The Chop Shop Read online

  Richard cleared his throat. “Well, I'll go and just lay everything out for you. Some of this I'm sure you're aware of already, but just to make sure we're on the same page here, Jim Belton committed suicide yesterday. That would be Jim Belton, the Member of Parliament.

  “His home was raided and everybody inside killed, including his wife and son. We believe it to be the cause of his suicide.”

  She drew one of her hands inwards, placing it against her chest. “Yes, I'd heard about that. It's tragic. People have been very concerned about security up here. There were a lot of guards at his home, and if they couldn't stop the killers, then who could? There is one thing I don't understand, though. Perhaps you could enlighten me about it. The murders were committed up here, yet your company is only contracted to provide policing for Lower London. They've already paid a visit to us earlier today. This is not your jurisdiction, correct?”

  “In some respects, you are correct,” Michael said, “but technically he was still alive until he struck a car parked in our station compound. I don't think you can get any more in our jurisdiction than that. We also believe that the killer escaped down into Lower London where he had additional help. You could say that both of our forces have a legitimate interest in investigating this.”

  Angela pressed her lips together, leaning back in the chair as she folded her arms. “I see. At the very least, I can share with you what information we gave the others. They were quite inquisitive. We log everything, you understand, but beyond that however, I'm not sure how I can help you. I mean, as tragic as this whole affair is, it's not like this man worked for us. We had limited dealings with him in his capacity as part of the government group overseeing defence and security.”

  Michael exchanged a glance with Richard. “Of course, I understand. Anything you can give us will be extremely helpful, and by no means are we trying to imply your company's involvement in this matter; I hope you understand that. This was a professional hit and such things are not cheap, so the most obvious link comes from his business and government dealings.”

  “That did cross my mind. I should make a point of reminding you that Eratech operates above board in every capacity. People may not like us or the profits which we generate, but there are far, far worse companies operating in this city who continue to escape action every day.”

  She picked up the telephone, dialled an internal number and asked for somebody to bring them the paperwork.

  “My understanding of your position here is that you are a liaison of some sort with external dealings. You communicate with other contractors, business affairs, stuff like that, yes?”

  “Correct.”

  “Then you've met with Jim Belton in the past?”

  “Correct.”

  “What was he like? It does seem as though he had a lot of contact with your company. Look, there's a new story in the press every week about somebody getting too cosy with non-government groups, corruption, whatever. It's routine business. The kicker here, though, is that he was cosy with several different companies. I'd go so far as to say that it appears he was playing you all.”

  Angela's expression hardened. “Eratech makes many things. Some of those things are defence products, and naturally, like any company, we wish for people to understand the benefits of our products so that they might make an informed purchase. Jim Belton was looped into the government's defence committees and had a number of contacts. As you might understand, this made him a good candidate to inform others of the benefits our products offer.

  “There's nothing unreasonable or surprising about that; it's a fact of life. Neither is there anything surprising about the fact that other companies wished to align his views with theirs. Business, Mr Ward. Nothing more, nothing less. Certainly it is disappointing to find out, but it is not as though he has access to company secrets or research.

  “I'm helping as much as I can here, but I really can't understand what else you expect from us. I realise we all have our superiors to obey, but this is the end of the road. Unless you have something concrete to discuss with me or some kind of evidence, I'm afraid there is nothing more I can do for you. You'll get everything we gave the other officers, but then you will need to leave.”

  Michael placed a business card on the desk. “Certainly. That's our station name and address. You can reach me on that telephone number if there's any need, and please, if you discover anything that may assist in our investigation, don't hesitate in contacting me.”

  They took shelter in a doorway once they were out of the compound, and Richard turned to him with something of a grimace. “That could have gone better. They could have given us a plastic bag for this folder.”

  Michael wiped the rain off his face. “I think that was the point.”

  “So the ink will run? Eratech. Shouldn't be surprised when it comes to those arseholes.”

  “We can get one from a shop. I doubt there's anything in those papers that we don't already know, but it can't hurt to have a look. I didn't want to push too much; Stokes probably isn't high enough up the corporate chain to know any important information, assuming Eratech even had a hand in this, and there's no point in showing our hand this early.”

  Puddles formed in the concrete, rippling as rain drops struck the surface, and black clouds lingered above. Michael listened to the gale winds.

  “Well, Eratech might be grade A arseholes, but I've got to hand it to them, they really know how to put a place together. We need an office like that. That glass looked very fine, and Stokes herself wasn't that bad either. Get a look at her legs?”

  “I did, but it'd all end in tears. She's a professional, married to the company in more ways than one. I guess you didn't see her wedding ring. Probably married to some fat cat executive.”

  “Well, I'd settle for the glass. Beats looking at that dump outside our office window.”

  “Maybe. It's not very realistic, though. The audio was missing sound effects.”

  “Like what?”

  “The natives getting murdered at night by construction workers.”

  Michael checked his watch. Another crack of thunder drew his attention, and he stared up at the sky, watching it shift and change shape. The darkness always endured, even when there wasn't a concrete plate above his head.

