Tom Weaver - The Dead Tracks

It was the Sixth Form car park at Newcross Secondary.

He knew what he was doing. He knew there was no CCTV coverage in that part of the school and he knew what time her lesson finished. He picked her up and he took her away, and no one even noticed.

The ultimate disappearing act.

Except he'd left a trail. Because while the woodland he described could have been anywhere as far as the police were concerned, I'd spotted him in Tiko's, I'd found out who he looked like, and I knew the significance of the website password.

I knew his next move that day.

He'd taken her to Hark's Hill Woods.

Chapter Twenty-seven

There was a coffee shop that doubled up as a deli a couple of doors along from the office. I headed downstairs and ordered a steak sandwich. While I was waiting, my phone started buzzing. It was Ewan Tasker calling about Jill's husband. I was tempted not to answer, not because I didn't want to speak to him, but because I didn't want another case to add to my workload minutes after a major break in the Carver one. But if I didn't answer, Tasker would just assume I wasn't around - and then keep on calling.

I hit Accept. 'Help the Aged.'

A laugh crackled down the line. 'Raker.'

'How you doing, Task?'

'Good. How are you?'

'Can't complain. I tried you earlier this morning, but I imagine you were winding your way towards the nineteenth hole. You're not hammered already, are you?'

He laughed again. 'Not yet.'

Rain pounded against the window of the coffee shop, making a noise like an army marching. I bent slightly and covered my other ear.

'So what have you got for me, old man?'

'You didn't hear any of this from me.'

'Goes without saying.'

The sound of paper being shuffled around.

'Okay. Frank Robert White. Forty-one years of age.

Married to Jill, no kids. Detective inspector for three years before he got popped, nineteen months of which he spent at the Met. On the evening of 25 October of last year, he was shot once in the chest, high up near the left shoulder, and once in the head, just above the bridge of the nose. He was part of a task force investigating Akim Gobulev. You've heard of him, right?'

'Yeah. The Ghost.'

'Right. Gobulev runs Russian organized crime in London, except no one's seen him since he landed at Heathrow ten years back.' More paper being flicked through. You know what his first name means back in Mother Russia?'

'No.'

'"God Will Judge". Fucking right about that. He was a pain in my balls at NCIS, but it looks like SOCA managed to get close to him through an informant.'

'So SOCA were working with White's Met team?'

'Right. White was SCD.'

The Specialist Crime Directorate. They were a Metropolitan Police department working across the city on serious and high-profile cases. Homicides, gangs, child abuse, e-crime, money-laundering - it all came under the SCD umbrella. It was split into eight Operational Command Units, and SCD7, which covered organized crime, would have been where Frank White was based.

'White had put a task force together to support SOCA and work alongside them, and they were about to put the cuffs on Gobulev's… What the hell have I written here?'

'Plastic surgeon?'

'Yeah, surgeon.' He sounded surprised. 'You already know all this?'

'Not much, but some.' I kept it at that. I didn't want an overview from Task; I wanted everything he had. "What do we know about this surgeon?'

'Intelligence suggests he's kind of like a gun for hire — except he comes armed with a scalpel and a syringe full of Botox.'

'So he isn't Russian?'

'No. Informants put him as English. He did the works on God Will Judge's face - as in, completely changed the way he looked — which is probably why we never found the arsehole in ten years at NCIS.'

'And presumably why Gobulev took a shine to the surgeon.'

'Yeah. He uses his medical expertise on a freelance basis — nose job here, brow lift there - but mostly he's just sewing up knife wounds and scooping out bullets for low- level shitheads. It's a way for the Russians to keep their employees out of A&E. Once you hit the hospitals, people start asking questions.'

'So what happened the night Frank died?'

'SOCA got a tip-off that the surgeon would be at that warehouse down in Bow, helping Gobulev take delivery of some guns.'

'But Gobulev wasn't there.'

Tasker snorted. 'Gobulev doesn’t go to his own birthday party.'

'So why send the surgeon?'

'No one was really sure. But the Russian informant reckons there was something else with the guns as part of the delivery.'

'What?'

'Currently unclear. White's team screwed up and got spotted early doors and then it turned into the OK Corral. White and the other officer who died got separated from the rest of the task force, and the next time anyone saw them they were bleeding out on the floor of the warehouse and the surgeon was haring away from the scene of the crime in a stolen car.'

'What about the rest of Gobulev's men?'

'Three dead at the scene. One was DOA; one decided not to speak in the interview, or during his subsequent trial.'

'At all?'

'Not about his involvement in anything, no. The Ghost's a scary man. Maybe Mr Dumb thought a life in clink was preferable to whatever Gobulev would do to him if he talked.'

'What about forensics?'

'Not much. The warehouse wasn't exactly a sterile environment. They recovered a ton of fibres, a shitload of hairs, some trace stuff. No matches.'

'Fingerprints?'

'Lots of prints, but mostly from the people working in the warehouse, or Gobulev's men. Nothing for the surgeon. Looks like the murder team were pretty exhaustive too. Every print the SOCO came back with, they put through IDENTi.'

The scene of crime officer was the conductor. He documented everything that happened on site, from the moment the first officer arrived to the moment the lights were turned out. At the end, he handed in his report, including fingerprints lifts. After that, all the prints were put through the national automated fingerprint system — which meant the surgeon's prints failed to match up with any of the six million already logged.

'So he hasn't got any priors,' I said.

'No. Although that's working on the assumption he even left his prints at the scene in the first place. They had some prints they couldn't attribute to anyone - but that doesn’t necessarily mean they were his.'

'Everyone leaves prints.'

'Not if you're wearing surgical gloves. Forensics found traces of cornflour at the scene. Looks like it's the same story with ballistics as well. White was shot with a hollow point 9mm, and the markings on the shell…' Tasker paused. I could hear him looking through his notes. 'The markings put the weapon as a GSh-18. Also Russian. Imported illegally, so pretty much impossible to trace.'

'Okay. So, physical description of the surgeon?'

'Medium height, medium build.'

'Anything else?'

'No. He's a mystery man.'

'Anyone see his face?'

'You're gonna like this. The informant said the surgeon used to turn up to meetings wearing a white plastic mask. No markings on it. Just holes at the eyes, nose and mouth.'

'Are you serious?'

'The man without a face.'

I paused and looked around me. Rain continued hammering against the window. Across the road, people ran past, caught in the storm, their coats pulled up over their heads.

'What did Gobulev's people call him?'

'Dr Glass.'

'Anyone know if that was his real name?'

'Doubtful given that he turned up to meets in a mask.'

'You put the alias through HOLMES or PNC?'

The Home Office Large Major Enquiry System was a database used by UK police forces to cross-check major crimes. The Police National Computer held details on every vehicle registered in the UK, stolen goods, and anyone reported missing or with a criminal record.