Chasing Shadows

By Andy Roberts

Stamford Jennings is a cop with a serious attitude problem, a past that haunts him, an ex-wife that won't let him suffer in peace and on top of that there's a mad man causing havoc on the streets of London.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 4, 2011
• ISBN: 9781447691815

Book preview

WHEN YOUR PAST BECOMES YOUR NIGHTMARE

Andy Roberts

9781447691815

Table Of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

1

2

3

4

5

6

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10

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1

Like any sprawling metropolis, the city of London was fraught with danger and this was never more prevalent than after sunset when the darkness became the villain’s ally. The concealing shroud of darkness inadvertently provided cover and anonymity for anyone that harboured a sinister objective. Streets that by day were peaceful and filled with commuters, shoppers and tourists, by night became the battlegrounds for the violent, desperate and disturbed. A lonely, desolate place without hope, mercy or any hint of shame; a harsh, unforgiving environment ruled by the underworld, and governed by fearsome reputations and vicious acts of violence, cruelty and torture. At night, while the population slept, the streets were temporarily surrendered to the various firms, pimps and pushers that plied their trade long into the early hours. An alternative population; ruthless, devious and corrupt, that lived by a whole different set of laws. A code of conduct governed by drugs, extortion and violence and policed largely by the big crime syndicates that ruled the streets with a brutal efficiency.

This particular evening it was raining heavily and relentlessly, the persistent downpour beating down hard against the pavement, soaking everything that it came in contact with. One solitary figure braved the atrocious conditions as he strolled down a side street, his rain coat collar pulled up for protection against the driving rain and bitterly cold wind, that had descended suddenly upon the city that afternoon. Now that the earth’s climate had changed so dramatically due to ecological abuse by its inhabitants late in the twentieth century, almost any kind of weather condition could be expected from snow, to a searing heat in a matter of hours. These were exceptional times; you had to be tough, cunning and above all fearless if you wanted to survive the twilight hours on the streets. Stamford Jennings was all of these things and a whole lot more. He was an exceptional example of a seasoned veteran in the uncompromising field of crime prevention. He was an experienced survivor that had built a fearsome reputation on his brutal methods of law enforcement. He was regarded as something of a maverick by his superiors, because of his reliance on these unorthodox methods. He was unconventional, tough and uncompromising and it was this reputation alone that evoked the kind of respect necessary to survive on the violent streets of Britain’s capital city. Jennings was a loner, a tag he was wholly comfortable with. He did not like crowds and was not even secure in a one to one situation. He tended to steer clear of any form of intimate relationship for fear of rejection or hardship, as this was something he had experienced far too much of in recent times. He lived for the job and relished the chase and the almost inevitable capture of his enemies. The notion that he could make a difference in this harsh, unforgiving world was his reason for getting up each morning. The crime statistics appeared to climb at an alarming rate year on year and it was this obsession that gave him his drive and the inclination to keep pushing himself that much harder.

He was a tall man, well over six feet, with a broad powerful physique that was teetering on the realms of being classed as heavy. His hair was light brown and usually cropped for convenience. There was no place for salon-coiffured locks if his reputation as a hard man was to be preserved. His eyes were green and cold and could easily be described as emotionless. The ability to stare and remain completely impassive was a skill that he had perfected and this formed a critical element of his uncompromising persona. His brain was quick and instinctive and nourished by a naturally inquisitive nature, vital attributes if he was to stay ahead of his enemies. His weapon, that when walking the streets at this late hour was always loaded with the safety catch removed, was concealed beneath a dark, full length overcoat that provided more than adequate protection against the persistent rain. On his head he wore a hat, a fedora that was pulled down at a specific angle to provide a barrier against the elements. The rain cascaded from its brim and spattered against his coat as he bowed his head in an effort to avoid a soaking. The harsh features of his face were set in a determined grimace, an expression that seemed to add years to his appearance. He fought his way towards his destination, battling against the elements in a concerted effort to avoid being blown over by the fierce wind. Wedged into the corner of his mouth, clamped firmly between his lips were the remains of a cigar that had long since been extinguished by the relentless rain.

