Jaime Raven - The Rebel - The new crime thriller that will have you gripped in 2018

He rarely asked me about my work and the characters we pursued because he knew that there was so much I couldn’t tell him. He had only ever demonstrated a vague curiosity anyway, and that could more often than not be satisfied by reading the Evening Standard .

‘Roy Slack can best be described as a tyrant who presides over this country’s biggest criminal enterprise,’ I explained. ‘He’s the closest we have to the old Mafia godfathers.’

Aidan didn’t want a detailed character assessment of the man, just the lurid headlines. So that was what I gave him.

‘Slack’s whole life has been spent as a criminal but would you believe the bastard has never seen the inside of a prison cell?’ I said. ‘He’s got a hand in every illicit pie across Central and South London. That includes drugs, extortion, fraud, prostitution, porn, money laundering – the lot.

‘He’s been the subject of intense investigations by the NCA and before them the Serious Organised Crime Agency. But he’s kept a clean sheet, thanks to witness intimidation, bent coppers and by being more careful than any other villain out there. And he’s still going from strength to strength after more than a decade at the top of his game. We now know that he’s even established strong links with a notorious Mexican cartel that’s flooding the whole of Europe with cocaine and heroin.’

‘He sounds like quite a guy,’ Aidan said. ‘But you’d never guess it from the photos I’ve seen on the web. He looks like a kindly uncle who’s ageing before his time.’

‘Well, over the years a lot of people have learned to their cost that his appearance can be more than a little deceiving. He’s a vicious bastard who surrounds himself with men who are even more vicious, including some nutter known at The Rottweiler.’

‘What about his private life? Does he actually have one?’

‘He lives well,’ I said. ‘But that’s about all we know. He’s got a fancy apartment overlooking the Thames, a big country house in Kent and a luxury villa in Spain – all paid for through legitimate businesses that are fronts for his dodgy activities.’

‘Is it a family-run organisation?’ Aidan asked.

I shook my head. ‘If it was we’re sure he would have retired by now and handed over the reins to a son or daughter. But if you ask me that’s down to poetic justice.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he lost his wife ten years ago in a car crash. They never had children.’

‘That’s tough,’ Aidan said. ‘But even so it’s hard to feel sorry for the guy.’

I didn’t bother carrying on even though I could have revealed a lot more about Roy Slack. I could sense that Aidan had heard enough and, besides, it was only fair that we talked a bit about his day.

He jumped at the chance to tell me that he’d been asked to organise the staff Christmas party this year alongside my mother, who always got involved in her capacity as school secretary.

I feigned interest even though it wasn’t something that I could get excited about. But at least it was a timely reminder that it wasn’t all about me and the work I did. Too often I gave that impression whenever I got wrapped up in a case. I withdrew into myself and thought about little else. And I knew that wasn’t fair on Aidan, even though he never complained.

To be sure Roy Slack and his minions were going to dominate my days for the foreseeable future, along with every other member of the task force.

I told myself that this time I would do my best to keep the investigation separate from my home life. I was determined not to let Aidan suffer in any way.

Danny Carver was a man of many talents. He was proficient in the use of most guns. He could strangle the toughest of men with his bare hands. He knew exactly how to torture someone to get them to cough up. And he could go days without sleep and still be a match for anyone in a street brawl.

But in recent years he had acquired a particular talent that didn’t involve violence – and yet it had proved just as useful to Roy Slack.

Danny had become a computer geek. He wasn’t up there with those cyber criminals who terrify the likes of governments, banks and big corporations. But his newfound skills had helped to develop new revenue streams for the firm through scams involving online fraud, hacking and identity theft. He’d also helped to make it difficult for the Old Bill to eavesdrop on their communications by installing sophisticated defence software in their mobiles and laptops.

It was therefore going to fall on Danny to get the ball rolling.

Slack took a sheet of paper from his desk drawer and held it up.

‘This is a copy of the list I just told you about,’ he said. ‘It contains the names and contact details of every detective on the organised crime task force. Next to each individual there’s a home address and the names of the people who are closest to them – wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, children, etcetera. Our mole has also provided me with a separate file containing photographs of most of those on the list. It’s been uploaded as a password-protected page on the web.’

‘So what is it you want me to do, boss?’

‘To start with I want you to send an anonymous text message to every detective so they receive it at the same time. You have to make it impossible for the message to be traced back to us. Can you do that?’

Danny nodded. ‘Piece of cake. So what’ll be in the message?’

Slack handed the sheet of paper to Danny.

‘I’ve written it there under the names. It’s short and to the point and there’s no way it can be misinterpreted.’

Danny read the message and gave a little whistle through his teeth.

‘Well, if this fails to put the fear of God into the bastards then I don’t know what will,’ he said.

Slack’s office was above a pub/restaurant the firm owned in Rotherhithe, a quiet suburb of South East London.

It was used as their base of operations and had round-the-clock security.

There was a meeting room next door and from its rear window you could see across the Thames to the spectacular skyline of Canary Wharf. One of the high-rise buildings had been home to Slack for the past four years. It was where he stayed when he was in London, which these days was most of the time.

It was just after nine o’clock and usually when he was here this late he would go for a meal downstairs. But tonight he had no appetite – at least for food.

‘Call Mike and let him know I’m ready to go home,’ he said to Danny. ‘And tell him I’ll be making the usual stop along the way.’

Mike Walker was one of his regular drivers. Long gone were the days when Slack drove anywhere himself.

He put on his suit jacket while Danny made the call, and filled his pockets with his phone, wallet and pack of Havana cigars.

‘Mike’s warming up the car,’ Danny said. ‘He says he’ll ring Jasmine to tell her you’re on your way over.’

Slack nodded. ‘That’s terrific. The last job for you tonight is to tell the lads that I want them here for a meeting tomorrow at eleven o’clock. I need to warn them that the shit’s about to hit the fan.’

They headed off in different directions – Danny to his house in Streatham and Slack to the home of his mistress in Vauxhall.

Jasmine Tinder lived in a flat he paid the rent on and it was an arrangement that suited them both. He wasn’t interested in another long-term relationship because he knew that no bird could ever match up to his Julie.

But it didn’t mean that his sex drive had hit the buffers, and so he made sure he got his end away on a regular basis. He was lucky in that the nature of his business meant that horny little muffins were always on tap.