The units fitted to our belts and we each had a mini headset with an earpiece and a microphone that lay across one cheek like a dueling scar.
'We'll test 'em after we've split up,' Andy said.
'Uh, what do we do if someone spots us?' Rog asked. He would be in the most obvious position.
'Say you're a telecom engineer checking radiation levels,' I said. 'That should get them moving on.'
'You're joking,' he said, his brow lined. 'Aren't you?'
Pete raised a finger. 'Remember what Dave always says. When the book doesn't tell you what to do.'
'Improvise,' we all chorused. The number of times Dave had been mocked about that was huge.
'What if you two both go in and we don't hear from you?' Boney asked.
'If we don't come out after half an hour, you call the cops,' I said. 'You've both got Karen's number, haven't you?'
They nodded.
'Why don't we call them now?' Rog asked.
'Because Dave used the alert code for us,' I said. 'And we know from our White Devil experiences that we're the only people who can look after each other.' I saw their expressions change when I mentioned the monster's name.
'Come on,' Andy said, adjusting his microphone. 'We were trained by the best. We can handle this.' He glanced at each of us. 'Let's go and get the man.'
Trust Slash to look keen. The rest of us tried to match him, with varying degrees of success.
'Watches, guys,' I said. 'I've got ten forty-two. Check?' 'Check,' the others replied, after some tweaking. 'Right, communications check in ten minutes,' I said. 'Go, Pete.' He had the farthest to walk and set off at a rapid pace, the bag with its lethal contents on his right shoulder. We gave him five minutes. 'Rog, go,' I said. After two minutes, Andy and I moved off. There was no point in splitting up. If anyone asked what we were doing, I'd say we were friends of Dave's from the army. At least we looked the part. 'Breathing steady,' I whispered, under my breath. 'Concentration. Be aware of what's happening around you. Control the adrenaline rush.' That was easier said than done. Andy looked relaxed enough. I pulled a balaclava down my forehead, covering the headset straps. No one was out on the pavements. We turned rapidly onto the path that ran down the right side of Dave's house. There were no cars in the drive and the garage doors were shut. 'In position?' I said quietly into my mike. 'Confirmed,' came Roger's voice, then Pete's. 'Take this as the comms check,' Andy said. 'Confirmed.' 'Any sign of Dave from where you are?' I asked. 'Negative,' said Rog. 'Curtains on the front are all open, except in the sitting room. No movement.' 'All the curtains at the rear of the house are open,' Bonehead said. 'No sign of anyone.' I looked at Andy. 'Why are the sitting-room curtains closed?' He raised his shoulders. 'Let's go and find out.' He squeezed my arm. 'Steady, my man.'
I checked my Glock one last time and slipped it back under my belt. The silencer jutted out and I hoped the automatic's trigger safety was as reliable as the manufacturers claimed.
Then I gave Andy a nervous smile. 'Okay,' I said, taking a deep breath. 'Here we go.'
I reached up toward the small window.
Karen Oaten drove to New Scotland Yard. There were only a few members of her team working the weekend shift. She sat down to clear the backlog of administration work, but found herself thinking about the latest spate of killings. One of the problems she had running a unit that pulled together violent crime from all over the city was keeping in check the tendency to link everything together. It was perfectly possible that the shooting of the Turk and the knife attack on the Kurd were unconnected, just as the overwhelming likelihood was that the murder of the crime writer had nothing to do with those in East London. But still, she found herself trying to make at least some connection between the deaths. That was the curse of the VCCT.
It didn't help that there was very little to go on with the shooting of the Turk. Mehmet Saka, a twenty-three- year-old, was suspected of being a heroin deliveryman. He'd been gunned down in broad daylight outside a betting shop in Stepney, taking five bullets in his chest. Witnesses had been hard to find, and no one had noted the number of the car that carried the shooter. There were even varying reports of its color and make, ranging from a black Audi 6 to a dark green Citroen Xsara. The bottom line was that people developed very selective memories when it came to identifying gang members. They were swift to exact harsh retribution and there was no point in pulling in known gang members, as the gangs' versions of omerta were just as tight as the original. Homicide East hadn't even been able to tempt the Turks themselves to talk, which was hardly surprising if they'd been responsible for the subsequent murder of Nedim Zinar. Then again, maybe the Kurd had just slighted someone. That was one of the few characteristics shared by Turks, Kurds, Greek Cypriots, Albanians and Jamaican Yardies, as well as the long- standing local East End gangs-losing face was totally unacceptable.
Oaten moved on to the latest update from the Mary Malone murder. No other witnesses to a figure in a black cape and top hat had been found. DI Neville surmised that the killer either had a car parked farther down the street or had managed to change clothes somewhere nearby after the attack.
The chief inspector's cell phone rang. It was her boss, the assistant commissioner.
'I'm in the office, sir.'
'Admirable, Chief Inspector,' he said drily. 'I'm expected to play golf with the commander of the Flying Squad, would you believe?' The assistant commissioner resented every minute he had to spend away from his desk. 'Update me, please.'
She gave him a rundown of the Saka and Zinar murders.
'And your recommendation?' the AC asked.
'To leave them with Homicide East. I'll make sure we see the daily case-file updates. If there's any link, I'll take them over.'
'Very well. Now, what about the crime novelist?'
She told him where Homicide West had reached.
'That doesn't sound very impressive,' he said. 'Don't you think we should intervene?'
'Do you mean because of the potential connection to the White Devil case?'
'I mean exactly that.'
Karen thought about it. If she took over the case, the spotlight would inevitably fall on Matt. He was already worried that Sara might be back, even though there was no direct evidence. Then again, she hadn't heard from him today.
'Tell me honestly, Karen,' he said. 'Do you think it's the start of a series?'
She pursed her lips. How the hell was she supposed to know that? 'It could be, sir,' she replied, hedging her bets.
'How do you want to play it? The newspapers are having a field day. It would calm things down if they knew the VCCT was on it. We might scare the killer into backing off.'
Oaten raised her eyes to the ceiling. The AC had been in the alternative reality inhabited by senior ranks for far too long. 'I doubt it, sir. How about we leave it with Homicide West for the time being? If there's another murder, we'll take over.'
Her boss considered that for a long time. 'You're not losing your appetite for messy cases, are you, DCI Oaten?'
Karen felt her cheeks redden. 'Certainly not, sir. You have no reason to suppose that.'
The AC was taken aback by her tone. 'No, of course not. I apologize. Very well, do it your way. Let's hope it's a one-off.' He cut the connection.
'Tosser!' Oaten yelled.
John Turner put his head around her door. 'Not me, I hope, guv?'
She glared at him. 'Why? Have you got something to be guilty about?'
The Welshman shrugged. He knew better than to cross swords with his boss when she was in a temper. 'I just had Neville the Lip on the phone. He couldn't get through to you.'
'Because I was talking to the idiot on the golf course,' Oaten said, shaking her head until curiosity got the better of her. 'Have they got something?'
'It isn't good news. Still nobody else in Ifield Road who saw the figure in the cape and top hat.'
'Oh, great.'
'That's not all. The rubbish was collected early this morning.'
'What, Neville didn't seal the street?'
