Dozens of sightings, most spurious. Harper never had liked hotlines. Trusting success to the idiot public never sat right with him. Tip-offs, rumours and massive wastes of time, and dubious credit if anything came of it. Proper legwork was better. But today, a combination of both dangled a fresh chance to catapult his career.
The first lead had come from an anonymous local claiming he’d seen both bike and biker ‘acting suspiciously’, possibly with a gun, outside a row of en-bloc garages. Such places usually belonged to a local home or business, but of those answering their doors so far, only three garages had been claimed. An initial Land Registry database search had drawn a blank on the remaining three, and methodically running hundreds of properties could take hours or find nothing if they were owned by someone further afield. Local uniform reported no sights or sounds from within, no sign of criminal entry to excuse a nosy copper widening the hole for a look-see. High-profile cases put everyone on edge and by-the-book. So another wait for a warrant.
But it was the second lead that had set Harper’s pulse quickening. Another anonymous sighting, but of a stocky, bearded man driving in and out of a derelict industrial building at night, sometimes in a white van, sometimes in a small blue car, possibly a Hyundai. It had seemed too good to be true, even before DC John Dixon, of all people, pointed out the location was a half-mile from the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens where Leah had been found after her escape.
Again local uniform reported the site silent and locked up tight. Harper was all for kicking doors in but lacked reasonable cause. Warrants for both locations were being rushed for judicial signature, but during the delay Deputy Assistant Commissioner and all-round-wanker Stevens had muscled in, bringing CO19 with him and grinding everything to a halt. Now this was a Firearms operation and their chief inspector was playing everything by the book to make up for his earlier rotten apple.
Happy as Harper would be to bypass their circus and get on with it, Firearms at least attracted higher media profile. Just so long as his big moment wasn’t swallowed up in some wrongful shooting.
‘Right, is everyone clear on approach protocol?’ asked the 19 Chief. ‘Trojan Team One to Site A, the industrial unit, with DI Harper. Team Two to Site B, the garage lockups, with DS Millhaven. To reiterate: there’s every reason to believe a Glock pistol remains in play, so maximum precautions. Clear?’ All his little robots confirmed they were clear.
‘Very good,’ said Stevens. ‘Now I’m sure I don’t need to remind you all of the vital importance of finding Leah Willoughby alive …’
Harper raged inside. Fran’s suspicions of how much importance Stevens placed on the exact opposite kept worming their way in. If Leah was found alive it might save Greenwich’s reputation, but that chance declined with every wasted word, and she was probably dead already. But there was still a collar to be felt, and all hope of snatching glory was disappearing almost as fast as saving the day.
‘… and on stopping the perpetrator of this horrible pantomime. Take no chances. And good luck.’
‘Two-faced snake,’ muttered a voice quietly. Harper was astonished to see it was Cox, standing next to him. The Superintendent looked round as if only just realizing Harper was there and puffed his moustache. ‘Yes. Well … carry on, DI Harper,’ he said irritably before departing.
He’d never understood Groombridge’s apparent respect for Cox. The blustering old fool was yesterday’s man, and Harper’s aspirations lay elsewhere now anyway. But he couldn’t shake the suspicion that those words had been meant for his ears.
To make matters worse, Stark and Fran had both shown up minutes before the briefing. Tipped off. Williams or Dixon showing where their loyalties lay. Not Hammed who, Harper suspected, rightfully resented Stark’s precocity. Well, whatever happened tonight, Harper would make sure Stark was nowhere near it. He wasn’t going to play the hero at Harper’s expense again.
‘Not you, Stark,’ said Harper. ‘We’ve too many all-action heroes on this already, and I’m sure Nineteen can do without your giant brain and dodgy hip.’
Fran’s mouth fell open.
‘Whatever you say, Guv,’ Stark said, to douse her fuse. ‘I’ll man the phones here.’ He was sure the phones were every bit as manned as they’d get, but he’d eat all the humble pie Harper could dish out if it just meant they’d all get the fuck on with it instead of wasting even more time here.
‘Good,’ Harper said. ‘Fran, stay close on Site B. Can’t have someone from Nineteen making the arrest without one of us there to share the credit.’
Fran nodded, un-enthused and unconvinced.
Stark’s phone gave him the excuse to step away from that unexploded ordnance … Straight into the path of another.
A text from Kelly.
Joe. I need to see you. Can we meet?
Stark stared in surprise, wondering what on earth remained to be said. What could she want to say or hear? This could be a chance to explain about the girl answering his buzzer, of course, but to what end? Sorry, really not a good time, he typed back.
Are you at work?
Yes. Can I call you later?
