Death Message

‘What about the Black Dogs?’

‘Bikers, right?’ Thorne nodded. ‘Nasty fuckers, I’ve heard.’

‘You’ve never had any dealings with them?’

‘I know people who have.’ Ski

Thorne explained the part Marcus Brooks had once played in the history of the Black Dogs motorcycle club. His time in prison and the unsolved deaths of his family. The part he was playing now.

‘Jesus… you never know how people are going to react, do you? Something like that happens, tips them over the edge.’

‘Right,’ Holland pushed himself away from the worktop and leaned against the opposite wall. ‘And now he’s taking pictures of you.’

Ski

‘We need to find out why,’ Thorne said.

‘Like I said, the name means bugger all, but I think I remember that original case, as it goes.’

‘July 2000…’

‘Yeah. Geezer getting done by a burglar, sounds familiar. I think I was just starting on the Flying Squad at the time, but I had a few mates on Organised Crime, you know? This was not long after I moved across from the old AMIP East, which was where I knew your guvnor from.’ He turned to look at Holland; explained himself as though he were talking to a wet-behind-the-ears trainee. ‘AMIP. Area Major Incident Pool. “Homicide East”, as it is now.’

Holland could see that Thorne was smirking and had to look away. ‘Cheers…’

‘Change the names of fucking everything,’ Ski

‘You don’t have any co

‘Not that I can think of.’

‘You don’t know Sharon Lilley?’

Ski

‘Still is,’ Thorne said.

‘Can lick all the right arses if he has to, mind you. Knows the game.’

Thorne would normally have agreed, but he remembered Brigstocke’s face the day before, after his session with the DPS. ‘Listen, you might not know Marcus Brooks,’ he said, ‘or at least not know how you know him…’

‘I don’t know him.’

Thorne held up his hands, said, ‘Right, whatever,’ but he was keen to move this along. They’d explained about the picture messages when they’d called the night before, gone through it again when they’d first arrived, but Ski

‘And that’s not good for anyone’s health,’ Holland added. ‘The people whose photos we get sent have definitely looked better.’

Ski

‘He was in prison with someone I put away,’ Thorne said. ‘Someone who thought it might be fun to get me involved.’

‘Well, maybe that’s what the co

‘Sorry?’

‘Like that, through a third party.’

‘It’s possible…’

‘Maybe I put a friend of his away some time. One of his family.’

‘Maybe.’ Thorne thought it was unlikely. And he knew that Ski

Ski

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Thorne said. ‘We’ll check into that third-party thing, but in the meantime, if you think of anything…’ Ski

Ski

‘Brooks killed his second victim in a busy hospital,’ Holland said.

‘Yeah, well, he’s not going to walk into a police station, is he? However fucked up he is.’

Thorne could see little point in arguing. Whatever needed to be done would happen. He moved to let Ski

That seemed to be fine with Ski

‘Spurs,’ Thorne said. ‘Yourself?’

‘Millwall, tragically. I’ll be there this afternoon, watching us get stuffed.’

‘Character building, though,’ Holland said. ‘Right?’

‘Christ.’ Ski

Turning from the doorstep – Ski

Holland held up a hand. ‘Easy, mate.’

The man stopped but stood his ground, waiting for Holland to move aside and let him past.

Thorne could smell the Job on him.

Ski

‘That’s nice,’ Thorne said. ‘And he just happened to pop in four hours before kick-off, did he?’

‘I don’t see as it’s your business,’ Rawlings said.

Ski

Thorne smiled back. ‘What is it you’re not sure about, exactly?’ When Ski

Rawlings gri

As Thorne and Holland moved away, Thorne was aware of Rawlings sauntering into the house to be warmly greeted by Ski

Holland had picked Thorne up first thing. They’d eaten bacon sandwiches on the drive from Kentish Town and found a parking space in the street next to Ski

‘What did you make of Ski

‘I think, bearing in mind what we told him, he made a very good job of not looking shit scared.’

‘Maybe he wasn’t.’

‘Well, he’s a fucking idiot then.’

‘What about his boyfriend?’

‘Like he said. “Moral support”.’

‘Bollocks.’ Holland stepped to one side, let a woman with a buggy walk between them. ‘We went round to tell him to look out for himself. Maybe save the twat’s life. What’s he need back-up for?’

Thorne had to admit it was a fair question. Ski