screens. The room contained twenty work stations arranged in groups of five for the four teams of detectives working there, and there were four doors leading off it down one side. Two of these opened onto small meeting rooms and a third led to the Detective Inspectorâs office, currently unoccupied due to its normal resident being on maternity leave. The fourth door represented the single exception from the norm; it gave access to the office of Detective Chief Inspector David Gerrard. Someone of Davidâs rank would usually occupy an office âupstairsâ with the Senior Leadership Team, but at the time of his promotion he had managed to pull a few strings in order to remain with the âground forcesâ, as he called them.
At 9.00 am prompt, he pulled on his suit jacket and emerged from the office, briefly filling the doorway as he passed through it. David Gerrard was huge â a colossus. He stood six feet five inches tall in his bare feet, and weighed in at a shade over eighteen stones â or 1.96 metres and 115 kilograms, as his official record stated. A former Saracens and England Saxons flanker, his career as a full-time professional had been cut short by recurring back and hip problems, but he had since worked hard â and successfully â to retain his physique and fitness. His craggy face was round and full and friendly â some said too friendly for a senior police officer, although his fearsome bulk more than made up for it. Now in his fifty-third year, his slightly receding dark brown hair showed only the faintest traces of grey.
As always, the group became instantly silent as he entered the room. He moved over to the large map of the estate and its immediate surroundings which spanned two A1 size sheets of fibre-board resting side-by-side on a pair of easels in front of the white-panelled wall. To the right of it, an image thrown onto the wall from the ceiling mounted Lite-Pro projector showed a blank background with a number of icons round the edges. To the left of the map were pinned photographs of the three brothers and around a dozen images from the scene of the killings. David turned to face the group, which comprised two of the four detective teams.
âRight,â he said, âbefore we move on, letâs recap on what weâve done so far. In the absence of any progress at all in finding this guy, it might be therapeutic to remind ourselves that weâve been working bloody hard all the same. Catherine, tell us what we know about motive.â
He addressed DC Catherine Baxter.
âAlmost certainly a revenge killing, sir. Could be personal or contract, related to drugs, protection or social disorder activities â and, just possibly, sectarian.â
David nodded, appreciatively. âThank you, Catherine. Very snappy â youâve set the standard. Omar, rationale for drug-related?â
DC Shakhir responded. âNone really, sir. Doesnât fit the normal pattern for a gang reprisal. Contract killings are very rare. The Bradys would probably have recognised the guy if heâd been from a rival group and he would most likely have shot them there and then.â
âOkay, thanks. Siobhan, what about protection?â
âAlso unlikely, sir.â DC Wheeler had been seated and stood up to give her reply. âItâs hard to believe any of the major chains would risk hiring a contract killer â it sort of goes against their corporate charters and mission statements â and the smaller outlets just couldnât afford it. So we reckon thatâs a ânoâ.â
âGood enough. Geoff. Sectarian?â
âMan had a Northern Irish accent,â DC Drury answered, âand Brady clan used to live in Donegal. But no history of sectarian involvement and family relocated to London during the Troubles, long before Jimmy and the twins were born. So thatâs a ânoâ as well, sir.â
âWhich leaves