Soft Target ss-2 Read online

  Hargrove ran his thumb over the transmit button of his transceiver. He was as impatient as the youngster to have the target in custody, but he’d meant what he said: it was the undercover operative’s call. It always was. He was the man on the spot, the man whose life was on the line. Until Hargrove was sure it was safe to move in, the operation continued to run.

  Hendrickson’s face was bathed in sweat. He took a large white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped it. ‘You couldn’t turn the heater down, could you?’ he asked. ‘It’s like an oven in here.’

  The man adjusted the temperature. It wasn’t especially hot in the car.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked the man.

  ‘I haven’t done this sort of thing before,’ said Hendrickson.

  ‘There’s always a first time.’

  ‘It’s just that I might have more work for you.’

  ‘You want someone else killed?’

  ‘Not me.’ He swallowed and licked his lips. ‘Someone I know.’

  ‘So, now you’re touting for business for me, is that it?’

  Hendrickson dabbed his lips with the handkerchief. ‘It’s someone at my health club. They have a problem, and I got the feeling they could use you.’

  ‘Close friend, is it? I wouldn’t want you bandying my name around to all and sundry.’

  ‘I didn’t tell her who you were. I just said I knew someone who might be able to help, that’s all.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  Hendrickson glanced out of the rear window.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked the man.

  ‘I feel like we’re being watched.’

  ‘That’s guilt kicking in.’

  Hendrickson wiped his forehead again. ‘What about you? Don’t you feel any guilt?’

  The man shrugged carelessly. ‘If I did, I wouldn’t do what I do, would I?’

  ‘I guess not.’ Hendrickson held out his hands in front of him, palms down. ‘Look at me. I’m shaking.’

  ‘Go home and have a cup of tea. Plenty of sugar. You’ll be fine.’

  Hendrickson folded his arms. ‘He was a bastard,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sewell. He was running the company into the ground.’

  ‘Better off without him, then,’ said the man. ‘This woman, who is she?’

  Hendrickson grimaced. ‘I’m not sure I should tell you. Just in case.’

  ‘In case what?’

  ‘In case she changes her mind.’

  ‘Give me her number and I’ll phone her.’

  Hendrickson shook his head. ‘I’d rather pass your number to her. She can call you if she decides to go ahead.’

  The man put his hands on the steering-wheel and gripped it. ‘That’s not how it works,’ he said. ‘I don’t hand out my number to strangers. I’m not a plumber.’

  ‘I rang you, though, didn’t I?’

  ‘My number was passed to you because you’d been asking around for someone to take care of your problem. I knew who you were before you called. I don’t know who this woman is. For all I know, she could be an undercover cop.’

  Hendrickson snorted. ‘No way she’s a cop.’

  ‘You know her well, do you?’

  ‘Well enough. Her husband knocks her around.’

  ‘And that’s who she wants killed? Her husband?’

  Hendrickson nodded. ‘She came to the club with bruises on her arm. Didn’t want to talk about it at first. We had a few drinks in the bar and it all came tumbling out.’

  ‘So you’re having an affair with her, is that it? And with the husband out of the way you’ll be free to move in.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Hendrickson said. ‘She’s just a friend.’

  ‘Got to be a pretty close friend if you’re talking murder with her.’

  ‘I didn’t say murder. She just said she wished her husband was dead and I said I might know someone who could help her.’

  ‘There’s a hell of a jump from wishing he was dead to paying someone to kill him.’

  Hendrickson shuddered. ‘Not that big a jump.’

  ‘It was different for you,’said the man.‘You wanted Sewell out of the picture so that you could control the company. Killing him made financial sense.’

  ‘Her husband’s rich,’ said Hendrickson.

  ‘So all she has to do is get a decent lawyer. If her husband’s been abusive, she’ll take him to the cleaners.’

  A middle-aged housewife rattled a trolley past the car with one hand as she held a plastic carrier-bag over her head. She looked at them through the windscreen. Hendrickson turned away his face and didn’t speak until she’d gone. ‘Her husband isn’t the sort of man you can divorce,’ he said.

