Simon Kernick - The Crime Trade

And fear him they would. All of them.

Including Tyndall.

For twenty-five minutes Tina followed him, first on to the A1, then down the Edgware Road in the direction of the West End. She kept well back, and traffic was heavy enough to allay any suspicion Trevor Murk might have that he was being followed. She kept the mobile on throughout the journey, feeding details of Murk’s movements to the control room back at the station, which then relayed them to the armed response vehicles and the members of the O’Brien murder squad as they converged on the route being taken.

As Murk came up to the top end of Baker Street, keeping to the left-hand lane, a message came through to Tina from control advising her that DCI Woodham had given strict orders that she was to remain at a safe distance from the suspect, and not to attempt to apprehend him. Armed officers were being deployed to do that. Tina acknowledged the message and swung into the middle lane, two cars back, only just getting through the Marylebone Road intersection lights as they changed from amber to red.

She acknowledged the message, but she wasn’t sure she could obey it. This was her collar. Her perseverance. She wasn’t a glory hunter, but she felt she deserved this one, and if she could take him safely and without unnecessary risk to herself, then she would do. There was no way she was letting Trevor Murk go.

She wondered what John would think of her actions. He’d be worried she’d get hurt — she knew how much he cared for her — but she also felt he’d understand that she had to do it. John was a solid guy, someone who preferred caution to jumping right into things, but, at the same time, he wasn’t a complete stickler for the rules. He knew when you had to take risks, to put your neck on the line. He’d done it before — had gone alone into a dangerous situation, ended up facing the wrong end of a gun and still come out unscathed and unbeaten, and with an important arrest under his belt — so he’d know why she was doing it. She could have done with him there with her, though. His quiet strength would have done a lot to calm her nerves.

The Megane’s left-hand indicator came on and she was forced to do a rapid lane-change, cutting up a white van in the process. Murk turned into Paddington Street and she followed, now only one car behind, conscious that her manoeuvre might have drawn unwanted attention to her. Trevor Murk might have been a cold-blooded murderer, but he was also fairly professional in his dealings, so would be on the look-out for people or vehicles acting suspiciously around him.

But it seemed he hadn’t noticed. He indicated again, and pulled into a side street next to a block of flats. Tina had to make a snap decision. Follow him and risk detection or keep on going and risk losing him? She plumped for the latter, carrying on for a few yards before flicking on her indicator and hazard lights and pulling up to the kerb. She cut the engine as the cars behind her beeped their horns, and gave her location to control, before running back towards the side street.

As she got to the corner, she saw the Megane turn into the entrance of an underground car park beneath the block of flats. ‘Bingo,’ she said, returning to the car and reporting this new information to control.

‘ETA for the first ARV is six minutes,’ said the voice of Sergeant Colin Brooking, the controller she’d been communicating with for the past half an hour. ‘Your orders are to wait until it arrives, Tina.’

‘Received and understood,’ she said, getting back into the car and performing a dangerous reverse manoeuvre that attracted more blasts of the horn from passing drivers, before turning into the side street and driving down past the entrance to the underground car park.

She parked up on some nearby double yellows and pulled a sign out of the glove compartment advising any over-zealous traffic wardens that she was a police officer on duty. Then, with an audible intake of breath, she got out and headed in the direction of the flats.

The faint sound of knocking drifted into Tino’s trance-like state. He was fantasizing about making love to three clones of Judy on his uncle’s boat, all of whom were satisfying him with their tongues and telling him what a good, brave man he was while at the same time, in a perfect combination of his two favourite pastimes, he was fishing for herring off the Friesland coast where he’d grown up. The knocking grew louder, and with his reverie now disturbed, he got up off the bed and walked through the lounge to the front door of the apartment.

‘Who is it?’ he called out.

‘Trevor.’

Without responding, Tino pulled open the door and glared at the man he’d once thought of as a friend. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said formally, moving aside to let Murk in, ‘but I think it is the least you could do, would you not agree?’

Murk stepped inside. ‘Listen, cool it, sweetboy, I can explain. That bastard, Stegsy-’

‘Who?’

‘Sorry, Mark. The undercover copper. He was blackmailing me, same as you. He made me do it.’

‘He said you always did this sort of thing, reporting your friends to the police when they were breaking the law. He said you were a grass.’

‘That lying cunt. Don’t you believe it, Tino. He’s as dodgy as something dodgy. It’s his way of sowing the seeds of discontent among the masses. You know what I’m saying?’

‘No, Trevor, I do not. But that’s not important now. As I told you, we need to find Mark, and quickly. He could have murdered this poor girl, and I don’t want her death on my conscience.’

‘Very upstanding of you, Tino. I always knew there was more to you than met the eye, and that’s saying something. I’m only sorry that Mark put me in a position where I had to cause you this much trouble.’

‘Where will Mark be now?’

Murk put the bag he was carrying down on the floor. ‘I know a couple of pubs he uses near here. We’ll try them, see if he’s there. Otherwise I’ll have to phone him down at the station.’

‘OK,’ said Tino, nodding. ‘Let’s go.’

‘You’re not going out like that, are you? It’s cold out there, you’re going to need a coat.’

Tino looked down at his shirt and jeans and decided Murk was right. He wasn’t dressed for the English weather, even on a spring day. ‘Hold on a minute, I’ll go and get one.’

He turned and walked into the bedroom. As he did so, Murk opened the bag and took out a.38 Smith and Wesson and silencer. A rag wrapped round the handle to protect it from fingerprints meant that he didn’t have to worry about gloves. He stepped over to the bedroom door and positioned himself to the side of it in a similar spot to the one in which he’d waited for Robbie O’Brien almost exactly a week ago.

When Tino came back through the door, just like Slim Robbie, he didn’t have a chance. He must have caught something out of the corner of his eye because he turned towards his killer and his eyes widened dramatically as he saw the barrel of the.38 level with his eyes. Murk pulled the trigger twice and blew the top of Tino’s head off, not even bothering to try to catch him as he tumbled messily to the ground with all the dignity of a sack of potatoes, the blood already leaking rapidly from the exit wounds.

Then, satisfied that Tino was dead, Trevor Murk returned the gun to the bag, checked the place over to make sure he hadn’t left behind any tell-tale clues, and walked out of there, thinking that he’d earned five grand and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

Tina found the Megane in the underground car park quickly enough. It was parked in the space for apartment 3C. She made a note of the number, then leant down and let down all four of the car’s tyres, one by one. Trevor Murk wasn’t going anywhere. Not using the method of transport he’d come here in anyway. She tried to inform control of where the car was parked but she’d lost the signal, so she made her way over to the lifts, wondering who it was her suspect was visiting in number 3C, and whether or not it had anything to do with the O’Brien killings.