Good Bait (DCI Karen Shields #1)(88)
‘The investigation into Kosach’s affairs,’ Frost said, ‘it’s near to reaching tipping point, I suppose that’s fair to say, and any new contacts we’ve been monitoring closely.’ A nod towards the iPad. ‘As you can see. And we were a little intrigued at the nature of whatever relationship it was you had. But after the usual checks …’ He smiled. ‘No conspicuous spending, no unexplained large payments into either of your accounts …’
Cordon blinked; Kiley bristled, but held his tongue.
‘… the explanation you’ve given doesn’t diverge too far from what we know. Indeed, adds a little grace note here and there, and I thank you, Mr Cordon, for that. But one thing I would urge you both, where Anton Kosach is concerned, you don’t go near, don’t try to communicate with him in any way.’
He was on his feet, minder at his side. ‘Apple cart. Upset. You know how it goes.’ He turned back at the door. ‘The game tonight, who won?’
‘Orient,’ Kiley said. ‘The odd goal.’
Frost nodded. ‘Always been something of a Spurs fan myself.’
Figures, Kiley thought.
From the window he watched them get into their car and drive away.
‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ Cordon said. ‘Dragging you into all this.’
Bit late for that, Kiley thought. He fetched two beers from the fridge. ‘Leaving it alone, walking away, you going to be all right with that?’
Cordon popped the can. ‘Case of having to, wouldn’t you say?’
He saw Letitia, holding her son tight on the stairs; face betraying little or no emotion, giving nothing away.
55
The warrants were issued: Michael John Carter and Leslie Arthurs for the murder of Valentyn Horak and two others, identities as yet unknown; Carter also on three counts of inflicting grievous bodily harm with intent and for conspiracy to supply cocaine and cannabis; Kevin Martin, Douglas Freeman and Jason Richards for conspiracy to murder and inflicting grievous bodily harm. Gordon Dooley for the importation, repackaging and distribution of cocaine and cannabis and for conspiracy to inflict grievous bodily harm. Anton Kosach for money laundering, conspiracy to traffic human beings into the UK for the purposes of forced labour and conspiracy to traffic women for the purposes of sexual exploitation.
Officers from Serious and Organised Crime Command, Homicide and Serious Crime Command and SOCA were involved, along with others from SO 19, Armed Response, and Operation Support. Close on four hundred, all told.
An hour before sunrise.
Synchronised raids.
Two Metropolitan Police helicopters were on standby, their initial use denied by the noise involved, the necessity of surprise.
At the briefing, in a primary school just south of the river, Burcher had emphasised the importance of coordination, keeping all phone traffic and radio contact to a minimum, nothing that might constitute a warning.
‘And if I see some scumball reporter from the Sun or Sky News within spitting distance of any part of this before we’re through, I’ll track back the leak and when I find who was responsible, personally hang them by the balls off the middle of Westminster Bridge, am I clear?’
He was clear.
Warren Cormack went over the details a final time: timing, location. Six addresses in South London, two within a couple of streets of one another, which raised potential difficulties due to the number of officers necessarily present in a relatively small area. The most recent information had all targets in situ. Thanks to Google Earth, every targeted address had been theirs in glorious full colour; every side passage, back entry, dormer window, every crack in the masonry.
Charlie Frost put in a few words about SOCA’s involvement and made a case for Kosach being the most important single target, with Gordon Dooley a close second. Karen stood a little to one side, not called upon to address the troops and not minding; her place at the top table clear and reserved, her team crucially involved.
‘Not wetting your feet on this one?’ Ramsden said to her with a grin, the briefing over, personnel moving away.
‘Too senior. Leave the heroics to others. Sit back and garner praise.’
There was a brightness in Ramsden’s eyes, the expectation, the testosterone dripping off him like sweat. All geed up to go over the top, in with the milk, what he was born for or so it seemed.
Karen looked around the now almost empty hall. In what? An hour, two at most, they would know how successful they had been.
Les Arthurs was tucked up in bed, sleeping like a baby.
Dougie Freeman, alerted by sounds below, bolted up the stairs to the attic, thence through a narrow window and out on to the roof, bollock naked, his efforts loudly applauded by the officers who had taken up positions on the rooftops to either side.
Kevin Martin, reactions dulled by a considerable amount of wine and spirits the night before, to say nothing of some quite energetic sex with his half-brother’s wife, had barely time to swing his feet round towards the floor before two pairs of hands seized hold of him and pushed him the rest of the way, face squashed sideways against the carpet. Fay Martin, leaning back against the headboard as she reached for her cigarettes, seemed as much concerned that she had snagged one of her nails as anything else.
Jason Richards had been on his way back from the bathroom, woken as usual by the need to pee, when the first police vehicles arrived; minicab for the woman who lived opposite, he thought, early shift at the hospital, but then when he glanced out through the blinds he knew it was something else.