  ‘Spit it out, Larry,’ said the man. ‘What’s the story? Tell me now or get out of the car and we can go our separate ways.’

  Hendrickson hesitated, then spoke quickly. ‘Her husband’s violent, that’s all I know. A real hard bastard. He’s already told her that if she ever leaves him he’ll put her in the ground. She says he means it. Divorce is out of the question.’

  ‘And what’s her name?’

  ‘Angie.’

  ‘Angie what?’

  ‘I just know her as Angie.’

  The man’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You don’t even know her full name and you’re talking about hired killers with her?’

  ‘I’ve known her for months.’

  ‘But not her name?’

  ‘You know what it’s like in the gym. You nod and say hello – you don’t exchange business cards. We were just talking, that’s all.’

  ‘About killing her husband?’

  ‘I think she feels she can open up to me because I’m not a close friend. I don’t know her husband, only what she’s told me. And all I said was that maybe I knew someone she could talk to who might help.’

  ‘What does she look like?’

  ‘She’s pretty, blonde, late twenties. A bit tarty, a bit flash – no bra when she exercises, you know the sort.’

  The man studied Hendrickson with unblinking pale blue eyes.

  Hendrickson looked away nervously.‘I just thought . . .’ he said, then mumbled incoherently.

  ‘You call that thinking?’ said the man. ‘Did you tell her I was offing your partner?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Don’t you think she’s going to put two and two together when she discovers he’s out of the picture?’

  ‘She doesn’t know what I do. I didn’t tell her I was paying you. It was just a general conversation, that’s all.’ He leaned forward, his arms round his stomach. ‘I feel sick,’ he said.

  ‘Not in the car,’ said the man. ‘If you’re going to throw up, open the door.’ He flicked the air-conditioning control and cold air blasted across their faces. ‘Deep breaths,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Hendrickson, still bent double.

  ‘It’s the stress,’ said the man.

  ‘I mean about Angie. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. You’re right, it’s none of my business.’

  The man tapped his gloved fingers on the steering-wheel. ‘You think she’s serious? About wanting him dead?’

  Hendrickson took several deep breaths. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  The man’s fingers continued to tap the steering-wheel.

  ‘Do you want me to give her your number?’ asked Hendrickson.

  ‘Take the bird in the hand, Spider. For God’s sake– take the bird in the hand!’ There was no way that Shepherd could hear the superintendent: radio communication could only be one way as transmission noise would blow an operative’s cover. Hargrove closed his eyes and massaged the back of his neck. The tendons were as taut as steel wires.

  ‘He’s going to let it run, isn’t he?’ said the young officer. He had a video camera trained on the car in the distance but the rain meant that the footage would be virtually unusable. Not that the exterior video mattered. The two video cameras in the Volvo had recorded everything,
and the audio was all they needed to put Hendrickson away on conspiracy to commit murder.

  Hargrove ignored the officer but he knew he was right: Shepherd was going to let it run. The rain continued to beat down on the roof of the van as Hargrove strained to hear what was going on inside the car. ‘Okay,’ said Shepherd, through his headphones. ‘Tell her to call me. But if it turns to shit, I’ll come looking for you.’

  Hargrove cursed under his breath. He reached for his bottle of Evian water and took a long swig, then cursed again.

  The young officer watched through the viewfinder of his video-camera as Hendrickson climbed out of the car and ran across the car park, the umbrella low over his head. ‘What do we do, sir?’ he asked.

  Hargrove sighed. He opened his eyes, put his transceiver to his mouth and clicked the transmit button. ‘Alpha One, everyone stand down. Repeat, everyone stand down.’

  Hargrove paid for the drinks and carried them to the corner table of the pub. Shepherd was taking off his black leather gloves and nodded his thanks as the superintendent placed the Jameson’s and soda in front of him. His hair was wet and the shoulders of his coat flecked with water.

  ‘It’s not how I’d have played it, Spider. That’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘I had seconds to make up my mind,’ said Shepherd, stuffing the gloves into his coat pocket. ‘What did you expect me to do? Tell him I had to check with my boss?’ He took a sip of his whiskey.

