I checked my Glock one last time and slipped it back under my belt. The silencer jutted out and I hoped the automatic's trigger safety was as reliable as the manufacturers claimed.
Then I gave Andy a nervous smile. "Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "Here we go."
I reached up toward the small window.
Karen Oaten drove to New Scotland Yard. There were only a few members of her team working the weekend shift. She sat down to clear the backlog of administration work, but found herself thinking about the latest spate of killings. One of the problems she had running a unit that pulled together violent crime from all over the city was keeping in check the tendency to link everything together. It was perfectly possible that the shooting of the Turk and the knife attack on the Kurd were unconnected, just as the overwhelming likelihood was that the murder of the crime writer had nothing to do with those in East London. But still, she found herself trying to make at least some connection between the deaths. That was the curse of the VCCT.
It didn't help that there was very little to go on with the shooting of the Turk. Mehmet Saka, a twenty-three- year-old, was suspected of being a heroin deliveryman. He'd been gunned down in broad daylight outside a betting shop in Stepney, taking five bullets in his chest. Witnesses had been hard to find, and no one had noted the number of the car that carried the shooter. There were even varying reports of its color and make, ranging from a black Audi 6 to a dark green Citroen Xsara. The bottom line was that people developed very selective memories when it came to identifying gang members. They were swift to exact harsh retribution and there was no point in pulling in known gang members, as the gangs' versions of omerta were just as tight as the original. Homicide East hadn't even been able to tempt the Turks themselves to talk, which was hardly surprising if they'd been responsible for the subsequent murder of Nedim Zinar. Then again, maybe the Kurd had just slighted someone. That was one of the few characteristics shared by Turks, Kurds, Greek Cypriots, Albanians and Jamaican Yardies, as well as the long-standing local East End gangs-losing face was totally unacceptable.
Oaten moved on to the latest update from the Mary Malone murder. No other witnesses to a figure in a black cape and top hat had been found. DI Neville surmised that the killer either had a car parked farther down the street or had managed to change clothes somewhere nearby after the attack.
The chief inspector's cell phone rang. It was her boss, the assistant commissioner.
"I'm in the office, sir."
"Admirable, Chief Inspector," he said drily. "I'm expected to play golf with the commander of the Flying Squad, would you believe?" The assistant commissioner resented every minute he had to spend away from his desk. "Update me, please."
She gave him a rundown of the Saka and Zinar murders.
"And your recommendation?" the AC asked.
"To leave them with Homicide East. I'll make sure we see the daily case-file updates. If there's any link, I'll take them over."
"Very well. Now, what about the crime novelist?"
She told him where Homicide West had reached.
"That doesn't sound very impressive," he said. "Don't you think we should intervene?"
"Do you mean because of the potential connection to the White Devil case?"
"I mean exactly that."
Karen thought about it. If she took over the case, the spotlight would inevitably fall on Matt. He was already worried that Sara might be back, even though there was no direct evidence. Then again, she hadn't heard from him today.
"Tell me honestly, Karen," he said. "Do you think it's the start of a series?"
She pursed her lips. How the hell was she supposed to know that? "It could be, sir," she replied, hedging her bets.
"How do you want to play it? The newspapers are having a field day. It would calm things down if they knew the VCCT was on it. We might scare the killer into backing off."
Oaten raised her eyes to the ceiling. The AC had been in the alternative reality inhabited by senior ranks for far too long. "I doubt it, sir. How about we leave it with Homicide West for the time being? If there's another murder, we'll take over."
Her boss considered that for a long time. "You're not losing your appetite for messy cases, are you, DCI Oaten?"
Karen felt her cheeks redden. "Certainly not, sir. You have no reason to suppose that."
The AC was taken aback by her tone. "No, of course not. I apologize. Very well, do it your way. Let's hope it's a one-off." He cut the connection.
"Tosser!" Oaten yelled.
John Turner put his head around her door. "Not me, I hope, guv?"
She glared at him. "Why? Have you got something to be guilty about?"
The Welshman shrugged. He knew better than to cross swords with his boss when she was in a temper. "I just had Neville the Lip on the phone. He couldn't get through to you."
"Because I was talking to the idiot on the golf course," Oaten said, shaking her head until curiosity got the better of her. "Have they got something?"
"It isn't good news. Still nobody else in Ifield Road who saw the figure in the cape and top hat."
"Oh, great."
"That's not all. The rubbish was collected early this morning."
"What, Neville didn't seal the street?"
"Apparently not well enough."
"For pity's sake."
"So the killer could have dumped the fancy costume in any of the bins on the street and walked off into the night. There's no sign of anyone dressed like that on the recordings at Fulham Broadway Station. Homicide West is following up the owners of cars that showed on the local traffic-control cameras, but so far they all have cast-iron alibis."
Karen Oaten leaned back in her chair. "What interests me is why the killer chose a novelist as the victim, Taff. Is Neville doing any work on that?"
"They've been checking her e-mails for signs of a stalker or the like. Nothing so far." The Welshman caught his superior's eye. "You should be getting background on her from your…from Matt Wells." He failed to keep his disapproval of Oaten's partner from his voice.
She gave him a sour look. "I'm working on that. What are you doing here, anyway? You should be at home with your kids."
"I'm on my way, unless you've got anything for me."
Karen Oaten shook her head. "Have a good one."
"You too, guv."
As soon as Turner had left her office, she called Matt. She got the messaging service on his landline and cell phone. She was about to call the ex-directory number that only she and his close circle had when she remembered that he was to have had Lucy today.
Karen settled back to the heap of files, and hoped that there were no more murders-at least until after the weekend.
I felt around for the security lock that Dave had fitted to the outside of the window for exactly this eventuality. The hole was concealed by a blob of putty the same shade of pale gray as the paint on the frame. Only Rog, Andy, Pete and I had extra keys. When I finally located and cleared it, I inserted the key and turned it until the window was loose. Then I pushed it inward, slowly and silently. I turned and nodded to Andy. He cupped his hands and, after I'd put one foot in them, lifted me smoothly upward. Moving carefully, I put my hands through the open window and dragged my stomach over the ledge with Andy's help. For a moment I went into a partial dive, but I stopped the fall when my hands hit the floor. I stayed in that position until the muscles in my arms began to burn, listening. I heard nothing. I walked forward on my palms before bringing my legs in and letting my feet slide gradually to the floor. I was in. Then I felt a vibration in my pocket. I pulled my phone out and saw that it was Karen's office number. I knew she'd call at some stage to arrange the evening, but this was hardly the best moment. I let it ring out.