There was no response from Kelly, and ten minutes crept by with Stark increasingly suspecting he’d caused even further offence. Then …
Really need to talk face-to-face. I’m out the front, across the road from the station. Just two minutes, please!
Stark glanced at his watch. The raids were leaving in five minutes. He thought of calling her, but a face-to-face offered less chance for confusion and ambiguity.
Please, Joe! chimed his phone.
Okay, two minutes. Stark’s thumb hovered over the send icon, wondering why he was acquiescing. The world seemed determined to challenge his courage and undermine his efforts to balance out past misdeeds.
‘Something wrong?’ asked Dixon, looking searchingly at him.
‘When is there not?’ Stark mused quietly.
‘Did you see my email? About the undertakers?’
‘What?’ Stark shook his head, only half-listening. ‘No, I haven’t … Look, sorry, Kelly’s outside. I’d better sort it before you lot jolly off.’ He hit send, and grabbed his jacket on the way out, heading for the stairs – more painful than the lift, less slow. But as he reached the ground floor he found his path blocked. Harper, alone with DAC Stevens in the lower stairwell, conspiratorial whispers silenced by his approaching footsteps, eyes unwelcoming.
‘Stark? Where are you going?’ demanded Harper. ‘You’re on phone duty.’
‘Just have to speak to someone. Back in a minute.’
‘Who?’
‘Just a very quick personal matter, sir.’
‘Then I suggest you resolve it in your personal time,’ chimed Stevens.
Stark kicked himself. He considered just doubling back through the rear exit and around, but his stubbornness got in the way. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but this is important and won’t take long. I assure you it won’t impact on my forty hours,’ he added, with no sarcasm necessary. They all knew the creaking crutch of undeclared overtime was the only thing keeping the Met staggering on since the financial crash and crushing boot of anti-Keynesian austerity – doubtless enthusiastically embraced by career-first ambitious dogs like Stevens, licking the hands of power while biting anyone in their way and shitting on the rest. This situation was only sustained because un-trod beats and parked investigations upset coppers more than they troubled slippery politicians, but goodwill had its limits and Stark was letting his show.
The DAC’s eyes narrowed. ‘Have a care, Constable Stark.’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir. But if I might just pass, please? The sooner I’m gone the sooner I’m back.’
Harper held out a hand. ‘You’re not going anywhere unless I say so.’
‘Please, sirs, this really can’t wait and I’ll be back on those phones as ordered before DI Harper and the team leave.’
‘Take one step towards those doors and I’ll report you for insubordination and dereliction of duty, Constable.’
‘Respectfully, sirs, I am entitled to a refreshment break in any work period exceeding five hours, which this will be.’
‘Subject to the exigencies of service,’ quoted Stevens from the same regulation.
‘Which I have clearly stated will not be impacted.’
Both senior officers swelled with indignation.
Harper placed a grip on Stark’s upper arm.
Stark’s hackles rose. In all but a second, a long career in the police force played out before him, subject to the constant grating of arseholes like these two, and he asked himself whether that normal sort of life he and Dixon had pondered might not be better all round. ‘Are you attempting to physically restrain a subordinate in the workplace, sir?’ he said darkly.
‘What are you going to do, call your union rep?’
‘I should warn you, I feel both threatened and fearful.’
Harper’s grip tightened, either too stupid or too conscious of his overlord’s presence to consider how it had ended the last time he tried laying hands on Stark. ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’
‘Remove your hand, please, or I will be forced to defend myself.’
Harper glanced at the DAC, confident Stark wouldn’t dare. His grip grew a thrust and snarl. ‘Fuck you, Sta—’
Stark gripped the arm, twisted the wrist and shoved. The yielding Jujutsu twist would have been sufficient to control his opponent. Adding the aggressive Wing-Chun shove was simply to shift the obstacle and needn’t have hurt, but Harper was a big man and just enough force to move him was enough to make him trip over his own clumsy feet and crash across the floor, grasping his shoulder, gasping like a fish out of water, while Stevens recoiled in fear.
‘Do excuse me, sirs,’ said Stark, walking past the shocked Stevens and through the double doors.
‘Stark!’ barked Stevens after him. ‘You’re suspended! Effective immediately! Come back and hand over –’
The doors closed on his words, and possibly Stark’s career, but he was currently too stupid with fury to spare time for feeling stupid. The oblivious desk sergeant wished him a good evening as he passed through the airlock, across reception and out into the night.
He looked for Kelly, but there was a parked van blocking his view of Burney Gardens. Clicking his tongue with irritation, he rounded the vehicle, searching the street-lit shadows, and sensed movement behind him, just before the vicious crack of electricity jolted him from consciousness.