  “I already get that one outside my bedroom window at night. I've got two thirty-five on my watch. Let's get this over with.”

  Michael shook out the water collecting in the crevice of his sleeve. “We should have taken an umbrella.”

  “Fucking acid rain.”

  Chapter 7.

  The compound fencing was spiked with barbs and razor wire, and yellow signs had been screwed to the fence at ten meter intervals, warning that the fence would be electrified at random times both night and day. They finished their food and dumped the remains in the bin.

  “A gated community within a gated city. These places don't look too shabby, though, I'll give them that,” Richard said.

  Michael pointed to one of the doors. “Extra secure. Three locks and an electronic keypad. Cameras, too. I would have thought they'd have security contractors.”

  “Corporate cost-cutting? Not that you'd need them with all this stuff. You can just lean out the window and plug them if somebody turns up at your door unannounced. I hope he's in; this is his work address as well as his home address,” Richard said.

  They approached the front gate. Michael stared into the camera and rang the buzzer. The intercom clicked to life thirty seconds later.

  “Yes?”

  “John Herrend? I'm Detective Ward. Perhaps we can have a word?”

  “I believe you have already spoken to Miss Stokes earlier today, and I can't tell you anything more than what she has discussed with you. I'm afraid you will have to look elsewhere to continue your investigation.”

  Michael frowned. “We've danced this dance today already. You can either let us in so that we might have a polite discussion, or we'll come back later with a fire te
am, and they'll cut a hole through the fence and blow your door off its hinges. There really shouldn't be any problem here. We're trying to eliminate your company from our investigation, so unless you want to continue residing on our list of suspects, I suggest you let us in.”

  They waited a moment until a green light flashed on the gate. The intercom made a buzzing sound. They went inside and watched the gate close behind them, and he saw a row of bicycles chained to the wall beneath a shelter. The rain had let up now, leaving the ground pockmarked with puddles that rippled when the wind blew and brought the smell of damp in its wake.

  John Herrend waited for them, hidden partially behind his front door. He looked like he was in his mid-thirties, with wire-thin glasses and brown hair, and dressed in a business suit minus the jacket.

  Richard gestured to the door. “May we?”

  John moved aside, shutting the door behind them as they entered. His flat had a minimalist vibe about it, white walls punctuated with the odd subtle shade of colour. Michael opted not to wipe his feet, and he left a trail of muddy footprints across the laminate flooring.

  Dimmed circle-shaped lights in the ceiling lit the lounge. A roll-up television sheet hung from the wall, wired into a set of speakers nearly as big as the table and a multimedia player.

  “I'm really not sure what you expect from me, Detective. I work as an off-site contractor for Eratech, not a proper employee. Any questions you have should be directed to them,” John said, when they were all seated.

  “We've already spoken to Eratech. We're not interested in them, we're interested in you. How about you start by explaining your work for us. Something simple, perhaps, like how you go about lobbying for the company,” Michael said.

  John stared at the muddy footprints. His lips formed a thin, strained line. Wrinkles appeared on his brow. “Certainly,” he said, in a monotone voice devoid of emotion.

  “The job really isn't as secret or cloak and dagger as you seem to imply. It's quite simple, really; I make contact with them, arrange to meet at a convenient venue for discussions and try to persuade them that it is better to buy or contract from Eratech than one of the company's competitors.”

  Richard sniffed at the air. “And just like that, they change their minds?”

  Michael smelt it too.

  “I've really got to take a leak. Can I use your bathroom?” Richard said.

  “Fine, be quick about it. It's this way,” John said.

  Michael let himself into the study. A paper shredder was resting on the desk, mesh bin half full. The bin next to it had been scorched by fire and now contained a pile of ashes. Only a single sheet of paper remained, covered in scribbled phone numbers and radio frequencies.

  Footsteps from behind. Michael turned around in time to see John lock the door with a key. His eyes were dead. “What are you doing in here? You can't just search my flat without a warrant like this.”

  Michael reached for his gun. He saw the clenched fist angling for his throat and scrambled backwards, tumbling over a chair and crashing against a bookshelf. Ring binders from the next shelf up rained down on his head and shoulders. He collapsed into the corner.

  John put a foot into his stomach as he tried to rise. His head clipped the wall, another jolt of pain stunning him like a hammer blow. John ripped the wire from his computer's modem and looped it around Michael's throat, pulling on it as he pinned him against the wall with his foot.

  He felt a fiery heat rising in his cheeks and the uncontrollable urge to convulse. Dribble drained from the corners of his mouth. He kicked his feet about, banging on the floor and knocking the table, but John wouldn't relent.

  The door handle turned. “Hey, open up. Mike, Mike? Open the door, for Christ's sake.”

  Michael tried to shout, but his words came out as a rasping noise. John bared his teeth, as he tightened the cable even more. A round little hole appeared in the door, scattering several splinters of wood and paint. A moment of silence passed. Eleven more holes appeared in the door.

  John fell to the ground, and Michael ripped the cable off. He went down on his hands and knees, wheezing.

  “Mike, you okay? Is he dead?”

