End of the road for Mr Big

Crime boss set to die in prison

I bought a copy of the Mail, which devoted two inside pages to the story. There was a detailed account of what was said in court, plus quotes from various people, including DCS Drummond, the Met Commissioner and the Mayor of London.

There were also a couple of sidebar articles. One, written by the paper’s chief crime reporter, summarised Fuller’s criminal career and outlined the extent of his nefarious activities.

The other focused on the task force and our previous successes investigating Paul Mason and the Severin brothers. It also made a carefully worded reference to our next target and threw caution to the wind by naming him.

We understand the task force will now investigate several other high-profile individuals who’ve been linked to organised crime. Among them is businessman Roy Slack who runs a number of clubs, restaurants and import companies across London. He has always denied any involvement in criminal activities but has been interviewed by police on a number of occasions. Most recently he was questioned about the disappearance of firearms officer Hugh Wallis, who shot and killed a man during a raid several months ago. The man, Terry Malone, was a known criminal and was employed by Mr Slack …

It was all positive publicity for us, I thought, and it was sure to make Slack and his people nervous.

I wondered what extra precautions he’d be taking to protect himself and his businesses. Or would he believe that he was powerful enough and savvy enough to ride it out?

After all, he’d managed to get away with it for so long. Year after year the Met had tried and failed to breach his defences. So maybe he’d actually come to believe that he was invincible.

The thought of it made me smile because it brought to mind another famous gangster who reckoned he was too smart for the forces of law and order.

His name was Al Capone, and he ended up in America’s notorious Alcatraz prison.

I was among the last of the team to arrive at the office because of delays on the Northern Line. But the morning briefing was still a way off so it wasn’t a problem.

Some of the detectives were nursing hangovers, including Tony Marsden and Janet Dean. Marsden was sallow-faced and unshaven, and his tie hung at his throat in a loose knot.

Janet, on the other hand, was smartly dressed in a dark blue suit that seemed sober to the point of austere. But the heavy make-up failed to conceal the dark crescents under her tired eyes.

By contrast Dave Prentiss was positively glowing. He was an affable, portly guy with a smile that produced deep creases around his eyes. His desk was already covered in baby cards and I gave him mine.

‘Congratulations, Dave,’ I said, kissing his cheek. ‘Have you named him yet?’