Chapters (33)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Letter from Author
Jane arrived at the rifle club at 6:45 p.m. She used the code to open the garage gate, drove in a few yards and then got out and closed the gate. There were a few vehicles in the car park, but she didn’t see Dabs’s car. She rang for the entry door into the club to be opened as she still didn’t have the code. She had to wait a few minutes before the locks were electronically drawn back and the heavy iron door was opened. Elliott was wearing another one of his tracksuits and had a woolen hat pulled down low on his face.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he said, stepping aside for her to pass him. She followed him down the corridor and then entered the club where Vera was serving coffee to a handful of members, but Elliott had his hand in the small of Jane’s back, ushering her immediately to the shooting range. He opened the door, gesturing for Jane to go ahead. He then clicked on the red light for no admittance. She was beginning to feel tense as well as slightly annoyed.
‘Well, this is all very confusing,’ she said as she placed her handbag down on a shelf in one of the stalls.
He gave a small shrug and smiled. ‘I will keep this as brief as possible, but the most important element is I need to know if I can trust you.’
Jane needed to take a deep breath because she found the situation so uncomfortable, particularly when Elliott put his hand against her diaphragm and told her quietly to breathe deeply.
‘Get your fucking hand off me. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’ve had enough,’ Jane snapped.
‘No, you have not,’ he said firmly. He nodded to a hardback chair against the stone wall at the end of the stalls. ‘Sit down.’
Jane was wary, but she did as he asked. He then picked up another straight-backed chair and placed it in front of her, sitting astride.
‘You must be aware of Operation Countryman.’
Jane nodded. ‘Of course. I doubt there’s a Met officer who isn’t.’
‘So you know that since 1978 there’s been an investigation into corruption targeting the Flying Squad. Although there have been major arrests for corruption, fraud and bribery, not one Flying Squad officer has as yet been charged and convicted.’
‘Well, maybe that’s because there wasn’t enough evidence, or the allegations were false,’ Jane retorted.
‘No, it’s because Countryman has faced massive obstruction from the Met’s senior management as well as the lower ranks. Their offices at Camberwell police station were broken into in an attempt to steal incriminating documents and evidence, forcing them to move to Godalming police station in Surrey, outside the Metropolitan Police District.’