Rough Justice (35 page)

Roberts and the other man nodded.

‘And if we find drugs or weapons in the car, you’re coming in.’

‘Ain’t nothing in the car. We ain’t stupid,’ said Roberts.

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Fogg. He waved for Kelly and Coker to search the two men, who, without being asked, turned around, spread their legs and leaned against the wall with their hands above their heads. Fogg grinned at Shepherd. ‘That’s TV for you,’ he said. ‘Our procedure is to search them standing up with their arms stretched out to the side, but these guys see so many movies and reality TV programmes that they automatically assume the position.’ He waved at the BMW. ‘Give Carpets a hand going over the car, see if they’re hiding anything.’

Kelly and Coker methodically searched the two men, from their collars down to their ankles, then made them remove their training shoes and socks. Shepherd opened the front passenger door of the BMW, checked the glove compartment and under the seats, examined the door panels to see if they’d been moved, then checked the back of the car. Parry went through the boot, removing the carpeted floor so that he could check the spare tyre and tool kit.

By the time they’d finished Kelly and Coker were filling out 5090s. ‘Car’s clean, Skip,’ said Parry.

‘Right, gentlemen,’ Fogg said, to the two men, who were bending down and tying their shoelaces. ‘Strictly speaking we can impound the car because it doesn’t have insurance, but you’ve caught me on a good day so if you get in there and get it out of my sight within the next thirty seconds you can keep it.’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Roberts. He hurried over to the BMW, one of his shoelaces flapping, his copy of the 5090 in his hand. The other man got into the front passenger seat and they drove off. The team watched them go down the street and make a quick left turn.

‘Bloody hell, Terry, you’ve got a bit of a short fuse there,’ said Fogg.

Kelly gripped Shepherd’s shoulder. ‘Yeah, a short fuse,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve got Terry’s nickname. Three-amp.’

Parry chuckled. ‘Nice one,’ he said. ‘Three-amp it is.’

‘Don’t I get a say in this?’ asked Shepherd.

‘No, Three-amp, you don’t,’ said Coker.

‘Careful, Lurpak, he might take a swing at you,’ said Kelly.

‘It was a one-off, guys, it won’t happen again,’ said Shepherd.

‘The slag asked for it,’ said Kelly. ‘He had no right laying his hands on Pelican. If anyone’s going to be touching her tits, it’s us.’

‘What about the video camera in the bus?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Is that going to be a problem?’

‘It would if it had been on,’ said Fogg.

‘I thought I saw Nipple switch it on when we stopped the car,’ said Shepherd.

‘Yeah, but it’ll have been off when you let fly,’ said Fogg. He grinned. ‘What can I say? We’re always having technical hitches, aren’t we, lads?’

‘Always breaking down,’ agreed Kelly.

‘Bloody nightmare,’ said Parry.

‘Come on, lads, back on the bus,’ said Fogg. ‘Let’s get Crazy processed and we can call it a day.’

They piled into the van. Lambie was slumped in the prisoner’s seat while Castle and Turnbull stood over him.

‘What happened?’ said Lambie, groggily.

‘You fainted,’ said Castle.

Lambie groaned. ‘You hit me,’ he said. ‘My jaw hurts like hell.’

‘I’m a woman,’ said Castle. ‘I don’t go around beating up men, it wouldn’t be right.’

‘Someone hit me,’ said Lambie. ‘My mouth’s bleeding. One of you bastards punched me.’

‘No, mate,’ said Turnbull. ‘You must have hit your chin on the ground when you fainted. Not an epileptic, are you? Maybe you should be wearing one of them padded helmets.’

‘You bastards,’ said Lambie. ‘Police brutality, that’s what it is.’

‘Tell it to your solicitor when we get to the nick,’ said Fogg. ‘Until then, keep your mouth shut.’

Lambie was taken to Harlesden police station to be processed. He made no mention of being hit and when the custody sergeant asked him how he had hurt his chin, Lambie said he’d cut himself shaving. Fogg told Turnbull and Coker to handle the paperwork while the rest of the team went to the canteen for coffee. There was less than an hour to go before the end of their shift and by the time Lambie had been fingerprinted and had had a DNA sample taken it would be time to head back to Paddington Green.

Shepherd took his coffee over to a corner table but he was intercepted by Castle. She didn’t look happy. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

She leaned towards him, keeping her voice low so that she couldn’t be overheard by the rest of the team. ‘The thing is, Terry, it’s hard enough being a woman in this unit without having you riding in as a white knight every time it gets a bit tough out there.’

