Rough Justice (56 page)

‘Damn right,’ said Mayhew. ‘Rounded them up at night, drove them out into the desert and did what needed to be done.’

‘And there were no repercussions?’

‘The captain had his suspicions, but nothing he could prove. That’s how it works. If no one sees you and there’s no forensics and no one talks, then no one can get to you.’

Kelly and Parry came around the corner. Between them was a short, stocky man, his hands bound in front of him with a plastic tie. He was balding with a Mexican-style moustache and he was talking animatedly to the two policemen.

Coker pulled open the door. ‘Who’s in charge here?’ said Hanratty. He was wearing a brown leather bomber jacket, khaki cargo pants and Timberland boots.

‘Just sit down and shut up,’ said Parry, pushing him into the van.

Mayhew grabbed Hanratty by the shoulders and shoved him onto a seat. ‘You the boss?’ asked Hanratty.

‘Like my colleague said, shut the fuck up,’ said Mayhew.

Parry and Kelly climbed into the van. Parry slid onto the jump seat and Kelly sat next to Shepherd. Turnbull drove off. Now that Hanratty was on board there was no chatter: everyone sat in silence – except Hanratty, but the team ignored him.

Hanratty’s partner, Mike Trelawny, lived a couple of miles away in a council tower block. Kelly and Parry went to get him. They returned after five minutes with a lanky black man in his twenties wearing a black Nike tracksuit. ‘He was just going for a run,’ said Kelly, pushing Trelawny into the van. His wrists were also bound with a plastic tie.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ said Hanratty. ‘What’s he doing here? You said it was a line-up.’

‘Shut up,’ snarled Mayhew.

‘Nah, you shut up,’ said Hanratty. ‘I know my rights. Fuck this – if you want me to come with you then you need to arrest me and I need my lawyer.’

‘Yeah, we want lawyers,’ said Trelawny.

Mayhew punched Hanratty in the face. Cartilage splintered and blood spurted across the floor of the van. Hanratty fell back, his hands over his face, and his head banged on the window. Trelawny began to struggle but Kelly and Parry wrestled him to the floor. Coker had a roll of duct tape. He pulled off a strip, ripped it with his teeth and gave it to Parry, who slapped it across Trelawny’s mouth. Coker ripped off another piece of tape and used that to gag Hanratty. Then he pulled the man off the prisoner seat and made him lie on the floor next to Trelawny.

Mayhew pressed his foot against Hanratty’s back. ‘Right, Colgate,’ he said. ‘Hit the gas.’

The van stopped at a metal-sided building with a large for-rent sign above its main door. They were on a small industrial estate to the south of the North Circular Road, close to Muswell Hill golf course. Parry pulled open the door and jumped out of the van. Kelly nodded at Shepherd and the two men grabbed Trelawny. They pulled him off the floor and across the Tarmac towards the building. Coker gave Mayhew the bag containing the shotgun, then bundled Hanratty out of the van. Turnbull climbed out of the driver’s side and helped Coker drag Hanratty after Trelawny.

Mayhew jogged to the side of the building where there was a door. He took a key from his pocket and opened it, then stepped aside to give Kelly and Shepherd room to push Trelawny inside. Mayhew followed them, switching on the lights and pointing at a doorway. ‘Take him through there,’ he said.

Trelawny was struggling but his wrists were bound and Kelly and Shepherd were gripping his arms tightly. He was trying to speak but the duct tape muffled his words.

The doorway led to a large open area with metal girders overhead and metal tables lining the walls. Mayhew flicked a light switch and overhead fluorescent lights flickered into life.

Kelly put his knee against the back of Trelawny’s left leg and forced him to the floor, then planted his foot in the small of the man’s back, pinning him down. As Mayhew took the sawn-off shotgun out of the bag, Turnbull and Coker dragged Hanratty in and threw him down next to Trelawny.

Hanratty tried to roll onto his back but Coker kicked him in the side and told him to lie still.

Mayhew broke the shotgun open, checked the two shells, then clicked it closed. He grinned at Shepherd. ‘See, Three-amp? Easy-peasy,’ he said.

‘Now what happens?’ said Shepherd.

‘Now we give them a taste of their own medicine.’

Parry walked in and stood watching, his massive fists on his hips.

‘You’re going to shoot them?’

‘In the legs,’ said Mayhew.

The two men began to struggle but Kelly still had foot in the middle of Trelawny’s back and Coker did the same with Hanratty.

