Rough Justice (26 page)

‘The latter, I reckon,’ said Shepherd.

‘And who else spotted Dawson?’

‘Parry. He was the one who called Fogg over. I got the impression that Parry wasn’t going to breach the bubble off his own bat, but he was happy to do it once Fogg had given him the go-ahead. Kelly definitely saw Dawson. Coker? I don’t think so. Turnbull was in the van, and Castle couldn’t see anything from where she was, ditto Simmons. Fogg called me, Parry and Kelly in to mark our cards, but that was all. And it wasn’t discussed on the bus. So I think it was just Parry, Kelly, me and Fogg. Dawson was doing a good job of not drawing attention to himself. Razor, too.’

‘Yeah, well, I was just hoping that your buddies weren’t going to start using their riot sticks,’ said Sharpe. ‘And those bloody shields hurt, you know. Do they teach you to slam them down on people’s knees?’

‘Actually they do,’ said Shepherd. ‘Where do we go from here?’ he asked Button. ‘I assume we’re going to need more. I’ve got to say, I don’t know how likely it is that the vigilantes are going to sign me up.’

‘Well, something’s cooking because you’ve both been checked up on,’ said Button. ‘I was just telling Razor that his name was put through the PNC yesterday.’

‘Was that Dawson?’ asked Shepherd.

Button shook her head. ‘An intelligence officer at Paddington Green. It was one of a dozen names that were checked out, so it looks as if Dawson just slipped Razor’s name into a list.’

‘And me?’

‘You had the works two days ago,’ said Button. ‘PNC check, DVLA, and the West Mercia staff list was accessed.’

‘And again I suppose it’s too much to hope that we know who was doing the looking?’ said Shepherd.

‘A civilian worker attached to CID was logged on to the computer, but it looks as if he just left the terminal without logging off. All the checks were done very quickly, and then the terminal was left on. Five minutes after the West Mercia database was accessed there were more PNC checks made and they’re connected to cases that Paddington Green CID is working on.’

‘So the guy goes for a cigarette break and someone from TSG sits down at his desk,’ said Shepherd. ‘Risky.’

‘It was first thing in the morning, before your shift had started,’ said Button.

‘Nothing they accessed would cause me any grief, right?’

‘It’s all good,’ said Button. ‘Everything backs up your legend. Nothing to worry about. The opposite, in fact. Whoever did the checking must now think you’re vigilante material because your disciplinary file was accessed.’

‘We just don’t know by who.’

‘Do you have any ideas who might be bad?’ asked Button.

‘Roy Fogg’s well liked,’ said Shepherd. ‘If he’s doing it, I think his guys would follow him. Nick Coker’s a hard nut and there’s a fair bit of resentment there. I could see him taking matters into his own hands. But others in the Serial are straight arrows, I’m sure of that.’ He stood up and went over to one of the whiteboards.

He tapped Carolyn Castle’s picture. ‘Castle’s as pure as the driven snow.’

‘Spider’s got a girlfriend,’ said Sharpe, in a singsong voice.

Shepherd ignored him. He tapped the photograph of Darren Simmons. ‘Simmons will do whatever Fogg says, pretty much. Kelly, too.’ He pointed at the picture of Angus Turnbull. ‘He plays it by the book.’ He moved his finger along to Richard Parry’s photograph. ‘Parry I’m not sure about.’ He grinned. ‘At the risk of being racist, I’d say he’s a dark horse.’

Sharpe laughed and Button shook her head.

Shepherd went to sit down again. ‘I can’t see that the whole of Fogg’s team can be in on it. Fogg maybe, Coker probably, Simmons if Fogg’s involved, and maybe Kelly. That’s four. The thing is, we have no idea how many have gone bad. He might even have been working on his own.’

‘That’s doubtful,’ said Button. ‘Okay, one man could have shot Holmes, but I can’t see that he could have spirited away Duncan on his own. Or crippled the Yardies. I think three, four, or maybe more.’

‘If it’s more than four, he’ll have to have picked his team from within the Serial as a whole. Maybe across Serials. And if that’s the case, it’s going to take for ever to identify them,’ said Shepherd.

‘Not necessarily,’ said Button. ‘We can get taps on Fogg’s phone, intercept his emails, put him under the microscope. But the key is going to be if you can infiltrate the group. You’ve got to start pushing yourself forward, Spider.’

‘They’re cops,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’re not stupid. What do you want me to do? Wander around saying, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could kneecap drug-dealers?” and see if anyone bites?’