His destination was the head quarters of one of the splinter cells attached to the Serious Organised Crime agency. Due to the fact that its official title was such a mouthful it was more commonly referred to as SOCA or simply The Company by its operatives or departments that worked in unison with the agency. This late call could mean only one thing; an urgent assignment was up for grabs that had to be initiated without delay. Jennings relished this prospect as he had been eager for a substantial payday for some time and he knew that there was always a considerable bonus on offer for the swift conclusion of a special assignment. Headquarters was a squalid, four storey building situated in a particularly run down area of the city, hidden away in a dark, narrow side road. Here within these humble surroundings the criminal fraternity of London was monitored twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week by highly training personnel. This modest location served as central command, where operatives were despatched all over the country in order to carry out dangerous and in some cases life threatening assignments. These confidential orders were never divulged over an open phone line, as sophisticated monitoring equipment was readily available to any criminal organisation with the necessary funding to obtain them. Hence Jennings’s uncomfortable stroll in the horrendous late night climatic conditions.

The Serious Organised Crime Agency was a recent addition to the law enforcement department’s arsenal in the fight against underworld crime and was highly regarded as the hottest ticket in town, by anybody looking for a fast track to the top of the police department chain of command. Because of this secondment vacancies were highly sought after by probationary officers fresh out of Hendon, often with the misguided perception that the position was both glamorous and a stepping-stone to bigger and better opportunities. Jennings turned into the side street where the company’s inconspicuous entrance was located and broke into a casual jog, until he was under the comparative cover of the doorway at which point he knocked smartly on the door. While he waited for a response from within, he took the opportunity to re-light what remained of his cigar. He drew back deeply on its pungent vapour and savoured the taste. Once he had been identified via the voice recognition communication link hanging limply from the wall next to the door; its wiring exposed to the elements, probably having recently been the focus of a brief attack from vandals. The door swung open and the big man strolled nonchalantly through the dark entrance, closing the door firmly behind him. Like the building’s exterior most of the interior was in a severe state of disrepair. Clearly little of the department’s extensive budget had been wasted on aesthetics. Despite the cavernous proportions of the room that he had stepped into, there was not a great deal in the way of furnishings. What little there was consisted of a cumbersome, antiquated wooden desk on which was placed a telephone, a computer terminal of rather ancient origins and papers that had been arranged in an unregimented fashion across its surface. Next to the desk was wastepaper basket and precious little else. The high ceilings served only to engulf these meagre furnishings and filled the room with a horrendous echo. This was the reception area and it was here that a rather flirtatious administrator resided, adding a glamorous focus to the otherwise drab surroundings. It was she who had opened the door via remote control and she was now smiling up at the big man with obvious admiration. It was no secret that she harboured a crush on Jennings that at times was boarding on the obsessive and she declared her interest openly whenever he visited the office. She was a stunningly attractive young woman with long raven coloured tresses that cascaded around her pretty oval face. She had soft brown inviting eyes and cute perfectly proportioned features. Her full red lips were soft and pouting and immaculately applied foundation gave the impression of perfect unblemished skin. The well-rounded contours of her feminine physique were beautifully emphasised by her choice in clothing. A tight red top with a plunging neckline that revealed a generous portion of a deep cleavage, a short black skirt that rode up her thighs constantly revealing her shapely legs, and black stiletto shoes with a heel that defied the laws of physics. She leaned back in her chair and her expression changed as she donated the big man a seductive, sultry smile. Jennings almost inevitably was uncomfortable with the young woman’s obvious adulation. He stood in front of her desk awkwardly, twisting his hat around his index finger. Reaching the conclusion that the longer he stood there the more likely it would be that the young woman would attempt something more drastic to gain a favourable reaction, he perched himself on the corner of her desk and smiled. It was a twisted, awkward contortion of his rugged features and was hampered by the remains of the cigar still poking from the corner of his mouth. He removed this before he spoke in a deep, cockney drawl with a throaty quality that suggested that he was a man that had smoked and drank too hard for too long.

Maxine, you’re looking as lovely as ever I see.

I wish I could say the same for you Stam, the young woman responded in a far less obvious London accent, the origins of which were more than likely from the west side of the city. She regarded the big man’s creased and heavily lined face with concern. You look like I feel.

Be thankful you don’t look how I feel, Jennings pointed out playfully. What are you still doing ‘ere anyway?

You know Purdham, Maxine commented with feeling. Whoever said the slave trade was dead.

I ’ope ‘e’s made it worth your while? Jennings said enquiringly, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

You know as well as I do that generosity isn’t one of Commander Purdham’s strongest qualities, the young woman responded with a deep heartfelt sigh.