‘And then what? You leave them to bleed to death?’

‘We’ll call it in and an ambulance will pick them up before that happens.’ Mayhew bent down and tapped the barrel of the shotgun against Hanratty’s head. ‘You hear that? You hear what’s going to happen to you? You’re not going to die, not today, but if you ever tell anyone what happened here, we’ll come back and finish you. Do you understand?’

Hanratty nodded.

‘What about you, Mike? You hear what I’m saying? You turn stool pigeon and you’re dead meat. Understand?’

Trelawny grunted.

‘I’m not happy about this,’ said Shepherd, raising his voice so that it was sure to be picked up by the transmitter in his phone.

‘What?’ said Mayhew.

‘I said I’m not happy about this.’

‘About what exactly?’

‘About shooting unarmed men,’ said Shepherd.

‘That’s just a matter of timing,’ said Mayhew. ‘When these guys are working, they’re tooled up. They’ve shot at little old ladies, housewives, anyone who gets in their way.’

‘So why not take them in and charge them?’

Mayhew scowled at Coker. ‘You said he was squared away, Lurpak.’

‘He is,’ said Coker. He put a hand on Shepherd’s shoulder. ‘What’s your problem, Terry? You know why we’re here – it’s a bit bloody late for getting cold feet.’

‘I’m just saying shotguns aren’t an exact science. A pellet can go through an artery and before we know it he’s bled out and we’re all up on murder charges. It’s one thing to add a bit of extra evidence here and there, but I didn’t sign up for murder.’

‘Hell, if you’re that worried, shoot them yourself,’ said Mayhew, holding the shotgun out. ‘Shoot their knees.’

As Shepherd reached for the weapon he heard rapid footsteps behind him and shouts of ‘Armed police!’ Mayhew jumped back and held the shotgun against his chest.

Three armed policemen in Kevlar helmets, goggles and armoured vests over black fatigues burst through the door with Heckler & Koch MP5s at their shoulders. An inspector followed, and behind him three more men, all wearing helmets and vests and sweeping their MP5s around. There were laser sights on all the weapons and red dots flickered across the men standing in the middle of the building.

‘Armed police – down on the floor now!’ yelled the inspector.

Parry dropped to the floor, his hands behind his head.

‘Drop your weapon!’ the inspector screamed at Mayhew. ‘Drop the weapon or we will fire!’

There were now seven armed officers fanning around the door, moving cautiously, their weapons constantly on the move.

‘Don’t shoot!’ shouted Kelly. He held up his hands and slowly knelt down. Turnbull did the same.

‘On the floor, face down!’ shouted the inspector. Kelly and Turnbull lowered themselves and lay with their arms outstretched.

‘Drop your weapon!’ the inspector screamed again.

‘You’re not taking me in!’ shouted Mayhew.

‘Drop your weapon or we’ll fire!’ yelled the inspector. Red dots danced on Mayhew’s chest.

‘Don’t fire!’ shouted Shepherd, holding his arms up. ‘He’s not a danger to anyone – he’s not going to shoot.’

‘Get out of the way, Three-amp,’ said Mayhew.

Shepherd stepped between Mayhew and the armed police. The red dots disappeared from Mayhew’s chest and Shepherd knew that the laser sights were now trained on his back.

‘Get out of the way! We will fire!’ screamed the inspector.

‘I’m not armed,’ shouted Shepherd. ‘You’re not stupid enough to shoot an unarmed man in the back. Now, keep quiet, I’m talking here!’ He gestured at the shotgun in Mayhew’s hands. ‘It’s over, Ross.’

‘It’s over when I say it’s over,’ said Mayhew.

‘If you pull the trigger, they’ll shoot you, and probably catch me in the crossfire, too.’

‘Are you scared of dying, Three-amp? Because I’m not. After what I’ve seen, what I’ve been through. Death’s nothing to fear. Least of all a warrior’s death.’

‘Is that what you want? Cop suicide?’

‘What I want is to get out of here.’ He pointed the gun at Hanratty. ‘And I can think of worse ways to go. At least I’ll take these scumbags with me.’

‘You want to die with guys like them? Where’s the honour in that?’

‘This isn’t about honour. I’m screwed, I know that, but at least this way I go out fighting.’

‘If you shoot them the cops shoot you. That’s not fighting. That’s suicide. The coward’s way out.’

‘I’m no coward,’ Mayhew snarled.

