Cursing, she turned and sprinted ten yards before slowing to a casual walk as she heard the door open and close again, hoping he didn’t recognize her from the back. She kept walking, and turned into the main road, heading in the direction the taxi had dropped her. She couldn’t hear any footsteps behind but kept going for another minute, before finally risking a look over her shoulder.
He was nowhere to be seen.
She breathed a sigh of relief, then broke a long-standing habit by lighting a cigarette less than five minutes after she’d put out her last one.
This was very interesting. Melvyn Carroll was one of the most crooked lawyers in London, which was saying one hell of a lot. More importantly, he acted as counsel for a number of organized crime figures, and for a long time had been the Holtz family brief. As far as Tina was aware, he was also involved in the defence of senior Holtz crimelord Neil Vamen in his upcoming trial. That Stegs was corrupt, she knew. That he’d fed information to the Holtzes in the past, she was sure. And now it seemed he was working for Neil Vamen.
‘I’m on to you, Mr Jenner,’ she whispered, pleased with her day’s work. ‘And this time you’re not getting out of it.’
24
Stegs cursed himself as he watched Tina Boyd. He’d recognized her the minute he’d come out of Carroll’s. It was the way her arse waggled effortlessly as she walked, plus he remembered the cream trouser suit. She’d been wearing it the day he first met her. He was observant like that. Particularly with good-looking women, and ones who dressed well. You wouldn’t have caught Boyd in a sock-and-clog combination. He’d followed her down to the bottom of the road, then crossed it, heading away from her, before stopping in the doorway of a forlorn-looking antique shop and watching her as she continued up the road. She’d turned round and lit a cigarette, and he’d got his confirmation, as if he’d needed it. Then, after a few seconds, she looked at her watch, took a couple of rapid puffs on the cigarette, and hailed a passing cab.
He really had fucked up here. He’d known they were suspicious of his role in the hotel killings and the O’Brien murder, but hadn’t expected them to put him under surveillance. They were always going on about lack of resources, and he honestly didn’t think he was up there at the top of the list of suspects. Still, that was no excuse. He should have prepared for the worst and kept more of an eye out. Now he was in a difficult situation, and one that might have to involve some sort of evasive action.
But one thing about Stegs was that he didn’t panic. Yes, he’d made a mistake, but the situation was redeemable. It was always redeemable. He got a momentary twinge of doubt again about his course of action, but forced it back down. This was no time for weakness. This was a time for men with steel in their veins, and whatever else you said about Stegs Jenner, he had plenty of that.
25
I’d been carrying a mean hangover all day and I was looking forward to the end of the working part of it. It hadn’t been helped by the fact that we hadn’t been able to find Robert Panner in any of his possible haunts, and according to the surveillance units he hadn’t shown up at his official address either.
Tina, however, had been more successful. By now it was almost seven p.m. and she, Malik and I sat opposite DCS Flanagan in his office adjoining the O’Brien incident room. Flanagan looked the worst of all of us: tired, stressed and irritable all rolled into one. His face had also taken on the unhealthy red pallor it had had in the aftermath of Operation Surgical Strike, and his tie was badly skewed. According to Tina, he’d come in without a word to anyone that morning, his face tight with worry, and had walked straight into his office, shutting the door behind him and not emerging for another hour. It looked like the relentless pressure for a result was getting to him. His fingers drummed a steady, monotonous beat on the table as he stared at Tina for what seemed like an inordinately long time. In fact, I was just about to ask if he was OK, when he finally spoke.
‘You’re saying that it was Jenner you saw coming out of Melvyn Carroll’s office this afternoon? I know we’ve already been through all this, but I’ve got to be absolutely sure. This is a serving police officer we’re talking about here.’
Tina didn’t hesitate. ‘I followed him, sir. All the way from the PCA offices in Great George Street. And, before you ask, it was
‘What were you doing following him?’ he asked, with more than a hint of suspicion in his voice. ‘I don’t recall saying we were going to put him under surveillance.’ At the same time, his fingers maintained their steady drumming. Flanagan didn’t seem the remotest bit pleased with the lead she’d turned up.
Tina told him what she’d told me earlier, about the fact that the owner of the only stolen credit card used to purchase a jacket identical to the killer’s lived in Barnet, just down the road from Stegs. ‘It seemed like one coincidence too many, on top of everything else. I knew he was down at the PCA, so I thought I’d watch him for an hour or two, see if something turned up.’
Flanagan nodded, and forced out a constipated smile. It looked like it was the best she was going to get. ‘I’m glad you did. What you saw certainly raises a lot of questions.’ His fingers stopped drumming and he sat back in his seat, using his hand to wipe the sweat away from his forehead.
Once again, I thought about asking him if he was all right, but decided against it. He might have taken my question the wrong way.
He sighed loudly. ‘The question is, where does this leave us? What is Jenner’s part in all this?’
Finally, it was my turn to speak. ‘This is something Asif and I were discussing earlier, sir. I think the visit to Carroll, added to what Tina uncovered about possible links he had to the Holtzes in the past, suggests that he’s on their payroll somewhere. So, if he was working for the Holtzes, he may well now be working for Neil Vamen.’
‘Carroll’s Vamen’s solicitor,’ put in Malik, ‘and if he’s working for Vamen, we do have a motive for Jenner’s role in leaking Surgical Strike.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Flanagan, his interest suddenly very much aroused.
Malik continued. ‘Neil Vamen’s main rival in the north London underworld, the man who’s taken a lot of his old business, is Nicholas Tyndall. The robbery of Stegs and the Colombians last week was carried out by Tyndall’s men, including a man who’s supposedly one of his closest associates, Ashley Grant. That robbery didn’t do Tyndall a lot of good, whether or not he had any part in it. It was such a high-profile failure, in front of so many witnesses, that it was always going to get him serious unwanted attention, as well as upsetting the Colombians. Men he’d be wanting to stay on the right side of.’
‘Tyndall’s still free, though.’
‘That’s true,’ I said, ‘but we’ve got two of his men in custody facing very long prison sentences who we’re trying to get to turn Queen’s evidence. It may be that as a result of what happened we can bring a lot of pressure to bear on Tyndall, and even possibly put him behind bars. Which would suit Neil Vamen perfectly.’
‘So you’re saying Vamen set the whole Heathrow thing up? Using Stegs?’
I nodded. ‘It’s certainly possible. Likely even. Stegs, for whatever reason, uses O’Brien to provide the robbery tip to Strangleman Grant, either with or without Tyndall’s knowledge, and I suspect it was without. Grant, who we know is something of a short-term merchant, sees an opportunity to make some easy money and snatch a few kilos of top-grade coke, takes the bait, not having a clue that he’s about to walk into a trap, and bang, it all goes wrong.’
‘We were left with O’Brien as the only one aside from Stegs who knew the truth,’ continued Malik, ‘and who was going to be the most obvious suspect as the source of the leak. So someone else, most likely one of Vamen’s people, got rid of him.’
For what seemed like a very long time, there was silence. I could almost hear the cogs whirring as each person picked at the pros and cons of the theory Malik and I had just put forward. Flanagan seemed to be the one concentrating the hardest, his eyes tight shut, the sweat re-forming on his forehead. I could hear his breathing — short and fast, as if he was having a panic attack.
