Complete Detective Stephen Greco Box Set

by Helen H. Durrant

  “So what’s he up to?”

  At that moment Greco’s mobile rang again. He stood silently listening and then gestured to the car. “Do you know where Reader’s Garage is?”

  “Alex Reader — the car sales guy, local lad made good; yep, it’s on the High Street.”

  “We need to get there fast. It looks like Hirst is trying to smash the place up.”

  “In that case, we may have found the boyfriend, sir,” Quickenden joked. “Must say I’m surprised. Alex Reader is something of a player, not the type to go for a woman like Brenda.”

  “So what type does he go for? Tell me about him — everything you know.”

  “Usually lookers, blonde and young. He’s the big-headed type, self-made. He does have a wife, though, and a son. They live in glorious splendour somewhere Leesworth way. He sells cars, the posh end, and recently he’s specialised in classic sports models.”

  “Is he a similar age to Brenda Hirst?”

  “I suppose he must be, sir; like Brenda he’s lived around here all his life until recently, so they could know each other from way back.”

  * * *

  Quickenden needed a few minutes to ring Les at the Spinners. There was another card game on tonight. Geegee and the lads would expect him to turn up but it was looking highly likely he wouldn’t make it. Greco was a pain. He was so full on and there wasn’t a laugh in him. He’d no idea what sort of a private life he had, but heaven help any woman he had waiting at home for him.

  They pulled up into the shopper’s car park. Reader’s Car Sales was just across the road. It looked quiet enough, until a woman rushed out of the main entrance, screaming blue murder.

  “Get uniform down here,” Greco told him, already out of the car.

  Quickenden hung back as the boss started for the showroom. Seconds later he was on his phone but not to the nick.

  “Les,” he began, “I won’t be in till much later. It’s too busy at work and I can’t get away.”

  “You’re part of the circle, mate. Geegee won’t like it. You took a packet off him Friday night.”

  “A packet? It was only a ton!” the sergeant exclaimed. “You know as well as I do that Geegee can afford it.”

  “He still won’t like it; he’ll think you’re taking the piss. You know what he’s like. Cop or no cop, he doesn’t like being taken for a mug.”

  “Look, tell him I’ll try and get there, if not it’ll have to be tomorrow. That’s the best I can do.”

  Bloody Grady Gibbs, or ‘Geegee’ as he was more widely known, who did he think he was? Mind you Quickenden didn’t want to cross him. He was a mad bastard and not frightened of taking risks. Being a cop wouldn’t be any protection if Geegee took against him. Greco would have a fit if he knew he was mixing with the likes of him. But despite everything, Quickenden liked him. The guy was everything that was wrong with Oldston and it made him a right laugh.

  Greco was looking over. He had that face on. The sergeant groaned; was there no peace? He took out his phone again and rang the station for back-up.

  Chapter 5

  “You do as you’re told, nothing more. You can follow simple instructions, can’t you, Daz?” The older man gave Darren Hopper a warning look. “Because if you can’t, and you let me down . . .” He smiled and cuffed the lad’s chin lightly. “Let me down and things won’t go well for you. You understand what I’m saying, Daz?”

  Darren Hopper understood alright. Normally he wouldn’t go anywhere near Geegee. The man wasn’t wired right — a proper nutjob is what Tanweer had said about him. But things being as they were, what choice did he have?

  Geegee had collared him on Oldston High Street. He’d dragged him down an alleyway and told him he had a job for him. You didn’t refuse Geegee; like he’d said, things could go hellishly wrong if you did.

  The man was a lot older than Daz. It was difficult to pin an age on him, but if Daz had to guess, he’d say about mid-forties. His face was heavily lined, almost wizened and he always looked untidy. Today he was sporting at least two days’ growth on his face and he had his long hair tied in a ponytail. Drink, drugs and being half-starved for most of his youth had taken its toll. Nowadays Geegee could afford whatever he wanted but he was an odd sort. He was either out doing business or glued to a computer in the poky flat he lived in. He certainly didn’t live the lifestyle that went with the money he must be raking in from all his scams. The drug dealing alone must bring in a fortune, but you’d never guess it from looking at him.

