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The Network: A DI Sean Corrigan short story
Luke Delaney
A chilling short story taking us back to DI Sean Corrigan’s days as a detective from Luke Delaney, ex-Met detective and author of COLD KILLING. Perfect for fans of Mark Billingham, Peter James and Stuart MacBride.INCLUDES AN EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT FROM THE TOY TAKER.DI Sean Corrigan is not like other detectives. The terrible abuse he suffered as a child has left him with an uncanny ability to identify darkness in others. Early in his career as a Detective, Corrigan is approached for an undercover assignment. He must take on the identity of a prison inmate and befriend a suspected paedophile, then on release infiltrate an early internet child abuse ring. Can he tap into his dark side for long enough to uncover the identities of the abusers without serious harm to himself?
The Network
Luke Delaney
Table of Contents
Cover (#ue7c6853f-5a88-561b-ad5e-9cec60018548)
Title Page (#u31eb7079-8dd1-5db5-85d9-c1d69ac63ae2)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Read an extract from The Toy Taker
About the Author
Also By Luke Delaney
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter One (#u91a2417a-01a3-5829-bccd-97e87c383155)
August 2002
The black Range Rover cruised through the streets of Tottenham, North London, the tinted windows hiding the two men inside. It drew both admiring and threatening looks from the youths who seemed to infest the pavements outside, yellow lights from the open shops illuminating their hooded figures even though the time approached ten p.m. – the demands of imported cultures ensured the streets stayed alive well into the night. The traffic along the Seven Sisters Road was as busy as most streets would be at rush hour – a mixture of small-time drug dealers and lost causes who fancied themselves as gangsters, always on the lookout for a rival crew to wreak havoc on, but only so long as they outnumbered them. Knives would be drawn and young lives lost. The owner of a decent semi-automatic could rise quickly to king in a place like this, their coronation fanfare the ubiquitous wail of sirens.
Detective Sergeant Sean Corrigan flicked the indicator on to turn right onto Park Lane, next to the Spurs Football Ground. His passenger looked across at him. ‘That’s a no right turn,’ DC Zack Benton told him, his dark skin making his face almost invisible in the car’s dim interior.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Sean told him, swerving across the oncoming traffic and inducing a cacophony of screaming horns, enjoying the power of the engine and the feel of a car he could never afford himself. ‘We’re criminals, remember?’
‘You are – not me. I’m just here as your minder,’ Benton reminded him. Sean studied him from the corner of his eye, assessing the man he’d met a few hours earlier at the briefing at Stoke Newington Police Station. Sean had been paraded in front of the arrest team so they would know he was the undercover officer when they moved in on the targets, just in case anyone was looking to dish out some summary justice. Sean didn’t fancy a kicking from his own kind. It was at the briefing that Benton had been assigned as his minder – his first job to escort Sean close to the meeting point before crawling through the undergrowth to get as near as possible to the target venue and call for urgent assistance if Sean ever appeared to be in serious trouble. His second task would be to summon the arrest team once the target vehicle came onto the plot. The arrest team would have to hang much further back or risk compromising the entire operation and weeks of work – not least all of that done by Sean himself in infiltrating a criminal gang and arranging the purchase of the stolen Sony laptops the gang claimed to possess.
‘I’ll get you as close as I can in the motor, but you’re gonna have to hump the last few hundred yards,’ Sean told him. ‘The warehouse is out by the old reservoir – they can see me coming a fair distance off so I’m going to have to cut you loose well before then.’
‘Suits me fine,’ Benton told him with an air of relief. Sean noted he seemed a little jumpy, but he’d rather that than some gung-ho lunatic looking to make a name for himself. Benton would do his job well enough and nothing more and that suited Sean fine.
‘You got the phone?’ he checked, making sure Benton still had the mobile he was given at the briefing – on which Sean would reach him if he needed to warn the team something was wrong.
‘Yeah, sure,’ Benton replied, patting his waistband.
‘D’you want to go over it again?’ Sean asked.
‘No, I’m good,’ he replied unconvincingly.
‘Let’s go over it again,’ Sean encouraged him. ‘Can’t be too careful on a job like this.’
