Brighton seafront any more, then?'
'There's still plenty of violence,' Bannard said. 'Plenty. They move around, expand into new areas, whatever, and the turf wars can get seriously tasty. Mind you, they've gone beyond machetes and bike chains. We found rocket launchers and assault rifles in a Black Dogs lock-up last year.' He paused, as though he were making sure that the seriousness, the scale , of what he was describing was sinking in.
'That explains the tattoos,' Thorne said.
'Sorry?'
Thorne told him about the conversations he'd had with Hendricks and Holland. Bannard listened, then described one tattoo in particular, a pair of entwined daggers, but Thorne couldn't recall seeing it.
'It's usually a small one, but it'll be there somewhere,' Bannard said. 'Go back and have a look. That's a "kill" symbol. Most gangs have got them, a special patch or a tattoo, and they have to be earned . . .'
Another seemingly significant pause. Thorne bit. 'So, what . . .? You reckon that whoever smashed Tucker's head in has just earned one of his own?'
'It's possible. Maybe Rat got on the wrong side of somebody.'
'I've seen him,' Thorne said, 'and I think it's safe to assume he pissed off someone .'
The S&O man's laugh seemed genuine this time, but just when they seemed to be getting along, Thorne spoiled it by asking if there was a specific reason why Bannard had called in the first place.
The throat was cleared and the voice sharpened. 'Obviously, Tucker was someone of interest to us, so his murder is hardly something we can ignore. Letting you know would seem to be a good idea, don't you think? Would be a courtesy , that's all.'
It sounded very reasonable. 'So you wouldn't be trying to stake a claim or anything like that?' Thorne asked. 'Same as you're doing with the Deniz Sedat murder.'
'Nobody's stepping on anyone else's toes here.'
'I understand that, sir.'
'Good.'
'But surely you can understand people thinking that you were letting someone else do the donkey work, you know? So you could come in at the last minute like the heavy mob.'
'The case you mentioned isn't one of mine. And you're being seriously fucking cheeky, Inspector.'
It was Thorne's turn to leave the significant pause. 'Sir.'
'Now, you've been helpful, so let's not fall out, but there's just one more thing. I wonder if you could tell me why the Tucker murder was taken away from the team at Homicide East that originally caught it, and allocated to you?'
Thorne heard nothing he liked in the seemingly innocent enquiry. He could make out Bannard's enjoyment at having caught him out in the lie-by-omission. And there was no mistaking the relish with which his superior demonstrated just how well connected he was in every sense of the word. He couldn't remember when he'd last felt so outmanoeuvred by another copper. So outclassed.
With no choice, Thorne finally told Bannard about the message from Raymond Tucker's killer: the photo that had started everything. Gave another answer which he was sure Keith Bannard had already known when he was asking the question.
'How did that go?' Kitson asked.
'Do you mean the phone conversation with Serious and Organised, or the bollocking I've just given Andy Stone for putting the fucker's call through?'
'Well, I'm guessing the second part was more enjoyable, but I meant the phone call.'
They were standing in the corner of the Incident Room, behind Karim's desk, where a collection of mugs and a stone-age kettle sat on top of a small fridge. Thorne reached for the sugar. There were dried brown lumps in the bowl and caked on to the teaspoon. He turned around and let anyone within earshot know that the next person to stir their tea and then get sugar without wiping the spoon first would be rocketing straight to the top of his shit list.
'That good, was it?' Kitson said. 'Your phone call?'
Thorne smiled and played it down. He didn't let Kitson know the extent to which he'd been stitched up. Or how, despite the fact that
'There's still plenty of violence,' Bannard said. 'Plenty. They move around, expand into new areas, whatever, and the turf wars can get seriously tasty. Mind you, they've gone beyond machetes and bike chains. We found rocket launchers and assault rifles in a Black Dogs lock-up last year.' He paused, as though he were making sure that the seriousness, the scale , of what he was describing was sinking in.
'That explains the tattoos,' Thorne said.
'Sorry?'
Thorne told him about the conversations he'd had with Hendricks and Holland. Bannard listened, then described one tattoo in particular, a pair of entwined daggers, but Thorne couldn't recall seeing it.
'It's usually a small one, but it'll be there somewhere,' Bannard said. 'Go back and have a look. That's a "kill" symbol. Most gangs have got them, a special patch or a tattoo, and they have to be earned . . .'
Another seemingly significant pause. Thorne bit. 'So, what . . .? You reckon that whoever smashed Tucker's head in has just earned one of his own?'
'It's possible. Maybe Rat got on the wrong side of somebody.'
'I've seen him,' Thorne said, 'and I think it's safe to assume he pissed off someone .'
The S&O man's laugh seemed genuine this time, but just when they seemed to be getting along, Thorne spoiled it by asking if there was a specific reason why Bannard had called in the first place.
The throat was cleared and the voice sharpened. 'Obviously, Tucker was someone of interest to us, so his murder is hardly something we can ignore. Letting you know would seem to be a good idea, don't you think? Would be a courtesy , that's all.'
It sounded very reasonable. 'So you wouldn't be trying to stake a claim or anything like that?' Thorne asked. 'Same as you're doing with the Deniz Sedat murder.'
'Nobody's stepping on anyone else's toes here.'
'I understand that, sir.'
'Good.'
'But surely you can understand people thinking that you were letting someone else do the donkey work, you know? So you could come in at the last minute like the heavy mob.'
'The case you mentioned isn't one of mine. And you're being seriously fucking cheeky, Inspector.'
It was Thorne's turn to leave the significant pause. 'Sir.'
'Now, you've been helpful, so let's not fall out, but there's just one more thing. I wonder if you could tell me why the Tucker murder was taken away from the team at Homicide East that originally caught it, and allocated to you?'
Thorne heard nothing he liked in the seemingly innocent enquiry. He could make out Bannard's enjoyment at having caught him out in the lie-by-omission. And there was no mistaking the relish with which his superior demonstrated just how well connected he was in every sense of the word. He couldn't remember when he'd last felt so outmanoeuvred by another copper. So outclassed.
With no choice, Thorne finally told Bannard about the message from Raymond Tucker's killer: the photo that had started everything. Gave another answer which he was sure Keith Bannard had already known when he was asking the question.
'How did that go?' Kitson asked.
'Do you mean the phone conversation with Serious and Organised, or the bollocking I've just given Andy Stone for putting the fucker's call through?'
'Well, I'm guessing the second part was more enjoyable, but I meant the phone call.'
They were standing in the corner of the Incident Room, behind Karim's desk, where a collection of mugs and a stone-age kettle sat on top of a small fridge. Thorne reached for the sugar. There were dried brown lumps in the bowl and caked on to the teaspoon. He turned around and let anyone within earshot know that the next person to stir their tea and then get sugar without wiping the spoon first would be rocketing straight to the top of his shit list.
'That good, was it?' Kitson said. 'Your phone call?'
Thorne smiled and played it down. He didn't let Kitson know the extent to which he'd been stitched up. Or how, despite the fact that
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