You want me to ‘ave a word? Jennings’s offered, hopeful for any excuse to raise his commanding officer’s blood pressure.

I don’t need you to fight my battles for me Stam but thanks, Maxine declined, smiling to rob her words of any offence.

I just thought you might want a little pressure applied. You know ‘ow much I love to wind up the old bastard, Jennings responded, a sadistic smile spread across his face.

Your kind of help I can do without, Maxine stated, still smiling. This job may be shitty, but it’s all I’ve got, and it pays the bills.

Oh well, no skin off my nose, Jennings said with a dismissive snort. He studied the young woman’s face for a moment. Her makeup and clothing were usually immaculate and her hair styled with care. Today however, she looked tired and weary. There was no sparkle in her eyes and her hair could only be described as a mess. ’Ow long ‘ave you been working late like this?

I’ve lost count how many nights I’ve got in after ten, Maxine responded with another heavy sigh, Jennings’s furrowed his brow, his expression filled with genuine concern.

Purdham should take on more staff, he informed her needlessly. ’E pushes people too far.

I know that, you know that and Purdham don’t care, Maxine answered resignedly.

’Ave a little faith Maxie, Jennings advised her, another one of his wry smiles crossing his face. ’Ave I ever let you down?

Well now that you come to mention it, there were a couple of dates you pulled out of, the young woman reminded him and he squirmed momentarily while he struggled to regain his composure.

Work commitments, you know ‘ow it is Maxie. Duty calls and all that. I’ll take you out as soon as I’ve finished whatever it is Purdham’s got lined up for me, alright?

Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before Stam. You’ve got more hot air than B.O.C.; get out of here, Maxine retorted, remaining unconvinced by his promises.

You’re a very lucky girl, he warned, wagging a playful finger at her. I’m not easily offended.

Yeah well you’re lucky because I’m too tired to argue with you, came the young woman’s half hearted response.

Maxie, go ‘ome and get some sleep girl.

It’s not as easy as that Stam, Maxine sighed with a shrug of her slight shoulders as she ran an absent hand through her unruly dark hair. The guv’nor expects me to work the same hours as he does.

But ‘e ain’t got a life, he virtually lives ‘ere. Maxie, you look knackered sweet’eart and this place ain’t worth it.

I’ll tell Purdham you’re on your way up, Maxine responded, choosing not to respond to Jennings statement, a faint smile crossing her pale, weary face as she reached for the intercom.

I mean it Maxie, pack your things away and leave Purdham to me. Jennings moved over to a door that led into the Company's main offices, turning back to give the young woman an encouraging smile before opening the door and passing through it. He loosened his collar and took another long drag from his cigar which was by now little more than a smouldering butt. The passageway he had entered was narrow, cold and dimly lit with a high ceiling and filled with the pungent aroma of rotting rubbish, which was littered across the floor. There was a door at the opposite end at the top of a short flight of stairs and he moved towards it, stumbling on a discarded bottle which skipped across the narrow passageway and shattered against the far wall. Cursing, he mounted the steps at a brisk pace and passed through the cracked glass panelled door at the top.

The room he strode into was a waiting room and was furnished accordingly, with three rather dilapidated chairs lined up along the nicotine stained wall to his left. A table with ridiculously uneven legs and a free standing ash tray that smokers had either missed, or more likely not even bothered to aim for. Jennings did not hesitate for a single moment, just strolled with purpose towards another glass panelled door opposite and on reaching it he knocked smartly before turning the handle and striding in without waiting for entry permission to be granted from within. It was almost like entering another world, an oasis of colours, textures and aromas. A stark contrast to the world of unparalleled depravity that he had left on the other side of the door. Wall to wall carpets were luxuriously soft underfoot and the aroma of recently applied polish was unmistakable. A lush green rubber plant that was clearly flourishing due to constant attention from an attentive owner, stood tall and majestic in the far corner. A grand, burnished desk was in the centre with various gadgets and tatty files strewn across it in an unregimented fashion. There was an ancient looking, ornate drinks cabinet to one side that was open, giving Jennings a tantalising view of a bottle of a particularly good brand of malt whisky. The only other furniture consisted of two well worn leather armchairs, one of which was occupied by a lean negro man who watched Jennings’s entry with amusement and interest. Jennings gave the stranger little more than a cursory glance as he halted on reaching the desk and donated one of his most uncompromising glares in the direction of the man positioned directly behind it. Commander John Purdham was standing in front of an elaborate looking, dark wood bookcase filled with dusty old classics, few of which the old man had read or probably even heard of for that matter. In an effort to impress his guest he appeared to be trying to give the impression of importance and power, standing up straight and doing his utmost to convey the mannerisms of an authority figure.