‘If you say so.’
‘It’s simple enough – you make your way to the forward O.P. and I make my way to the warehouse for the meet. The baddies will want to talk a load of bullshit before anything gets done, they always do, but eventually they’ll get down to business and if they’re happy they’ll call the lorry onto the plot. I’ll check it out and if it’s loaded up with the nicked laptops I’ll call you on the mobile, making it sound like you’re the guy who’s going to come and take one of them to where the cash is waiting so he can verify I’m good for the money – understand?’
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Benton argued, ‘this isn’t how they said it was going to go down at the briefing. As soon as the lorry comes onto the plot I’m supposed to call in the arrest team. Nobody said nothing about you calling me first.’
‘Yeah, well there’s been a change of plan.’
‘The briefing was only a couple of hours ago – nobody’s told me about any change.’
‘That’s because nobody knows about it.’
‘I really think we should stick to the plan,’ Benton argued.
‘Listen, Zack – how much undercover work you done?’
‘None,’ he admitted. ‘I’m not a U.C.’
‘Would you like to be?’ Sean asked. ‘You look the part, or at least you could.’
‘Yeah, sure – sometime in the future maybe.’
‘Then you’d better understand that the people you’ll be dealing with aren’t cops. They don’t play by rules. They live day-to-day and rely on their cunning to survive – to get the best for themselves and fuck everyone else. They’ll agree on a price for something then change it. They’ll agree on a place to meet then pick a new one at the last minute. They’ll agree on how much back-up they can bring to a meet then turn up with three times as many. They’ll agree not to bring weapons then turn up with shooters. This fella I’m going to meet is no different – in fact he’s worst than most. Enrico Ismain or Tricky Ricky as he’s known on the street. He’s a good operator, you have to admire him for that. But he’s up to something. I can feel it.’
‘You think he knows you’re Old Bill?’
‘He doesn’t know anything, but he’ll suspect everything. That’s how he stays out of prison.’
‘You should have mentioned this at the briefing,’ Benton told him shaking his head.
‘Fuck that,’ Sean answered. ‘I mention I have doubts, the whole operation would have been cancelled and I would have wasted the best part of a month setting this up. We do it my way and everything’ll be fine.’
‘I’m not sure about this, man.’
‘Like I was saying, you just wait for my call before summoning the cavalry – no matter what happens – understand?’
‘Okay – fuck it. But if it goes tits-up, it’s on your head.’
‘Nothing new there, then,’ Sean told him as he pulled the Range Rover over to the side of the road. ‘This is your stop – I can’t get you any closer.’ Benton opened the door and jumped out without speaking. ‘And remember – don’t make the call until you’ve heard from me.’ Benton nodded and slammed the door shut before disappearing into the wasteland to the west of where the warehouse lay.
Sean eased the accelerator and rolled towards the meeting venue, his heart beginning to pump with excitement. He welcomed the feeling, like an actor before they walked onto the stage, the nervous tension and stress in his body helping to concentrate his mind and increase his speed of thought – if he was going to out-manoeuvre Tricky Ricky Ismain, he’d need to think on his feet.
He followed the road that looped around the huge reservoir hidden behind rows of modest houses, its existence unknown to everyone but the locals, and headed for the warehouse where he’d met Ismain several times over the last few weeks. The ambiguous sign lit up above the front of the building merely stated Ismain Import-Export. He pulled up close to the entrance; fast enough to make the two hooded figures guarding it jump back a little as he leapt from the car. He smiled at them, trying to look as confident as he possibly could. They were clearly expecting him and he walked past them and into the warehouse without a word being exchanged. Once inside, two more hoods stopped him. He recognized them from his previous meetings – they were higher up in Ismain’s organization than the foot-soldiers still hanging around outside.
‘You’re late,’ the black one told him.
‘Traffic’s shit,’ he answered. ‘You know how it is.’
‘Ricky’s waiting,’ the white one added. ‘He don’t like to be kept waiting.’
Sean had expected the bullshit. ‘Yeah, well he’s not going to give a fuck about being kept waiting when he sees the cash I brought him.’
