Fifty Two Weeks of Murder (2 page)

Chapter 2

The original Scotland Yard had been named because its rear entrance had backed onto a street called Great Scotland Yard. The location had moved several times since then and picked up the moniker New Scotland Yard in 1890. The return to Curtis Green building in twenty sixteen had allowed the “New” to be dropped and the building was now simply Scotland Yard. The three hundred and seventy million pounds raised from selling the previous Met offices had gone into refurbishing the new one, yet the exterior still looked drab and dour.

Anders had elected to stop at Waterloo and walk along the embankment to the Yard. She enjoyed the bustle of the streets and made a mental note to take Cassie and Aaron to the London Eye as she walked past. Aaron would enjoy the macabre London Dungeon that had moved to the Eye from London Bridge and Cassie would enjoy the Aquarium that was found next to it. A biting wind snapped at her jacket and she pulled it tight as she leaned into the blast. In typically British fashion, the day was breaking its earlier promise of sun, and dark, forbidding rainclouds started to loiter with intent. Walking along Westminster Bridge, she gazed at the Houses of Parliament and wondered at the history of the city. Modern skyscrapers tore at the skyline, visionary designs of glass and steel that sought to escape the clutches of the ancient buildings littering the streets. Anders loved the clash of ages. 

Scotland Yard was located a short walk from the bridge and she paused briefly as she came into its shadow. The building was large and square, with rows of evenly spaced windows and little character. The impressive Ministry of Defence building crowded over it and Anders chuckled at the bombastic contrast. Before she could move on, a deep, yet cocksure voice boomed from the riverside, the cockney accent clear over the traffic.

“I thought I recognised that sweet ass from across the river!” Anders turned to see a large, immaculately dressed figure cross the street and move nimbly towards her, idly flicking a cigarette butt away as he weaved through the traffic. His suit was cut to show his broad shoulders and trim waist, a gold necklace flashing in the light against his dark skin. He walked with a swagger and opened his arms in greeting as he reached Anders. She grinned as she saw him and embraced the younger man with joy.

“Jesse,” she said. “I had no idea you were in London. Don’t tell me you’ve turned from the dark side!” Jesse shrugged easily and gave a wicked grin.

“You’re out of touch Special Agent Anders,” he replied. “I’m all out of that business, going clean and straight. Found me a cushy job with your new boys.” Jesse laid an arm around Anders as he guided her into the building. “I ain’t no Blackhat nomore, but you know you can’t go around calling me Jesse. It’s Crackers my little angel.” Anders stepped to the security desk and signed herself in before allowing Jesse to show her to the offices. The large atrium was bustling with the change of shift and a few surreptitious stares were directed at Anders. Within law enforcement, she was both curiosity and legend.

“I’m no Special Agent now, Jesse, and I told you when I arrested you that your mother gave you that name for a reason and it wasn’t so you could change it to Crackers.” Jesse laughed and kept pace with the banter. His company was easy and he held no grudge for the past. Besides, he would owe her for many more years to come.

“Hell, you’ll always be the most special of Agents and you know it,” he said wistfully as he took her to the lifts. She gave him a knowing look and he sighed theatrically before pushing open the door to the stairwell and graciously waving her down.

“It’s a long way down,” he moaned as they descended deep into the concrete bowels of the building. “Seems the Met don’t like the NCA in their building for some reason.”

It really was a long way down and Jesse was breathing heavily as he slammed open the door to their offices by leaning wearily on it. Anders was admonishing him for his smoking as they walked into a large open space that was well lit and filled with new equipment but couldn’t disguise the fact that it was as far away from the Met officers as possible.

To the right of the entrance lay two offices, separated from the room by glass partitioning. In the middle of the hub, several desks were spread out, one of which was piled high with computer monitors connected like a web and a stack of magazines and junk. Anders guessed that to be Jesse’s station. The other tables were bare and unclaimed. At the back and to the left, several corridors ran off to different areas. Anders had studied the plans and knew that the two at the rear led to firearms and training and the other to the forensics suite. The ones immediately to her left linked to the holding cells and interrogation rooms. The entire structure was steel and concrete. Functional and nothing else. One wall was for posting evidence, ideas and chronology and it was currently bare.

