Chapter 21

Scotland Yard, London.

Wednesday 17th August 2011; 4am.

 

DCI Coombes and DS Scott sat across the table from Ben Fogarty. The story they heard was believable and unbelievable at the same time. They had little doubt that his story was true. They had seen the note from Ashley, and there was evidence of his last meal in the house having been consumed in the room where he claimed to have been held, but a triple murder in Blackheath was unheard of.

Ben had been relieved to hear that Ashley was alive and well, albeit in a drug induced coma. She was likely to wake up soon, and doctors were optimistic about her full recovery. Ben wanted to be with her when she awoke, because she had lost her father and husband in violent circumstances and, because of the drugs, she might not remember any of what had happened, if indeed she even knew very much about it in the first place.

“Ben, we were due to be involved in a raid on the Trafalgar House Flats around about now.” DCI Coombes checked his watch. “The Met are taking down the TH Crew, and that will leave a power void in the area. Hopefully the community will rally and keep the villains out, but I wouldn’t bank on it. Now, given that Psycho is out of the picture, I’m wondering whether he might have been topped for reasons other than a drug debt. After all, dead men don’t pay you back.”

DS Scott and Ben both looked lost, and the DCI realised that he wasn’t making himself clear. “Look, these Belgians come to dinner, they disappear and everyone is dead. The TH Crew are going down. Who’s going to step into the North London void and supply the drugs and guns now?”

DS Scott was the first to reply. “Guv, are you suggesting that these Belgians might have been tipped off about the raid?” DCI Coombes considered the blunt question for a moment before giving a considered answer.

“It’s a big coincidence otherwise, don’t you think? This is your only chance in a generation to jump in and cut out the middleman. I think you would take it. In any event they probably wouldn’t have been too bothered about a gang of young teenagers playing the hard man. If we hadn’t swept the THC Crew aside, they might have done it themselves.”

“And Dennis Grierson would have wanted to be reinstated, if he had survived....” Ben let his comment hang in the air as the two policemen nodded.

“Anyway, down to business,” Coombes announced. “Let’s hear your story one more time.”

Ben groaned.

 

***

 

An hour later, Ben was released under his own recognisance. He agreed to return to sign in at the reception desk again tomorrow at nine in the morning. They had already retained his passport. DS Scott had walked him to the street level.

“Don’t worry, Ben. You are a person of interest only because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had a call from the crime scene team leader, Jaleep - our best tech, if you ask me. He said that they found the knife stuck in the bedstead and it had no usable prints. The same is true of the gun and silencer that were left on the kitchen table. It has been used in London previously, according to an initial on site scan. Jaleep thinks it may be a ‘pass-along’.”

“What’s a pass-along?” Ben asked reasonably.

“Oh, yeah, right. Criminals in London can’t get guns as easily as the public are led to believe by the TV. They often have to resort to hiring them from fences or dealers, and if they don’t fire them they get their deposit back. As you can imagine, the dealers don’t want used guns in their possession. They would be tied into all sorts of nastiness, and they could end up inside for years. So, if you do have to use one of these rented guns, you get rid as quickly as possible. If you are sensible you toss it and write it off to experience, but a lot of criminals pass them along to unknowing fellow criminals to recoup their lost deposit. Hence the slang term, passalongs. The gun you had was much newer, manufactured last year, in fact. Lenny probably brought it in from Eastern Europe, overland. Customs at ports aren’t as careful as those at airports.”

“I see. Well, it’s been an education, Scotty.” Ben stretched out his hand and DS Scott shook it. “Let’s hope this isn’t an ongoing professional relationship.” They both smiled. Ben set off for the hospital. It was still only eight in the morning.