The Rebel: The new crime thriller that will have you gripped in 2018

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by AVON 2018

Copyright © Jaime Raven 2018

Cover layout design © debbieclementdesign.com 2018

Cover photographs © Getty

Jaime Raven asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008253493

Ebook Edition © April 2018 ISBN: 9780008253509

Version: 2018-02-13

Dedication

To the new arrivals, in order of age – Evelyn, Lucas, Adam and Ella. May they all have a happy life.

Swansong: a metaphorical phrase for a final gesture, effort, or performance before death or retirement.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Part Two

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Part Three

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

Also by Jaime Raven

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

It was a dry night so Terry Malone decided to walk home. He hoped it would give him time to sober up and get over the shock of what he’d been told.

The revelation had knocked him for six and even now, two hours later, he still couldn’t get his mind around it.

It didn’t help that he’d had too much champagne. He wasn’t used to it. He preferred beer and whisky, but his boss had insisted on cracking open two bottles of Moët.

‘Get it down you, lad,’ Roy Slack had urged him back at the club. ‘This is a big fucking deal and we have to celebrate.’

The West End was still buzzing even though it was almost midnight, but Terry was oblivious to the crowds and the incessant hum of the traffic.

Forty-five minutes. That was about how long it would take him to trek to his home across the river in Lambeth. Amy would be in bed, of course, but she wouldn’t be asleep. Whenever he was this late she stayed awake and worried.

He supposed it was only to be expected. The wives and girlfriends of most of the other gang members were the same. Being a villain wasn’t like being an accountant or a teacher or a bus driver. It was a tough, stressful business that entailed risk and uncertainty. And it put an awful lot of strain on families and friends.

Amy had become far more anxious since discovering she was pregnant four months ago. She kept asking him what would happen to her and the baby if he got shot, stabbed or banged up for years.

That was why Terry had been giving serious consideration to packing it in and going straight. It was also why he was dreading her reaction to tonight’s bombshell revelation. The impact on their lives was going to be considerable and she was bound to freak out.

In all honesty he wouldn’t blame her. He was struggling to come to terms with it himself and it was making his head spin.

When he reached Lambeth Bridge he broke his stride and sparked up a fag. From his pocket he took the letter that Slack had given to him. He read it through for the umpteenth time and once again he felt a flash of heat in his chest. The words were already embedded in his mind. They were shocking, life-changing, terrifying. And they sent a cold chill down his spine.

He put the letter back in his pocket and stood looking down on the inky black Thames, his heart thudding in his chest.

After a couple of minutes he decided that he wouldn’t break the news to Amy for at least a couple of days. That’d give him time to take it all in and assess the implications. There was so much to think about, not least the kind of future he wanted for his unborn child.

He drew smoke deep into his lungs and reflected on what a momentous year it had already been.

Seven months ago he’d been pushing drugs for an Eastern European outfit in North London before its leaders became victims of the Met’s latest crackdown on organised crime. Their arrests had caused chaos inside the organisation and allowed rival gangs to move in on the territory and the various businesses.

Just weeks later his mother had died, aged fifty-three, after a stroke. She’d managed to cling on in hospital for several days before taking her last breath.

Terry had been devastated and the future had looked truly bleak. But as one door closed another one had opened. He’d been approached by Roy Slack’s people and invited to join the biggest and most ruthless firm in the capital.

He’d then met Amy in one of Slack’s West End clubs. After only five dates he realised that he loved her and on the seventh date she’d announced that she was pregnant.

She’d thought he’d be angry and disappointed, but he couldn’t have been happier. At twenty-six he was ready to be a father and was determined to make a good job of it.

He’d been telling himself that he would always be there for his son or daughter, and he’d try to give them a better start in life than the one he’d had.

But was that going to be possible given what he now knew?

It was one of the many questions that were piling up inside his head as he stood on the bridge and fought against the panic that was threatening to overwhelm him.

He felt a little better by the time he got home. The walk had flushed most of the alcohol through his system and his head had stopped spinning.

It was just after 1am when he let himself in through the front door of their terraced house, within walking distance of the Imperial War Museum.

He’d been renting it for two years and the location was perfect. But now they’d have to move. After what he’d learned tonight there was no way that he and Amy could stay here. It just wouldn’t be safe.

‘Is that you, babe?’ Amy called out.

‘It is,’ he replied, closing the door behind him. ‘I’ll be straight up.’

He took off his coat and went into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. He spotted two new glossy wedding magazines on the table where Amy had left them. The date had been set for January fourth, three months from now, but the details still had to be worked out.

He wanted a cheap and cheerful affair in a register office and a few drinks in the pub afterwards. But Amy had her heart set on something more elaborate, and so they were looking at a hotel do with a combined ceremony and reception for up to eighty people.

As Terry fingered the edge of one of the magazines more questions popped into his head.

