Gallowstree Lane Read online

  She was hot with indignation at the sight of him. She’d always suspected that he’d known Steve long before she and Steve had worked together on the investigation into the deaths at Portland Tower. And that explained Lizzie’s involvement too. What a despicable little club.

  Her feelings had run away with her. They were not reliable guides. She made herself stop and take a breath, and with that breath came a momentary but familiar feeling of loneliness.

  The office was typical of a senior officer – images of Detective Chief Superintendent Baillie excelling in various police roles and generally being a top man – but one photo in particular caught her attention. When she’d worked for Baillie at the Department of Specialist Investigations she’d stared long and hard at it, puzzling the meaning of the small boy’s smiling, nervous face and of the desperate gasping fish out of water that he held in his lap. Baillie had climbed two ranks since then. That didn’t surprise her. She’d seen him in action during the investigation into Hadley’s death: choosing his words carefully and biding his time before he chose which horse to back. There was, she noticed too, a Brompton fold-up bicycle in the corner. That was new. She could see him getting the train into Victoria from some nice village outside London and cycling the short distance from the station to NSY. The Brompton would tick a lot of boxes – healthy, environmentally friendly, a little bit quirky. He probably wasn’t stupid enough to use a word like vision, but that was what he’d be selling.

  Baillie and her current boss, DCI Bob Fedden, were sitting next to each other behind a glass table. Fedden – red-faced, overweight and sweaty in his capacious jacket and off-the-shelf tie – was selling something different to Baillie. Career detective. Not interested in anything beyond leading a homicide team. Both men were leaning back in their chairs, stretching out their legs, taking up space. Baillie stood to greet her and, walking round the table, offered his hand.

  ‘Sarah! Thanks for coming in.’

  Fedden had stayed sitting. If anything, he’d sunk more deeply into the chair. Although he did have a famous turn dancing at job dos to ‘It’s Not Unusual’, Fedden wasn’t a man for unnecessary movement.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he said. ‘What’s Jarral said?’

  ‘Nothing yet. No comment. It’s early days.’

  Baillie was pulling a seat out for her. Not thinking quickly enough, she found herself sitting with her back to the door, a place where no cop could ever feel comfortable. Baillie was moving back to his own chair opposite her. Kieran, she noticed, had got himself a better place – to the side of the table, a little back and at a slight angle.

  Baillie said, ‘Sorry to have dragged you away from a live investigation.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir.’

  ‘Unavoidable.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘You know Kieran.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Fedden grinned and Sarah saw his tiny pearly teeth in his big wide mouth. ‘Old friends then.’

  Irritation passed quickly across Baillie’s face. He wasn’t one for naming the beast if it could be avoided. But Fedden was still beaming. It was one of his vanities to fancy himself as plain-speaking. But Sarah, looking at the two men, thought that their different ideas about themselves barely concealed just how much they had in common. This meeting she understood was in part at least a containment exercise. They would both be in perfect agreement about that. No shit was supposed to carry beyond this room.

  Kieran leant slightly forward. ‘Jarral.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you identify him?’

  Before she had time to work out how to answer, Baillie had interrupted with a laugh that expressed perfectly his annoyance. He was, Sarah thought, a little like a smooth Long John Silver: constantly dismayed by his less subtle crewmates.

  ‘Hang on, everyone!’ he said cheerily. ‘We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and time is pressured. This meeting has to be structured.’

  He looked at Kieran, who said, ‘Sorry, sir,’ and leant back in his chair.

  Baillie continued. ‘The good news is that we’re all making progress. Lots to offer each other, heh?’ His eyes flicked between Kieran and Sarah, waiting for their compliance with this interpretation of events. ‘Just need to be careful how we play it. Kieran, if you wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘OK, boss.’ He turned to Sarah. ‘Bit of background. For the last couple of years I’ve been running Perseus, a confi op into the Eardsley Bluds. When the murder of Spencer Cardoso came out, the boss asked me to listen out for intelligence. Well, now I’ve got a suspect for Spencer’s murder.’

