Rough Justice (51 page)

‘I don’t know anyone called Jorgji Talovic,’ said Shepherd.

‘The man who was threatening you,’ said Cooper. ‘The man you claimed poisoned your dog.’

‘The man who threatened me and the man who killed my dog was called Imer Lekstakaj,’ said Shepherd.

‘Mr Shepherd, I don’t understand your hostility,’ said Cooper.

‘This isn’t hostility, this is contempt,’ said Shepherd. ‘Put Hollis on the phone.’

‘I’m handling this inquiry,’ said Cooper.

‘Put Hollis on now or I’m ending this call,’ said Shepherd.

‘Mr Shepherd . . .’

Shepherd pressed the red button to end the call. He poured himself a mug of coffee and took it through to the sitting room. He was channel-surfing when his phone rang again. This time there was a number on the phone’s screen. Sergeant Hollis. Shepherd took the call. ‘You’ve managed to upset my colleague somewhat, Mr Shepherd,’ said Hollis.

‘You can’t imagine how happy that makes me,’ said Shepherd.

‘He’s all for dragging you in here for questioning,’ said Hollis.

‘He’d have to find me first and I get the feeling that he couldn’t find his dick even if he used both hands,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t owe the little shit any favours and you can tell him that for me.’

‘I understand your position entirely,’ said the sergeant. Shepherd figured that Cooper was standing next to Hollis and could hear his side of the conversation. ‘As my colleague explained to you, Imer Lekstakaj has disappeared and we believe that there is a good chance he has been killed.’

‘More bad news,’ said Shepherd. ‘My cup runneth over.’

‘In view of the problems you’d been having with Mr Lekstakaj, we’d like you to account for your movements yesterday.’

‘There you go calling him Mr again,’ said Shepherd. ‘He’s a wanted murderer who threatened my family and poisoned my dog. He doesn’t have the right to be called Mr. If something’s happened to him it’s nothing to do with me.’

‘Where are you, Mr Shepherd?’

‘On my sofa.’

Hollis sighed. ‘Which city?’

‘London.’

‘Why London?’

‘I can’t tell you that. It’s classified.’

‘And how long have you been in London, Mr Shepherd?’

‘I got here Sunday evening and I’ll be here until Friday.’

‘I’m going to need someone to corroborate that.’

‘My word won’t do, then?’

Hollis chuckled. ‘Much as I enjoy your sense of humour, Mr Shepherd, this is a murder inquiry. I’m going to need you to account for your whereabouts.’

‘I already said – I’m in London.’

‘Where specifically?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Because?’

‘Because I’m in the middle of a very sensitive investigation, and I can’t risk you or PCDC jeopardising that investigation.’

‘So how do you suggest I verify your whereabouts?’

‘What happened to Lekstakaj?’

‘We’re not sure.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense. How can you be involved in a murder investigation if you don’t know what happened?’

‘Mr Lekstakaj has disappeared. And there are signs of a struggle.’

‘What sort of signs?’

‘I’m not at liberty to divulge that information, but we do suspect that a crime has been committed.’

‘Well, not by me,’ said Shepherd. ‘I already told you that I work for SOCA. I solve crimes, I don’t commit them.’

‘Nevertheless I need to know your movements over the past week.’

‘Look, Sergeant, what do you want me to say? I’m in London, and I’ve been in London all week. I’m on a SOCA case and there’s no way that I can give you details of that case. The best I can do is to give you the number of my boss and she can confirm that I’m working and give you a character reference if you need one.’

‘Who is your boss, Mr Shepherd?’

Shepherd gave him Charlotte Button’s number. ‘Can you at least tell me why you think there’s been foul play?’ he asked.

‘A neighbour reported hearing sounds of a struggle at the house,’ said Hollis. ‘And she heard a vehicle being driven away at high speed. There’s a small amount of blood splatter on the garage floor, and damage to the wing mirror of his car. It looks as if he got home from work and we think that someone was waiting for him in his garage and they attacked him.’

‘One of the wing mirrors was cracked when I went around to his house.’

‘When was that?’

‘The time he threatened me. After he threw the brick through my window. You should check your notes.’

‘And you can remember a cracked mirror?’

‘I’ve a good memory,’ said Shepherd. ‘Basically, you’ve no real evidence that he’s been the victim of a crime, have you? Not like when I told you about the brick through my window and my dead dog.’

