Ashes to Ashes: An unputdownable thriller from the Sunday Times bestseller. Paul Finch

time, now in company with Gemma, it was the prostitute herself who made a suggestion.

       ‘Why don’t I just piss the local mob off again?’ she said. ‘They’ll send him to teach me another lesson, and you can nab him.’

       ‘What are you talking about?’ Heck asked her.

       ‘Christ’s sake, Heck, this is easy. After he finished with me last time, I was half dead, but still conscious enough to listen to his threats. “If I need to see you again, it won’t end so well,” he said. And he really meant it, I’ll tell you.’

       ‘Who paid him to do that to you?’ Gemma asked.

       ‘Don’t be soft,’ Penny snorted. ‘I’m not telling you that.’

       ‘OK, no names, but what did you do to annoy them?’

       ‘Gimme a fucking break, Miss Piper –’

       ‘Hey!’ Gemma’s voice adopted that familiar whip-crack tone. ‘We’re not here at your disposal, Miss Flint. Our job is to enforce the law, not pay off private scores. And we can’t do that flying blind. At present we don’t even know who you are, never mind John Sagan. So the least you can do is enlighten us a little.’

       Penny glanced at Heck. ‘You gave me your word I’d be immune from prosecution if I helped you out with this …?’

       Heck shrugged. ‘Unless you’ve done something very serious, we’re only interested in Sagan.’

       ‘OK, well …’ She hesitated. ‘Doing a bit of delivering, wasn’t I?’

       ‘Delivering what?’ Gemma asked. ‘Drugs? Drugs money?’

       ‘Bit of both. You know the scene.’

       ‘And let me guess, you were skimming?’

       ‘What else?’ Penny’s cheeks reddened. ‘Hey, you’re looking at me like I’m some kind of criminal.’

       Neither of the two cops commented, though both wanted to. Even so, she detected the irony.

       ‘Don’t get smarmy on me, Heck. Look at the state I’m in. I’m past forty. Even before that bastard Sagan tore my arse and pussy inside-out, how much shelf-life did I have left? Anyway, I thought I’d been careful. Thought no one’d notice me dip, but they did. And … well, you know the rest.’

       ‘And you’re seriously saying this firm would trust you with that job again?’ Heck said.

       ‘Yeah.’ She seemed surprised he’d ask such a question. ‘Sagan’s a scary guy. They’re sure I’ll have learned my lesson.’

       ‘And what you’re proposing is to commit exactly the same offence all over again?’ Gemma said. ‘Even though you know what the outcome will be?’

       ‘The difference is this time you lot’ll be sitting on Sagan, won’t you? You can jump on him as soon as he gets his caravan out.’

       They were impressed by her courage – in fact they were quietly startled by it. Heck wondered if her desire for revenge was getting the better of her common sense, to which she merely shrugged.

       ‘Heck – we both want the guy gone. The only way we can make that happen legally is for you to catch him in the act with his Pain Box. This is the quickest and most obvious way to make that happen.’

       ‘Miss Flint,’ Gemma said. ‘This time you may have pushed things too far. He could just shoot you through the head.’

       ‘Nah. The firm I’m talking about like to make a show. Besides … Pain Box, gun? Why will it matter? Like I say, you lot’ll jump on him first.’

      It had sounded simple initially, but of course there were complicating issues. Even if Penny Flint had been prepared to testify in court, the fact that, by her own admission, she’d been stealing from an underworld bigwig would have made her an unreliable witness. It could even have allowed the defence to accuse the police of conspiracy for ‘encouraging’ her to steal again. It was all the more important, therefore, that the team write up their interest in Sagan as an anonymous tip-off, and go solely on any evidence they found inside the Pain Box, keeping Penny out of it altogether. Despite that, the risks of using a female civilian as bait would be extraordinary. Since the operation had gone live four days ago, Gemma had assigned a round-the-clock armed guard to her flat – all covertly of course, which had added an extra dimension of difficulty.

      The same applied to the stakeout at Sagan’s flat.

      Thus far, in addition to slumping on this ratty old couch in his state of feigned inebriation, Heck had kept watch for another eight hours from behind a window in the empty low-rise on the other side of the cul-de-sac, and had spent half a day in the back of a shabby old van parked right alongside Sagan’s Primera. Other detectives in the surveillance team had spent hours ‘fixing’ a supposedly broken-down lorry on the same street, while another one – Gary Quinnell of all people, all six-foot-three of him – had donned a hi-vis council-worker jacket in order to sweep gutters and pick litter. The common factors had always been the same: damp, cold, the soul-destroying greyness of this place, and then the smell – that eerie whiff of decay that always seemed to wreathe run-down buildings. The word ‘discomfort’ didn’t cover it; nor ‘boredom’. Even their awareness that at any time they could be called into action – an awareness that was more acute than normal given that every officer here was armed – had gradually faded into the background as the minutes had become hours and, ultimately, days.

      Heck shifted position, but in sluggish, slovenly fashion in case someone was watching. He hitched the Glock under his right armpit. It wasn’t a familiar sensation. Though every detective in SCU was required to be firearms-certified, and they were tested and assessed regularly in this capacity, he for one had rarely carried a pistol on duty. But this was an unusual, open-ended operation which no one was even sure would bring a result. Gemma had opted for pistols purely for self-defence purposes, thanks to Sagan’s deadly reputation – though again there was no certainty that reputation had been well earned.

      And this lack of overall certainty was the real problem.

      There was no way Gemma would commit so many SCU resources to this obbo indefinitely. She was on the plot herself today, having arrived early afternoon, and was now waiting in an unmarked command car somewhere close by. That wasn’t necessarily a good sign – it might be that she’d finally put herself at Ground Zero to get a feel for what was going on, maybe with a view to cancelling the whole show. On the other hand, it could also mean that Sagan’s non-appearance today – all the previous days of the obbo he’d gone to work as usual – might mean something was afoot. They knew he only worked at his official job part-time, so perhaps to maintain the impression of normality he would only indulge in his extracurricular activities on one of his days off.

      Heck chewed his lip as he thought this through.

      Penny Flint reckoned she’d dipped again into her employers’ funds some four days ago. The retribution could come at any time, but if Sagan was a genuine pro he wouldn’t respond with a kneejerk. He’d strike when the time most suited him – not that they’d want him to leave it too long. That could be inviting the bird to fly.

      ‘Sorry to break radio silence, ma’am,’ the voice of DC Charlie Finnegan crackled in Heck’s left ear. ‘But two blokes have just gone in through the front door of Fairfax House, male IC1s, well-dressed – too well-dressed if you know what I mean. Can’t help thinking I recognise one of them, but I’m not sure where from, over.’

      There was a brief lull, before Gemma’s voice responded: ‘Be advised all units inside Fairfax