‘Obviously not,’ said Button. ‘But maybe start acting a little more aggressively.’

Shepherd put up his hands. ‘I’ll try, but I’ll tell you now, if I push it too hard I could blow the whole operation.’

‘They’re checking up on you for a reason, Spider.’

‘Maybe, maybe not. They might just be curious. If I was given a new partner, I might well check them out.’

‘Is that what you did when I joined SOCA? Did you run my name through the PNC?’

‘No, but I asked around,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s human nature. Just because they checked me out doesn’t mean they’re thinking of recruiting me.’

‘Just see what you can do,’ said Button. ‘Also, you need to look for the gun. If they were going to dump it they would have left it at the scene. So I’m guessing they’re planning on using it again. Assuming it’s Fogg, he might be keeping it at home or at the station. See if you can sniff around.’

‘Charlie, it’s a high-security police station. I can’t go breaking into lockers.’

Button frowned. ‘I’m starting to feel that you’re not fully committed to this investigation,’ she said quietly.

‘It’s not that,’ he said. ‘It’s just that I’m in the lion’s den. I’m not lying to drug-dealers or armed robbers, I’m lying to cops – and not just any cops. These are cops that might be committing murder.’

‘I’m watching your back, Spider.’

Shepherd nodded, but he didn’t feel reassured.

‘There’s something else I want to try,’ she said. She nodded at Singh and the technician picked up a briefcase. He placed it on a chair and opened it, then took out three small bubble-wrapped packages, each about the size of a pack of cigarettes.

‘GPS transponder,’ said Singh, unwrapping one of the packages. ‘State-of-the-art, gives us a location to with ten feet or so, battery life of up to two weeks.’ He handed it to Shepherd. ‘Magnetic so you can slip it under a wheel arch and it’ll stick like a limpet. The trick was getting the design right so that the magnets wouldn’t interfere with the circuit.’

Shepherd held the transponder in the palm of his hand. It was smooth and black except for one side which was grey metal. There was a single button on one end next to a tiny green light.

‘When you’re ready to place it, press the button once. You’ll hear it click and the light will come on. Then place the grey side against metal. High up on the wheel arch will do, or inside the engine compartment.’

‘We need to know where those vans are next time there’s an incident,’ said Button. ‘Can you get the transponders on the vans in your Serial on Monday?’

Shepherd slipped them into his pocket. ‘Shouldn’t be a problem,’ he said. ‘And they call them buses, not vans.’

‘What about me?’ asked Sharpe. ‘Do I keep hanging out with Dawson? Because I have to say, I’ve heard nothing that suggests he’s a bad cop. His political views might not be to everyone’s taste, but I’ve not picked up on anything that points to him being corrupt.’

‘Stick with him, Razor.’

Sharpe sighed theatrically.

‘Something you want to get off your chest?’ asked Button.

‘Dawson hasn’t done anything wrong,’ said Sharpe. ‘The sort of things he says are just what you’d hear in any pub in the country over a pint or two, but because he’s a cop he stands to lose everything.’

‘He knows what the rules are, Razor. No one’s putting a gun to his head.’

‘I know.’ He held up his hands. ‘I’ll stick with it.’

‘I’m so pleased,’ said Button, acidly.

Shepherd got to the station a good fifteen minutes before his train was due to leave so he bought himself a coffee and a chicken-salad sandwich from Caffè Ritazza to take with him. The carriage was almost empty and he dozed until his mobile rang. It was Major Gannon. ‘Where are you?’

‘The train, heading home,’ said Shepherd.

‘Excellent, I’m at Credenhill. I’ve some admin to sort out and I’m running a weapons test. Can you swing by the barracks tomorrow?’

‘I’m watching Liam play football in the afternoon so I can do first thing or after five, whichever is best for you.’

‘Let’s do morning, I’m heading back to London in the afternoon. I’ll leave a pass at the gate.’

‘Fancy a run?’ asked Shepherd.

‘A run?’

‘Yeah, let’s do a few miles. Blow away the cobwebs.’

‘I’ll have my gear ready,’ said the Major. ‘You still running with a bergen full of bricks?’

‘Certainly am.’

‘You always were an over-achiever, Spider.’ The Major ended the call.