The two goons looked at each other before the black one spoke again. ‘Put your hands up, brother. We need to search you.’
Sean did as he was told, lifting his arms and spreading his legs – all standard procedure for a meet where money was expected to change hands. But this search was more thorough than usual – too intimate to be just a search for weapons – clearly they were looking for a transmitter or recording device. It was the first sign Ismain might have doubts about Sean. Satisfied, the black one spoke again. ‘Alright – he’s clean. Follow me.’ He turned and walked deeper into the bowels of the warehouse, Sean following close behind, trying to remember everything he saw, taking in every possible escape route, until eventually they reached the closed door of Ismain’s office. The white hoodie knocked gently on the door before opening it and leading Sean inside where he was met with a beaming smile from Ismain, who stretched out his hand for Sean to shake.
‘Sorry about having you searched, brother,’ Ismain told him. ‘You know what it’s like when money’s changing hands – everybody gets a little nervous.’
‘Don’t you trust me?’ Sean asked, shaking Ismain’s hand with a false smile of his own. ‘Think I’ve come here to rob you?’
‘No, man,’ Ismain laughed, ‘nothing like that. You’re cool. You’re sound. I know that. Now, how about a drink?’
‘Naturally,’ Sean answered. ‘I could go a large bourbon, ice if you have it.’
‘Dalton,’ Ismain told the black hoodie, ‘get the man a drink.’
‘You not joining me?’
‘Maybe later,’ Ismain told him, ‘after the business is out of the way. I’ll take you to a little strip-club I own – get you sorted out, know what I mean?’ Ismain and his cronies laughed together – Sean kept the smile fixed in place. When the laughter stopped, Ismain eased himself back into his oversized leather desk chair, smoothing his Hugo Boss pinstripe suit as he did so, its elegant simplicity contrasting sharply with his shiny black shirt and heavy gold jewellery. He had zig-zag patterns cut into his hair, heavy rimmed glasses and huge diamond earrings in each lobe. As he sat he suddenly became serious, waiting for Sean to be handed his drink before speaking again. ‘So, you got the cash, Sean?’
‘Yeah, I got the cash,’ Sean told him. ‘Seventy-five grand – as we agreed.’
‘Yeah, you see there’s a little problem with that figure. Ismain told him, pursing his lips. ‘Seventy-five grand ain’t gonna be enough no more.’
‘Really,’ Sean said expressionless. ‘How so?’
‘You know how it is, Sean – people hear about a good thing on offer and they come to the table. Now normally I wouldn’t even listen to offers after I’ve made a deal, but when someone offers you fifty grand more, hey, brother, I got to take them seriously. You understand? But if you can match their offer, then I’ll give you first rights, in the interest of our friendship – fair enough?’
Sean had expected some late change in negotiations, there always was. ‘So let me get this right,’ he asked. ‘You want me to pay an extra fifty grand more than we agreed?’
‘There you go,’ Ismain mocked, ‘I knew you were smart. I knew you’d understand.’
‘I understand you’re fucking with me,’ Sean told him.
‘I ain’t fucking with you, Sean.’
‘Yeah you are. You’re definitely fucking with me a little bit.’
‘No, man. You’re getting this all wrong. It’s just business.’
‘Well here’s my business,’ Sean told him. ‘I got seventy-five-grand here and now. You give me the five-hundred laptops and I give you the seventy-five grand – just like we agreed.’
‘Seventy-five ain’t enough anymore,’ Ismain barked. ‘They’re worth three-hundred grand, brother.’
‘Maybe,’ Sean laughed, ‘if they weren’t stolen and you were PC World, but they are and you ain’t, so seventy-five or I walk with the cash.’ Ismain sank deeper into his chair.
‘You got the cash here?’ Ismain asked, an unmistakable glint in his eye.
‘Close by,’ Sean told him. ‘Not in the motor, before you get any funny ideas. A phone call away, once I’ve seen the goods. When I’m happy with the merchandise I’ll call one of my people in, then you send one of yours with him to where the cash is waiting. Once you know I’m good for the money, my man will come back alone and drive the goods away. When I’m happy he’s not being followed I’ll make another call and tell my people to hand the cash to your man. I’ll wait with you until he brings the cash back here where you can check it – that way everyone’s safe, no one gets ripped off – okay?’
