He was relieved to see they were all nodding determinedly if not enthusiastically. Satisfied that they were suitably motivated, he handed over to his friend. “Dill, can you give an overview of the back up that’s been arranged.”
“I just want to start by saying a quick thank you to Reggie and Dean for all their hard work getting everything ready for this morning,” Dillon began. “While we were all fast asleep in bed last night, Reg was stuck here in the office liaising with the TIU over the live monitoring of the 777 and 321 numbers, and also for Meade’s phone. What does that end with, please, Reg?”
“It ends in 989,” Parker said. “It’s on page eight of the briefing pack everyone was given, along with a Sussex police custody image of Meade, his address and vehicle details, and a snapshot of his form.”
“Thank you, I’ll read that in a minute,” Dillon promised. “In addition to lumbering Reg with all the live monitoring, we also called Dean in at the crack of dawn to help Reg cobble together the intel packs and start liaising with the County Mounties.”
“I don’t think we’re allowed to call our colleagues in the rural Constabularies that anymore,” Holland said with a wry smile.
“What about carrot crunchers? Can I call them that?”
“No.”
“In that case,” acknowledged with a humble bow of his huge head, “what I meant to say was Dean came in mega early to liaise with our splendid colleagues in Sussex Constabulary to let them know we’ve got an operation running that’s likely to stray onto their patch.”
“Very helpful they were, too,” Dean said.
“After a little encouragement from Mr Holland, the TSU reluctantly agreed to let us take a signal detection van on a jolly to East Sussex for the day,” Dillon continued. “We’ve also got a team of SFOs coming down with us. The PS in charge is called Tim Newman. I’ve worked with him before and he’s a good lad. While the detector does the rounds, Tim’s team will be on standby at the local nick in readiness for a rapid deployment. If we do identify an address, I’ll hotfoot it straight over to the local Magistrate’s court to get a warrant for the entry.”
“Do we have a surveillance team available, boss?” DC Stone asked. “Just in case they leave the venue before the SFOs get there.” It was a decent question.
Dillon shook his head. “No, we don’t. There just isn’t sufficient capacity for C11 to write a team off without a clear pick-up point. And don’t forget, bearing in mind that the target is armed, it would have to be an Alpha team.” An Alpha team was a surveillance unit with a firearms capacity, and there were very few of those.
“That’s why Susie has tried to put at least one P9 surveillance trained officer in each car,” Jack explained. “If we can follow them safely, without showing out, that’s what we do. If we can’t, we drop back and hope that they will be heading to the boat that Steve, Dick, and Paul will have visual control of.”
Holland cleared his throat, and every eye in the room turned on him. “We all have to accept that this is going to be a fast-moving and very fluid situation where ongoing dynamic risk assessments will have to be continuously made and reviewed. My priority is the safety of my staff and the public, so I’m telling you now, in no uncertain terms, that you do not take chances and you do not put yourselves, your colleagues or Joe Public in the firing line. Better that Winston gets away and we nab him another time than anyone gets hurt. Is that clear?”
As one, every officer in the room chorused, “Yes, sir.” Holland had that kind of effect on people.
“Good,” he said, seemingly satisfied. He turned to Jack. “I’m going to remain here at Arbour Square all day, and I expect to be updated immediately if anything of substance occurs. I’ll be popping in and out of the office regularly, but come and find me if anything happens or if – God forbid – the shit hits the fan.”
Tyler nodded. “As soon as I know anything worth knowing, you’ll know it too,” he promised.
◆◆◆
Rodney Dawlish stumbled into the cottage’s cramped downstairs toilet, freezing cold and still half asleep. He had hardly slept at all, tormented as he was by the painful memories of yesterday’s distressing encounter with the lovely Jenna. It had ended so horribly, with him storming out of the shop and her screaming after him, and he desperately wished that he knew her telephone number so he could call her and apologise, although he very much doubted that she would want to speak to him ever again after the disgraceful way he’d behaved.
Unable to find the light switch in the dark, and shivering with cold, he shuffled forward on the dirty lino floor and unzipped his fly. Rodney’s bladder was close to bursting, and he sighed with relief as he started to pee. He was so busy trying to avoid splashing the toilet seat that he didn’t notice the large wall-mounted cistern protruding from the wall above the bowl, and he banged his head straight into it. Cursing as a hot trail of urine soaked his bare foot, he rubbed his head and concentrated on not making any more mess.
Garston was sitting in the kitchen clutching a steaming hot cup of coffee to his chest when he entered, a few minutes later. “Morning,” Rodney said, only to be ignored. He wandered over to the kettle and switched it on.
“Nice here, isn’t it?” he said after looking through the window into the darkness beyond. In the daylight, he suspected the