  He stopped speaking, perhaps hoping that she would volunteer a question. ‘Who’s that then?’ perhaps. Or maybe a thank you. Instead she said nothing. She wasn’t about to play Grasshopper to his Master Po.

  When she didn’t speak, he said, ‘You remember Steve Bradshaw?’

  Was he needling her on purpose? ‘Of course.’

  ‘So one of our targets spoke to Steve about the murder.’

  ‘One of your targets? Would that be Ryan Kennedy?’

  She hadn’t been able to resist showing Kieran that she had already guessed a great deal of what he was telling her now.

  ‘One thing at a time, Sarah,’ Baillie said with a canny smile.

  But Kieran had jumped in. ‘Clearly you’ve worked out a lot of what’s going on. I wonder how you’ve managed that.’

  Immediately Sarah thought of Lizzie and regretted her indiscretion.

  Baillie had resumed speaking. ‘The first thing surely is the murder suspect.’

  Fedden handed over a briefing sheet and Sarah saw a tall, thin-faced boy staring out with an expression that combined vacancy with aggression. On his neck a small tattoo of a kingfisher in flight.

  Fedden said, ‘Jermaine King. Street name, Kingfisher. We’ve put arrest inquiries on for him for the murder of Spencer Cardoso.’

  She was the SIO for Spencer’s murder, but Fedden hadn’t even telephoned her to say this was happening. No wonder his troops called him the Bulldozer. It was time to seize a bit of initiative, get some of the information Kieran wouldn’t be feeling so generous about sharing.

  ‘Can we go back a bit? Talk me through what you know about the murders of Spencer and Lexi?’

  When there was no immediate reply, Baillie, leaning back in his chair again and spreading one arm out along the backrest, prompted, ‘Kieran?’

  ‘This is intelligence only. It’s not evidence.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘OK.’

  ‘This guy – King, Kingfisher, whatever – he’s been working for the Soldiers as a roadman. Seeing all that money going through his fingers, he decides he’d rather hold onto it than hand it over. Can’t set up on home turf, obviously, so he’s been establishing himself on the Bluds’ territory, starting with the drug trade on Gallowstree Lane. Friday night, King’s mate Nelson getting GBHed at the concert was a warning from the Bluds to back off. But King’s not having it, so he sends a message back with the ambush on Sunday. Maybe he doesn’t even mean to kill Spencer. Perhaps he doesn’t know how to do it properly – kills him instead of cutting him. Who knows?

  ‘So, it’s warming up. Lexi – Alexandra Moss – she’s killed by the Bluds because they have to let the street know that you don’t fuck around with this shit. Tit for tat – now it’s King’s turn. That’s why we’ve got to nick him. Interrupt the cycle.’

  Sarah took off her glasses. ‘Can you help me with this? Lexi dies in south London. That’s way off the Bluds’ territory. How does she get there? And who tells Jarral where she’s going to be?’

  Kieran leant back. ‘I don’t know. That knowledge is way too wide for Perseus. That’s your investigation.’

  ‘But you do know about the Bluds, yes? I mean, they are the subject of Perseus, right?’

  Kieran nodded warily.

  ‘Good. That’s going to be helpful. Let’s go back to the GBH at the concert. Ryan’s with two guys before he punches the victim.
One of them’s Jarral. If I pull up the CCTV grab, can you help me identify the other one?’

  Kieran looked across at Baillie. ‘Boss?’

  Ah, so now she was getting somewhere. Here was the stuff Kieran didn’t want to tell.

  Fedden interrupted. ‘It’s sensitive.’

  Sarah wondered whether her boss had even noticed he was arguing for the opposition. But maybe that didn’t matter to him; maybe it was more important to be part of the in-crowd.

  ‘Sensitive?’ she said. ‘How does that work? I’m a police officer asking for help with a murder investigation.’

  Kieran’s face had acquired a long-suffering expression. As for Fedden, he looked furious. But Sarah didn’t care about either of their opinions right now. It was Baillie who made the decisions here. She turned to him.

  ‘Boss?’

  Baillie put his elbows on the desk. He thought for a moment.

