Stephen Leather - Cold Kill

She opened her mouth to speak but Shepherd smiled and pressed his index finger to his lips, then closed the door. He went to his room, pulled off his clothes and showered. He still felt bad about not calling Liam, but at least he had until morning to think of some way to make it up to him.

It was just after eleven when Shepherd woke. He changed into his running gear and went downstairs. Katra had heard him and had a mug of strong coffee waiting for him. ‘I didn’t hear you guys get up,’ he said.

‘Liam went in to say good morning but you were fast asleep,’ she said, as she unloaded the dishwasher. ‘You must have been tired.’

‘I’ve had a rough few days,’ he said. He took several gulps of coffee. ‘I had to go back up north. Unfinished business.’

‘You work too hard,’ she said.

‘I don’t know about hard, but I’m certainly putting in more than my fair share of hours.’

‘Can’t you transfer to an office job, with more regular hours?’

That was exactly what Sue had always said. Undercover work was dangerous and meant long hours away from home. But the overtime payments were generous and he knew he’d never get the same satisfaction sitting behind a desk. ‘It’s what I do, Katra,’ he said. That had always been his answer to Sue, even though he knew it was more excuse than explanation. He could have done other jobs within the police – he still could. He could even go back to the SAS as an instructor. The major had made clear to him that an offer to join the Directing Staff was always on the table.

‘I know Liam wishes he could spend more time with you,’ said Katra.

‘It’s just been a busy period, that’s all,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll be around over the weekend. Most of it.’ He drained his mug and put it into the sink.

‘Do you want breakfast?’ asked Katra.

Shepherd grabbed his rucksack and headed for the door. ‘I’ll eat when I get back,’ he said.

Shepherd was lying on the sofa watching a black-and-white cowboy movie when he heard Katra walking down the hallway. He looked at his watch and realised she was going to pick up Liam from school. ‘Katra!’ he called. ‘Hang on a minute.’ He switched off the television and hurried into the hallway. ‘I’ll fetch Liam.’ He held out his hands for the car keys.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m on a day off,’ said Shepherd, ‘and I owe him some quality time.’

‘You are always busy,’ said Katra. She was wearing a baggy denim shirt over a pair of khaki cargo pants and looked about fifteen.

‘So are you,’ he said. ‘Have a few hours off. Don’t bother cooking – I’ll take Liam for fast food. You talk about me working long hours but you’re always on the go. Kick back, watch some TV.’

Katra laughed. ‘I’ve got ironing to do,’ she said. ‘And fast food is bad for you.’

‘Once in a blue moon won’t kill him.’

Katra frowned. ‘A blue moon?’

Shepherd grinned. Katra’s English had improved rapidly during the months she’d been with him and Liam, but she still didn’t have too good a grasp of slang and idiom. Her English was still a hundred times better than Shepherd’s Slovenian, though. ‘It means rarely. Not often. You don’t often see a blue moon.’

Katra’s brow creased into a frown. ‘I don’t think I have ever seen the moon blue.’

‘It’s just an expression,’ said Shepherd. He waved goodbye, went outside and climbed into the dark green Honda CRV. Parked next to it was the battered Land Rover he used when he was being Tony Corke.

He’d barely started the car when one of his mobiles rang. He fumbled in his pocket for it. It was his work phone and Hargrove was on the line. Shepherd slotted the phone into the hands-free socket. ‘Can you talk?’ asked the superintendent.

‘I’m just heading to Liam’s school,’ said Shepherd. ‘What’s up?’ He slowed down to well under the speed limit – the main road was peppered with cameras.

‘We found a telephone number under the insole of one of Rudi Pernaska’s shoes,’ said Hargrove. ‘A throwaway mobile. There’s a good chance it’s the contact for the money. We’ve run a check on the phone and it’s never been used.’

‘Sounds like they’re waiting for a call.’ A set of traffic-lights ahead turned red and he brought the CRV to a stop. ‘How do you want to play it?’

‘Assuming the number is that of the contact who’s expecting delivery of the cans, we should run with it. I’ve got our technical team resealing them and fitting a tracking device. We deliver them and see where they lead us.’

‘You want me to handle the delivery?’ said Shepherd.

‘There’s a number of options,’ said Hargrove. ‘You could switch roles, call up and say you were on the boat with Rudi, that he’s been sent to an immigration centre and you’ve got the cans. It’d mean you pretending to be an asylum-seeker.’

‘My language skills aren’t up to that,’ said Shepherd. ‘If I say I’m from Kosovo and they wheel in a Kosovan speaker, it’ll all be over.’

‘Plan B would be to bring in someone who can pass themselves off as an asylum-seeker. We’ve got a Chinese guy on a long-term drugs play – I could pull him in.’

‘Is there a Plan C?’

‘You stick with the Tony Corke legend. Make a call, say you were on the crew and that you’ve got the cans. Tell them Pernaska gave you the number but you’ll want paying.’

‘And if they’re hard cases, I get a bullet in the back of my head for my trouble.’

‘You’ve got a million euros of their money,’ said Hargrove. ‘I would think they’ll negotiate. Just make sure you arrange the handover in a public place.’

‘Then you bust them?’

‘I’ve had a word with Europol,’ said Hargrove. ‘They’re keen to nail down both ends of this operation, Britain and France, and they’d like you to make contact with the British end, see if you can set up some sort of a deal to bring in more currency.’

‘Offer to smuggle in more for them?’

‘Find out why they’re using refugees. And see if they’d be interested in you using a more direct method. We can set you up with a high-speed boat, which would fit in with your Corke legend.’

‘I’m going to be sailing across the Channel on my own?’

‘I’m told it’s no more complicated than driving a car,’ said Hargrove. ‘We’ll have you well trained, don’t worry.’

‘And you think they’ll trust me?’

‘You’ll be handing over a million euros. That’s got to buy you a lot of goodwill.’

‘Why wouldn’t Corke just do a runner with the cash?’

The lights turned green and Shepherd edged the car forward, looking both ways as he crossed the junction.

‘Because he figured he was dealing with some very heavy people. And he’s out on bail facing a prison sentence. He’d be looking for money to pay his lawyers.’

‘Makes sense,’ said Shepherd. ‘Okay, when do I call them?’

‘Sooner rather than later. We’re keeping Pernaska’s suicide under wraps. His wife and daughter will be held by Immigration in Croydon until the investigation’s run its course – Pernaska’s contact here will be expecting him to get in touch today so we don’t want to go beyond tonight because they might start asking questions. Call this afternoon, but be cagey. It’s going to take a day or two for us to get the tracker in place. Make contact, but tell them you’ll need time to think about where to do the handover.’

‘Do I tell them I know what’s in the cans?’

‘Best not – or maybe that you think it’s drugs. Then play it by ear when you meet.’

‘How do I explain that I’m footloose and fancy-free?’

‘Tell them you’ve got a good lawyer and he got you bail. You used your house as security.’