Operation WetFish, Vampire Detective: Ultimate Omnibus Volume 1 of 4 (Operation WetFish, Vampire Detective Ultimate Omnibus) Page 3

  “Working so far.” She hesitated, frowning at her sunglasses neatly folded on the table before her. She raised her fingers to her eyes to find them naked. “How did ...?”

  “Told you, they don’t work.”

  “I didn’t even ... I don’t remember taking them off.”

  “Yeah, happens.” He leaned back in silent contemplation of her. The woman was certainly someone who could take care of herself, likely had been doing so most of her life. That she had found employment in Arlene’s was easy money for her. If she didn’t drink or smoke she likely saved a lot of her money, she seemed the type. Baronaire could envision Crystal retiring in a few years, having bought a place out in the country somewhere. As lives went it certainly wasn’t a bad one, and Arlene seemed a fair employer. He supposed she would have to be, living in such an upmarket area.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Seriously, what?”

  Baronaire winced. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you scare me.”

  Crystal froze, fork halfway to her mouth. For several seconds neither of them so much as moved, and then a broad grin spread itself across her face. She set the fork down slowly, splaying her fingers under her chin, elbows upon the table. “All right, that’s not what I expected.”

  “From a cop or a magician?”

  She shrugged. “Why aren’t you eating anyway?”

  “I am. I’m having a steak.”

  She looked at the empty space before him. “No, you’re not.”

  The waiter chose that moment to bring her orange juice and bread. “And how is the T-bone, sir?”

  Baronaire’s fingers flicked an O from his lips. “Perfect.”

  “Grazie.”

  And he departed.

  “Whoa,” Crystal said. “OK, that’s some serious skill you have there. But if you’re gonna pretend to eat, you might as well have ordered something. That way I could have had it. And T-bone’s probably the most expensive thing on the menu.”

  “I’m sure I’ll handle the bill somehow.”

  “You sure you’re a cop?”

  “Why?” he asked, leaning forward to get more comfortable. “Because I’m breaking the rules?”

  “Believe me, in my experience cops break a whole lot a rules. What’s your name anyway?”

  “Charles Baronaire.”

  “No rank?”

  “Do I need one?”

  “I got a sergeant who comes to me, likes me to call him inspector.”

  “That’s ... more than I needed to know.”

  Crystal smiled, went back to her lasagne. “So what do you want anyway?”

  “Nields.”

  “Nields? Why?”

  “You were the last girl at Arlene’s to ... uh ...”

  Crystal chuckled. “Please don’t do that. I hate guys who get all itchy about my work.”

  Baronaire cleared his throat. “You were the last to see him in a professional capacity before Arlene banned him.”

  “Arlene banned him?”

  “She will in a week.”

  Crystal frowned. “Not gettin’ it.”

  “Nields was Doldress’s lawyer. I need something on Nields, something dirty. Something which will drag both men into the gutter.”

  Crystal did not shudder as Baronaire had expected. Doldress had murdered a working girl and Crystal didn’t seem to care. She scooped up some more bread. “Great, thanks for that,” she mumbled. “Nields was a return customer, quite often asked specially for me.”

  Baronaire blinked. “You do know who Doldress is, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Nields talked about him sometimes, tried to convince me to go see Doldress even though Arlene had banned him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Look, Chuck. Everyone’s jobs are pretty much the same, yeah? We go to work, we do what we gotta do, we don’t much like it, we watch the clock, and at the end of the day we go home. Doesn’t really matter what we do to pass the time, we still get paid the same.”

  “I happen to like my job.”

  “Well bully for you. Doldress or some other creep – doesn’t much matter to me.”

  “And the stuff he was into?”

  “God, Chuck, if that’s the worst you’ve ever heard been done to a girl, you live a real sheltered life, pal.”

  “I don’t know,” Baronaire reflected, “I can think of a few bad things to do to girls.” He only realised he had spoken out loud when he noticed Crystal was staring at him again. “Sorry, go on.”