  Then he said, ‘Sarah, this isn’t easy. It’s a question of identifying the least worst decision. We’re on the brink of the arrest phase of this operation. Until that is complete, we need to keep everything watertight, delay any further arrests that interfere with the Bluds’ operation. There are military-grade weapons within London that need seizing and I’m not prepared to risk them going missing.’

  Sarah looked down at the image of Jermaine King.

  ‘But if we’re not betraying the op, then what are our grounds for arresting this chap?’

  Fedden took over. Perhaps he wanted to look like he was in charge of his own team’s arrest. ‘King’s an associate of the victim of a GBH where Ryan Kennedy is the named suspect. The GBH was the first blow struck in this war. We’ll trawl the CCTV of the concert, quick-time. King’s bound to be there.’

  Bound to be there?

  Sarah said, ‘But we need to wait for that to be sure.’

  ‘There are other possible links to Jermaine, and I’ve prioritized them.’

  ‘What links?’

  ‘There’s the car Elaine spotted on the CCTV before and after Spencer’s murder.’

  ‘OK, let’s wait till we’ve developed that …’

  ‘King’s a murder suspect and he needs nicking. There may be evidence to seize – phones, clothing.’

  ‘But if we nick him now, our only real source of information is Ryan Kennedy. He’s going to look like a grass—’

  Kieran interrupted. He knew where this was going. ‘Ryan’s not an informant.’

  ‘Maybe not, but unless we’ve got other evidence, he’s going to look like one. How are we going to protect him?’

  Like a fat old dog pained in his nether regions, Fedden stirred bad-temperedly in his chair. ‘Ryan’s chosen this lifestyle and it’s put him in danger. Not our fault.’

  ‘He’s fifteen.’

  Kieran said, ‘We are going to protect him. We’re going to arrest him too.’

  ‘We haven’t arrested him yet.’

  Kieran tutted. ‘It’s only a matter of hours.’

  ‘So let’s wait on arresting King too—’

  Fedden interrupted, ‘Hang on. I want King nicked, Sarah. I want to detect Spencer’s murder.’

  Sarah barely heard him. She was looking at the custody image; Jermaine King’s vacant, hostile stare was entirely convincing as to his capacity for violence. She was under no illusions as to Kieran’s motives. He wasn’t solving Spencer’s murder; he was protecting his operation from a turf war. But she had to find a way forward, not score points.

  ‘Kieran, don’t you have something we could arrest Ryan for without betraying the op? That would protect him from reprisals?’

  Baillie looked at his watch and sighed. The room fell silent. From his expression he had given up on the upbeat approach.

  ‘I’ve explained why I don’t want to do anything further to disrupt the Bluds. Jarral’s already been arrested. Unfortunately that means Ryan has to be left in place. If a car boot full of automatic weapons doesn’t persuade you, then I’ll just have to live with that. I’m not going to go round in circles. King gets nicked now. And Ryan gets nicked too, but only after Perseus is done.’ He pushed his chair backwards and smiled at the table. ‘I don’t think I’ll bother with the bike tonight.’

  Sarah said, ‘Before you go?’

  Baillie looked at her with something that could almost have been amusement. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’d like to finish discussing Lexi’s murder.’

  ‘I thought we had finished.’

  ‘I’ll say my piece.’

  A smile that didn’t reach the eyes. ‘Say your piece.’

  ‘Lexi was a vulnerable female traded between street gangs. Her death was clearly part of a conspiracy. You know about the Bluds, but you’re deciding not to share relevant information that could expose the other participants in her murder. I’m not convinced that decision would stand up to much scrutiny.’

  Baillie nodded. ‘Same old Sarah, is it?’

  ‘It is.’

  He ran his hand through his hair. Suddenly he looked tired.

  ‘OK. This is how we’re going to run it. Kieran, you’ll share intelligence—’

  Kieran leant forward. ‘Sir—’

  Baillie interrupted. ‘It’s too late. I don’t want to hear it.’ There was a moment’s silence. Then he spoke again. ‘Kieran will give Sarah access to the Perseus drive and share the intelligence. Sarah, you can develop your investigation so you’re ready to go the moment Perseus have made their arrests. But you have to wait for my goahead before you share this with your team or take any action that will betray the existence of the op. I’m trusting you to understand how important it is that we don’t lose this job.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Baillie stood up and pulled his jacket from its hanger.

