Ignoring the unhappy granny, Carlyle half-turned towards Umar. ‘That’s our man,’ he hissed, gesturing down the road.
‘Shit.’ Slipping the bag from his shoulder, Umar fumbled inside for a moment, before pulling out the taser.
‘Hey,’ the woman squawked. ‘Is that a gun? What you doin’?’ She took a half-step backwards, towards the sanctuary of the café. ‘Put that thing away. I’m going to call the police.’
‘We are the police, madam,’ Carlyle said wearily, his gaze still fixed on his approaching prey. ‘There’s nothing to worry about here. Please be on your way.’ At that moment, Calvin Safi looked up. Recognizing the inspector, he stopped in his tracks. For a heartbeat, he pondered his options, before dropping his bags, swivelling round and fleeing in the direction from which he had come.
‘He’s legging it!’ Carlyle shouted, stating the obvious as he rocked back on his heels. ‘Get after him.’
Umar set off down the road, arms pumping. Nice technique, Carlyle thought, happy that he didn’t have to bust a gut himself in pursuit of their prey. Pulling out his warrant card, he flashed it at the woman. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, belatedly trying to inject some warmth into his voice. ‘That man is a wanted criminal. But don’t fret, we’ll have him apprehended in a minute.’
The woman scanned his ID. ‘So you’re a policeman, then?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Carlyle tried to smile.
The woman pointed in the direction of the fleeing suspect. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting after him, then?’
* * *
Confident in his colleague’s abilities, Carlyle set off at a leisurely pace. By the time he caught up with the pair of them, Umar had Safi face down on the Tarmac with his hands behind his back.
‘Nice of you to join us.’ The sergeant snapped a pair of Safariland speedcuffs on to the suspect’s wrists.
‘I knew you had it well under control.’ Looking down at the prostrate man, Carlyle noticed a gash on his forehead. ‘What happened?’
‘He tripped and fell,’ Umar explained.
‘He shot me,’ Safi whined. ‘The bastard shot me.’
Umar pointed at the taser lying on the road. ‘It worked a treat.’
‘It’s police brutality,’ Safi cried, his voice rising an octave, ‘pure and simple.’
‘You ain’t seen nothing yet,’ the inspector muttered grimly. Standing over the fellow, he had to resist the temptation to give him a hard kick in the ribs. He could feel his mood darkening faster than a November night in Glasgow. ‘Shut the fuck up, you little shit, or I’ll show you what police brutality really is.’ Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a couple of young boys on bikes twenty yards down the road who had stopped to see what was going on. Stepping forward, he waved them away angrily, shouting, ‘Fuck off.’ Reluctantly, they did as requested. Watching them disappear round a corner, he turned to Umar. ‘Let’s go. Get him up.’
Swallowing a mouthful of pasta, Umar gestured out of the window with his fork. ‘Do you think we should leave him there?’
Carlyle looked at Calvin Safi, who was standing on the pavement, handcuffed to a lamppost, looking suitably pissed off. ‘We won’t be long.’
‘But what if someone sees?’
Carlyle considered the empty streets. The old lady was long gone. Even the stray dog had disappeared. Nothing moved. Calvi’s shopping bags remained where he had left them, untouched on the pavement. ‘Like who?’
‘What if some of his mates turn up?’ Umar persisted.
‘Okay, okay,’ Carlyle sighed. ‘You go and put him in the car and I’ll pay the bill.’ Discarding the last of his cheese toastie, he watched the sergeant release Calvin Safi from the lamppost and march him across the road towards the car. Taking his mobile from his pocket, he pulled up Flux’s number. After a moment’s hesitation, he hit call.
The Detective Inspector answered on the third ring. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you,’ he said gruffly.
‘I’ve got Safi.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He was holed up in a place in the Midlands. We’re bringing him back to London now.’
‘When will you get here?’
The inspector paused.
‘Carlyle?’
‘Look, I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Don’t lose your rag but we’re not bringing him back to Hammersmith.’
‘You’ve got to be joking.’
The inspector could hear the desperation and frustration in his colleague’s voice. Watching Umar carefully deposit Safi into the back of the Focus, he slowly explained the deal that he had struck with Chief Crown Prosecutor Emma Denton.
‘But that bastard – he’s mine.’ Flux was almost pleading. ‘Who is this woman?’
‘She’s the one who found Safi,’ Carlyle said firmly. ‘She needs to talk to him. Then he will get handed over to us. I will make sure you get your hands on him as quickly as possible.’
‘It’s not right.’
Maybe this job is getting too much for you, Carlyle thought. ‘Denton found him,’ he repeated. ‘Otherwise, the little wanker would still be in the wind.’
‘How did she know where he was hiding?’
‘No idea. Does it matter? We’re all on the same side here.’
‘Fu-uck.’
Carlyle pictured Flux pacing up and down some corridor in Hammersmith station, trying to pull out his non-existent hair.
‘I went to see Napper’s girlfriend and his mum. That was a real barrel of laughs.’
‘I’m sure.’ The inspector tried to sound sympathetic but he was already bored with his colleague’s whining.
‘I promised them that we’d get this guy.’
‘And we have got him.’
‘But I promised them that I’d get him.’
‘It’s a team game,’ Carlyle said flatly. ‘Anyway, when it comes to it, we can give them an alternative version of events if it’s going to make them feel better.’ Looking up, he saw Umar glaring at him through the window. Gesturing that he would be a minute longer, Carlyle got to his feet.
‘How long is it going to take you to get back?’ Flux asked.
‘Depends if we get lost again,’ Carlyle laughed.
‘Which route will you be taking?’
The inspector thought about it for a moment. ‘We came up the M40, with a stop at Cherwell Valley.’
‘Hm. That makes sense.’
‘I reckon that we should be back at the services in a couple of hours.’
‘Okay. Good.’
‘Give or take.’ Fishing some money out of his pocket, the inspector went over to the counter. After picking out a couple of doughnuts for the journey, he paid the woman at the till, before dropping the change into the otherwise empty tips jar.
‘We found blood in various locations inside the Persian Palace,’ Flux continued.
Smiling at the woman, the inspector turned and headed for the door. ‘Napper’s?’
‘No. We think it might belong to one of the missing girls. If we’re lucky, it’s from Sandra Middlemass and we can link the body to the shop. Even if it’s just from Jade Jones it still gives us proof that these wankers were locking the girls up.’
‘Yes.’
‘There was also some blood in the yard.’
‘That’ll be Safi’s,’ he said. The same as on the toe of my boot.
‘How would you know that?’
Ignoring the question, the inspector stopped at the door. ‘Any news on the sidekick?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘Metcalf? Not yet. But he knows that the net’s closing. He didn’t turn up for work today.’
‘Where does he work?’
‘He’s a driver for London Underground. Normally works on the Central Line.’
‘One of Sam Reilly’s finest,’ Carlyle quipped, referring to London’s last great union boss – a man so talented that he could keep his members in lucrative jobs almost fifty years after technology had – in theory, at least – made them all redundant. Despite introducing ‘driverless’ trains in 1968, when the Victoria Line was opened, London Underground was still paying out around £150 million a year in drivers’ salaries, with the bonus of regular strikes thrown in for free.