Stephen Leather - Cold Kill

‘Fifteen years, man and boy,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve crossed the Channel more times than you’ve had hot dinners.’

‘As I said, I will need time to consider your offer,’ said Ben. He stood up and shouldered the rucksack.

‘I’ll wait for your call,’ said Shepherd. He held up the bag. ‘Thanks for this.’

The taller Asian stood up and the two men walked away. Shepherd sat and watched them go, tapping the strap of the holdall. Thirty thousand pounds. A year’s salary, give or take.

Shepherd waited until the two Asians had left the park, then stood up. He walked towards Marble Arch, checking he wasn’t being followed. Although the two men had left he had to stay in character because there was a chance that he was under surveillance. He walked down Bayswater Road, hailed a black cab and looked out of the back window as it sped west. He couldn’t see a tail but he got out of the cab a mile later, dashed across the road and hailed another going in the opposite direction. He put the holdall on to the seat next to him and stretched. His mobile rang ‘How did it go?’ asked the superintendent.

‘Fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘I think they’ll bite.’

‘He patted you down and went through your wallet.’

‘It wasn’t a problem,’ said Shepherd. ‘I was carrying a full set of ID. He asked why I wasn’t in custody and I spun him the line about my house being collateral. We’ll need to keep the Corke house running in case they check.’ Hargrove had set Shepherd up with a two-bedroomed terraced house in Dover as part of his cover. He’d had several drunken nights there with Pepper and Mosley before they’d taken him on the smuggling run.

‘Not a problem,’ said Hargrove. ‘I’ll get some legal letters and stuff dropped around. A bail receipt as well. These guys, how do you rate them?’

‘They don’t seem like hardened villains,’ said Shepherd, ‘but they did everything right. I’m sure it’s a regular run so they must be making a fortune. But the tall guy was wearing an army-surplus anorak by the look of it, and they both had cheap watches and no jewellery. Where are they headed?’

‘East,’ said Hargrove. ‘Tower Hamlets way. They had a driver pick them up in a brand new Merc and they’re not making it difficult so I think they bought your story. You’re taking good care of the money, I hope?’

Shepherd patted the holdall. ‘It’s right by me.’

‘I’ll have Jimmy drop by and pick it up tonight,’ said Hargrove.

‘The guy who gave me the cash was wearing gloves,’ said Shepherd.

‘I saw that. But we’ll need to check the notes. Good work, Spider.’

‘Let me know what happens,’ said Shepherd. ‘If I don’t hear from them within twenty-four hours, I’ll make the call.’

It was just after five when Shepherd got home. Liam was in the sitting room, on his PlayStation. Shepherd patted his head. ‘Have you had your dinner yet?’ he asked.

‘Katra’s cooking.’

‘What about homework?’

‘Done it.’

‘When?’

‘This afternoon when you were out. I had maths, and I had a book report, and I had to write a poem.’

‘What – “Roses are red, violets are blue”?’

Liam gave Shepherd a withering look. ‘There’s a bit more to it than that, Dad.’

‘I didn’t know you wrote poetry,’ he said.

‘I don’t. But that was the homework. So I did.’

‘Can I read it?’

‘Da-ad!’

‘What?’

‘It’s homework!’

Shepherd dropped down into an armchair. ‘I just like to know what you’re up to at school.’

‘School’s school.’

‘You always say that.’

‘Because it’s true. What was school like when you were a kid?’

Shepherd shrugged. His son had a point: school was school. You went, they told you stuff, and then you went home.

‘See?’ said Liam. On the television screen, a high-powered car ran over two elderly pedestrians.

Shepherd raised his eyebrows. ‘Did you just run over them?’

‘You’re supposed to,’ said Liam. ‘That’s how you move up to the next level.’

‘By killing people?’

‘Dad! I’m trying to concentrate here.’ The car squealed round a corner on two wheels and knocked a cyclist into the air.

Katra popped her head round the door. ‘Hiya, Dan. I’m doing fried chicken, rosemary potatoes and broccoli.’

‘Perfect,’ said Shepherd. He expected the boy to quibble about the broccoli but Liam went on with his game. Sue had always had a problem getting any green vegetables into him, but he ate whatever Katra put in front of him.

The doorbell rang.

‘I’ll get it,’ said Katra, and headed down the hallway.

‘What’s this about you wanting piano lessons?’

Liam shrugged.

‘Why the piano? Why not the guitar?’

‘I don’t want to play the guitar.’

‘Pianos are expensive.’

‘We don’t have to buy one. There’s one at school and I’d have lessons there.’

‘You know what’s a great instrument?’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know what it’s called but it’s shaped like a triangle and you hit it.’

‘It’s called a triangle,’ said Liam. ‘And you’re taking the mickey.’

Katra reappeared at the door. ‘It’s one of your colleagues,’ she said.

It was Jimmy Sharpe and Shepherd gave him the holdall.

‘Nice,’ said Sharpe, nodding towards the kitchen, where Katra had disappeared.

‘She’s a kid,’ said Shepherd.

‘I only said she was nice.’

‘She’s an au pair.’

‘I don’t care what her religion is – I’d give her one.’

‘You’re a real gentleman, Razor.’ He jerked a thumb at the holdall. ‘Be careful with that. It’s been counted.’

‘Very funny,’ said Sharpe. He lowered his voice. ‘Have you heard anything about Sam Hargrove moving on?’

‘Moving on where?’

‘Bigger and better things.’

‘It’s news to me.’

‘It’ll be a bugger if he goes,’ said Sharpe.

‘Why would he? The unit’s his baby and we’ve had a string of successes.’

‘I’m just telling you what I heard,’ said Sharpe. ‘Keep your ear to the ground. Forewarned is forearmed.’

‘Any more cliches or are you done?’

Sharpe winked and headed for his car.

Shepherd went back into the sitting room. The car was driving at full speed along a crowded highway. The driver kept leaning out of the window to fire a shotgun. ‘Is he doing what I think he is?’

‘ Dad! ’

A mobile phone rang in the kitchen. ‘Dan, it’s one of yours!’ shouted Katra.

Shepherd hurried into the kitchen. It was his work phone. Shepherd picked it up. It was Hargrove.

‘How’s it going?’ asked Shepherd, by way of a greeting. He never used his boss’s name or rank, either on the phone or when they were together in case he was overheard.

‘We’ve got an address in Tower Hamlets,’ said Hargrove. ‘A three-bedroom council flat. We’re working through the databases now but, as always at weekends, we’re not getting much co-operation from the local council or the utility companies.’

‘I can’t believe they’re smuggling in that much cash and living in a council flat,’ said Shepherd.

‘They might just be clever,’ said Hargrove. ‘Staying below the radar. Look, something’s come up and we need to talk. Face to face.’

‘Tonight?’

‘Tomorrow will be soon enough. I’ve got to pop into the Yard, then see someone at Waterloo. How about I meet you by the London Eye at eleven?’

‘I’ll be there,’ said Shepherd. ‘Anything I should worry about?’ Hargrove’s tone had told him something was wrong.

‘Nothing earth-shattering. I’ll talk it through with you tomorrow.’ He ended the call.