‘You’re trying to get on my good side I think, so, what can I can I do for you…, Sergeant. Who’d you have to fuck for that promotion?’
Falls let that slide, asked:
‘Angie, your client, she’s out.’
Ellen’s face clouded over, and Falls thought she spotted a shadow of… fear? Ellen lit a fresh cigarette, the old one still burning, wiped a hand across her eyes, said:
‘She certainly is.’
Falls realized the woman was on the verge of some kind of breakdown, pressed:
‘How’d that happen? I thought she was gone for good.’
Ellen let out a long sigh, said:
‘She became a whiz kid on the law, so many of them do, they’ve nothing else to do, 1 suppose… and she discovered a discrepancy in my defence of her, was able to show I hadn’t given her the full extent of my renowned talent… bingo, she got an appeal, and I don’t have to tell you what a charmer she is… she had the new judge eating out of her hand, she got out two weeks ago.’
Falls was horrified, said:
‘But she killed at least three people that we know of.’
Ellen sat back, weariness all over her, said:
‘I’ve been practising for twenty years and met every kind of animal you can imagine, and yes, I defended them, with all my energy. But Angie, she was the first one to ever scare me. When I went to defend her, I made sure she’d be found guilty. It never cost me a night’s sleep, there are the rare ones like her, who should never see the light of day’.
Falls asked:
‘Do you know where she is?’
Ellen shook her head, then:
‘She phoned me, said she’d be round to settle my account.’
Then she looked at Falls, said:
‘I’m guessing you’ve heard from her too.’
Falls didn’t bother to deny it, asked:
‘Do you want me to arrange some protection for you?’
Ellen smiled, a sad resigned one, said:
‘Having cops around me, real bad for business.’
Falls took out a pen, some paper, said:
‘Here’s my number. You want help, I’m there.’
Ellen didn’t bother to take the paper, said:
‘You watch your own back, she might decide to see you first.’
Falls felt a flash of rage. She hated to see this spirited woman so crushed, near shouted:
‘I’m not afraid of her.’
Ellen had already dismissed her, her head back among the pile of files, and Falls was at the door when Ellen added:
‘You should be.’
Andrews was parked at The Elephant and Castle and Falls got in, said:
‘Drive to Balham.’
Andrews could tell from Falls’s face that she was not exactly in a sunny disposition, but asked:
‘What’s our assignment?’
Falls was silent for a full minutes, then said:
‘A rogue cop.’
Andrews didn’t want to push, so said:
‘That’s not good.’
Falls spat:
‘It’s fucked is what it is.’
I am here to fight feminism.
14
Porter Nash had been going through Brant’s cases, trying to find who might have the most cause to actually take out a contract on him. It had to be serious if you were to risk offing a cop. Thing was, almost every single case, with Brant’s unique style of policing, gave rise to a suspect. It was fast becoming… who wouldn’t want to shoot him?
Jesus, Porter had wanted to take a pop himself.
These files were, of course, only the official ones, 90 per cent of Brant’s activities were… as they say… off the books. He wasn’t exactly the type of cop who wrote up a report on his actions. His spectre loomed large over South-East London. There wasn’t a villain, snitch, or hooker who didn’t know of him or about him. The two people who probably knew him best, if anyone ever knew him, were Roberts and Falls, and they were saying very little. Falls when Porter had approached her, snapped:
‘What, you working for Internal Affairs now?’
Shut that right down.
And Roberts, his reply:
‘Are you questioning me?’
Real big help.
But with the scant data at his disposal, Porter could already put some names on the list. One, a Spanish woman who’d tried to poison Brant and got eight years for her troubles. She was now out and present whereabouts… unknown. Second, the legendary top villain, Bill, who’d more or less run the South-East till Brant closed him down. Like most retired villains, he was living it large on the Costa del Sol. Easy enough to arrange a hit from sunny Spain, all you needed was the cash. The actual shooter, Terry Dunne, was simply a gun for hire. Porter checked his file, he had lived with his girlfriend in Clapham, Porter noted the address, figured it wouldn’t hurt to pay her a visit, see if she knew who contracted her late lover. Third, and here, Porter’s interest grew, The Case of the Clap-ham Rapist. A vicious serial rapist had been terrorizing the Clapham, Balham areas, Falls was used as a decoy, with McDonald as backup. McDonald had fucked up, and Falls had been literally pinned down by the rapist, a knife to her throat, when Brant appeared, and here’s where it got murky… in the ensuing melee, the rapist had fallen on his own knife. It stank to high heaven and no investigation had followed as the public were so relieved to have the rapist off the radar.
Porter checked his name.
Barry Lewis, thirty-two years old, a short-order cook. He had one brother, Rodney, a trader in the city. Porter sat back, he’d heard the tapes of the calls made to Roberts. A posh voice, arrogant air… yeah, sounded like all the financial wankers Porter had the misfortune to know.
He underlined Rodney’s name, and address, lived in an apartment in Mayfair, lots of cash is how that translated. Porter said aloud:
‘Rodney, I must pay you a visit.’
Old Rodney certainly had the wedge to hire a shooter and, Christ, he certainly had motive. Waiting all these years made sense. Who’d believe he wouldn’t have acted at the time. Porter’s instincts told him this was definitely
