Barry Maitiland - Spider Trap

There was a moment’s silence, then the small door clicked. Magdalen pushed and it swung open and she stepped inside, followed by her mother and Kathy. They waited, their eyes adjusting to the dim light reflected off the high cobwebby ceiling from striplights beyond a low partition.

Magdalen called out,‘Dad? Are you there?’

A door opened in the partition and Ivor Roach stood silhouetted against the light.‘Magdalen? What are you doing here? Who’s that with you?’

He came towards them. He was in his shirtsleeves and wearing a bloodstained apron, a gun hanging in his right hand at his side. Behind him, Kathy made out the bulky figure of Teddy Vexx in the doorway, and beyond him, in a pool of brilliant light, a white foot on a table.

‘It’s me, Ivor,’ Adonia said. ‘And this is someone from the police. I brought her here.’

‘You what?’ Ivor Roach advanced closer, peering at them in disbelief. ‘You brought a copper here? You stupid bitch . . .’ He raised his gun to Kathy.

‘It’s all right. She’s got something she wants to tell you.’

Kathy’s mouth was dry. She swallowed, took a breath.

‘Go on.’Adonia urged her.‘What your boss said to us.Tell him.’

Roach looked puzzled.

‘I …’Kathy cleared her throat with a cough.‘We were telling them that we’ve been running tests on the three bodies we found buried behind Cockpit Lane.We’ve established that one of them was Magdalen’s natural father. His name was Robbie Forrest.’

Roach’s mouth opened, but he didn’t speak.

Magdalen said,‘They say you killed my real dad.Is that true?’

Roach slowly shook his head, looking from his daughter to his wife.‘Of course not. How could she know that?’

‘The bullets were fired by a pistol, a nine-millimetre Browning,’Kathy said.‘It was used again a couple of years later in a car hijack, fired by your brother Ricky.’

‘It is true, isn’t it?’ Adonia said. ‘Your dad confirmed it. He knew all about it.’

‘Hey, darling . . .’ Ivor began to step forward, lifting his free hand in a supplicating gesture.

Out of the corner of her eye Kathy saw Adonia pull something from her coat pocket and point it at her husband. It was a gun, she saw,swaying precariously in the woman’s hands.Ivor saw it too,and an incredulous look came over his face.‘Adonia . . .’he said,and was abruptly silenced by a tremendous bang that reverberated through the metal shed, then a second. For a moment Ivor stared at Adonia in astonishment, then his knees buckled and he fell flat on his face.

Now there was the crash of boots and shouts as men burst in through the door behind them. Kathy took the pistol from Adonia’s hand, and the woman reached to her throat, unfastened her pendant and threw it at her husband’s body.

They sent two people to the meeting, the smooth and the rough. The smooth was MI5, Brock was fairly sure, and the rough a copper, a senior figure from Special Branch. They were there representing the Organised Crime Liaison Group. Facing them were Commander Sharpe and Brock, and the meeting was held in the Scotland Yard headquarters at 10 Broadway and chaired by an Assistant Commissioner.

Brock and Sharpe had been up all night, managing the aftermath of the Tallow Square incident.There had been the hunt across South London for Vexx and Crocker, who had escaped from the rear of the building while the three armed police were being tackled by the pitbulls.There had also been the first interviews with Adonia Roach, who appeared to have been liberated from years of intimidation and fear by her act of murder, and had begun talking about the activities of her husband and his brothers in an adrenaline rush. Like Magdalen, she was convinced that Ivor had had her pendant made from her lover’s golden tooth, and had made her wear it all those years as a vindictive act of revenge. Then there was the forensic information coming in from the crime scenes, not to mention the search of Ivor and Adonia Roach’s house and of the crack factory they found at Tallow Square. And there was Tom Reeves, on the critical list after three hours of emergency surgery.

Despite their lack of sleep, Sharpe was in good form, as if wading through murder scenes in the middle of the night had reawakened some long-dormant feeling for a life of action. Now he ignored the barbed inquiry from the pair from OCLG as to Brock’s status and launched into a spirited description of the night’s activities that left them momentarily speechless. Finally, Smooth conceded that there had been a JIC-sanctioned operation involving the Roach family, but refused to go into details. Sharpe responded that in that case he would feel free to instruct Brock to pursue his investigations which, in the light of Adonia Roach’s revelations and material found in her home, would undoubtedly embroil the whole family. Rough broke his silence at that point, bursting with fury at what had happened.

‘They were giving us everything,’ he protested.‘Every drug lab in London, every dealer, every importer. They had it all, and they were giving it to us! This is a total disaster.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have tried to use us as puppets,’Sharpe said coldly.‘I’ve got one officer at death’s door, another . . .’ he indicated Brock,‘…with his reputation in tatters,and a missing Member of Parliament whose life has been ruined.’

‘Oh,come now,’Smooth said with a pained air,‘nobody asked Reeves to try to burgle the Roach house, and I really don’t think that anyone questions DCI Brock’s reputation. As for Michael Grant, well, that was Roach’s price, in the end. And let’s face it, Grant was a troublemaker, out of control. He was regarded as a menace in the House, and he was never going to leave Roach alone. He was simply beyond reason.’

Brock spoke for the first time. ‘They had murdered his brother,’ he said quietly.

‘So you say. But you have no proof, have you?’

‘We’ll see.’

The Assistant Commissioner stepped in. Perhaps, now that everything was out in the open, some way forward might be considered? Might it not still be possible to gain the information from the Roaches, who, after all, must be even more anxious than before to do a deal? Smooth thought this a constructive approach, although Rough was obviously still seething. After considerable discussion, it was agreed to share operational information daily and include Sharpe in the OCLG control group.The meeting broke up with handshakes and in a mood, at least to outward appearances, of conciliation and cooperation.

The following morning, Saturday, Kathy was wrenched from sleep by the phone ringing. She stumbled through the dark and fumbled the receiver. It was Brock, calling from the hospital where he had been with Tom.

‘Oh . . .’ The curtains were drawn and she had no idea if it was night or day. It seemed only minutes since she had been there herself at Tom’s bedside,and she could still smell the hospital.‘Any change?’

Still critical but stable, Brock said, and really as good as could be hoped for, given the terrible injuries compounded by loss of blood. Even if he survived the next few days, they still weren’t sure if they could save his legs.

Kathy groaned. They hadn’t mentioned that to her. A wave of nausea rose inside her and she sat down heavily. She felt exhausted, unwilling to face it all again.Her eyes,adjusting to the gloom,made out pale light around the shape of the curtain.‘What time is it?’

‘Eight-twenty. Sorry, did I wake you? The reason I’m ringing is to tell you that I’m going to drive up to see Michael Grant today, and tell him what’s happened. So if there are any developments you’ll phone me on my mobile, will you?’