Would their wedding plans have to be put on hold? Would Amy still want to marry him after he told her what Roy Slack had said? Was it fair not to break the news to her straight away?

‘What’s keeping you, babe?’

Her voice wrenched him out of himself and he hurriedly filled a glass with tap water. Then he took a long, deep breath, switched off the kitchen light and climbed the stairs.

Amy was sitting up against her pillows, her swollen breasts resting on the duvet, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders.

She was the same age as him but looked at least five years younger. Her pale skin was flawless and her eyes were an electrifying blue.

He forced a smile and crossed the room to plant a kiss on her lips. As always he felt a rush of affection for her. She was the first woman he had ever loved and he couldn’t imagine ever being without her.

Since meeting her he had changed for the better. He’d mellowed and matured. He no longer kept trying to live up to his fearsome reputation as a short-tempered thug. Those days were behind him and he was glad of it.

He still sorted people out when ordered to do so but he no longer threw his weight around or started unnecessary fights just for the fun of it.

‘You look done in, Terry,’ Amy said. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Sure it is,’ he told her. ‘I’m late because I had a meeting with the boss.’

‘What about?’

‘Oh, just business stuff. But he got me drinking champagne and it’s gone straight to my head.’

She laughed. ‘I have no sympathy. You know that bubbly doesn’t agree with you.’

‘Yeah, well, best to keep the boss sweet.’

He went into the en suite, cleaned his teeth and emptied his bladder. He was anxious not to get drawn into a conversation because he might just blurt out something he’d regret.

‘I need to get some shut eye,’ he said as he climbed into bed. ‘I’ve got another early start in the morning.’

He gave her a cuddle and at the same time reached over to switch off the lamp.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Amy asked him. ‘You don’t seem your usual self.’

‘I’m fine. Honest. Just dead tired.’

‘Only I was hoping that maybe we could get it on. I’ve been so bloody horny all evening.’

Pregnancy had boosted Amy’s libido to the point where it seemed she couldn’t get enough of it, and normally he was only too eager to satisfy her craving. But right now a shag was out of the question. With what was going on inside his head he was sure he wouldn’t even be able to get it up.

‘It’ll have to wait until morning, babe,’ he said. ‘I’m so knackered I know I’ll disappoint you.’

‘Why don’t you let me work my magic then,’ she said as she reached under the duvet.

But she failed to get a rise out of him and he was relieved when she gave up after thirty seconds and rolled over.

It wasn’t long before she started snoring so he didn’t have to pretend to be asleep. He was able to lie there on his back with his eyes wide open, his mind wrestling with a growing anxiety.

He was still awake an hour later when a chilling sound reached him from downstairs – the sound of the front door being smashed in.

He knew instinctively what was happening before the shouting started. It was a police raid and they were sure to be mob-handed.

He heard their boots pounding up the stairs and he felt the floor shudder.

Then the landing light went on and there was another crash as the door to one of the other rooms was rammed open.

‘Armed police,’ a voice called out. ‘Stay where you are.’

But Terry was already on the move, throwing off the duvet and leaping off the bed.

As he fumbled for the lamp switch the bedroom door was flung open and Amy screamed.

Terry, naked and disoriented, spun round so fast that he lost his balance and lurched towards a police officer in full body armour who was standing in the doorway. The officer reacted by discharging two bullets in quick succession from his Glock 17 pistol.

Both shells slammed into Terry’s chest and he was thrown onto the floor.

The last thing he heard was Amy screaming, but he died not knowing that she was in the throes of a painful miscarriage induced by shock.

The police officer, a man with three years’ experience in the firearms unit, would later tell an investigation that he thought the suspect was attacking him.

The inquiry would also hear that the raid was one of a number that took place that night on the homes of individuals known to be involved in organised crime.

In Terry’s house the team found a quantity of Class A drugs, a sawn-off shotgun and a total of ten thousand pounds in cash.

They also found a collection of documents and magazines pertaining to a wedding that would now never take place.

1

Laura

Two months later

The man in the dock had already been convicted and this afternoon he was going to be sentenced.

That was why I’d come along on what was supposed to be a rare day off. I wanted to see the bastard’s face when the judge told him how many years he’d have to spend behind bars.

My colleagues and I were hoping for a long, long stretch. If he got less than twenty we’d be disappointed. With any luck he’d die in prison, and since he was in his mid-fifties there was every chance he would.

The man’s name was Harry Fuller, and at his trial, which had ended a month ago, he’d been found guilty of a range of offences from extortion and money laundering to drug trafficking and people smuggling. These were committed during the five years he’d spent as head of one of London’s most notorious crime gangs.

He had also been linked to at least six murders, but we hadn’t come up with the evidence to charge him with those.

It was still a great result, though. We’d managed to succeed where others before us had failed. Harry Fuller had at last been well and truly nailed.