  Shaking her head, Crystal said, “Arlene woulda thrown me out if she found out, even though it was tempting. Doldress was offering me a lot a money to go see him, and I’m saving, yeah? Could a done with that money.”

  “I don’t get it. Can’t Doldress get any other women or something?”

  “Doldress is ... what’s the best way to explain? He’s an upper-class jerk. There’s no way he’d go to some gutter brothel, or worse curb crawl. He doesn’t know where those girls have been, what they’re carrying. We’re all clean, Arlene sees to that. Regular check-ups and everything. And then the proof’s in the pudding.”

  “Which means?”

  “Freebies for the doctors, obviously.”

  Baronaire sank his face into his hand. “Can we get back on track? Doldress only likes a certain class of whore, which is why he’s offering you a lot of money to go to him, seeing as he’s not allowed to come to you any more. Nields was trying to set this up. Arlene’s gonna hold off on telling Nields for a week, so that gives us a little time.”

  “Gives us a little time for what?”

  “Are you up for reconnaissance?”

  “What? No.”

  “If we can nail these guys, we ...”

  “I don’t care about nailing anyone. I’m safe at Arlene’s, and even if I did end up going to Doldress, which I won’t because Arlene’d blow a fuse, he wouldn’t dare do anything too over the top. Not now everyone’s looking at him anyway.”

  “I’ll pay you.”

  Crystal paused. “Pay me?”

  “I’ll pay you to accept. Phone Nields, tell him it’s on. Go see Doldress.”

  “Wearing a wire? I think maybe he might notice that, once he takes my clothes off.”

  “I have other ways to spy on people.”

  “So use them.”

  “I need you, Crystal.” He focused his gaze upon her, but she looked away, knowing what he was trying. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair,” he admitted.

  “You’re sorry I caught you doing it.” She pushed away her empty plate and leaned back in thought. “Ten thousand.”

  “Like I have that kind of money.”

  “Five,” Crystal shrugged. “Guy like you must have resources. Five grand and I’m all yours.” She pushed her plate aside so she could lean across the table towards him, whispering, “Add another grand on top of that, and I can be all yours afterward too.”

  Baronaire had stopped listening. It was feasible he could get his hands on the money. Sanders had stores of cash for this very purpose, but five grand was a hefty portion just to bring down one guy. There was no way Sanders would go for this, but then there was no reason Crystal had to be told any of that. After all, who’d believe the word of a prostitute anyway?

  “Three,” he said, pretending to bargain.

  “Five,” she mouthed.

  “Fine. Five. But I need to call it in.”

  “Do whatever you like,” she said, pulling away from him once more. “I can make the call tomorrow, but I want a thousand up front. Just so I know you’re not stiffing me.”

  He could do that. “I can do that.”

  “Good. Meet me by the fountain in town. The one with the two dolphins?”

  “I know it.”

  “Four p.m., don’t be late. Now,” she said, taking up the menu, “how many desserts to have?”

  Baronaire watched her and wondered why he did not see her as dessert. It was true he liked his women terrif
ied, screaming, crying and pleading, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make do. It had been a while since he had indulged, he was due for something soon, but the more he looked at Crystal the more he realised he could not fathom her at all. Baronaire was simply not attracted to strong women. Perhaps because there was more mystery to them and it seemed a shame to cut that mystery short before the twist was revealed.

  He doubted very much Jeremiah would have minded either way. Jeremiah was far from choosey. He thought about Jeremiah still sitting in the car, growing angrier by the moment, and smiled. “Tell you what,” Baronaire said to Crystal, “have one of each dessert. Slowly. One. At. A. Time.”

  He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, still smiling to himself. Some days he just loved to be cruel for its own sake.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He knew Jeremiah hadn’t purposefully told on him, so Baronaire’s best guess was that upon returning to the bunker Jeremiah had sounded off to someone. And within the bunker, Sanders had ears everywhere.

