Free The Truth Will Out by Jane Isaac Page B

the intelligence side to see if we can establish any links with current outstanding cases of gun crime throughout the UK.”
    Helen glanced out of the window as she fought to keep her emotions in check. A strapping wind had wiped the clouds from the sky, allowing the sun to melt the remaining snow spots. Heavy rays penetrated the window, warming her left shoulder. Her mind turned to Operation Aspen as her investigation had now been named. How was the autopsy going? Had they retrieved the other bullet? She checked her watch. Did they have an ID on the informant yet? A sharp look from Jenkins turned her attention back to the screen.
    “With improvements in forensics over the years, those involved in gun crime have become shrewd,” Dean droned on. “Regular users tend to stick to ‘clean’ guns, meaning those not involved in an incident previously. After a shooting, they break them up and dispose of them, either bury them or chuck the pieces in a river or lake. But in the current climate, we have found that more and more are getting sold on. It is still far cheaper to buy a used gun than a clean one.”
    Helen stifled a yawn. “The shot of every gun is different,” Dean continued, “it leaves a unique mark on the cartridge shell. The organised gangs have picked up on this. In the recent shooting of Germaine Long in London we actually have CCTV footage showing two people with hoods pulled down over their faces, collecting the cartridge cases off the pavement before they flee the scene, no doubt in an effort to reduce the evidence available.”
    This last remark shook Helen’s senses. She recalled Pemberton’s comments at the crime scene, that they couldn’t find the shells. Could this be an organised, calculated killing?
    Dean switched off the machine and sat down.
    Jenkins took a deep breath and leant his elbows on the table, “So, what can you do to help us with our outstanding cases?”
    “The guns used in your shootings in Roxten were Baikal IZH-79s, right?” Dean said. He looked directly at Jenkins who nodded. “We have been working closely with colleagues in neighbouring forces on their outstanding gun crime and similar Baikals are cropping up. We want to locate the source of these weapons. We’ll base ourselves here for a couple of weeks as we continue our enquiries.”
    “How long before we see results?” Jenkins asked.
    “Hard to say. We’re hoping the pooling of intelligence may throw up some end users.”
    Helen thought back to the scene of the crime: the rabbit warren in Roxten. A prominent name popped into her mind. “What can you tell us about Chilli Franks?” she asked. Stephen Franks, nicknamed Chilli for his fiery personality, was proprietor of the Black Cats nightclub in Roxten, a suspected front for drugs trafficking and organised crime.
    Dean’s face turned blank at her interruption. He shook his head.
    “Oh, come on!” Helen hissed. “Nothing goes on in the rabbit warren or the whole of Roxten for that matter, without a nod from him. We know that Richard Elsdon, our main suspect in the Harvey case was linked to him. He used to work at Black Cats as a barman.”
    Dean sat back in his chair. “We’ve all heard the stories. It’s not a crime to keep criminal associations. But whatever Chilli was in his younger years, we’ve found nothing to suggest he is criminally active now, and no connection with either of the dead boys.”
    Helen could barely believe her ears. Formidable in his younger years, Chilli was the right hand of Jimmy Percival, regarded as Hampton’s very own gang leader during the 1980s.
    Chilli was Percival’s ‘fix it’ man in those days, suspected to be responsible for Hampton’s most violent crimes. It was alleged he’d chopped two fingers off an associate who’d skimmed off Jimmy, plunged a rival’s hand into boiling water for information on their gang and, his signature dish, slashed the faces of Jimmy’s adversaries with a Stanley knife. Numerous arrests