  “I want you to get that Asian mate of yours to go with you,” he said, making it sound more like a threat than a suggestion. “There’s a ton in it for both of you.”

  Daz doubted that Tanweer Hussain would be up for it. There was bad blood between Tan’s family and Geegee. They didn’t approve of Tanweer mixing with him, never mind with the likes of Grady Gibbs. But the dosh would help.

  “What’s the catch?” Daz asked nervously. There was bound to be one. Nothing was ever straightforward where Geegee was concerned.

  “No catch — it’s a simple enough job. Do you want it or not?”

  “When do we get paid?”

  “Fifty now for each of you, and fifty when the job’s done.”

  Daz looked at the man. Could he trust him? This wasn’t how Geegee usually operated. He got people to do his bidding by intimidation not money. So what made this job so different? But Geegee wasn’t in the mood for answering questions, and Daz needed the cash, so what choice did he have?

  “Okay, you’re on — what do you want us to do?”

  Geegee fished in his pocket and pulled out a wad of notes. He carefully counted out one hundred pounds and handed it to Daz along with an envelope.

  “Tickets for a little coach trip you’re both going on,” he told him with a smirk. “Follow the instructions to the letter, and don’t mess up. Come round to my place tonight, after dark, and I’ll give you your luggage.”

  Daz scratched his head. Coach trip, what was that all about? Geegee looked even shiftier than normal.

  “Why don’t we just take our own luggage?” Daz asked.

  “Because you’ll take what I give you, that’s why.”

  Daz shuffled his feet. He was nervous, uncomfortable, this wasn’t good. It must be a delivery of some sort, possibly drugs. But if that was the case, why wasn’t Geegee being upfront about it? Everyone knew he ran drugs and he made no secret of it when he collared some poor sod for a drop. Something double dodgy, then, not drugs, so, what?

  “Where’re we going?”

  “Nowhere,” Geegee sneered. “You get off at the first stop — it’ll be a motorway services, then you scarper. There’ll be a car parked up for you. I’ll give you the keys later. Most importantly, you leave your luggage in the hold of the coach, where the driver puts it when you get on, and you don’t tell anyone. In fact, you don’t draw attention to yourselves on the coach at all — understand?”

  Daz nodded.

  “Let me down and I’ll do you, you and your mate — got it? And make sure the mate you take is that Asian guy you’re so fond of —no one else. Don’t get that wrong either.”

  Daz nodded. Like it not, it looked like he’d have to get Tan involved. He might not want to do Grady Gibbs’s dirty work but it was better than nothing. He’d better go find Tan and tell him the good news.

  * * *

  “Do something about that crazy fool; he’s smashing up my showroom!” Alex Reader shouted when Greco showed him his warrant card.

  “Mr Hirst!” he called out to the angry man, but Hirst was so enraged he didn’t seem to hear him.

  “Not the Sprite!”

  Reader darted forward and tried to wrench the office chair from Hirst’s hands. Hirst had been about to lob it at the sports car.

  “Do you know how much that’s worth?”

  “You killed her, you bastard!” Hirst flung back, trying to punch Reader in the face. He was crimson with rage. Despite Greco’s attempts to intervene, Hirs
t lunged for Reader and on the second try managed to knock him to the ground.

  “I never touched her!” Reader shrieked back, sliding along the showroom floor on his backside. “You’ve got this all wrong. Brenda and I were not having an affair.”

  “You’ve got her phone, so how did that happen?” Hirst demanded, kicking out with his booted foot and connecting with Reader’s hip.

  Quickenden arrived and hauled Hirst away, pushing him against the showroom counter. “Give it up,” he warned, while Greco helped Reader to his feet.

  “So how did you manage to get Mrs Hirst’s phone?” the DI asked, as Reader brushed down his expensive suit.

  “I don’t know. She must have left it in the car.”

  “What car?” Greco asked.

