‘79 Wellington Street. If he finds out that I told you, you know what will happen?’
‘Jimmy, you’d better hide under your bed until I call you again,’ Larry said.
***
‘What’s this I hear about a gang war down in your neck of the woods?’ Commissioner Davies said. It was the phone call that DCS Goddard had dreaded.
‘There’s no war yet. DCI Cook has the situation under control. They have an address for those who murdered Rasta Joe.’
‘What kind of stupid name is that?’
‘Joe Brown, but they prefer to use their street names.’
‘What do you know about the man who was killed?’
‘Isaac Cook went to school with him. We know a lot about him. He’s helped us before.’
‘Very well. It’s strange bedfellows you keep down there. What about those that killed him? It sounds as though he needs help down there, or maybe your DCI’s compromised. He’s not related, is he? A lot of them are.’
‘There’s no relationship,’ Goddard said. He was tired of the phone conversation, anxious to get down to Homicide. A police raid, set up according to the book, was something to be involved in; dealing with an unpleasant commissioner of the Met was not.
‘I’ll be keeping a watch on what you’re up to. If this escalates, and I’m asked questions, I intend to have the right answers,’ Davies said.
‘There’ll be no gang war.’
‘That’s what you said with the serial-killer woman, and she still kept killing. I’ve met your DCI, and believe me, he doesn’t do much for me. Sure, he scrubs up clean, puts on a good show, no doubt loved by his team, but where are the results? The man’s all smoke and mirrors.’
‘I’ll resist any attempts to move him out,’ Goddard said, in defence of his DCI.
‘He’s yours for the time being and don’t stuff up. And if there’s a press conference, make sure that Cook is there; you’re a wet blanket in front of a camera.’
The phone line went dead. Richard Goddard was pleased that the conversation had been short. He left his office and headed downstairs.
‘Isaac, are you sure about this?’ Goddard asked. He was sitting in the chair closest to the door in his DCI’s office.
We’ve set up roadblocks in the vicinity. No one’s leaving.’
‘And the house?’
‘A nondescript terrace house.’
‘Is your man inside?’
‘According to our information, he is. We’re staking out the house from a block of flats opposite. There are three inhabitants.’
‘Negril Bob is one of them?’
‘Unconfirmed.’
Bridget came in with two coffees. She gave one to Isaac, the other to their senior.
‘I’ve had the commissioner on the phone.’
‘The usual?’
‘He was remarkably calm. He had a go at you though.’
‘Derogatory?’
‘Smoke and mirrors, that’s his description.’
‘It’s an improvement. Any sign of his man coming back to claim my seat?’
‘Not yet, and I suspect never.’
The two men had known each other long enough for Isaac to ask more. ‘What does that mean?’
‘The pressure for Davies to resign is mounting.’
‘Confirmed?’
‘If my contact is correct.’
‘And you’re for Counter Terrorism Command?’
‘That’s the idea. I’ll need good men.’
‘I’ve got enough to deal with here.’
‘We’ll talk about it another time. What’s the agenda for the raid?’
‘At 6 p.m. we’ll commence the operation.’
‘It’s a busy time of day.’
‘It can’t be avoided. Ten minutes later, we’ll send in our specialist firearms command to secure the place. We can’t rule out those inside not having weapons.’
‘After that?’
‘Once the place is secured and we have the occupants in custody, we’ll return to the station. If it’s Negril Bob, and we can identify the others from finger and shoe prints at Rasta Joe’s murder, we’ll charge them all with premeditated murder.’
‘They’ll claim they were provoked.’
‘Three against one, and besides Rasta Joe’s hands were tied.’
‘What about the other murders?’
‘We believe that Samuel Devon was killed by Negril Bob.’
‘Proof?’
‘Only from Rasta Joe. If we can prove Negril Bob is guilty of one murder, he may confess to the other. Although we don’t think that it was his gang that the young boy cheated. Negril Bob is there for extreme violence. The gangs in the area, their rank and file are not too bright, and most are cowards on their own. Negril Bob isn’t.’
Larry came into the office. ‘It’s time.’
‘Are you coming, sir?’ Isaac asked his senior.
‘Not this time. I’ve got to protect our positions in case it goes wrong.’
***
On the drive over to Wellington Street, Isaac’s phone rang. ‘Are we still okay for this weekend?’ It was Ann, Phillip Loeb’s personal assistant.
Her phone call brought a smile to Isaac’s face. ‘I’ve booked a place,’ he said.
The phone call ended. Larry looked over at his DCI. ‘It’s looking up for you, guv. Pretty, is she?’
‘Aren’t they always?’ Isaac replied. ‘How about you and your wife?’
‘She’s fine. I’ve lost ten pounds since I’ve cut back on the food and the beer, feel much better for it, as well.’
On arrival at the end of the street, Isaac showed his ID. To either side of the house, armed officers wearing body armour waited. It was a well-rehearsed team; there was not a lot of conversation. Around the back of the house, by a brick wall with a small gate out into a common walkway, another group of armed men waited. As the residents in the street had left, they had not been allowed to return. Some had complained, most had agreed. Inside the house, all was quiet.
‘They know we’re here,’ the lead armed response officer said.
‘Any sign of