Shepherd dozed the rest of the way to Hereford. There were no cabs outside the station but his house was only a thirty-minute walk so he swung his holdall over his shoulder and strode quickly, his breath feathering in the night air. The house was in darkness when he got home and he let himself in and went straight upstairs. He eased open the door to his son’s bedroom and crept over to the bed. Lady lifted her head off the pillow and woofed softly, her tail scratching across the quilt. ‘I can see you’re being well trained,’ whispered Shepherd. Liam was fast asleep, snoring softly. Shepherd kissed his forehead. ‘Good night, kid.’ He slipped out of Liam’s bedroom and went down the hallway to his room. He switched on the light and smiled when he saw a handwritten note on his pillow: ‘DAD – DON’T FORGET FOOTBALL TOMORROW!’

Shepherd woke just before eight o’clock. He showered and shaved, pulled on an old pair of tracksuit bottoms and a Reebok sweatshirt, then went downstairs. Katra was in the kitchen. ‘I must have been asleep when you got home last night,’ she said.

‘I was kept late after school,’ said Shepherd, pouring himself a coffee from the cafetière.

‘School?’ said Katra, brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. She had lived in England for more than five years, and while her English was close to perfect, Shepherd’s sense of humour occasionally stumped her.

‘My boss wanted to talk to me,’ he explained.

‘But you’re not working at a school, are you?’

‘No,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s a joke, sort of.’

‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘How’s it a joke?’

‘I guess “joke” is stretching it a bit,’ said Shepherd. He gulped some coffee. ‘When you’re a kid you might be late if your teacher kept you behind after school. So when you’re an adult and you’re late you say that and it sounds funny.’ He grinned. ‘Actually, now that I’ve explained it, it doesn’t sound that funny. Forget I said it. Where’s Liam?’

‘Outside with Lady.’

‘I hope she’s not making a mess in the house.’

Katra shook her head. ‘She’s been great,’ she said. ‘She makes this cute woofing noise when she wants to go out and if you don’t open the door for her she scratches it.’ She stood up. ‘Do you want egg and bacon?’ she asked. ‘And sausage? I have some of those Lincolnshire sausages that you like.’

‘Just a couple of slices of toast,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve got to go for a run this morning. I’ll need the CRV, too, for a couple of hours.’ He went out into the back garden where Liam was trying to teach the dog to stay, apparently without much success.

‘Dad, hi!’ shouted Liam. Lady barked excitedly.

‘How goes the training?’

‘She’s great, Dad! She’ll sit and she’ll fetch, but she doesn’t quite get “stay” yet.’ Liam ran over and gave Shepherd his mobile phone. ‘Can you video me?’

‘Sure,’ said Shepherd. He put his mug on the grass and took a few steps back. He switched on the phone’s video camera. ‘Okay, do your stuff!’ he shouted.

Liam told Lady to sit and she obeyed immediately, her tongue lolling from the side of the mouth. Liam pointed at her nose. ‘Stay,’ he said firmly. The beagle panted happily. Liam took a step backwards, keeping his eyes on her. ‘Stay,’ he repeated. He took another. Then another. Shepherd kept the camera focused on the dog. ‘She’s doing it!’ said Liam excitedly. He took another step backwards but just as he did so she barked and ran towards him. ‘No, Lady!’ shouted Liam, but it was too late: with two bounds she was at his feet, jumping up and yelping.

Shepherd smiled and stopped filming. ‘Looks like she needs a bit more training.’ He tossed the phone to his son. ‘And I said she wasn’t to sleep in your room, remember? She’s a dog, not a human. She can sleep in the kitchen.’

‘She gets lonely,’ said Liam.

‘She’s a dog, she’ll get over it,’ said Shepherd.

‘Dogs are pack animals, they have to sleep in groups,’ said Liam, folding his arms.

‘Fine, you can sleep in the kitchen, too.’

‘Dad!’

‘You’re not going to win this one, Liam,’ said Shepherd, firmly. ‘She sleeps in the kitchen.’

Liam bent down and patted his dog as Shepherd went back into the kitchen. Katra was buttering toast for him. He poured himself more coffee and drank it with his toast, then picked up the CRV keys and headed out. On the way he opened the cupboard underneath the stairs and took out his boots and rucksack. Liam came running after him. ‘Dad! You
are
coming to the football, right?’

‘Sure,’ said Shepherd, sitting down to put on his boots. ‘Two o’clock, right?’

‘Two o’clock kick-off. We should leave here about a quarter past one.’

‘I’ll be back,’ said Shepherd, doing his best Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation.

‘And we can take Lady, right?’

‘Can dogs play?’ asked Shepherd, tying his bootlaces.