The Rebel: The new crime thriller that will have you gripped in 2018. Jaime Raven
then suddenly something weird happened and it changed everything in the blink of an eye.
The mobile phones of every detective in the room pinged or vibrated at the same time, signalling an incoming text message.
I’d never known it to happen before and it took us all by surprise. Even Drummond stopped speaking mid-sentence and a frown creased his brow.
Kate Chappell, who was standing next to me, was the first to open up the message and read it because she’d been holding her phone in her hand.
And judging by the look on her face I knew it was something serious.
The message did indeed contain a serious threat, and it sent a ripple of unease around the room.
I read it through twice and felt an icy knot form in my stomach.
Kate Chappell was the first to react, her voice tight with stress.
‘This has to be someone’s idea of a sick joke,’ she said.
Drummond was the next to speak, and it sounded like he was struggling to keep his composure. His face was firm and stoic, but his eyes were dull with shock.
‘First I need to know who among you has received this text,’ he said. ‘So would those who have please raise your hands?’
There were fifteen detectives in the room and five support staff. Only the detectives put up their hands.
Drummond twisted his lips in thought and shook his head.
‘Now there’s no need for anyone to panic,’ he said. ‘My gut tells me that DS Chappell is right and that this is a nasty, pointless prank. Hopefully it won’t take us long to confirm that once the techies find out who the sender is.’
But I for one wasn’t reassured by his words. It was an anonymous text and whoever had sent it would have covered his or her tracks. Plus, I didn’t feel that the threat contained in the text could be dismissed so easily.
I read it again as the air around me began to oscillate with tension:
I demand that the organised crime task force be disbanded. I know that Scotland Yard chiefs will ignore me so I’m calling on you and all the other detectives attached to the unit to step back from it. Those of you who refuse will suffer the consequences and either you or those close to you, including family members, will be killed. You are advised to take this seriously. Do not make the mistake of treating it as an empty threat.
Most of us tried to reply to the text but we all got the same message back – that the recipient could not be contacted.
The message threw up a ton of questions, and not just the obvious one of whether we should take it seriously. If it wasn’t a prank then was it conceivable that the threat would actually be carried out? Would this person really go so far as to launch a murderous campaign against a team of police officers and their families?
It was the stuff of nightmares, but in the age of rampant terrorism it wouldn’t come as such a massive shock if it did happen. London was already on high alert following ISIS-inspired attacks on coppers in the streets.
But this had nothing to do with terrorists. I was sure of that. And so too was Tony Marsden.
‘I reckon this is the work of some villain who wants to put the frighteners on us,’ he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘And the main suspect has to be Roy fucking Slack.’
‘Let’s not jump the gun,’ Drummond said. ‘Anyone could have sent it.’
‘But surely it must be someone with a vested interest, guv,’ Marsden persisted. ‘And the timing of it points to him.’
‘Tony’s right, sir,’ Dave Prentiss said. ‘It’s just the kind of thing the bugger would do to stir things up. He’s desperate to throw us off track, if only to give him time to come up with ways to keep us from bringing him down.’
A thought occurred to me and I said, ‘What worries me is that whoever sent this has all of our personal phone numbers. Now that can only mean one of two things – the personnel files have been hacked or someone leaked them.’
It was suddenly obvious to everyone that even if this did turn out to be a prank, it still gave serious cause for concern.
‘I need to refer this upstairs to the Commissioner,’ Drummond said. ‘In the meantime I don’t want anyone outside this office to learn about this. That includes families and friends. And call those detectives who aren’t here to find out if they’ve also received this message.’
He told us to crack on with our jobs as though nothing had changed. But that was wishful thinking on his part. Everything had changed and it was impossible to concentrate on anything other than the words contained in the message.
… those of you who refuse will suffer the consequences and either you or those close to you, including family members, will be killed …
Slack
So the die was cast, and Roy Slack wondered how long it would be before the cops came knocking on his door.
He was sure to be their prime suspect, but since there was no hard evidence linking him to the message all he had to do was deny knowing anything about it.
Before sending the text, Danny had asked him if he was sure it was the road he wanted to go down.
‘I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,’ he’d told him. ‘The bastards have got this coming. And it won’t be enough to kill a couple of detectives. I want to put the Met itself on the spot. I want the world to see what a useless bunch of tossers they really are. And this is the only way I can think of doing that in the time I have left.’
That conversation had taken place an hour ago. Now Slack and his eight top lieutenants were sat around the long table in the conference room above the pub in Rotherhithe. These were the men who effectively ran his businesses. They carried out his orders and were paid handsomely for their loyalty. There was a hierarchy of sorts and even an organisational chart.
Danny Carver was second-in-command and had a roving remit. The others oversaw different parts of the operation. Frank Piper took care of the drugs. Billy Lightfoot was in charge of the clubs and restaurants. Adam Clarke ran the brothels and protection rackets. Clive Miller looked after the warehouses – and so on.
Below them was a small army of enforcers, bean counters, lawyers, bent coppers and a bevy of corrupt local authority officials.
Slack kicked off the meeting by telling them what they already knew – that they were now in the Old Bill’s line of fire.
Frank Piper voiced the concerns of all of them when he said, ‘After what’s happened to Fuller and the others we’re all worried, boss. The bastards are really gonna put the squeeze on us.’
Slack leaned forward, elbows on the table, and a spark of irritation flashed in his eyes.
‘There’s no need to get your bollocks in a twist, Frank,’ he said. ‘We’ve known for a while that this was coming and we’ve already put some measures in place to protect ourselves. You guys just have to keep your nerve and avoid making any stupid mistakes.’
He wasn’t going to tell Piper and the others what he planned to do and why. It’d serve no useful purpose. Unlike Danny they wouldn’t understand and they couldn’t be trusted not to turn against him when the killings began and the pressure really stacked up.
He didn’t care if they refused to believe that he wasn’t responsible. All he cared about now was using this opportunity to go out with a bang, and to punish the Old Bill for what they had done to him.
It was why he was willing to shell out three million dollars to a Mexican drugs baron