‘It’s not the same thing, Mr Shepherd.’

‘No, it’s not, is it?’ said Shepherd. ‘You have a nice evening.’ Shepherd ended the call. He smiled to himself as he tapped out Jack Bradford’s number. He told his friend that he and his brother could drop the surveillance on his house. Again, Jack didn’t ask any questions. ‘I owe you and Billy, big-time,’ said Shepherd.

‘Happy to be of service. Gave us the chance to get a good look at Katra again. She’s fit, Spider.’

‘She’s family,’ laughed Shepherd.

‘She’s not my family,’ said Jack. ‘Put in a good word for me, will you?’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Shepherd.

‘That means no, doesn’t it? Bastard.’

‘Take care, Jack. And thanks.’

Shepherd spent most of Thursday helping to secure a crime scene in Wembley. Four black teenagers had fired more than two dozen shots at a Turkish takeaway where a rival gang had been buying kebabs. The gang members had escaped unscathed but the owner of the restaurant and his teenage daughter had been wounded. By chance an armed-response vehicle had been in the area but they had been forced to give up the chase after a hail of bullets ripped through their vehicle. The getaway car was later found burned out in Harlesden. Detectives from Operation Trident were on the case and reckoned that it was part of an ongoing drugs dispute between two north-London gangs.

Over a five-hour period Shepherd had knocked on more than eighty doors of flats overlooking the street where the shooting had taken place. Most of the residents hadn’t answered, and those who had just said they hadn’t seen anything.

The team were given sandwiches and cans of soft drink for lunch. Shepherd sat next to Kelly while he ate. There was the usual banter and ribbing, and no indication that Kelly was in any way uncomfortable being around him. Coker, too, was his usual self. Shepherd was used to hiding his emotions and real feelings while working under cover and knew how difficult it was. He kept looking for signs of tension in the two men and the way they acted, but there was nothing to suggest they were anything other than part of a tightly knit team.

They got back to Paddington Green just after six. Shepherd had taken the Tube to work, and on the way home he stopped off at Marks & Spencer to stock up on groceries. When he got back to his house in Kilburn he made himself two bacon sandwiches and some coffee before going through to the sitting room. He was just reaching for the TV remote when the doorbell rang. He got up, went through to the hall and opened the front door. It was Coker. He was wearing a waterproof jacket and black leather gloves. He grinned. ‘Hey, Three-amp,’ he said. ‘Got any beer?’

‘Fridgeful,’ said Shepherd, holding the door open. ‘Just made bacon sandwiches if you want one.’

He showed Coker into the sitting room and went to get him a can of Heineken. When he got back, Coker had taken off his gloves and was tucking into one of the sandwiches. Shepherd put the can in front of him and sat on the sofa.

Coker held up the sandwich. ‘You said I could, right?’

‘Knock yourself out,’ said Shepherd. Coker had taken off his coat and hung it on the door handle. Shepherd was surprisingly reassured that Coker had also taken off his gloves. He reached for the remaining sandwich and took a bite. ‘So, how did you get the nickname Lurpak?’ he asked.

Coker wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘No one told you?’

‘I didn’t ask.’

‘But you’re asking now?’

‘Yeah, I’m asking now.’

‘It’s because I’m a butter,’ he said.

‘A butter?’

‘A head-butter,’ said Coker. ‘We were doing a rapid entry – into a house not far from here, as it happens. I was third in. Carpets was first, obviously, and Pelican had nagged to be number two so that she could show us how big her balls were. So we go piling in and Carpets bundles the guy up against a wall so all’s good, and then this woman gets up from behind a sofa and grabs Pelican from behind and starts scratching her. She had these long nails, like bloody talons they were, and she was going for Pelican’s eyes. We were in a tiny bloody flat, not enough room to swing a cat, so I could barely move. I grab the woman and try to pull her off Pelican and she turns and starts spitting at me. Then she tries to knee me in the groin and I’m losing it but I can’t use my baton so I head-butt her. Bang. She goes down like a sack of spanners.’ Coker laughed, then popped the tab on his can of lager and drank.

‘Any comebacks?’ asked Shepherd.

Coker shook his head. ‘Necessary force, mate,’ he said. He put down his lager and took another bite of his sandwich.

Shepherd wondered when he was going to explain why he’d turned up on his doorstep. ‘Pelican wasn’t happy when I hit that slag for her,’ he said.

