‘Just don’t expect her to tell the truth,’ added Connelly.
Boateng wrinkled his nose. ‘Krebs is not going to like your theory about her tasking some kind of hitman to go after Wallace. Doesn’t get more political than sticking an MP on our suspect list. We’d need better intel before doing anything. Hold off on that for now.’
She bit her lip. Trusted his judgment but still felt deflated.
Noticing, Boateng managed a nod. ‘Keep the ideas coming though. Let’s focus on Wallace and how we think he’s going to leave.’ Clapped his hands. ‘Alright, back to it.’ As the others moved away, he returned to examining Wallace’s mugshot.
Jones approached, touched his arm gently. ‘Seriously, are you OK, Zac?’
‘Fine.’
‘You just look, you know, really tired.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Appreciate the concern, but don’t worry about me.’
‘Look, if there’s anything you need me to do with the investigation, I don’t mind staying later or whatever. Without overtime, just until—’
‘Thanks.’ Boateng cut her off again. He swivelled back to the mugshot.
She noticed his fists were balled. Jones went back to her desk, glanced over again at him. Her boss’s behaviour was weird, uncharacteristic. Maybe just stress. Jones admired his sense of responsibility, but still, he was being a bit of a dick.
Chapter Thirty
‘Hello?’ a voice crackled through the speaker.
‘Takeaway for number fifteen. Think their bell’s broken.’
A buzzer sounded and Boateng pulled open the heavy front door. Didn’t want to stand outside Lockwood House at 11 p.m. explaining over intercom who he was to Night Vision or anyone else in his home. He’d rung eleven flats before someone let him in.
Calling on Clarence Thompson was a long shot, but he had few alternatives. Might only be a matter of hours before Wallace vanished, gone forever. Boateng had considered levelling with his team about what he’d discovered but couldn’t bring himself to reveal the extent of his duplicity. Perhaps he was just making excuses for what he really wanted to do: find Wallace alone. Get face to face, hear him confess. And then… he didn’t know. Try to keep control. Thompson was about the only ally he could think of in that quest; Agyeman would help, but he’d done enough. Boateng knocked on the door, stepped back as he heard footsteps inside and locks turning.
‘Yes?’ The chunky middle-aged woman in a loose green dress looked him up and down. ‘Whatcha wan’ this time a night?’
‘Sorry to disturb you. Can I speak to Clarence please? I’m a colleague from the Post Office.’ Paused. ‘It’s a personal matter.’
The lady sighed, as if this were a daily occurrence. ‘Wait ’ere.’ She shuffled inside and moments later Night Vision appeared.
‘What you doing?’ he whispered. ‘You can’t be here.’
‘I know. Need to speak to you alone.’
Thompson hesitated, narrowed his eyes. ‘Come on.’ Closing the front door, he directed Boateng down the corridor to an empty stairwell of bare concrete. ‘What d’you want?’
Boateng bit his lip. No point messing around. ‘Look, Clarence, when we spoke before, I wasn’t straight with you.’
‘What fed ever is? Your money was good though.’
‘I’m not working with Nathan. When I asked about Draymond King, it wasn’t because I had an interest in him.’
‘What then?’
‘My daughter died that day. In the shop.’
Thompson met his eyes as if to verify the statement, then simply nodded.
‘So we want the same thing,’ said Boateng. ‘To find the guy who did it.’
‘If I knew who it was I’d have popped him myself.’
‘I do know.’
Eyes bulging, Thompson’s jaw set hard before the words burst out. ‘Fucking tell me. I’ll go there right now,’ he shouted, jabbing a finger in air.
Boateng held up his hands. ‘There’s nowhere to go, he’s AWOL. The killer’s called Darian Wallace, from Two-Ten crew. Went by the street name Sy back then.’
‘Heard of him. Bastard.’ Thompson ground his teeth, body tensing.
‘Listen to me.’ Boateng spoke calmly, voice low. ‘Draymond was targeted because of a woman. She’d dumped Wallace and started seeing him instead, so Wallace decided to kill him. Somehow he got away with it, then went to prison two years ago for burglary. Did his time, came out and murdered two of the people that sent him down. Now I think he’s trying to leave the country. Can you help me find him?’
‘How?’
In truth, Boateng didn’t know, but he had to project authority. ‘Wallace is hiding somewhere. But no one’s truly off the radar. There’ll be contacts he’s visiting from the past, could be business or just people he’s saying goodbye to. Try to think of places he could be, ask whoever you need to for information. Come back to me with anything you get, quick as possible.’
Thompson nodded slowly, relaxing. As a trained source from his Trident days, he’d understand the role of intelligence in carrying out an operation. This was no different. ‘Then what?’
Boateng drew aside a coat flap, revealed the Glock in his belt. After last night’s incident he’d emptied the ammo; this evening it was just to show Thompson he meant business. ‘We’ll take it from there.’ Still didn’t know what would happen when he did find Wallace, but it was important to give the impression that executive action would be taken. Didn’t want Thompson going alone if he did somehow locate their target.
‘Damn, you don’t mess around. I’m in.’
‘Obviously I’ll pay, too, if the intel’s good.’
Thompson blinked slowly, shook his head. ‘No need, man. This is for Dray. I’ll start now.’ They exchanged numbers, slapped hands and the younger man returned to his flat.
Descending the concrete steps, Boateng realised he should’ve got a description of Nathan off Thompson, and cursed silently. That could wait; the priority was Wallace. Crossing the central yard area towards his car, he spotted a group of three young men on the path ahead. They were huddled in dark jackets, faces hidden. A squat, muscular dog stood between them, its chain leash taut. Looked to Boateng like a pit bull: a banned breed in the UK. Legit to own one with a special exemption, but this wasn’t the time to be inquiring after its provenance. In daytime on normal work routine he’d be over there asking questions. Now he kept his flat cap lowered, picked up the pace as he arced past them.
‘Yo!’
Boateng carried on, head down.
‘Hey! Where you goin’ so fast, man?’ They began walking across to him. ‘Gonna introduce yourself? This is our manor and we don’t know you.’ The pit bull was already slobbering, pulling forwards. Some fighting dogs were trained to be aggressive with strangers. Boateng kept going, realised he was encircled and stopped, glancing around.
‘Hold up.’ One cocked his head sideways, wagged a finger. ‘I know his face. Seen ’im on TV, innit? You know who this is?’ He looked at the others. ‘A fed man. Five-O.’ They closed in on him. ‘These ain’t your ends. So what you doing here on your own?’
‘You must be thinking of someone else.’
‘Bullshit, he’s a fed.’
‘Man don’t live ’ere, that’s for sure,’ said another. His companions chuckled. ‘Who you after?’ The dog began a low growl, front paws lifting off the tarmac.
‘You meetin’ a snitch? Or you bent?’
They were between him and his car. Boateng considered the options. He couldn’t tell if these guys were armed. The Glock in his belt was literally an empty threat. Drawing on them might work if no one called his bluff, but that was a last resort. Only real thing he could do was hit them over the head with it. And worse, nobody knew he was here. His mouth went dry. Could they be reasoned with?
‘Say something, cuz.’ Each man stepped closer and he could see drool on the dog’s jowls. ‘Stand up for yourself.’
‘OK. I’m off duty, alright? Got a relative here. On my way home,’ Boateng replied quietly, began walking again.
‘Whoa, slow down.’ One blocked him off. ‘Who’s your relative?’