Rough Justice (49 page)

‘Nipple’s right,’ said Parry. ‘Everyone forgets about the victims and their relatives but they bend over backwards to help the criminals. The world’s gone mad.’

‘So what’s the solution?’ asked Shepherd.

‘It just needs someone at the top, someone who can lead, someone who can make changes,’ said Kelly. ‘Blair was too interested in his own future on the public-speaking circuit, Brown is a simpleton who couldn’t even manage the economy, David Cameron is just Blair wearing a different hat. We need a leader, a leader with balls, a leader who isn’t afraid to do what’s necessary.’

Shepherd grinned. ‘Boris Johnson?’

Kelly laughed and banged the table with the flat of his hand. ‘You know what we need? We need a Margaret Thatcher, that’s what we need. She had balls.’

‘That much is true,’ agreed Shepherd. ‘Blair or Brown would never have fought for the Falklands.’

‘One day,’ said Simmons. ‘One day we’ll have a leader who’ll do what’s necessary to let us take back the streets. Until then . . .’

He left the sentence unfinished. ‘Until then what?’ asked Shepherd.

Simmons shrugged. ‘Until then we do the best we can,’ he said.

Fogg appeared at the door, with Castle at his shoulder. ‘Where’s Colgate?’ he asked, looking around the room.

‘Canteen,’ said Coker. ‘He’s on his way.’

‘Fill him in, will you? I’m heading home. We’ve got an early-morning rapid-entry to do for the borough,’ he said. ‘I want everyone in here at six sharp, no excuses. We’ll be rolling out at six thirty.’ Kelly groaned. ‘Don’t worry, KFC,’ said Fogg, ‘overtime’s approved. Time and a third.’

‘That’s more like it,’ said Kelly. ‘What’s the story?’

‘We won’t know until tomorrow,’ said Fogg. ‘They’re giving us the mushroom treatment. Last time the place was raided they were tipped off, so this time they’re taking no chances. So tomorrow, six sharp.’

Kelly raised his mug in salute. ‘We hear and obey, O Master.’

Shepherd’s alarm woke him at five o’clock on Wednesday morning and by six he was parking his bike next to Fogg’s Ducati. He hurried upstairs to change into his uniform. Kelly and Coker were in the locker room, fastening their ties. ‘Still riding that death trap?’ asked Kelly, as Shepherd took off his leathers.

‘Yeah, I’m starting to think the same,’ said Shepherd. ‘I might come in on the Tube – that way at least I can drink after my shift without worrying how I’ll get back.’ He hung up his jacket. ‘Any idea where we’re off to?’

‘Mum’s the word,’ said Coker. ‘Foggy won’t say.’

‘Does this Secret Squirrel stuff happen a lot?’ asked Shepherd, pulling on his police boots.

‘A fair amount,’ said Kelly. ‘Don’t take it personal. The borough leaks, that’s the problem. Drugs Squad have got their contacts, so have most of the CID, and they don’t want their informants caught up in anything so they’ll tip them the wink.’ He slapped Shepherd on the back as he went out.

Carolyn Castle rushed in, her kitbag on her shoulder. ‘Overslept,’ she said.

‘Didn’t your boyfriend give you a nudge?’ asked Coker, as he headed for the door.

‘He pulled an all-nighter,’ said Castle, opening her locker. She winked at Shepherd. ‘How’s it going, Terry?’

Shepherd liked the way she used his name rather than his nickname, even though Terry was as contrived as Three-amp. Both were artificial, designed to conceal his true identity. Shepherd didn’t mind deceiving criminals but he hated lying to cops. Especially pretty blonde ones with flashing green eyes. ‘All good, Carolyn,’ he said.

She put out a hand and he thought for a moment that she was going to brush his cheek, but at the last second she reached behind his back. She winked as she pulled a yellow Post-it off the back of his shirt. Written in black felt-tip capital letters was ‘KICK ME, I’M AN IDIOT’.

Shepherd remembered the slap on the back from Kelly. He took the note from her. ‘KFC’s little joke,’ he said.

‘Little things amuse little minds,’ said Castle.

Shepherd went through to the briefing room. Kelly and Coker grinned at him from their seats at the back. Shepherd screwed the Post-it into a ball, flicked it at Kelly and mouthed, ‘Bastard,’ at him.

