‘If we need to contact you again?’
‘Just wander around the area, ask for Gappy, you’ll find me.’
***
An alley around the back of Paddington Station was not the most salubrious place at any time. The crime scene investigators were at the scene, the uniforms were out at the entrance to the alley, organising the barriers, trying to move on those heading to the railway station and those leaving, and, as always, there was someone from the media.
Isaac, intentionally polite with the media and an accomplished performer whenever a camera was placed in front of him, was not willing to indulge the reporter this time; he had more important things to do.
Firstly, there was Negril Bob to deal with, not so easy unless the CSIs came up with some evidence, which seemed possible. A gang killing was not usually the most subtle, and not professional. Neither Isaac nor Larry could imagine that they would have been wearing gloves or attempting to conceal their faces from the CCTV cameras located all around the railway station. Initially, they were put there to control the movement of passengers, but now they had increased in numbers to assist with terrorism.
Larry made a phone call as he and his DCI drove towards their first destination. His wife had expected him home at a reasonable hour that night; her parents were coming over, and he was required. He had to tell her way in advance that it was unlikely he would make it on time. The death of a gang leader, not the only gang in the area, was bound to have recriminations. Tit for tat, you kill one of mine, I’ll kill one of yours, and now, Negril Bob, one of the most violent leaders, had killed one of the more passive ones.
Isaac could see trouble with a capital T, and this time Commissioner Alwyn Davies would be interceding. A gang war in London was bound to be a media event, and Isaac was not sure how to proceed.
And if Negril Bob could kill Rasta Joe, he could also kill Billy Devon and take his sister at any time. The two police officers pulled up outside Billy’s shop. The man was busy inside. He finished with the customer and came over. ‘Takings are up. Thanks for what you did. I had a phone call from Mr Loeb.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said that you had seen him and that I was on probation. If I did a good job, he’d see me right. It’s not what I expected.’
‘There’s a bigger problem,’ Larry said. Time was of the essence, and self-congratulatory pats on the back could wait for later. ‘Negril Bob’s killed another gang leader, Rasta Joe.’
‘I don’t know him,’ Billy said. Another customer had come into the shop; he was anxious to get to him before he walked out.
‘We do,’ Isaac said. ‘I went to school with him, Larry’s been in contact with him.’
‘I need to deal with this customer.’
‘Billy, this is serious. Negril Bob is acting irrationally. He could come for you.’
‘I’m not leaving here. Mr Loeb’s placed his trust in me. I don’t intend to let him down.’
‘Very well,’ Isaac said. ‘Phone us if he shows up. Where’s your sister?’
‘At college.’
Isaac drove to the college, passing by Challis Street to drop off Larry, and parked close to the administration office. He knew that he had parked across the rear of two cars; he put a police sign on the dashboard and a number to contact. Time was critical, and he needed to see that Charisa was secure.
Isaac had to show his ID to the woman in admin, and three minutes later Charisa entered the room. ‘DCI Cook, what is it? Her face showed alarm.
‘We needed to check that you were okay.’
‘I am. Troy’s coming back tonight.’
‘I need you to phone my office every hour on the hour, is that understood?’
‘If you want me to. What’s happened?’
‘Negril Bob has killed another gang leader. We’re preparing for trouble.’
‘He’ll leave us alone, won’t he?’
‘We don’t know. Don’t leave here without phoning us first, and if you move from one place to the next, you must inform us. Is that clear?’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘We’ll try and find those responsible for the murder. If they’re charged, and in custody, then we can all sleep easy.’
‘Until then?’ Charisa asked.
‘We will all worry.’
***
Gwen Waverley paced around her home. The father of her children, the man she had loved, still did to some extent, had been leading a double life. The devoted family man, the senior partner in her father’s merchant bank, had also been seeing Amelia Brice, his former lover. And now, she couldn’t be sure of him; was he playing around with the woman in his office, or maybe it was someone else? Whoever and whatever it was, she would not tolerate anything other than total devotion to her. And as for Amelia’s father, the man who had tried to get her husband and his daughter back together after she, the daughter of a merchant banker, had snared the man from the daughter of a minor celebrity, she’d deal with him in time.
Quentin, she knew, had been ambitious back then, though a little rough around the edges, edges she had been smoothing, and now he was playing the field, seeing what piece of fluff was susceptible to his charm. She had been receptive to it; she had seen the potential, and now she had no intention of letting anyone else, Amelia or no Amelia, take him away from her. In her anger, she picked up a plate that had just been removed from the dishwasher and flung it down on the tiled floor, smashing it into pieces. It felt good. She picked up another and broke it.
I’ll leave the
