Nick Oldham - The Last Big Job

‘ You’re criticising me for not shooting someone — is that what I’m hearing? I hate to think what you’d be saying to me if I had pulled the trigger.’ Henry snorted and let it drop. He needed a bed. He thought briefly about Kate and wondered if she was asleep or not. ‘I guess that’s it,’ he said with a touch of finality. ‘Job’s over. Jacky Lee’s met a sticky end. You’ll probably never find out for sure if he killed that guy in the canal, and we’ve done our work.’

‘ No, you haven’t.’ Davison shook his head.

Henry and Terry looked up together.

Davison held up the witness statements they had written. ‘I am now the SIO on the murder of Jacky Lee. I will not be making these statements available to the investigating team, though I will let my deputy know about them, of course. As far as you are both concerned, you are being hunted down by the police as witnesses to the murder, possibly even suspects. I haven’t revealed to any of my team that an undercover operation was up and running as regards Lee. It is not my intention to tell them an undercover operation is up and running to find Lee’s murderer.’

‘ What are you saying?’ Terry demanded.

‘ That I want you’ — he pointed at Henry — ‘to stay undercover, and I don’t want the Murder Squad to know about it, with the exception of my deputy SIO. I want you to get into the ribs of Lee’s minders and gather evidence for us… then when you’ve got it, I’ll pull you out.’

‘ That will be so fucking dangerous, it’s not worth talking about,’ Henry pointed out forcefully. ‘There’s a good chance I’ll get iced as well as Lee. It is not a good situation. In fact, it’s a dark, murky one. These people don’t mess around, you know. They don’t like you, or don’t trust you, they kill you. They’re not like you and me.’

‘ I want you to go back in and find out who killed Jacky Lee, then withdraw. Piece of piss for a guy like you.’

Henry remained tight-lipped. ‘Does Fanshaw-Bayley know about this?’

Davison nodded. ‘And approves.’

Henry’s lips reverted to tight, cynical. He looked at Terry. Each man knew what the other was thinking. It was an exciting prospect, yet appalling at the same time. Henry loathed himself for what he said next.

‘ OK, I’ll do it. But everything is down to me. Every detail. Everything. Even the merest hint that Thompson and Gunk are unhappy with me, I’m out like shit off a shovel.’

‘ Fine.’

‘ And the first thing is, for the sake of realism, Frank Jagger would definitely lie low for a few days before slithering out of the woodwork, so that’s what I’ll be doing. Not least because I haven’t spent enough time at home for a while.’

They left the classroom a short while later.

In the very basic bedroom that had been provided for him at the Training School, Henry settled on the bed after a long, hot shower. He got to thinking about Rupert Davison. He remembered him from years before. Recalled what a prick the guy had been as a Constable. A real loose cannon. Obviously the intervening years had not changed him much. He had been unpopular way back then and as Henry dozed off he tried to remember why. Then it struck him. Davison did stupid things, always seemed to put other people in danger and always emerged unscathed himself. The thought made Henry sweat.

‘ Look up, you bastard,’ Crane ordered Spencer. All bravado gone, the teenager was sitting back on his reeking chair, doubled forwards, trying to nurse the terribly broken arm. The pain was excruciating, burning up from his elbow to his shoulder and across his chest. He rocked in agony, trying to handle the sickening waves which pulsated through him. However, he responded to Crane’s harsh voice and raised his chin.

Cheryl was standing up, naked, petrified. Hawker was behind her, holding her arms, preventing her from moving.

Crane stood next to her, swinging a solid metal pipe in his right hand. It was about half the length but of a similar diameter to the thick end of a snooker cue.

‘ Watch this,’ he said to Spencer.

‘ Oh God,’ screamed Spencer as Crane’s body twisted at the hip and knee. The pipe arced through the air. He put his whole weight behind the movement and smashed the pipe against Cheryl’s left shin.

She screamed and fell clutching her shattered leg, fractured by the blow.

Crane surveyed his handiwork. Above the sound of Cheryl’s moans he announced, ‘This is what you get when you cock up with me. Grief.’

Then he thought the couple had suffered enough. He waggled his fingers at Smith who had watched the whole episode whilst leaning against the wall. He handed a revolver to Crane.

‘ Enough of this shit,’ Crane said. He reached out and grabbed Spencer’s hair, yanked him up off the chair and dragged him to the edge of the vehicle inspection pit where he forced him on to his knees, overlooking the edge. Very quickly, without preamble, Crane pressed the muzzle of the gun against the back of Spencer’s head and pulled the trigger. The bullet lifted him into mid-air and into the inspection pit. He smashed to the bottom of it and twitched only once.

Crane repeated the procedure with Cheryl. Her body landed on top of her boyfriend’s.

When the echo of the gunfire had died away, Crane looked at Smith. He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling, but his expression was exuberant, as though he’d just won Gladiators.

‘ You said you had something else for me.’

At 10 a.m. next day, Danny walked up the concrete steps of the block of flats where Cheryl lived. She strode over pools of urine and spew and avoided broken needles. At the first landing she turned left on to a walkway. A small group of youths were gathered outside the doorway to one of the council flats. Danny had to walk past them to get where she was going.

All eyes turned to her; conversation ceased as they immediately clocked her as a cop. A lone cop at that. And a woman. They purposely edged away from the door into her path to obstruct her.

She approached them with the impression of streetwise confidence, but underneath she was quaking. She had no business with these guys and did not want to have, but people like this always wanted to know what the authorities were doing on their territory. Danny guessed the oldest of them was about fifteen. Even so, they were all mean and potentially nasty.

Their chins — marked with zits and tufts of adolescent bum-fluff — lifted. Sneers appeared on their faces. They were like a pack of wild dogs responding to an intruder… in this case, Danny.

‘ Excuse me, please,’ Danny said politely.

‘ Why? What’ve you done — farted?’ one giggled.

‘ Just excuse me,’ she insisted.

One of them drew himself up to his full height. He stepped directly in front of her, challenge written across his face. Danny was tall, but he wasn’t far off.

‘ What’re you doing here?’ he wanted to know.

Danny sighed. ‘Just let me through, please, OK?’

There was a second or two’s hesitation; those tense moments when one or the other had to give ground. It wasn’t going to be Danny. The youngster lost his nerve and stepped reluctantly aside. A path opened and she passed through with relief.

‘ Bitch,’ one of them hissed.

‘ Twat,’ said another.

‘ Show us yer cunt… I can smell it already,’ another added bravely, sending them all into fits of hysterical laughter.

Danny chose not to respond, acknowledge them or turn round. She simply sighed and thought, Ahh, the youth of today, the leaders of tomorrow, and walked to the end of the landing, turning left out of their sight.

The flat was number 23. She stopped outside it, saw the obscene graffiti scrawled on the door, the window pane boarded up with cardboard and the damage halfway down the door which looked as though someone had kicked it in.