They sent two people to the meeting, the smooth and the rough. The smooth was MI5, Brock was fairly sure, and the rough a copper, a senior figure from Special Branch. They were there representing the Organised Crime Liaison Group. Facing them were Commander Sharpe and Brock, and the meeting was held in the Scotland Yard headquarters at 10 Broadway and chaired by an Assistant Commissioner.
Brock and Sharpe had been up all night, managing the aftermath of the Tallow Square incident.There had been the hunt across South London for Vexx and Crocker, who had escaped from the rear of the building while the three armed police were being tackled by the pitbulls.There had also been the first interviews with Adonia Roach, who appeared to have been liberated from years of intimidation and fear by her act of murder, and had begun talking about the activities of her husband and his brothers in an adrenaline rush. Like Magdalen, she was convinced that Ivor had had her pendant made from her lover’s golden tooth, and had made her wear it all those years as a vindictive act of revenge. Then there was the forensic information coming in from the crime scenes, not to mention the search of Ivor and Adonia Roach’s house and of the crack factory they found at Tallow Square. And there was Tom Reeves, on the critical list after three hours of emergency surgery.
Despite their lack of sleep, Sharpe was in good form, as if wading through murder scenes in the middle of the night had reawakened some long-dormant feeling for a life of action. Now he ignored the barbed inquiry from the pair from OCLG as to Brock’s status and launched into a spirited description of the night’s activities that left them momentarily speechless. Finally, Smooth conceded that there had been a JIC-sanctioned operation involving the Roach family, but refused to go into details. Sharpe responded that in that case he would feel free to instruct Brock to pursue his investigations which, in the light of Adonia Roach’s revelations and material found in her home, would undoubtedly embroil the whole family. Rough broke his silence at that point, bursting with fury at what had happened.
‘They were giving us everything,’ he protested.‘Every drug lab in London, every dealer, every importer. They had it all, and they were giving it to us! This is a total disaster.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have tried to use us as puppets,’Sharpe said coldly.‘I’ve got one officer at death’s door, another . . .’ he indicated Brock,‘…with his reputation in tatters,and a missing Member of Parliament whose life has been ruined.’
‘Oh,come now,’Smooth said with a pained air,‘nobody asked Reeves to try to burgle the Roach house, and I really don’t think that anyone questions DCI Brock’s reputation. As for Michael Grant, well, that was Roach’s price, in the end. And let’s face it, Grant was a troublemaker, out of control. He was regarded as a menace in the House, and he was never going to leave Roach alone. He was simply beyond reason.’
Brock spoke for the first time. ‘They had murdered his brother,’ he said quietly.
‘So you say. But you have no proof, have you?’
‘We’ll see.’
The Assistant Commissioner stepped in. Perhaps, now that everything was out in the open, some way forward might be considered? Might it not still be possible to gain the information from the Roaches, who, after all, must be even more anxious than before to do a deal? Smooth thought this a constructive approach, although Rough was obviously still seething. After considerable discussion, it was agreed to share operational information daily and include Sharpe in the OCLG control group.The meeting broke up with handshakes and in a mood, at least to outward appearances, of conciliation and cooperation.
The following morning, Saturday, Kathy was wrenched from sleep by the phone ringing. She stumbled through the dark and fumbled the receiver. It was Brock, calling from the hospital where he had been with Tom.
‘Oh . . .’ The curtains were drawn and she had no idea if it was night or day. It seemed only minutes since she had been there herself at Tom’s bedside,and she could still smell the hospital.‘Any change?’
Still critical but stable, Brock said, and really as good as could be hoped for, given the terrible injuries compounded by loss of blood. Even if he survived the next few days, they still weren’t sure if they could save his legs.
Kathy groaned. They hadn’t mentioned that to her. A wave of nausea rose inside her and she sat down heavily. She felt exhausted, unwilling to face it all again.Her eyes,adjusting to the gloom,made out pale light around the shape of the curtain.‘What time is it?’
‘Eight-twenty. Sorry, did I wake you? The reason I’m ringing is to tell you that I’m going to drive up to see Michael Grant today, and tell him what’s happened. So if there are any developments you’ll phone me on my mobile, will you?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll come back over to the hospital soon.’
‘Tom’s daughter and her mother are here at the moment. They seem a little better today. The forecast is fair. Should be a nice day for a drive into the country. I expect I’ll be home later tonight.’
‘Right. Have a nice trip.’
‘Thanks. Oh, one bit of news should appeal to you. I’ve just had the result of the tests on the gun Adonia used. It is Brown Bread.’
She opened the curtains and looked out on a dark morning sky, heavy with cloud.Ivor Roach,Brown Bread’s last victim.Brock was implying that there was justice in that, a kind of resolution, but she couldn’t really feel it. To her it just seemed as if all their digging around had brought some nasty dormant thing wriggling to the surface to create more pain and misery. What was the point of avenging those ancient deaths if it just caused more death, more anguish, more broken lives? She felt tired, so tired, and had to force herself under the shower to face the day.
She also didn’t fancy meeting Tom’s family at the hospital, and left her visit until mid-morning, by which time they’d gone. After an hour staring at his motionless, mummified form she felt restless and decided to get some fresh air with a walk along the river. She made her way down to the ground floor and had barely cleared the entrance doors when she was stopped by a cry.
‘Kathy!’
She turned and saw Martin Connell running towards her, his coat flapping, hair flying in the wind. He looked pale, eyes pouchy, and she guessed he hadn’t had much sleep either in the past forty-eight hours.
‘Thank God,’ he gasped.‘Where’s Brock?’
His abruptness startled her. ‘Hi, good morning to you too, Martin.’
‘Sorry.’ He took a deep breath, pulling himself up with a visible effort, and put on an unconvincing smile. He was agitated, blinking rapidly and she noticed a tremor in his cheek.‘Kathy, this is terribly important.’ He took hold of her arm, gulping for air as if he were drowning.‘Do you know where he is? Is he inside? I haven’t been able to find him.’
‘No, he’s not here.What on earth is wrong?’
‘I have to see him, Kathy. It’s very urgent!’
‘Well, I’m afraid you can’t, not until tonight anyway, or maybe tomorrow.’
Martin’s face looked so racked that she added, ‘He’s gone to North Wales to speak to Michael Grant. But you can reach him on his mobile. Here’s the number-’
‘No, that’s no good! I have to speak to him in person. North Wales?’He shook his head as if this were impossible.‘Where? Do you know where?’
Kathy hesitated, thrown by Martin’s obvious alarm. ‘Grant’s staying in a cottage out in the country somewhere, I don’t know exactly where.’
‘You must!’
‘Martin,’ she said, exasperated now, ‘Brock got the directions himself from the friend of Michael’s who owns the place. I wasn’t really paying attention. Surely someone else can help?’
He shook his head desperately.‘How long ago did he leave?’
‘Oh, three hours, but-’ ‘Maybe I can go after him.Who is this friend?’
‘He’s a builder. But why-’
‘Can you get hold of him?’
‘I do have his phone number, but-’
‘Ring him, please. Get the directions from him.’
‘Not until you tell me what this is all about.What’s going on?’
‘Kathy, please. I just have to get to Brock, now, today, as soon as possible. It’s a matter of life and death. Believe me, please.’
She’d never seen him like this, panicky and wild, clutching his coat about him, looking more like a beggar or a