  ‘No one’s saying it wasn’t your call,’ said Hargrove. He sat down on the bench seat next to Shepherd and stretched out his legs. He had been in the back of the Transit van for the best part of four hours. ‘I’m just reminding you that we’ve spent two months setting up Hendrickson and I wouldn’t want to put that at risk for the sake of a maybe down the line. Plus, we’ve got Hendrickson’s partner tucked away in a safe-house. He’ll be none too happy when I tell him he’s got to stay there for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘I figure it’ll take a few days at most. I’ll fix up a meet to see if she’s serious. I’ll go in wired up, get her to pay a deposit and we can leave it at that. If her husband’s knocking her around the court’ll probably go easy on her so there’s no point in busting a gut.’

  Hargrove cupped his hands round his brandy glass. ‘You’ll be going in blind,’ he said. ‘All we have is a first name.’

  ‘She’s a battered wife,’ said Shepherd. ‘I doubt I’ll be in any danger.’

  ‘I don’t like it, Spider. There are too many ifs, buts and maybes.’

  Shepherd leaned forward. ‘Boss, if she doesn’t talk to me, she might find someone else.’

  Hargrove nodded thoughtfully. ‘Forty-eight hours, that’s all I can give you.’

  Shepherd looked pained, but the time frame wasn’t up to him. ‘The ball’s in her court,’ he said. ‘Hendrickson wouldn’t give me her number.’

  ‘If she’s serious she’ll call. If she isn’t, it’s a waste of time anyway. Forty-eight hours, Spider. Then we arrest Hendrickson.’

  Shepherd opened his mouth to argue but the superintendent silenced him with a wave. Shepherd had worked with Hargrove long enough to know when he’d reached his limit. Forty-eight hours was all the time he had.

  Roger Sewell was a big man, a good three inches taller than the superintendent, and thirty kilograms heavier. He had receding hair that he’d grown long and tied back in a ponytail, and a goatee beard. He was wearing a grey suit but had taken off his tie and thrown it on to the hotel bed.

  ‘No bloody way am I spending another night in this shit-hole,’ he said. ‘I was promised a safe-house not a two-star bloody hotel.’

  ‘It’s forty-eight hours,’ said Hargrove, patiently. ‘Two days.’

  ‘Two days during which that bastard Hendrickson is going to be ripping my company apart,’ said Sewell. He pointed an accusing finger at the superintendent. ‘Are you going to reimburse me for any money I lose on this?’ He didn’t give the superintendent time to reply. ‘Of course you’re bloody not. What if he empties the bank accounts and transfers the money off-shore. Then I’m fucked with a capital F, aren’t I?’

  ‘Today’s Friday,’said Hargrove. ‘You have my word that by Monday your partner will be in custody and you’ll be free to do whatever you want. Just give me the weekend, Mr Sewell.’

  Sewell paced over to the window. ‘They won’t even let me go to the bloody pub. This is Leeds, for God’s sake. No one knows me in Leeds. I wouldn’t be seen dead in Leeds.’

  ‘It’s too much of a risk, Mr Sewell,’ said Hargrove. ‘If anyone recognises you and mentions it to Hendrickson, he’ll know he’s been set up and he’ll run.’

  ‘So put him under surveillance.’

  ‘We have. Two men are watching him round the clock. But we can’t account for phone calls or emails.’

  Sewell slammed his hand against the window-frame. ‘I’m the innocent party here, yet I’m the one being held prisoner. That bastard Hendrickson should be behind bars and he’s living it up on the outside while I’m eating off a tray.’ He turned to face the superintendent. ‘I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I even lay down in that hole in the ground with fake blood on my face while you took photographs. But I’ve reached my limit.’

  ‘Forty-eight hours, Mr Sewell. It’s not much to ask.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to sleep on a lumpy mattress and watch a fourteen-inch TV. And have you seen the bloody room-service menu? Chips with everything.’

  ‘Mr Sewell, let’s not lose sight of what was happening. Your partner was looking to have you killed. If we hadn’t intervened there was a good chance he’d have succeeded and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

  Sewell dropped into an overstuffed armchair and swung his feet up on to the bed. He ran a hand over his thinning hair and down the ponytail. ‘Bastard,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe he’d have me killed. He’s a vegetarian, for God’s sake.’

