put the car in gear. ‘We’ve got him.’
‘Christ, you seen this? “Believed active as a syndicate enforcer.” What the hell is he doing walking the streets?’
Heck drove out onto the road. ‘That suspicion’s probably based on intel supplied by an informant. If he’s not wanted for anything in particular, there’s nothing we can lift him for.’
‘Whatever he’s doing, it must pay. “Last known address – six, Redbrook Close, Kingston upon Thames”.’
‘You don’t get that kind of bread standing on pub doors in a monkey suit.’
‘I wonder what he’s been doing up in Manchester?’
‘I aim to ask him.’
She glanced around.
‘Solves a problem, actually,’ Heck said. ‘I wasn’t sure whereabouts in London we were going to crash tonight. I am now – Kingston.’
It was late afternoon, and another balmy August evening was in the offing.
Detective Superintendent Gemma Piper was seated in a corner of The Barrow Boy, a narrow brick building tucked away in a nook just off Tothill Street, yet famous the city over for its cosy, wood-panelled interior and diverse range of real ales. She sipped at a glass of wine and, for the sixth or seventh time since leaving the office, tried to place a call to Heck – only to get no response. Frustrated, she laid her phone back on the table. She’d ordered a ham salad sandwich for her tea, but it hadn’t yet been delivered. When a shadow fell across her, she glanced up, thinking it was the waiter.
It wasn’t. It was DI Des Palliser. He threw his coat over the back of a chair, but remained standing, giving her an unconvincing smile.
‘Greater Manchester CID have been in touch,’ he said. ‘They’re a bit confused – as am I, I must admit. They want to know if Mark Heckenburg’s apparent involvement in a mutilation-murder on their patch this morning should be registered as a blue-on-blue, or whether they ought to consider him a suspect?’
Gemma was vaguely aware of her jaw dropping. ‘What?’
‘Just that. Mind if I go and get a drink?’
When Palliser returned, pint of beer in hand, his boss was still in a state of acute shock. He sat across the table from her, lips pursed as he awaited a coherent response.
‘Who’s he supposed to have murdered?’ she finally asked.
‘A local burglar.’ Palliser filched some notes from his inside pocket. ‘Seems he hung the bastard upside down, slit his belly open and left him to bleed out.’
‘And what’ve they got on him?’
‘Well … a lot.’ Palliser re-read his notes. ‘Thanks to Heck’s VRM being caught on numerous security cameras and his prints getting left on a broken bottle, he’s now been positively identified as someone who went yesterday to the victim’s home address, asked questions about his where-abouts, and finally tracked him to a nearby squat, where the aggrieved party was later found hanged and gutted in what might be, quote, “a ritual homicide”.’
‘The AP … he wasn’t by any chance a certain Ron O’Hoorigan?’
Palliser arched a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘You know about this?’
Gemma shook her head with slow-building fury. ‘I’m going to kill him. I’m going to bloody well kill him.’
‘Well it can’t be Heck, can it? I mean Heck’s a pro. If he’d gone to Manchester to top someone, would you expect him to leave a trail of clues as obvious as this?’
‘I wouldn’t expect him to top someone in the first place!’ she hissed.
‘Also …’ Palliser checked his notes again. ‘Do we know a girl called Lauren Wraxford?’
‘Not as I’m aware. Why?’
‘Because a vehicle she rented in Leeds, which is now overdue to be returned, is currently lying wrecked on some wasteland just outside Manchester.’
‘And what’s that got to do with this?’
‘Good question. Seems she’s an ex-squaddie. She’s got minor form as a juvenile, but she’s been clean for a while. However, she was with Heck yesterday when they got involved in a bar room brawl that left four men seriously injured.’
Gemma closed her eyes and squeezed the bridge of her nose, before taking a long sip of wine. ‘What the bleeding hell is he playing at?’
‘By the looks of it, he’s still following his last case.’
‘What’ve you told Manchester?’
‘What else? I’ve told them he’s involved in undercover work for us.’ Palliser stared at Gemma accusingly, clearly piqued that she hadn’t trusted him enough to keep him in the loop. ‘I’m guessing that’s the truth. I’ve also said that we’ll bring him in as soon as possible so that we can hear his side of the story.’
‘Are they alright with that?’
‘Not really. And I don’t suppose we can blame them. I mean, they’ve got a bloke on a slab who spent his last few minutes watching his breakfast drain through his own gizzards.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ Gemma shoved a hand through her blonde curls, which suddenly looked wilder and more unruly than usual.
‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’ Palliser said.
She sighed long and hard, before admitting: ‘Heck had a couple of new leads, which he desperately wanted to follow.’
‘Good ones?’
‘Circumstantial mainly.’
‘So why’d you give him the nod?’
‘Because I’m weak.’ She banged the table. ‘And bloody stupid.’
‘Laycock’s going to love you for this.’
‘He doesn’t need to know.’
‘He’ll find out at some point.’
‘Let him.’
‘He specifically wanted this investigation shutting down.’
‘I’ve run this department successfully for four years, Des. I don’t need Laycock’s approval for everything.’
‘Yes, but if he didn’t have much ammunition before …’ and Palliser laid his notes on the table, ‘he does now.’
‘Why don’t you just