  ‘Well, lovely though it is sitting here shooting the breeze with old friends, my carriage is about to turn into a pumpkin. I suggest that Bob and I make our farewells. You two old chums can stay here and go through the intelligence.’

  38

  For nearly two hours Sarah and Kieran sat side by side in front of Baillie’s computer. At first it was awkward, but surprisingly quickly their history receded. Kieran talked, Sarah questioned and scribbled notes. They both loved this stuff and they lost themselves in it, focusing on the details, trying together to dominate the information.

  Eventually Kieran leant back from the screen. ‘Lexi’s murder? It isn’t the first time Shakiel’s killed. If the firearms handover goes ahead, we’re finally going to send him down for a decent stretch. But don’t get me wrong. I’d love to see you nail him for murder too. A life term is what he really needs. Once he’s in custody, I’ll help you put it all together.’

  Sarah closed her notebook. ‘Thank you.’ She took off her glasses and slipped them into their case. ‘We need to call it a day. I’ve got one in custody and arrest inquiries. You’ve got the handover tomorrow.’

  They waited together for the lift. Sarah had long since taught herself to be comfortable with silence. She threaded her hands together in front of her and looked at the floor.

  ‘What you did …’

  She turned to Kieran, wondering what was coming next.

  ‘Going into that flat and saving Lizzie,’ he continued.

  He seemed to be waiting for a reply, but what should she say? The lift had arrived, but when the doors opened, Sarah saw no occupants to disrupt the conversation. They stepped into the silver box and faced the door. She pressed the button and hoped the descent would be quick.

  Kieran continued. ‘I was going to say it was very brave, but as I don’t like you much, I won’t say anything about it.’

  She nodded in agreement. ‘That makes sense.’

  ‘Just doing your job?’

  He smiled, and she glimpsed a Kieran she did not know, the Kieran she imagined Lizzie had fallen in love with. Someone attractive and fun, and brave too, probably. She looked at him squarely and replied in kind.

  ‘I don’t like you much either. S
till, I’m sure you would have done the same.’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ After a pause, he added, ‘She was pregnant. We have a son. Did you know that?’

  That caught her off guard. Thinking of the toddler with his red cheeks and the wooden elephants she had played with only hours earlier, she aimed for a non-committal sound. ‘Hmm.’

  The lift was slowing at last, but it was too late. Kieran’s expression had changed again. If there was a smile now, it was one that was very pleased with itself. He said, ‘You haven’t told me yet how you identified Jarral.’

  Sarah smiled too, in spite of herself. Had he done that on purpose? Tricked her into betraying Lizzie? Or had he already guessed? He’d always been as smart as the devil. The lift had stopped and the doors began to move, but he put his hand on the button that locked them shut.

  ‘Well?’

  Even if he now knew that Lizzie had told her, she wouldn’t say it out loud. ‘Baillie tasked us to talk about your investigation, not mine. I don’t want to disclose my source. You of all people will understand that.’

  He considered her, and Sarah was surprised to discern no malice.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to tell me. There’s no point now.’

  THROUGH THE NIGHT

  TUESDAY 11 OCTOBER–WEDNESDAY 12 OCTOBER

  39

  Sarah walked across the lit concourse and flicked the lock on the unmarked car that waited in darkness. The lights flashed too brightly awake and suddenly the hours that lay ahead presented themselves, indeterminate and unending. She slid the driver’s seat away from the wheel and leant back. The internal light of the car dimmed and her mind’s eye supplied Caroline’s sweet smell and the warmth of her hand resting on her stomach as they lay curled together like spoons on the wide cool sheet. She opened her eyes and saw the broad grey slabs of the city’s pavement. No point driving back to Hendon if it turned out that wasn’t where she needed to be. She switched on the car’s internal light.