.
After she'd confided in Tanner, he said he'd report him. She wondered if he'd already done it. She'd have to check with him, but he wasn't happy with how things had developed after they'd slept together. He said he wanted a couple of days to decide the best way forward. He hadn't said, but she knew from the hurt look in his eyes that he felt used.
She was desperate to make it up to him.
Chapter 102
2nd April 2007, early evening.
The roadside cafe was bustling with people, when a man walked in. A few heads turned lazily towards him, alerted by the door's opening.
The stranger's eyes swept the interior of the room, scanning faces; nobody met his gaze, or lingered over his appearance for long. Rough and dishevelled looking, he wore a dirty blue boiler suit. His straw-coloured hair didn't look natural, and he had a nose as crooked as a stovepipe revealing the many wars he'd come through, in and out of the ring. Not much over six feet tall and heavily built, he moved with an ease that belied his size and age.
On the far side of the room, no one noticed him at all.
At the counter, he paid for a coffee and picked up a local paper from the rack, tucking it under his arm. He glanced around the room. There wasn't a completely vacant table anywhere, so he selected a table for two which was only half taken.
He pulled a chair back and sat down. A look of exasperation started on the current occupier's face, but before he could object, the stranger's molten eyes settled on him, and he thought better of it. Draining the rest of his cup, he left without a word.
"Something I said?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He stirred a sugar into the steaming black liquid and unfolded the newspaper.