‘What?’ said Shepherd, genuinely confused by her reaction.

‘You saw a punter getting heavy with me and you piled in like I was a little girlie out of my depth.’

‘Hey, Carolyn, it wasn’t like that at all.’

‘That’s what it looked like. And I can take care of myself. I’ve been with the TSG for four months. You’re the newbie.’

‘Okay,’ said Shepherd. ‘I hear you. But hand on heart, what I did was nothing to do with you being a woman. I’d have done the same if it had been one of the guys who was in trouble.’

‘I wasn’t in trouble, Terry. I was handling it.’

‘He hit you, Carolyn. The slag shouldn’t have done that.’

‘Agreed. But it was up to me to give him tit-for-tat. I don’t need a man to fight my battles.’

Shepherd grinned. ‘Obviously,’ he said.

She grinned back. ‘Just so you know,’ she said. She punched him on the shoulder, hard enough for him to spill his coffee. ‘I’m sure your heart was in the right place.’

After his shift finished on Friday evening, Shepherd drove his bike back to Kilburn and parked it in the yard behind the house, locking the rear wheel with a thick chain and pulling a grey cover over it. He showered and pulled on a clean polo shirt and jeans, then locked the house and walked to the car park, where he’d arranged a weekly rate to leave his BMW X3. There had been no vigilante incidents during the week and he had nothing to report so Button had decided that there was no need for an end-of-week debriefing. He called her on his hands-free as he drove out of London. ‘I did what you said and geared up the aggression,’ he said. ‘Decked a slag, as they say.’

‘They? Who says that outside of a Guy Ritchie movie?’

‘There’s a whole different language on the bus,’ said Shepherd. ‘I guess because they know they’re among friends. Anyway, I knocked a guy out during a search.’

‘And?’

‘And I’m not on report and they helped cover for me. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. And the van’s CCTV coverage was blanked.’

‘Did Fogg say anything?’

‘Basically that it wasn’t a good idea to hit people on the street, but other than that there won’t be any repercussions.’

‘Do you get the feeling that they’re prone to violence?’

‘They match force with force,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’re careful to make sure any reaction is proportionate. They’re certainly not going around bashing in heads.’

‘Not while they’re on the job, anyway.’

‘Really, I don’t think Fogg’s the type to get involved in vigilantism. He’s hard, but he’s not violent. It’s a job for him. I don’t get the feeling that he’s on a personal crusade.’

‘Someone has to be running the show,’ said Button. ‘A group of cops don’t suddenly go maverick. They need convincing – they need to be led to it like horses to water.’

‘I know I keep saying this, but they’re good cops, all of them. They laugh and joke and mess around but that’s just a way of dealing with the stress. When it comes to the job they work hard and above all else they’re fair.’

‘I hear what you’re saying but, good cops or not, someone is still going around shooting, castrating and killing and we need to stop them.’

‘I guess so,’ said Shepherd.

‘Please don’t tell me you’re going over to the dark side,’ said Button.

Shepherd laughed. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘But I just wish we were putting as much effort into putting away real villains.’ He ended the call.

The traffic was heavy with commuters fleeing the city for the weekend and it was close to midnight when Shepherd arrived in Hereford. The house was in darkness so he let himself in quietly and went straight upstairs. He eased open Liam’s bedroom door. His son was fast asleep and there was no sign of the dog. Shepherd tiptoed over to Liam’s bed and placed a box on the bedside table. It was an iPhone that he’d bought during the week from a Carphone Warehouse shop in Praed Street.

He padded out and closed the door behind him, then went into his own bedroom, switched on the light and caught sight of his reflection in the dressing-table mirror. He looked tired – the result of a hard week’s work followed by a long drive. But the week was far from over and Shepherd had his most difficult task ahead of him because this was the weekend that he and the Major had to take care of the Fox brothers in Ireland. He stared at himself and smiled slightly. He was more than capable of doing what had to be done, but that didn’t mean he felt good about doing it. Killing was never to be done lightly, and it always came with consequences, no matter the motive or circumstances. He switched off the light, threw off his clothes and dived into bed. Within five minutes he was asleep.