Stamford, take off your wet coat and join us. There’s someone here I want you to meet. The old man was smiling, something he very rarely did, even when he was happy which was not very often. Jennings sensed bad news. If there was something the job had given him it had been a sixth sense for anything out of the ordinary. Either Purdham was in an uncharacteristically good mood or, more likely he was about to suggest something that Jennings was not going to like. Jennings draped his sodden raincoat over the back the vacant armchair and dropped his hat on the desk as he lowered himself into the comfortable seat. He spared a quick glance in the direction of the wiry negro beside him before accepting a tumbler filled with a generous measure of the expensive malt that Commander Purdham was offering him. Now he was certain that something was wrong. Purdham rarely offered out his expensive liquor and especially not to operatives in his employment. He had already spotted that the negro was resting a tumbler of the amber liquid on the arm of his chair also.

You’re working that girl far too ‘ard Purdham, Jennings stated coldly. She’s out there looking like a wet weekend in Clacton.

For once I totally agree with you Stamford, Purdham admitted with a barely detectable nod of his head.

You do? If there had been any doubt at all before, Jennings worse fears had now been confirmed. He knew something serious was about to befall him. At best he and Purdham tolerated each other, each man treating the other with a begrudged measure of mutual respect and they agreed on little. Purdham leaned over his desk and stabbed a grime encrusted button on the operation panel of the intercom that was partially hidden beneath the piles of paperwork spread out across the desk.

Maxine, you’ve done enough. Finish up and get off home, he ordered, speaking loudly and clearly in the direction of the tiny microphone set into the top of the intercom. He caught Jennings’s expectant stare and reluctantly turned his attention back to the small box. Oh, and take the day off tomorrow.

Are you sure Commander? Came Maxine’s response, full of uncertainty and disbelief.

Of course I am, now run along before I come to my senses and change my mind, Purdham snapped, taking the opportunity to donate Jennings one of his most baleful glares.

You’re going soft in your old age Commander, Jennings noted with a hearty chuckle, never failing to pass up on the opportunity to bait his superior.

Not where you’re concerned I’m not, Purdham snapped with warning in his stern response.

So what’s with all this ‘ospitality then Commander? I’m beginning to get worried. You’re treatin’ me too well, Jennings observed with a good measure of sarcasm thrown in to add effect to his enquiry.

There’s no easy way of telling you this so I’ll get straight to the point, Purdham explained uncomfortably.

I just knew you were going to say something like that, Jennings stated smugly, fully intending to make his superior’s task as difficult as possible. In his younger days John Purdham had been a tall, broad, domineering figure in the operations room. Now, at the age of fifty nine, mother nature was extracting her revenge with little mercy being spared. The once noble, chiselled features of his face were now wrinkled and well lined through too many years of constant worry. His once thick mane of dark hair was now thin and silver in colour, adding a more distinguished quality to his appearance. The once impressive physique that had commanded respect from all that encountered him was now crumpled and haggard, the veins standing out through thin, creased skin that was spattered with liver spots. He was dressed impeccably as always in a neatly pressed, grey two piece suit; a clean, respectable look that contrasted drastically with the grim and depressing surroundings of the Company. He drew in a sustained deep breath and seated himself behind his desk, clasping his fingers together and resting his chin upon them thoughtfully.

I’d like you to meet Abraham Baxter, he introduced, gesturing towards the black man seated beside Jennings. He’s on secondment from our Southern Metropolitan office. I’m assigning you to his induction. This was the nearest Purdham could get to kicking Henley in the crotch without actually getting up and doing so. The sudden display of shock that filled Jennings’s face was totally out of character and was quickly replaced with a more familiar expression of outrage.

Now ‘old on a minute Purdham, I thought I told you no more partners, he stated, jabbing a thick finger at Purdham with menace. The old man held his hands up in surrender, obviously desperate to avoid a confrontation in front of Baxter.

"I have my orders too you know and this comes straight from