Kelly was about to retort but he closed his mouth when Inspector Smith appeared at the doorway in full riot gear, his helmet in his right hand. He was followed by a middle-aged man in a crumpled grey suit. ‘Heads up, everyone,’ said Smith. ‘For those of you who haven’t met him already, this is Christopher Moore of the borough’s intelligence unit. He’ll brief you on the location and the targets, then I’ll fill you in on the method of entry. Listen up because I want everyone on the road by six thirty.’ The clock on the wall said ten past.

Smith leaned against the wall as Moore went up to the lectern and tapped on the laptop there. A face flashed up onto the projection screen, a black man with an arrogant stare, his nose flared in contempt. ‘Jerome Alleyne, a Yardie and a nasty piece of work,’ said Moore. ‘He’s shacked up in a terraced house in Harlesden.’ He tapped on the computer and the screen was filled with a surveillance photograph of Alleyne opening the front door of a shabby two-storey terraced house. ‘Alleyne was for several years a major player in the crack-cocaine market, but recently he’s moved into the manufacture of methamphetamine, a.k.a. crank, ice, speed, wire, zip.’ He tapped the keyboard again and another surveillance picture filled the screen, this one of a pretty black girl laden with Primark carrier bags, two toddlers behind her, opening the front door of the house. ‘Alleyne has been living with this girl, Shayla Coltraine, for the past two years. The kids aren’t his – she had them by two other men. The intel we have is that he’s built a lab in the attic.’

He tapped on the keyboard and a close-up of the roof showed a fully open window set among the tiles.

‘For anyone who hasn’t come across a methamphetamine lab before, I can tell you that they’re dangerous places. Lots of flammable liquids and explosive components. The fumes alone can kill you.’

Kelly raised his hand. Moore sighed. ‘Yes?’

‘I’ve never got the difference between flammable and inflammable,’ said Kelly. ‘Which one means they burn?’

‘They both do,’ said Moore.

‘How can that be?’ asked Kelly. ‘Visible doesn’t mean the same as invisible, does it?’

‘Pipe down, KFC,’ said Smith.

Kelly shrugged apologetically.

‘The crucial thing is to secure the lab,’ said Moore. ‘It’s possible that Alleyne has rigged it so that he can torch the place if he’s raided.’

‘You have definite intel on that?’ asked Fogg.

‘No, but it’s not unknown so we have to assume it’s a possibility,’ he said. ‘We need the lab secured so that the guys in the CBRN suits can go in.’ He pressed the mouse and two diagrams flashed onto the screen, a schematic of the ground floor on the left and the first floor on the right. The front door led into a hallway. To the left were the stairs, to the right a sitting room and behind it a kitchen. On the first floor there was a landing, a large bedroom, a small bedroom and a bathroom. A red cross was marked in the middle of the landing. ‘We haven’t managed to gain access to the house but there is one for sale further down the terrace and we assume that the floor plan is the same,’ said Moore. He clicked the mouse and a photograph of the first-floor landing filled the screen. ‘Alleyne will almost certainly be in the main bedroom on the right, and the kids are in the smaller room on the left. In the ceiling between the two rooms is the hatch that leads to the attic, shown here by the red cross. There should be a fold-down ladder leading up to it. We don’t know if the ladder will be up or down but with the kids around we assume it will be up and the hatch locked.’

Moore clicked the mouse again and Alleyne’s PNC details filled the screen. ‘Alleyne has convictions for violence and drug-dealing, but there’s no intel to suggest that there are guns in the house. He’s known as a night owl, generally sleeps until midday.’

‘And he’s definitely in the house now?’ asked the inspector.

‘We have it under observation as we speak. He’s in there.’

Moore moved away from the podium and the inspector took his place. ‘Right, you heard the man,’ said Smith. ‘No guns, so we go in fast and hard, lots of noise, lots of aggression. I want the house totally dominated.’ He smiled. ‘But go easy on the kids. It’s a densely populated neighbourhood so there’ll be lots of eyes on us.’

He tapped on the keyboard and a map of the area around the house flashed onto the screen. The target was marked with a red circle, and two streets away there was a black cross with the letters FRP. ‘We meet at the forward rendezvous point,’ said the inspector. ‘Foggy’s group does the main entry, and Gary’s will be at the back in case Alleyne legs it. There’s an alley that runs behind the houses.’ Smith looked at the intelligence officer. ‘The gate to the alley is open, right?’ he asked.

Moore nodded. ‘Never locked,’ he said.