“Mal!” called Jesse. “We have our latest recruit!” A head popped out from the office closest to the entrance and gave them both a big grin. It disappeared briefly and there was a whispered conversation before Mal stepped out. He was tall and filled the doorway, his rolled up sleeves showing thick knots of muscle attached to large hands designed for the more practical application of police work. Despite his fearsome build, his broad face was open and kind, with a beard that was peppered with flecks of grey. His voice, when he spoke, was suffused with the lilting tones of the Welsh Valleys. His eyes were sharp and piercing and Anders saw a core of steel within them.

“Welcome,” he said as he shook her hand in a meaty fist. “I’m delighted to meet you. I’m sure Jesse…”

“…Crackers…” Mal gave him a weary look and turned back to Anders.

“…has given you the lowdown of the team.” Anders smiled as she allowed herself to be guided into the office closest to them. Jesse took the opportunity to get to his desk and start work.

“He’s told me of his conquests since he returned to London and then regaled me with his thesis on the evils of stairs, but that’s pretty much it.” Mal chuckled as they entered the office. It was decorated with warmth and care. There were throws on comfy sofas, rugs on the floor and bright paintings hung on walls. Behind a small desk sat an elegant and well-groomed woman who looked to be in her early forties, but was most likely older. She had taken care of herself and took pride in both her appearance and her work. She gave a warm smile to Anders as she entered and stood to greet her. She was much shorter than she looked and Anders towered over her, despite not being that tall herself.

“You must be Assistant Chief Constable Anders,” she said, clasping Anders’ hands in her own. She was well spoken, her inflection laced with wealth and class.

“Just Anders please ma’am.”

“Anders it is,” she replied. “I’m Abigail Philips. I’ll be helping you with your investigations. I’m a…”

“Psychiatrist ma’am. I studied your work at Quantico. Your research into child abuse helped me to build several profiles during my time there.” Abigail chuckled modestly and glanced slyly at Mal.

“I like this one. She can stay,” she declared before giving Anders’ hand one more squeeze and returning to her desk. She glanced up as they made to leave. “I’m told you like coffee. There’s always a mug and a chat here.” Anders nodded her thanks as Mal ushered her out of the room.

“Sharp as an axe that one,” he muttered fondly as he gave Anders the tour of the station. They were clearly old friends. As Mal showed Anders her new workspace, he spoke rapidly of the project they were undertaking. His enthusiasm was infectious and Anders found herself excited to be at the spearhead of this undertaking. Only Jesse, Abigail and Mal were there, but the hour was early and Anders had wished to arrive before everyone else. Mal’s crumpled jeans, flannel shirt and dishevelled look spoke of someone who spent more time at work than at home and she guessed that he would always be here before her.

“So, this is our second day of operations. We’re in the Met’s building, but we are NCA. We have our own operational independence. Technically, I’m the highest ranking officer in the building, but we’ll keep out of their way as much as possible.” He led her through the desks and into the forensics lab, clearly honoured to be leading this new taskforce. As they walked past Jesse, he winked at Anders and she smiled back, glad that he was now putting his considerable skills to good use.

“The NCA has been operational since twenty thirteen, but it took a few years to get us up and running. The Director-General’s baby as it were. This is the lab,” he said and opened his arms to display the area proudly. His soft accent was easy on the ear and Anders took a moment to realise that he’d been expecting a response from her. The room was larger than she’d imagined, having studied the plans, and extremely well furnished. Two metal tables with drains below them were in the centre and each wall was festooned with equipment, from PCR machines and spectrometers to electrophoresis kits. Anders could see where the budget had gone and was suitably impressed. She gave him a cheeky grin and nodded her approval, a stray lick of hair escaping her pony tail as she tucked it behind her ear.

“I’m impressed,” she said. “No coffee machine though.” Mal grinned even wider and gave her a devilish wink.