  The officers of WetFish operated within the law, it was just that they were a law unknown to the general population, and to much of the Met itself. In the nineteen sixties a young DCI by the name of Edward Sanders was growing far too irritated with the level of crime and the apparent lack of progress in the courts. Quotas were met, the general population was as happy as it was ever going to be, but Sanders could see so many cases closed for lack of evidence, so many lawsuits thrown out of the courts due to sudden lack of witnesses. Sanders had seen the law being reworked by people with money and power. And he hated it.

  He came to the attention of his superiors, several people who were becoming equally as disheartened with the law, and he was watched. Once they decided they had seen enough they brought him in and asked him a plain question: if he had supreme power and secrecy, what would he do? Sanders had told them straight; he would clean up the mistakes of the courts. Sanders did not care who had money, who had power. A murderer was a murderer, it didn’t matter what kind of lawyer he could afford. If the courts made a mistake, he had said, there should be someone there to step in and clean up that mistake.

  Detective Chief Inspector Edward Sanders was given the go-ahead to form Operation WetFish. It was the task of WetFish to realise the dreams of Edward Sanders. If a criminal facing court was guilty beyond reasonable doubt and was found not guilty of his crimes, Sanders would step in. That criminal, laughing in the face of justice as he handed out rolls of bank notes, would be dead within a week. If it was a drugs related charge, the criminal would be found having overdosed, or would be shot by rival gangs. Murderers would be found hanging, all evidence pointing to suicide, or else would be killed by a vengeful family member of the victim. That was not to say Sanders killed his every target, however; some he would frame for a similar crime, and this time he would make sure the guilty party went down for it. Nothing ever made it to the papers. If it did, it was just a report that gangs were mowing one another down.

  It was a precarious job, but one Sanders knew how to play, and his empire was growing. Over thirty years later, Sanders was still a DCI, still calling the shots. He was no longer a young man, but he was still in charge. And he was still enforcing the law and keeping the streets safe for decent human beings.

  When Baronaire had been called to his office, he knew Sanders wasn’t happy. Sanders had kept WetFish a secret for over thirty years and he did not need Baronaire ruining all of that in one night.

  Sanders was sitting behind his desk, casual, his fingers steepled before him, as Baronaire entered, closing the door behind him. He said nothing, meeting Baronaire’s gaze studiously. There were few people whom Baronaire respected, fewer still that he liked. But there was only one man Baronaire could have claimed to fear. Sanders was more an unknown than anything, and Baronaire hated mysteries.

  It was Baronaire who finally broke the stare.

  “You need to be very careful here,” Sanders said simply. “You could destroy everything here, Charles. Is Doldress worth spilling this organisation wide open?”

  “I could always kill him outright.”

  “No.” Sanders reflected on that. It was a bad idea. It was seldom that one of his officers actually landed the killing blow. Ordinarily they would simply arrange circumstances for the villain to find his own end, or for others to find it for him. “Doldress is in the news too much. If he turned up dead somewhere, it would ring bells.”

  “He could disappear. Maybe the papers would claim he’d moved to Spain or something. You could have a word in the right ears.”

  “He’s in the news, Charles. I thought I just said that?”

  Sanders was calm. But then Sanders was almost always calm. No one knew quite how old Edward Sanders was now, although most assumed him to be in his sixties. His dour features had turned craggy a long time earlier and time was continuing to wear upon him. His skin was slightly paler than was healthy, but there had been very few reliable reports of the DCI ever leaving the office; and spending time lounging in the sunshine was counter-productive to his workload. He was well-built for a man his age in that he seemed physically fit and healthy. He would be winning no prizes for the hundred metre dash, but he was clearly a man who took care of himself. It would not do to die of old age before he had fully cleaned the streets of London. His mouth was a lipless slit, seldom revealing any emotion, but it was the eyes Baronaire always found disturbing. They were ancient eyes which could bore into one’s soul and see past all subterfuge and lies. For all his vaunted power and bravado, even Baronaire would hesitate to hold his gaze for too long.

  Baronaire shrugged, if only to break eye contact briefly. “I’m close with Nields. I can get rid of them both here, Ed. Nields is just as much a roach as Doldress. I take out a lawyer, legally I mean, it eases our workload in the long-run.”

