Chapter Text
Greg Lestrade took the first sip from a fresh cup of coffee: real coffee, from the cafe down the street, not the hot brown water from the break room. He was tired, and it was only one in the afternoon.
“Greg? Just got word about where to find Alvarez.” Sally Donovan popped her head into his open office door. “He was seen going into a restaurant in Southwark.”
He sighed and stretched before putting on his jacket and patting his pockets to make sure he had his warrant card, handcuffs, and phone. Alvarez was their main suspect in the strangling death of his girlfriend and they’d had enough evidence to arrest him for a week, but he’d gone to ground. It would be nice to finally get this one wrapped up and have one less stack of paperwork on his desk.
“Let’s get down there before he pops back into his burrow, then. I’ll drive.”
Sally radioed for backup as they made their way to Greg’s car, and by the time they were pulling out of the parking garage a panda car with two uniformed officers was waiting to follow.
“A second car is already in the area if we need additional backup.”
Greg grunted his acknowledgement. He reviewed the case in his mind as he drove. Katrina Lopez had been found strangled in a rather posh hotel room; all evidence on the scene pointed to a romantic liaison gone wrong: wine glasses, lingerie, a smashed champagne bottle, reports of loud arguing from the room next door. Review of the hotel’s security tapes from the elevators showed a short but burly man with a cocky lear, tattoos spilling out of the collar of his white dress shirt, with a possessive arm around her waist. Facial recognition brought up Armando Alvarez, in the system from a drugs charge at the age of nineteen. Apparently, he’d been in the US and Mexico for most of the intervening years, only visiting London occasionally. He’d sent a request first thing this morning for any criminal history he might have in the US but hadn’t received a reply just yet thanks to the time zone difference.
He glanced over. Sally was flipping through the incident report from the hotel crime scene; this was one of three cases they were juggling at the moment and had been on the backburner for the last few days as they waited for a lead as to Alvarez’s location. He should have sent that request for the American arrest record, if there had been any arrests, days ago, but he’d been drug from the hotel room directly to a rather gruesome murder-suicide that left a three-year-old orphaned, and had just remembered. Usually Sgt James stayed on top of that sort of thing, but he was out with the flu this week, which had just added to the workload. Greg took another large gulp of his now lukewarm coffee.
“Any known associates in London?”
Sally hummed as she flipped through her notes. “A cousin; he was living with him at the time of his arrest in 1999. Mark did a search; the cousin still lives in London, but Alvarez hasn’t been picked up on CCTV in his neighbourhood since the murder. There were indications in the records from his prior that he was involved in gang activity in the US, but he’s never popped up in anything here.”
Another gulp of coffee. When was the last time he’d just been able to enjoy a cup? And why weren’t caffeine IVs a thing yet? He ran a hand through his hair as he turned down the street from the address Sally gave him.
The radio crackled; it was Officer Blakely in the panda car behind. “Back up enroute, five minutes out.”
“Hold position; we’ll do a drive by and check for signs of movement.”
Greg cruised as slow as he dared, acting as if he were looking for a parking spot. He nearly hit a curb when Sally grabbed his arm. Alvarez was coming out of the corner convenience store with a six-pack of beer, glancing down to check his phone while waiting to cross the street. Suddenly he glanced up and caught Greg’s eye, and then glanced down the street. Greg craned his neck to see what Alvarez was seeing. Back down the street, Blakely and Evans in their panda car were clearly visible. What part of hold position did they not understand!?
Alvarez’s eyes widened and he took off like a shot, dropping the beer. Darting across the side street, which thankfully for him was clear at the moment, he ran around behind the closed-for-remodelling restaurant on the opposite corner. Greg shouted over the radio, “He’s doing a runner!” They turned the corner just in time to see him slamming the door behind him. “He’s inside the restaurant! We’ll take the back; you secure the front entrance.” Thank God, the second panda car pulled in behind the first just as he and Sally scrambled out. He motioned for the newcomers to take the front while shouting “With us!” to Blakely and Evans. The officers nodded and ran to go in ahead of Greg and Sally.
The door was surprisingly unlocked. The officers called out as they burst into the disused kitchen: “Police! Show yourself!”
An explosion of movement and pain.
Back at his desk, Greg’s abandoned email inbox chimed with incoming messages from Texas and from Interpol: “Armando Alvarez, known cartel member. Rising in the ranks, nephew of the head of the Banahua Cartel. Approach with caution; armed and dangerous and travels with cartel security.”