“Follow me. If you want to be truly impressed that us Brits can do coffee then I shall show you our finest brew!” He swept past, gesturing for her to follow and she almost had to sprint to keep up with his long, loping strides as he made his way down the concrete lined corridors. Entering the main area, Anders saw a group of people standing around Jesse and chatting. He was holding court and embellishing his misdeeds with a light touch that made the others laugh. He often aimed to misbehave, but his breezy personality always helped him get away with it. Mostly. As Mal and Anders entered, the conversation was cut short and the group turned to appraise the newcomer. Mal clapped his large hands thunderously together and walked confidently towards the trio.

“Excellent!” he declared. “Just in time to meet our new Assistant Chief Constable!” As Anders walked to the group, she could sense the hostility from at least one of them. The most openly hostile was a female, slightly taller than Anders, slim with pinched cheeks and stern features. Blonde hair framed her face and her eyes were a piercing blue. She’d have been considered attractive if it weren’t for her icy demeanour, a coolness that spoke of selfish determination. She looked to be in her early thirties. 

“This is Lucy Colohan,” Mal said as he made the introductions. “She used to be part of Special Branch until we poached her.” Anders made to shake her hand, but Lucy merely raised hers in greeting, pursing her lips even tighter and gazing openly at Anders’ scar. Oblivious to the slight, Mal introduced the giant that stood next to Lucy, dwarfing her with his height and build. Mal was tall but this man made him seem merely average.

“This is Barry Eisenfield, ex, er, military and all round expert in tracking down the lowlife’s we’ll be chasing.” He had short black hair kept in a neat buzzcut and sported a nose that had been broken on several occasions. He had a full mouth that was always quick to smile and sparkling eyes that held an intelligence unexpected in such a brutish figure. He wore a tight fitting shirt with short sleeves that allowed his muscles free rein to intimidate or impress. Usually both. A large tribal tattoo snaked its way around his right arm and Anders could see the end of it crawling up his neck in a strange parody of her own scar. He held out a welcoming hand and gave a warm smile as Anders took it, her own delicate hand dwarfed by his. When he spoke, it was with a deep rumbling bass and always tinged with mirth. 

“I hear you were with the Eighty Second Airborne,” he said. More of a statement than a question. Anders nodded. “Came across you guys in Iraq during the “Surge.” Operation Fardh al-Qanoon saw some pretty intense fighting, but you boys came out of it alright.” Anders, seeing the way he carried himself, the gently patronising tone of another military force and reflecting on the barely noticeable pause in Mal’s voice, took a guess as to his army background and gave him a warm smile.

“We did ok,” she replied. “Spent some time with your lads securing the Helmand Province. You did alright yourselves.” Barry let out a guffaw of laughter and clapped down on her shoulder with a loud thump, rattling her teeth with its force. He was interrupted by a sour voice as Lucy groaned.

“Not another one. Nothing better to do after leaving the army?” Anders shrugged easily, refusing to be baited by her aggression. She’d come across it oftentimes. It wasn’t going to change.

“Plenty of transferable skills. Besides, I was FBI before I joined the Eighty Second. Wanted to make up my own mind about what we were doing over there.”

“So why are you in London now then?” The curt question came from the third member of the group. He was skinny, with a slight frame and a face that could be handsome when he smiled. It was such a rare occurrence, however, that Jesse joked he didn’t actually know how to make the necessary movements required for one. He wore a baggy suit that was ill fitting, but his eyes were sharp and his movements constantly stilted as if he was always holding himself back. Mal put a patronising arm around him, earning a grumpy scowl in return. It clearly tickled Mal to gently push his buttons.

“This here is Duncan, Abi’s brother and all round nice guy, once you get through his incredibly prickly exterior. Ex CID, they’re all like that. Part of the training. And you don’t have to answer his question.”

“That’s ok,” replied Anders. “It’s a fair question. I was born here, moved to America when I was six and felt that it was time to come home.” Duncan looked like he was going to respond when Jesse cut him off.