‘Gary, I need two of yours in full CBRN gear ready to go in as soon as we have the house secure,’ Smith continued. ‘If all goes to plan, Alleyne will go out the front with the woman and her kids. He will be brought here for questioning. Social Services will look after the woman and the kids until the house is clear, which could be a day or two. Once Alleyne’s out we’ll do a full search for drugs, money, ID, the works. We’ll have a few CSOs on the site handing out leaflets explaining what’s going on to keep the locals happy.’ He looked up at the clock on the wall. ‘Right, we’ve got time for a quick brew and then we’re out of here.’

Shepherd pulled protective pads over his knees and then fastened more over his thighs. Then he put on shoulder and elbow pads before pulling on the black flameproof overalls and zipping them up. Two CSOs walked up in fluorescent jackets, a man and an overweight West Indian woman. Shepherd realised that the man was Ross Mayhew. He was holding a handful of leaflets. ‘What’s the story?’ asked Shepherd.

The leaflets had the Met’s crest at the top with a phone number and several paragraphs in large type. ‘It explains what we’re doing,’ said Mayhew. ‘Once you guys go in, we start handing them out to anyone in the vicinity and shoving them through letterboxes. Hearts and minds, that’s the theory. If we tell everyone what’s going on and why, they’re less likely to kick off.’ He nodded at his partner. ‘This is Daisy. She’s my wingman today.’

Daisy giggled girlishly and shook Shepherd’s hand. Her hand was larger than his. ‘Terry,’ said Shepherd. He finished adjusting his stab vest.

‘Not how I thought I’d spend my time when I left the army,’ said Mayhew. ‘Acting as a postman. Wish I was going in with you.’

‘You’ll get there one day, I’m sure,’ said Shepherd.

‘One day I’ll tell you about the time we cleared a house in the centre of Basra,’ said Mayhew. ‘Took out three ragheads, bang, bang, bang. Got the third before the first hit the floor.’

A look of horror flashed across Daisy’s face and she gasped. ‘It was war, Daisy,’ said Mayhew. ‘Kill or be killed.’ Daisy waddled away, her large thighs whispering against each other with every step. Mayhew grinned at Shepherd. ‘Women,’ he said, and hurried after her.

Shepherd checked that his identification numbers were in place on his shoulder straps, then went to stand next to Coker and Kelly, who were already kitted up. The van was parked in front of an off-licence with posters in the window offering three cans of any beer or lager for the price of two.

There were few pedestrians around and those that there were hurried by, averting their eyes. It wasn’t the sort of area where the police meant anything other than trouble.

Fogg was talking into his radio as he walked over to the van, where Castle was adjusting her stab vest. He patted her on the back. ‘Ready?’ he asked.

She nodded and went to join Coker, Kelly and Shepherd. They were all holding their helmets but were already wearing their fireproof balaclavas. Parry, Simmons and Turnbull joined them. ‘Right, here’s how we play it,’ said Fogg. ‘Carpets, you go in with the enforcer. Take care of the door, step aside. KFC and Colgate, straight in and up the stairs. Turn right and into the main bedroom and contain the target. Nipple, you go right in behind them, take care of the woman. Try not to get too physical.’

‘I’ll talk to her nicely, Sarge,’ said Simmons.

‘Pelican, you head up after them, peel left and keep the kids quiet. Keep them in the room. As soon as the target is outside, put the woman and the kids together in the kids’ bedroom, then get them out of the house. Three-amp, you go in after Pelican, stay on the landing and secure the hatch to the attic. No one goes up there before the CBRN boys have had a look. Lurpak, secure the bottom of the stairs just in case the target gets the jump on them.’

‘O ye of little faith,’ said Kelly.

‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ said Fogg. ‘Is everyone clear on what they’re doing?’

They all nodded.

‘Remember, lots of noise, shout who we are and keep on shouting. We want total disorientation so that it’s over before he has time to react.’ Fogg looked at his wristwatch, then at Gary Dawson, who was just finishing briefing his team, two of whom were kitted out in the bulky chemical-biological-radiological-nuclear suits. ‘Okay, Gary?’ he asked.

‘Ready when you are, Foggy,’ replied Dawson.

‘Let’s do it,’ said Fogg.

Dawson and his team jogged towards the alley that led to the rear of the terrace. Parry picked up the bright orange enforcer from the rear of the van and stood next to Fogg. The rest of the team lined up behind Parry in the order that they would be entering the house – Kelly, Turnbull, Simmons and Castle, with Shepherd and Coker bringing up the rear. They all put on their helmets, pulled down their visors and adjusted their gloves.

Shepherd found himself breathing heavily as his body geared up for the coming confrontation. Castle turned to him and winked. ‘No looking at my arse as we go up the stairs,’ she said.