He wondered if Ro had been involved. He hoped not, but knew there was a vanishingly small chance of that if she’d been there that night. Part of him wanted to ask Gary about it, but not with Faulkner standing right there, nodding.
“The police will figure it out soon enough, but until then, we’ve got some time,” Faulkner said. “Which is why you and Hattersley are going to get there first, and take a look around the flat before the plods stomp all over it.”
Danny hesitated. It didn’t sound entirely legal. But orders were orders. “What are we looking for exactly?” He thought about the Optik Faulkner had tried to snatch yesterday – was there a connection between the two victims? And if so, what did Faulkner know that he wasn’t saying?”
Faulkner gestured to the door, and Danny left the cell. “Anything and everything, my lad. Starting with anything related to who might have shot him.” Faulkner followed him out. “Not to mention why.”
“Oi, what about me?” Gary began. “You said I could go?”
“Danny, did I say that?” Faulkner asked, innocently.
“You might have implied it, Sarge,” Danny said, hesitantly.
“But I never said the words, did I?” Faulkner looked back at Gary and shrugged in mock-helplessness. “Shame, but there you have it, my son. Rest easy.” He shut the door on the rest of Gary’s protests.
“Are you going to let him go, Sarge?” Danny asked.
Faulkner looked at him. “Eventually. When we’re done with him. Now, don’t you have some place to be?” He gestured. “Hop to it.”
Danny went.
Billy Bricks hauled open the loading bay door and ushered Ro inside the grimy warehouse just off the Mile End Road. “Tell me again,” he said, as he closed the door behind them.
“I’ve told you five times already,” Ro said, resignedly. She was tired. She hadn’t slept. Billy had kept her awake all night, and her head was starting to pound. Too much caffeine, not enough food.
The Godfreys had stripped Colin – the corpse – on Billy’s orders. They’d taken every bit of identification on Colin’s body, and Billy had put the frighteners on all the punters, including Ro herself. No one was to talk to the Filth, if they knew what was good for them. Billy’s word carried a lot of weight. He spoke for Clan Kelley, and everyone knew it.
The plods had shown up that morning, looking peeved. Two shootings in forty-eight hours was a bad job. They weren’t happy. Neither was Billy. Ro rubbed her face, the lack of sleep catching up with her.
Billy shoved her. Not in a friendly way. “And you’ll tell me a fucking sixth, love.”
Ro spun, fists raised. Billy didn’t so much as twitch. Ro lowered her hands, forcing herself to relax. She was in enough trouble as it was. A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “You’re tired, so I’ll forgive that, Rosemary.”
“Don’t call me Rosemary.”
“It’s your name, innit? Rosemary Hayes. Daughter of Desmond and Cece Hayes. Sister of Daniel Hayes. Last person to see Colin Wilson alive.”
“Wilson?” Ro asked, without thinking.
Billy peered at her. “Yeah. What about it?”
“Nothing. I just… never knew his last name, that’s all.”
Billy laughed. “Guess he wasn’t much of a mate, eh?” He shook his head. “You don’t have many of them, luv. Not around here. Not right now.” He grinned at her, but it wasn’t friendly. “Just me, innit? So you’d best be fucking straight with me, before we go in there. Did you know anything about this shit?”
“No. Not before last night. I hadn’t seen him in weeks. That’s the truth, swear down.”
Billy studied her for a moment, then grunted and turned away. Ro relaxed, but only slightly. “Right. Come on then.”
The warehouse had been one of the first properties the Kelley firm had bought, when they’d arrived from Northern Ireland. In the decades that followed, the Kelleys had expanded, investing in the East End and in Greater London. They’d sunk their teeth in, and refused to let go. In the bad old days, they’d gone to war with the Krays, the Richardson Gang, and a dozen others.
As far as the firms of the East End were concerned, the Kelleys were old money aristocrats. They’d earned their place at the top of the heap, and only a fool took them on if they didn’t have to.
The warehouse was bigger now than it had been. Like its owners, it had expanded. Stacks of plastic crates and cardboard boxes towered over concrete floors marked by old, obsolete drains. The warehouse wasn’t used for meat, these days. Instead it was the hub of the Kelleys’ black-market commodities ring.
Over the years, the firm had moved on from the old standbys. Now, instead of prostitution, weapons and drugs, they sold food, water, furniture, bootleg electronics – if you could buy it cheap online, the Kelleys could provide it for half that. They left the drugs and the guns to the street dealers, though Ro had heard that the firm was looking into buying surplus from the army and selling it at cost to independent contractors.
Ro had never paid much attention to any of that. She was in collection, not sales. But looking around, the sheer amount of stuff was impressive. Labourers hauled boxes and picked orders, loading trucks for afternoon deliveries. Automated dollies rolled through the stacks, carrying loads. She stopped as one skidded across her path, and Billy gave her a shove. “Keep walking, love. No time to waste.”
“Touch me again, Billy, and I’ll break your fucking hand.”
Billy laughed. “I’d like to see you try, girl. Maybe when all of this is said and done, we’ll go a few rounds.” Ro shook her head, but kept walking.
The offices were in the back. And so was Mary Kelley.
There were guards of course – hard-faced men and women, standing near the door to the enclosed square of office space erected against the back wall of the warehouse. Ro recognised a few of them, but none of them met her