  “I know. I’m not asking you to back off, I’m just saying be careful. I ... think it would be best to leave Jeremiah here.”

  “Probably.”

  “I’m glad we agree on that.”

  Jeremiah was the proverbial loose cannon. His overeager nature often led him into trouble and he was by far the least trustworthy person in the entire operation. But he was a good man to have at your back when the fists started to fly, and Baronaire knew Sanders wouldn’t get rid of him for a while yet. But then the same argument could have been used for Baronaire. The only difference being that Baronaire’s success rate was by far in excess of anyone. He was Sanders’s best officer, and so long as he remained that way Sanders would keep them both around.

  “I want you to take someone else instead,” Sanders continued.

  “I work best alone.”

  “I’m sure you do, but I’m still your DCI.”

  “Sure. I’m meeting my contact at sixteen hundred. There’s not much to do before then. That gives me a good six hours to go through Nields’s file Arlene gave me. Maybe I can find something to use, but I’m not holding my breath.”

  “If it’s there I’m sure you’ll find it.”

  “You assigning me someone or do I get to choose?”

  Sanders narrowed his eyes in thought and Baronaire knew his answer would reveal how much he trusted him today. “You’re a big boy, Charles. Just let me know who you’ll be taking with you at sixteen hundred. Dismissed.”

  Baronaire always felt dirty when he left Sanders’s office, and he didn’t like the feeling at all. He surveyed the bunker, taking in every detail within seconds. WetFish operated underground, far from the eyes of the public and every other police officer. There were twenty-seven people who worked for WetFish, and Baronaire knew their profiles intimately. Sanders discouraged communication beyond work-related issues, and woe betide anyone who started an office romance. Everyone had their place, everyone had their knowledge. Some knew more than others, but no one knew everything. WetFish did not have any weak links for the simple reason that no one knew too much. Most of them were aware of their remit, but even several of those only knew so on a
sketchy basis. The field assignment officers generally knew more, but there was a cadre of top agents who would orchestrate proceedings. Baronaire was one of those, and he knew more than most people in the bunker.

  He doubted he knew even half of what went on in the mind of Edward Sanders.

  Baronaire went back to his desk. It was thankfully set apart from everyone else’s and afforded him a little privacy. The office was open-plan, but there was little chatter about the bunker, for everyone knew Sanders was always watching. Most of the time Baronaire was able to get on with his work without being disturbed.

  Presently he sat and turned on his computer. While he waited for it to load up he opened the top drawer of his pedestal and produced the file Arlene had given him. He laid it upon his empty desk and took up a pencil from a “Best Dad” cup. He wasn’t a father, doubted very much he ever would be, but the cup had come with the desk. Its previous owner had gone out in a body-bag, and Baronaire hoped the “best dad” had a decent life insurance plan, otherwise he might be losing his title.

  Aside from the cup there was very little to distinguish Baronaire’s desk from a vacant one. He had no pictures, no messages from loved ones pinned to the partition. He didn’t even know why there was a partition when there was no desk opposite him, but at least it afforded him a little privacy. Baronaire was never even one to put up Post-It notes, for all his thoughts were precisely where they should be: in his head.

  He opened the folder and flicked through the records. It seemed Nields used Arlene’s a lot. There were a few girls mentioned, Crystal’s name popping up regularly. Arlene was right, though; there was nothing useful in the file. All it told him was that Nields had money to burn, and from the notes it didn’t seem he was any more sordid than a usual adult male. There was no mention of any violent tendencies, so that was another angle Baronaire could see closing before his eyes.

  “Coffee!”

  Baronaire jumped as a steaming mug was plopped onto his desk. They did not use disposable cups in the bunker, since they had to empty their own bins and clean their own desks. He had no idea who cleaned the floor, but supposed someone must have been roped into it at some point: no contractors were allowed to even know the bunker existed. Baronaire ignored the coffee, raising his eyes to the jubilant woman just this moment parking her backside on the edge of his desk like she was intending to stop by for a chat. Baronaire glanced to Sanders’s office, wishing the DCI would look up and notice.