  “That frog-eyed Sprite.” He nodded towards it. “The one he was about to destroy. It was on Saturday night. I gave her a lift after work. She had shopping and I was practically going past her street. She liked the car. It was no big deal. I’d been promising her a ride in it for a while.”

  “But that’s not where you dropped her, is it?”

  “No. She wanted out before we got there.” He hung his head.

  “Why was that?”

  “We had words,” he admitted, “nothing heavy but Brenda got angry and wanted out.”

  “So, if you weren’t having an affair, what was going on?” Greco demanded.

  “I’d rather not say,” came the sheepish reply.

  Greco was just about to tell him exactly why he should say, when Hirst wriggled out of Quickenden’s grip and ran to the Sprite. Moments later he screamed.

  “There’s blood in the boot! What did I say? He killer her, I knew it.”

  “Watch him,” Greco told Quickenden, going to see for himself. Right enough, the carpet covering the floor of the boot had several small bloodstains on it. “The phone, where is it now?” he demanded.

  “In the office, on my desk,” Reader replied. “Look I don’t know how the blood got there but Brenda was fine when I left her.”

  “I’d like you to come down to the station with us, Mr Reader, and answer a few more questions.”

  Reader sighed heavily and nodded.

  “Uniform have arrived, sir,” Quickenden told him.

  “Take Reader out and hand him over to them. We’ll follow shortly.”

  “I’ll take you home, Mr Hirst. I’ve got some more questions for you too.”

  Greco rang the Duggan Centre; he wanted the CSI people to look at the Sprite.

  “Sergeant, we’ll give Mr Hirst a lift home. Take him to our car and wait with him, please.”

  He looked at the terrified female receptionist. “I want the showroom closed and no one is to touch that car. The forensic science people will come and collect it so make sure you have the keys ready for them. Now show me to Mr Reader’s office, please.”

  The phone was where Reader had said it was. Greco picked it up using a clean tissue and placed it in an evidence bag he took from his coat pocket.

  Hirst remained stubbornly quiet during the short drive home. He looked pale, shocked by what had happened, what he’d done.

  “You deliberately kept your wife’s relationship with Reader from us,” Greco stated, once they were inside his house. “Why would you do that?” He watched the man flop exhausted onto the sofa.

  “Because I was ashamed. I’d never have believed that Brenda could do that to me.”

  “Did you suspect?”

  Hirst inhaled deeply then nodded his head. “She was going out more, and she started having her hair done at that posh place in town.”

  “Dead give-away that,” Quickenden muttered, rolling his eyes.

  “You see the problem I have, Mr Hirst, is that your jealousy regarding Reader gives you a motive,” Greco told him, ignoring his sergeant.

  “I’d never hurt Brenda,” he protested. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there. Ask anyone; I was devoted to that woman.”

  “Reader denied the affair, sir,” Quickenden reminded him.

  “Well, he would, wouldn’t he?” Hirst scoffed.

  “I’m going to arrange for a uniformed officer to stay with you,” Greco decided. “And the offer is not negotiable,” he added.

  “The Duggan Centre, sir?” Quickenden asked, once they’d dropped Hirst off.

  “No. We’ll let them work on the car and the phone first. We’ll go back to the station and have a word with Alex Reader.”

  * * *

  “You’ve got this all wrong,” said Reader to the two detectives. “Anyway Brenda wasn’t my type. Surely you can see that?”

  “What I saw, Mr Reader, was a woman who’d been bludgeoned to death. Your type or not, I think you need to explain what was going on between the two of you.”

  The man fell silent for a few moments.

  “We’re waiting, Mr Reader.”

  “She didn’t want anyone to know. I promised her I wouldn’t say anything about it, ever.” He looked into Greco’s face. “I promised, Inspector, and she trusted me.”

  The look on Reader’s face told Greco that this was a big deal for him. Breaking his promise, even one made to a woman who was now dead, wasn’t something he’d do lightly.

