The Charlie Cobb Series

Chapter 6

6

From the top floor of the Renaissance Hotel, Detective Neil Price had a clear line of sight. He could see right across the back end of the city, where towering new developments rose out of a dirty old part of town.

Detective Price’s National Crime Agency unit had secured the entire top floor. He’d chosen the suite himself. It was tucked away from the hustle and bustle of Deansgate and Market Street, where shoppers, drinkers and big-brand advertising screens collided. It was quieter at the rear of the hotel. And far more private too.

With straggled hair and a hipster beard, Price didn’t look much like a detective. That was, except, for the off-white shirt, the black tie and the weapon holstered against his ribs. He leaned out of the window and sucked on a half-smoked cigarette. He blew a small cloud into the air. It caught and drifted on a light breeze. He surveyed the immediate area, looking for signs of activity. The surrounding buildings. The grey van parked several stories below. Left and right along the windows of the hotel. No sign of anything.

“Team One. Perimeter check,” he said.

“Team One clear,” a tinny voice said in his ear.

“Team Two,” Price said.

“Team Two clear.”

“Team Three.”

“Clear, sir."

Price took a final drag on the cigarette and flicked it out of the window. He watched it spiral all the way to the ground below. A tiny orange spark as it hit the service entrance car park.

He pushed the window closed and replaced the long linen drapes.

It was dim inside the second bedroom of the suite. Price grabbed his dark-blue Barbour jacket off the back of a brown velvet desk chair. He walked across the thick carpet into the living area. Briggs and Sanders sat slouched on a caramel sofa, watching Jeremy Kyle on a flatscreen on the wall. Shoulder holsters worn on the outside of crumpled office shirts.

Price headed into the master bedroom. Large with plenty of floor space. A king size bed in the middle. Danny Platt, the witness, was a fashionable black teenager in a light-grey hoodie, jeans and trainers. He sat with a blank expression, running rings around Jennings: a chubby, red-faced police officer.

“Pause that for a second,” Price said.

Jennings stared at his controller. “I don't know how."

“Here,” Danny said, doing it for him.

“Listen, Danny, I’ve been called out to another location,” Price said. “I’ll be back in a while, but you’re in good hands, okay? We’ve got three of my best officers in the suite. An armed guard in the corridor, and two more in the lobby. I’ve got more units watching the streets and full CCTV. The lift only goes up as far as the floor below and we’ve fixed a code lock on the door to the stairs.”

“Don’t forget tactical response,” Jennings said.

“Machine guns, choppers, the works,” Price said. “And tomorrow morning, you’ll have a full armed escort to the court house.”

Jennings nudged Danny on the arm. “Even the prime minister doesn’t get this kind of attention."

Price zipped up his jacket. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to kicking Jennings’ fat arse.”

“I’m only six-nil down,” said Jennings. “Still time for a comeback.”

Danny nodded and went back to the game. The young man didn’t say much. And who could blame him? He must have been terrified.

Price moved back into the living area. “Back later,” he said to Briggs and Sanders.

“You’re gonna miss the pizza,” Briggs said with a yawn.

“Always the way,” Price said, stepping out of the door into the corridor. Another of his unit stood guard outside, rotating with the men inside the suite.

Price patted him on the arm and walked along the corridor, up to the stairwell door. He punched a code into the temporary lock, fixed earlier in the day. He pushed his way through. Two flights down, he took the lift to the lobby. He acknowledged the hidden camera positioned over the doors.

Price came out of the elevator. He strode across the patterned marble floor of the brown and cream themed lobby. He made eye contact with two undercover officers. One, a man reading a paper, off to the left on a lounge chair. Another, a new member of the team. Young and blonde in a black business suit on an iPad.

Price exited the lobby onto the busy street. A short walk later, he climbed inside his grey Mondeo pool car and pulled his mobile from his jacket. “It’s Price,” he said. “I’m leaving the hotel. Coast is clear. We’re all set.”