‘So prove it,’ said Shepherd. He heard scuffing sounds behind him and he knew that the armed police were moving, trying to get a clear shot. Shepherd took a step closer to Mayhew. ‘I’m moving so that they can’t shoot you,’ he explained.

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Because I don’t want anyone to die here,’ said Shepherd.

‘Tell them to put their guns down, then.’

Shepherd smiled. ‘They’re not going to listen to me, Ross. They want you to put the shotgun down.’

‘And then what?’ said Mayhew. ‘I rot in a cell for the rest of my life?’

‘Maybe not,’ said Shepherd.

Mayhew frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What you did, most people would agree with. Have your day in court, tell the jury why you did what you did. You might be surprised.’

‘You think they’d let me walk?’

‘That’s for the jury to decide. But either way, the whole world will be listening.’

‘Drop the weapon!’ screamed the inspector behind Shepherd. ‘Drop the weapon or we will fire!’

‘Ignore them,’ said Shepherd, keeping his eyes fixed on Mayhew. ‘When you started this, what did you want to achieve?’

‘I wanted to do the right thing,’ said Mayhew. ‘I wanted to reclaim the streets, get rid of the shits that make life a misery for regular people.’

‘So tell the world that,’ said Shepherd. ‘Have your day in court, explain why you did what you did, and I bet you’ll have people queuing up to continue what you started.’ Mayhew bit down on his lower lip. A red dot moved across his forehead and came to rest between his eyebrows. Shepherd moved to the left and the dot vanished. ‘We don’t have much time, Ross,’ he said.

‘If I die here, the result will be the same,’ said Mayhew.

‘If you die they’ll control the way the story’s told,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’ll make out that you’re some maverick nutter, dig up psych reports from the army, get officers saying that you were a loose cannon, ramp up the Walter Mitty angle – they’ll leak all the shit they can to the tabloids.’

Mayhew gestured at the cops lying on the ground. ‘They’ll tell it like it is,’ he said.

‘They’ll be too busy cutting deals to save their own skins,’ said Shepherd. ‘If you die, any good you did will be lost for ever. But if you stand up in court and tell your story, the whole world listens.’

Mayhew began to lower the shotgun. Shepherd held up his hands. ‘Put the gun down on the floor, Ross. Do it nice and slowly, don’t give them any excuse to—’

Three dots flickered across Mayhew’s chest and Shepherd flinched as he heard three simultaneous bangs behind him. Mayhew staggered back, blood trickling from three wounds under his left shoulder. The shotgun slipped from his fingers as his mouth worked soundlessly. Red froth spilled from between his lips and he fell to his knees, then pitched forward.

Shepherd whirled around. The inspector and two other heavy-set men with MP5s advanced towards him, their weapons aimed at his chest. ‘He was giving up, you bastards! He was bloody well giving up.’

‘Down on your knees, your hands behind your neck!’ shouted the inspector. ‘If you do not comply, we will shoot.’

‘I’m not armed.’

‘Down on the floor, now!’

Shepherd glared at the inspector. ‘I’m going to remember you,’ he said quietly. ‘And one day . . .’

‘Down on the floor!’ The inspector’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Shepherd slowly put his hands behind his neck and went down on his knees, his eyes never leaving the inspector’s face. ‘One day . . .’ he said.

‘Are you okay with wine?’ asked Charlotte Button. She pulled the bottle out of the cooler. ‘It’s a Pinot Grigio and very drinkable.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Shepherd. He didn’t care what sort of wine it was: he was there to talk, not to drink. It was forty-eight hours after the armed police had stormed into the industrial unit and shot Ross Mayhew. And just one hour after Shepherd had been released from police custody. They were in a wine bar in Covent Garden, sitting at a quiet table overlooking a square where a young man in a top hat was standing on stilts and juggling fire extinguishers.

Button poured wine into a glass and gave it to him, then raised her glass in salute. ‘Congratulations,’ she said. ‘Job well done.’

Shepherd nodded and sipped his wine. He put down the glass but kept his fingers on the stem. ‘I’ve had enough, Charlie.’

‘Of what exactly?’ asked Button.

‘The cops. SOCA. Law enforcement. It’s a waste of time.’

‘That’s a bit of a sweeping statement, Spider. You’re just annoyed because CO19 were a tad trigger happy.’

‘There was no need to shoot Mayhew. And no need to threaten to shoot me.’

‘It was all seat-of-the-pants,’ said Button. ‘There was no time for a full briefing. So far as they were concerned you were one of the bad guys.’