  “Promise or no promise, Brenda was murdered and we need to exclude you from our enquiries. Given the evidence we’ve just discovered, surely you want that too?” He gave him a few moments to think about it. “What did you promise her?” Greco persisted. “I don’t think you appreciate the seriousness of this and the trouble you’re in. The woman is dead. Nothing you say now can hurt her, but it could help you.”

  “Brenda needed money,” he admitted reluctantly. “And she didn’t know anyone else who could lend her the amount she wanted.”

  “Why would you agree to lend her money?”

  “She’s a friend — was a friend,” he corrected himself. “We went to school together, we used to hang out. We always spoke, she’d pop in to the showroom, drool over the cars, share a joke, you know.”

  “What was the money for?” Quickenden asked.

  More silence as Reader looked from one man to the other. “Please don’t tell anyone else about this. It would hurt that fool of a husband of hers so much. Not that he deserves our protection.” He paused.

  “Protection from what?”

  “Brenda was pregnant,” he said at last, “about three months. She didn’t want the baby and she was adamant about it. There was no doubt in her mind.”

  “And her husband — what about him?”

  “She didn’t tell him. Brenda wanted the money for an abortion in a private clinic.”

  “You know that this is easily checked, Mr Reader. There will be a post-mortem,” Greco reminded him.

  Reader sat back in his chair staring at his feet. What was going through his head? The mention of a PM had rattled him, Greco could see. He must be holding something back.

  “It was mine,” he admitted at last.

  “So you were having a relationship?” Greco confirmed with a heavy sigh.

  “No, not really, it was all in her head,” he said.

  “The pregnancy wasn’t in her head.”

  “We had a fling, a one-night stand; she was lonely, fed up. She came round to the showroom after work and she didn’t want to go home. We talked. I opened a bottle of scotch and I suppose we got a little drunk.” He shrugged. “The next thing, we were . . .” He inhaled and looked away. “You know . . . at it.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “Brenda had the wrong idea entirely. It wasn’t meant to be anything serious. But she wouldn’t let it go. She kept dropping in, all dressed up, and asking to go out. I told her I couldn’t. My wife has had enough. I’m on a final warning as it is. If she finds out I’ve played away again, she’ll take me for every penny.”

  “Do you know a woman called Rose Donnelly?” Greco asked. “Were you having an affair with her too?”

  Greco saw Reader’s face cloud over. It ap
peared he knew the name, so why not just say so? What was going through the man’s mind?

  “No, of course not,” he said at last. “I don’t know that woman.”

  Greco could tell from his face and demeanour that this was a lie, but he had no proof.

  “I take it you are prepared to give us a DNA sample?” Greco asked.

  Reader nodded.

  “Arrange that and leave it on my desk, Sergeant,” Greco told Quickenden. “Was it you, Mr Reader, who rang Brenda during the day on her mobile while she was at work?”

  “Yes, mostly to make an excuse as to why I couldn’t see her. She wouldn’t take the hint. On Saturday night when I gave her a lift home I told her straight. It had to stop. I’d had enough.”

  “Did things get physical? Did you hurt her?”

  “No! I never touched her. She got out of the car at the bottom of Link Road and said she’d walk.”

  “Did you see which way she went?”

  “Towards the bottom of the estate,” he told them.

  “Towards the canal, then,” Quickenden added.

  Chapter 6

  Daz was jumpy. Meeting Geegee had done him no good at all. He wandered down Oldston High Street looking for his mate. He should be hanging out by the Spinners pub or in town, but he wasn’t. Half an hour of searching later he finally spotted him up a side street.

  “Hey, where’ve you been hiding, man? I’ve got something for you.”

  Tanweer Hussain smiled at his friend. He was standing with a group of Asian men. “I’ve been to the mosque,” he said, nodding at the golden-domed building behind him. “We’ve been weighing up what repairs need doing.”

  “Sorry, mate. I’ll leave you to it if you’ve got a lot on.”

  “No, it’s okay but be quick cos Kashif will be out anytime.”

  Kashif was his older brother — a brute of a man who didn’t like Daz much.

  “I’ve done something, something stupid, and I’ve dragged you into it too.” Daz grimaced, leading Tan out of earshot of the others.