Buried (DC Jack Warr #1) - Lynda La Plante Page 0,8

painful!

Ridley was known around the station for getting things done quickly, but that was because no one outside this squad room saw the upfront, focused effort he put in. Once he was organised, there was no stopping him, that was true; but this part ‒ the part where he was getting himself organised ‒ was like pulling teeth. It stemmed from his aversion to delegating. He overcame this by hand-picking and training his own team, giving precise commands and keeping a very close eye on each and every one of his officers.

‘Do you think he’s like this in the bedroom?’ Laura whispered to Jack. ‘Prepping at the speed of a tortoise and delivering at the speed of a train.’

By the time Ridley finally emerged from his office, Jack and Laura were in silent, shoulder-shaking hysterics. True to form, Ridley was quick and to the point.

‘Our target is Donal Sweeney. Yard in twenty. DC Joshi, you’re with me.’

And Ridley was gone.

Jack got to his feet. ‘I wonder what he’d do if, one day, none of us followed him?’

Laura retracted her head into her neck, giving herself a double chin, and looked sideways at Jack, eyebrows raised, as if to say you try it first!

She then led the way out of CID and down into the yard.

*

Donal Sweeney lived on a council estate just outside Dagenham. He was a 36-year-old former computer engineer who, after being made redundant three years previously, went off radar. No job, no signing on, seemingly no income. And now they knew why. He was a big man, according to a mugshot taken after a drunken brawl the week after he lost his job where he had pulled a couple of knives, so they were going in hard and loud. He was clearly volatile, and a dozen coppers arriving to arrest him could be dangerous.

This council estate was a typical high-density social housing experiment from the 1960s, duly forgotten about and now looking after itself as best it could. Petty criminals were rife, but crime wasn’t too bad as they tended not to ‘shit on their own doorstep’. More serious crime, such as murder, was restricted to people who were known to each other.

Anik sat in the passenger seat of Ridley’s car, watching Ridley give orders to an Armed Response Unit – they all wore holstered Glock 17 pistols strapped to their thighs, and two of them held on tight to a short-strapped Heckler & Koch MP5. They stood with their legs unnecessarily wide apart, encased head to foot in Kevlar. Anik had always thought that armed officers must be both brave and crazy; it certainly wasn’t for him. He’d started the training last year, but as soon as the first simulated hostage scenario began, his bottle went. The idea of taking a life was something he could just about get his head round, but the idea of someone trying to take his life was impossible to accept. It takes one hell of a special person to race towards a crazed gunman to save a total stranger – and Anik wasn’t that special. He could handle himself well for a smallish man, but he’d never faced a gunman and never wanted to.

Jack and Laura leant on the bonnet of Ridley’s car, arms folded, chatting and laughing. Anik couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he envied how their experience made them so relaxed in situations like this. He wished he wasn’t having palpitations; he wished the sweat wasn’t running down his spine and he wished his stab vest hadn’t ridden up so high underneath his chin that it chafed every time he turned his head. Eventually he decided to get out of Ridley’s car, so he could pull his vest down; sitting in a stab vest was clearly an acquired art.

Ridley’s ‘slow and steady’ prep had been done in a quiet side street about half a mile from Sweeney’s estate, away from prying eyes. Now they were in position, the next bit would happen fast.

*

The ‘Big Red Key’ was swung back for a third time and slammed into the base of the front door. The bottom had more than one bolt fitted, so it was holding its own against the 16 kg metal battering ram. Each second of delay was giving Sweeney time to destroy evidence – Ridley was visibly frustrated. The fourth hit did its job and the door finally gave way. The officer wielding the ‘Big Red Key’ quickly stepped to one side, allowing the armed