  He didn't say anything, and a burning line remained in his throat. He rose several seconds later and unlocked the door. John was still moving, but a puddle of blood seeped across the laminate floor beneath him.

  Michael grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him up an inch. “Start talking, or I'm going to spill your guts.”

  “I think he's doing that anyway. Come on, you're not going to get anything out of him,” Richard said.

  John stopped breathing, and Michael let the corpse drop.

  “Who was he, anyway? I saw him through the first hole I put in the door. He didn't even flinch. A passive-aggressive, pasty-faced guy with glasses; I'd buy him as a serial rapist, but that? That was pretty extreme.”

  “Let's find out,” Michael said, taking the paper from the desk. “We'll need to get Harris to check these numbers out. They were the only thing he hadn't disposed of yet.”

  “Stinks like hell in here. He must have been burning this stuff all day.”

  Michael stopped in the doorway and looked back at the corpse. “Hey, thanks. I mean it, I was dead; he had me.”

  Richard shrugged with the slightest of smiles. “Don't worry about it. I know everyone is always talking rubbish behind my back, but I get something right every now and then. That was the first time I've ever killed anyone.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Excited, tense. I used just work up briefings for the fire teams, and I never went out on patrol. They needed somebody to work detective enquiries, but people with combat experience on the streets were too valuable to be used on that stuff, so they got me instead.”

  They went into the bedroom, ripping open drawers and cabinets, tossing piles of clothes onto the floor. Richard drummed his fingers on something hard at the bottom of a drawer. “I've got a briefcase.”

  He flipped two latches and opened it. “Check it out, he was a ninja.”

  “What?”

  “I'm not joking. He has fucking ninja stars. Look,” Richard said. He held up a stainless steel star with four razor points. “What's the point? Do they even teach people to use these any more? You can't shoot through a door with a ninja star.”

  “They're called shuriken. Find anything else?”

  Richard pretended to throw the shuriken at the wall, and then hissed. The shuriken fell from his grasp and embedded itself in the floor with a thump. “Ah, I cut my finger.”

  “I've got three passports and two memory sticks hidden in a compartment here. What do you think the odds are that he moonlights as something other than a lobbyist?”

  Richard sucked the blood from his finger. He grimaced. “I think this whole case just keeps on getting dodgier. He covered himself pretty good, though. There's sod all in here to go on. Those memory sticks are probably encrypted, and those phone numbers and radio frequencies will be dead by now.”

  “Harris' problem, not ours. If he doesn't like it, he can give us a new case.”

  “Here's hoping.”

  Major Harris had his glasses on, as he skimmed through several reports and dumped them in a wire tray. He took the glasses off when he was finished and set them down in front of him, before leaning back in his chair. “I just got off the phone; you two have problems. Big problems.”

  Michael exchanged a glance with Richard. “What's happened?”

  “It's what hasn't happened that should be of concern. I got the report from police up top, and they're telling me that everything you said never happened; somebody has cleaned the whole scene up. John Herrend is reported as missing and nobody knows where he is.”

  “What the hell? I shot him through a door multiple times. He bled all over the floor, and we ransacked the place looking for information. It's a dump, there's evidence everywhere. Are you trying to tell me somebody phoned up Quick Repair, had the bloody door
replaced, and then hired cleaners to bleach the floor, tidy the flat and dispose of the body without anybody talking? Come on, sir. It's a load of crap,” Richard said, picking at the plaster on his finger.

  “I know,” Harris said, nodding. “But nobody else is going to believe you. Were you followed? They'd have to be on the ball pretty quick, as you weren't up there that long, and that's if they didn't just bribe some of the police officers.”

  Michael shrugged. “Maybe. We weren't looking. Getting tailed by corporate surveillance wasn't exactly first on our list of thoughts, sir, but it makes sense if they cleaned up so quickly.”

  “You know,” Richard said, leaning forward in his chair and locking his fingers together. “John Herrend said he was an external contractor for Eratech, not a full blown employee. It makes sense for both him and the company, because they can keep each other at arm’s reach. He obviously knew something. Maybe they were going to take him out themselves after we left?”

  Harris nodded again. He took a packet of cigarettes out the breast pocket of his uniform, branded with the cross of Saint George, and inserted one into the corner of his mouth. “Certainly a possibility. A good one, even. I sent fire teams to investigate the addresses we managed to pull from those phone numbers. A real pain to track down. I'm going to phone down to ops and see what they've got.”

  Michael sat rigid as he watched, waited, and felt his stomach knot, as he listened to Harris on the phone. His heartbeat became the sole focus of his attention, pounding away inside his chest, as sweat formed in the crevices of his palms. He saw the major's expression become severe.

  Harris's eyes narrowed. He muttered a single word into the receiver, then hung up. “One of the teams isn't checking in: Stark's. Go with Corporal Hill's section, and find out what's going on down there. There's another section near Hayes, and I'll get them to back you up, but it might be a while. Go.”

  “Shit,” Richard said.

  They ran for the lifts. A voice on the loudspeaker ordered Hill's section to the armoury. Richard slapped at the call button again and again as if it would somehow make the lift go faster. Finally it arrived, and he hit the button for the ground floor.