I was watching the proceedings from the packed public gallery and switching my gaze between the judge and Fuller. The judge had indicated that he was going to make a statement before passing sentence, and he was now consulting his notes before getting on with it.

As usual I was in awe of my surroundings: London’s Central Criminal Court, more commonly known as the Old Bailey. I’d been here many times and it never failed to impress me. So many lives had been changed in this place and so many wrongs had been put right. For a copper like me it was nothing less than a shrine to the law and to the legal system.

I noticed that Fuller had spotted me and even across the courtroom I could see the devilish glint in his eyes.

I held his gaze, forcing myself not to waver. But it was hard not to be unnerved by the expression on his face. It reminded me of the old cliché that if looks could kill I’d be dead.

In appearance Fuller was the archetypal gangster, big and beefy with a bullet-shaped head and broken nose. But there was more to him than muscle and menace. He was also a shrewd businessman, and it was estimated that his firm had been turning over fifty million pounds a year.

Without him at the helm, the firm was already coming apart at the seams, and that was great because it had been one of our primary objectives.

It was DS Martin Weeks and I who had made the collar that day at Fuller’s office in Stratford. I was the one who’d done the talking, and I would never forget Fuller’s reaction when I’d showed him my warrant card and said, ‘DI Laura Jefferson. I’m with Scotland Yard’s organised crime task force and I’m here to tell you that you’re nicked.’

He’d raised his brow at me and the hint of a smile had played at the corners of his mouth.

‘Well, what do you know?’ he’d said, his voice dripping with contempt. ‘I wondered if and when you lot would get around to me. But it’s only fair to warn you that I won’t be so easy to take down as those others you’ve collared.’

And he’d been right. But we’d got there in the end through an immense amount of effort and some good luck. Everyone had put in a ton of extra hours to ensure that we had a watertight case against the man.

‘Here comes the moment of truth.’

The voice belonged to the woman who was sitting directly behind me and it snapped me back to the present.

I turned my attention to the judge who had finished checking his notes and was ready to speak. The court bailiff asked everyone to be quiet, which prompted about half a dozen people to loudly clear their throats.

The judge, who was in his early seventies, remained completely unfazed. He simply paused until a deafening silence descended on the courtroom.

Then he read out his statement in a voice that was slow and measured.

‘I want to take this opportunity to commend those police officers who were responsible for bringing this case to trial,’ he said. ‘Organised crime is a shameful scar on this great city – indeed on the whole country. Men like the defendant have always acted with impunity, flaunting the law as they built their vast criminal empires. It’s true to say that the situation has progressed from a serious problem into a large-scale crisis.

‘That was why I was so pleased when Scotland Yard set up a special task force eighteen months ago to deal with it. And, as we learned during this trial, their successes so far have been nothing short of spectacular.

‘Harry Fuller is the latest gangster whose reign has thankfully been brought to an ignominious end. And I’m sure he won’t be the last thanks to the efforts of the task force.’

The judge paused to acknowledge my boss, Detective Chief Superintendent George Drummond, who was sitting in the well of the court with the prosecution team.

‘I would like to put on record my thanks to all of those officers involved,’ he said. ‘And I want them to know that they have the support of every law-abiding person in this country. We appreciate that this work they’re doing places them in considerable danger, and we can only hope and pray that no harm comes to them in the course of their investigations.’

The judge then turned to Harry Fuller and said, ‘I’ve already warned you to expect a custodial sentence, Mr Fuller. It’s clear that your crimes are such that I can show no mercy. For far too long you’ve acted as though you are above the law. But nobody is above the law, no matter how much power they wield or money they have.’

The judge paused again, twice as long this time, and then he told Fuller that he was going to spend at least thirty years in prison.

‘Fucking brilliant,’ I blurted out and everyone heard me, including Fuller, who shot me a look that told me he was as shocked as I was.

I curled a smile for his benefit, and he reacted by closing his eyes and blowing out his cheeks.

It was a far better result than any of us could have hoped for, and I was delighted because another vile gangster had been snared. But for the task force there would be no resting on its laurels.

Fuller was a terrific catch, but he wasn’t in the same league as the villain who was going to be our next target.

After the sentencing came the inevitable media scrum outside the court.

Reporters, photographers and TV crews had turned out in force to get reactions from all the main players, including DCS Drummond.

The gaffer was surrounded the moment he appeared on the pavement. This was something I’d anticipated, which was why I’d hurried out of the building ahead of him.

I was now standing just far enough away to hear him read out a pre-prepared statement, but in a position where I couldn’t be filmed or photographed.

‘On behalf of Scotland Yard and the task force team, I’d like to say how pleased we are that the judge has seen fit to impose on Harry Fuller such a lengthy period of incarceration,’ he said. ‘We believe it to be wholly appropriate given the nature of the crimes the man has committed over a number of years.’