Shepherd’s alarm woke him at eight o’clock in the morning. He rolled out of bed, pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of baggy tracksuit bottoms and went downstairs for his socks and boots. He retrieved his rucksack from the cupboard under the stairs and went for a brisk ten-mile run, not pushing himself too hard because he didn’t want to risk straining a muscle. When he got back, Liam was in the kitchen, holding his new phone. ‘Dad, thanks – this is brilliant!’

Shepherd dropped his rucksack onto the kitchen floor. ‘Give me a hug, then,’ he said.

Liam rushed over and hugged him. Lady dashed out from under the table and jumped up at them both, her tongue lolling from the side of her mouth.

‘I had to get you a new number and a new contract with O2,’ said Shepherd. ‘Internet access is free but you’ve got a thirty-five-pound limit for calls and texts every month and I don’t want you going over that, okay?’

‘Okay,’ said Liam.

‘I mean it,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t want any nasty surprises come the end of the month.’

Katra was at the cooker making breakfast for Liam, his usual cheesy scrambled eggs on toast. She broke off from stirring the eggs to give Shepherd a mug of coffee and he thanked her. As he sipped it, the doorbell rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ he said. He went to the front door and opened it. A man in his early fifties was standing on the doorstep, his arms folded across a barrel-shaped chest. He had greying curly hair, darkish skin that was mottled with old acne scars, and was wearing a black Umbro shell-suit.

‘You’re the father of Liam?’ said the man. He had an accent, Central European maybe.

‘Dan Shepherd, yes,’ said Shepherd, frowning. ‘And you are?’

‘I am Peter’s father.’

‘Peter?’

‘Peter Talovic. He is at your son’s school. You reported him to the police.’

‘I what?’ said Shepherd, confused.

The man pushed Shepherd in the chest with the flat of his hand. ‘You told the police about my son,’ he said angrily.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Shepherd. The man went to shove him again but Shepherd knocked his hand away. ‘You do that again and I’ll hit you back,’ he warned. ‘Now, tell me what you’re going on about.’

‘Your son told the police that my boy gave him a video. Now they want to arrest him.’

Shepherd realised what the man was talking about. He held up his hands. ‘Look, my son didn’t go to the police. I found a video of a child being assaulted on my son’s phone. I took it to the school and they decided to go to the police.’

‘It wasn’t your business,’ said the man.

‘I’m afraid I don’t agree with you,’ said Shepherd. ‘The boy in the video was being hurt – it wasn’t horseplay. He was beaten, very badly.’

‘Now the police want to see my son in the police station. He might go to prison.’

‘That’s really not my problem,’ said Shepherd. ‘I gave the video to the school, they called in the police. The police have decided to investigate. That’s all there is to it.’

‘My son didn’t beat anybody.’

‘Then he should tell that to the police.’

‘I do not want my son to go to prison,’ said Talovic. ‘I do not want my boy in trouble with the police.’

‘He’s already in trouble, Mr Talovic. Your son made a video of a boy being assaulted. And from the sound of it, he made racist comments while he was doing it.’

‘Racist? What do you mean, racist?’

‘Have you seen the video?’ asked Shepherd.

Talovic nodded. ‘It’s horseplay, that’s all.’

‘It’s more than horseplay,’ said Shepherd. ‘A boy is being assaulted, viciously, and someone is making racist comments while it’s happening. That’s why the police are investigating.’

‘You told them my son was a racist?’

Shepherd held up his hands again. ‘All I did was give the video to the school.’

Talovic shook his head. ‘No, the police tell me that your son said Peter gave him the video. He has to tell them that is not true.’

‘You want my son to lie to the police?’

Talovic pointed at Shepherd’s face. ‘Your son got Peter into trouble. I want him to tell the police that Peter wasn’t involved.’

‘But he was involved,’ said Shepherd. ‘Your son Bluetoothed it to Liam.’

Talovic’s face screwed up into an angry frown. ‘Your son lied.’

‘No, he didn’t,’ said Shepherd.

‘Your son has to tell the police he got the video from someone else.’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ said Shepherd.

Talovic tried to push Shepherd in the chest again, but this time Shepherd grabbed the hand and twisted the man’s arm behind his back. ‘I told you not to push me,’ said Shepherd. He increased the pressure on the arm and Talovic grunted. ‘Now, when I let you go, I want you to walk away from my house. If you try to hit me again I’ll break your arm. Then I’ll phone the police and I’ll make sure that you spend the night in a police cell. Do you understand me?’