  ‘People have killed for a lot less than he stands to gain with you out of the picture,’ said Hargrove.

  ‘Yeah, but it’s only bloody money.’

  ‘We do appreciate the help you’ve given us,’ said the superintendent. ‘By Monday you can be back in the office and you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that your partner is going to prison for a long time.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Sewell. ‘I bloody well hope so.’ He looked across at the superintendent. ‘Can you at least tell me why?’

  ‘It’s an ongoing operation,’ said Hargrove. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’

  ‘Involving Hendrickson?’

  Hargrove nodded. He didn’t like lying to Sewell, but he knew that the man was a lot less likely to cooperate if he knew that the operation had been extended to include a second party. Besides, it was a white lie. Hendrickson was involved. Up to a point. ‘You’ll be doing us a great service,’ said the superintendent.

  ‘You’ll owe me one,’ said Sewell.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Hargrove.

  ‘I want my laptop,’ said Sewell. ‘And my mobile phone.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ said Hargrove.

  ‘I won’t call anyone. I won’t send emails. I just need to know what’s happening.’

  ‘Computers leave traces. So do mobile phones. We can’t afford the risk of anyone finding out you’re still alive.’

  Sewell threw up his hands in disgust.

  ‘Two days, Mr Sewell,’ said Hargrove. ‘You have my word.’

  The local police had assigned three uniformed officers to babysit Sewell, taking it in turns to sit in the hotel’s reception area in plain clothes. They weren’t there to guard him, merely to ensure that he stayed in the hotel. The only threat to Sewell’s life was Hendrickson, and Hendrickson was under the impression that his business partner was dead and buried in the New Forest.

  The officer on duty was a fifty-something sergeant with a thickening waistline and thinning hair. He began to get to his feet as Hargrove walked
out of the lift but the superintendent waved at him to stay seated and sat in the adjacent armchair. ‘How’s he been?’ he asked.

  ‘Grumpy, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘Keeps asking if he can go out for a walk. Complains about the food, the TV, the bed.’

  ‘He’s not to go out,’ said Hargrove.

  ‘I understand, sir.’

  ‘We’re having to extend his stay over the weekend,’ said Hargrove. ‘I’ll be clearing it with your bosses. But the longer he’s here, the more likely he is to slip the leash, so I’m going to have to ask you to set up shop in the corridor outside his room.’

  The sergeant looked fed up but said nothing. The superintendent sympathised. Sitting in a hotel corridor wasn’t the most entertaining way to pass an eight-hour shift. ‘If he’s still unhappy about the hotel food he can order in from restaurants but make sure he pays cash. On no account is he to use his credit card.’

  ‘Understood, sir.’

  ‘Pass on the instructions to the rest of the team,’ said the superintendent. ‘If you want to break it up into four-hour shifts, that’s fine by me. So long as he’s covered round the clock, you can work it any way you want.’

  ‘It’s all overtime,’ said the sergeant. ‘You won’t be hearing any complaints.’

  Shepherd sat in his car and looked at the front of the house: a neat semi, the garden lovingly tended, the paintwork less than a year old, a TV dish over the garage. Tom and Moira Wintour had put a lot of work into their Hereford home and it showed. A year-old Lexus was parked in front of the garage, freshly waxed.

  Shepherd had driven down from Manchester in his own car, a dark green Honda CRV. He’d left the Volvo in the car park below the city-centre loft where his alter ego Tony Nelson lived. Once the operation was over and he had Angie on tape, the surveillance equipment would be removed and the Volvo would go back into the police pool with new licence plates and registration details.

  On the back seat of the CRV a carrier-bag contained two PlayStation cartridges that he’d bought in a toy shop in Manchester. He’d spent the best part of an hour there but hadn’t been able to think of anything else to buy his son. He climbed out, walked to the front door and rang the bell. He saw a blurred figure through the frosted glass, then Moira opened the door, smiling brightly. As always, her makeup was immaculate. ‘Daniel, you made it,’ she said.