‘I knew you was a professional, Sean. First time I met you I says, that guy’s a professional. Okay, what the fuck, let’s call it seventy-five and get this fucking thing done. I didn’t like those other fuckers anyway.’
‘Good,’ Sean told him, the excitement rising in his chest again. ‘Then let’s call the goods onto the plot so I can check them.’
‘Sure,’ Ismain agreed. ‘But there’s just one thing, one little problem that’s come up.’ Sean felt his excitement quickly turning to anxiety. ‘You remember Jimmy Logan?’
‘Yeah. I remember him.’
‘Of course you do, because he introduced us. He vouched for you – said I could trust you – that you were a man I should do business with – right?’
‘What’s your point?’
‘My point,’ Ismain shouted, ‘is that Jimmy’s a fucking grass – so what do you think about that, officer?’
Sean’s belly tightened as he swallowed rising bile. ‘What do I think? What I think is you’re still fucking with me.’
‘No fucking bullshit this time. Jimmy’s a grass and that means everyone he touched is tainted, man.’
‘Fuck Jimmy,’ Sean bluffed. ‘My business is with you – here and now. Jimmy’s nothing but a low-life fixer. So what he introduced us – he’s probably been a grass for years. It doesn’t mean everyone he did business with is dirty, and that means you as well as me, Enrico.’
Ismain sat back in his chair, seemingly calm again. ‘You know what,’ he said, ‘you make some good points. But I got to know if you’re Old Bill, so I had a little think about things – you know what I mean?’
‘I’m listening,’ Sean told him.
‘And I was thinking that if you is Old Bill then right now this warehouse will be being watched, right, and that as soon as the truck pulls up outside all your policemen friends will come swooping down on it, arresting everyone they see, right?’
‘If I was Old Bill – which we both know I’m not – then yeah, I guess you’d be about right.’
Ismain began to laugh, delighted with his own cunning. ‘Only thing is, the truck is going to be empty – so when your police colleagues come running, all they’re going to find is an empty fucking truck and I’ll know for sure that Jimmy Logan is a fucking grass and you’re a fucking cop.’
‘And when nothing happens,’ Sean asked, ‘when none of these imaginary cops come crashing down on us, what then?’
‘You just worry about that empty truck,’ Ismain warned him, lifting a mobile phone from his desk and pressing a sequence of numbers before speaking into the mouthpiece. ‘Send the first truck in,’ he ordered before hanging up. So long as Benton followed Sean’s instructions and held the troops off until he got the call from Sean, they could still spoil Ismain’s day. The two hoodies from outside stepped into the room, meaning Sean was now outnumbered five to one – not good odds if the proverbial hit the fan. Ismain stood. ‘Let’s go. You too, Mr Policeman.’
Sean followed Ismain from the office and along the corridors – a henchman on either side and two more close behind. He tried not to dwell on what they might be armed with – guns would be bad, really bad. He concentrated on his breathing, keeping it short and shallow, enabling him to control his voice when he needed to speak, disguising any nervous tremors. His life was in Benton’s hands – if he called in the cavalry at the sign of the first truck, Sean would be in trouble. Any hint of the police and he could be bundled into the back of a car and driven away to an uncertain future. But if Benton held off until Sean called him, Ismain and his crew would relax, imagining the easy seventy-five grand they were about to pick up. By the time they worked out they’d been played, it would be too late. Benton had to hold his nerve – Sean’s neck depended on it.
They exited the warehouse the same way Sean had entered and stood in the car park waiting. Sean felt the presence of the two men behind him and tried not to imagine the guns, knives or metal bars they could be holding, just waiting for Ismain to give them the sign. He winced at the imaginary pain of a bullet or blade punching through his skin, shattering bone or slicing through vital organs; or the dull, sickening thud of a blunt object caving in the back of his skull. He felt his legs almost give way until he was distracted by the headlights of a single vehicle bouncing down the rough road towards the warehouse – the empty truck. Whatever you do, Benton, don’t make the call – not yet.