‘Yeah, she likes to show that she’s one of the guys,’ agreed Coker. ‘Hates it when we stand up for her. But at the end of the day she’s a female and if anyone takes liberties with her then it’s up to us to step in.’

‘Can’t argue with that,’ said Shepherd.

Coker sipped his lager, his eyes never leaving Shepherd. He put the can down slowly. ‘Get yourself a beer, Three-amp. Coffee’s for wimps.’

Shepherd chuckled and went through to the kitchen to get himself a lager. He popped the tab, clunked his can against Coker’s and toasted him. ‘Down the hatch,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ said Coker. They both drank. Coker’s eyes narrowed as he studied Shepherd – perhaps he was trying to work out what was going through his mind. Shepherd smiled back amiably. ‘I wanted to talk about what happened yesterday,’ said Coker, quietly.

‘Yeah, I figured,’ said Shepherd.

‘You didn’t say anything?’

‘To who?’

‘To anybody.’

‘None of my business, Lurpak.’

‘But you must have wondered, right?’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘If you want a souvenir, it’s nothing to do with me,’ he said.

Coker laughed, spraying bits of bacon and bread over the coffee-table. ‘I like you, Three-amp,’ he said, when he’d finished laughing.

‘Yeah, I like you too,’ said Shepherd. ‘Shall we get married?’

Coker laughed again. Then he put his head on one side, watching Shepherd. ‘Why do you think I wanted the gun, Three-amp?’

‘I have no bloody idea,’ said Shepherd. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

‘First I want to know why you didn’t go running to the sarge. Or the commander. Or the rubber heels. Professional Standards?’

‘Because I’m the newbie. If that’s the way things are done, it’s nothing to do with me.’

Coker picked up his can and sat back. ‘I don’t get you, Three-amp. You’re not even curious?’

‘Of course I’m curious, you stupid sod, but I’m on very thin ice here, aren’t I? I like this job, I worked bloody hard to get it, and if I don’t fit in I could be out on my arse.’

Coker studied Shepherd with unblinking blue eyes. Then he nodded slowly. ‘Remember that story KFC told you, about the drug-dealer who threatened his family?’

‘Wilkes. Yeah, I remember.’

‘Yeah, and remember how you said he should have given Wilkes a good kicking?’

‘The bastard deserved it,’ said Shepherd.

‘No question,’ said Coker. ‘The thing is, somebody did kick his arse. Kicked it good and proper.’

‘KFC said Wilkes was in prison in the States.’

‘Yeah, he is. But before that he was warned off.’

‘By who?’

Coker tapped the side of his nose. ‘Need to know, Three-amp. One step at a time. What I can tell you is that it got sorted for KFC, well and truly sorted.’

‘How?’

Coker shoved the last bit of sandwich into his mouth and chewed, then washed it down with lager. ‘Someone went around to Wilkes and showed him the error of his ways.’

‘And that sorted it?’

Coker grinned. ‘Oh, yeah, it straightened him out perfectly.’ He leaned forward. ‘He poured petrol over Wilkes and his wife, took out a lighter and told Wilkes that he had two choices. He could swear to never go near KFC and his family or he could go up in flames.’

‘Who was he?’

‘The Masked Avenger,’ said Coker. ‘Wilkes didn’t know who it was. The guy was wearing a mask and he told Wilkes that if anything ever happened to KFC he’d be back. Then he gave him a good kicking and went on his way. From that day on KFC didn’t have any problems with Wilkes.’

‘That’s a good story, Lurpak,’ said Shepherd. ‘Want another beer?’

‘Okay,’ said Coker.

Shepherd went to the kitchen to get two more cans of lager. He gave one to Coker and opened one for himself. He didn’t want to drink but he wanted to appear relaxed. He put his feet up on the coffee-table. ‘The thing is, I don’t see how what happened to Wilkes has anything to do with what happened at the house. Unless you’re going to tell me that you’re the Masked Avenger.’

Coker laughed. ‘Nah, I’m not the Caped Crusader,’ he said. ‘I’m more like Robin.’

‘A sidekick?’

Coker drank his lager and smacked his lips. ‘Yeah, a sidekick. Here’s the thing, Three-amp. What happened to Wilkes wasn’t legal, no question about that. But it worked. It worked a treat. Wilkes never went near KFC again, and when he did come across him it was “Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir.” And when we saw that it worked, well, that got us thinking.’