‘You interviewed Jeremy Scott years ago then watched him walk. That must have been hard,’ Sam said.
‘My job was always to put them before a court,’ Reynolds straight batting. ‘After that it was down to the jury.’
Ed turned his head to look directly at him, offended by the answer, the words nothing he would ever have expected to pass Ray Reynolds’ lips.
‘Then,’ Sam was saying now, ‘there’s your friendship with John Elgin.’
‘So?’
‘He was abused by Scott. His grandson was abused by Pritchard and van Dijk.’
‘And let’s not forget Linda Pritchard,’ Ed joined in.
‘Fucking hell Ed. I thought you’d lost the power of speech.’
Ed ignored Reynolds’ sarcasm.
‘Nee Avery, previously known as Elizabeth Doherty, a snout of yours for years, informing on Billy Skinner’s businesses after she was dumped by him.’
Reynolds turned his eyes back on Sam. ‘Is this the best you’ve got?’
He unwrapped another biscuit. ‘I know all of these people, so that makes me a killer?’
‘Everything was so well planned,’ Sam said.
‘Flattery won’t get you anywhere,’ another cold smile. ‘If you had anything you’d be asking me these questions down the nick.’
‘Believe me,’ Sam said. ‘I’ve got more than enough to take you into custody.’
‘And I’d sit and say nothing,’ Reynolds shot back. ‘You’d have struggled to get a charge back in my day, but now? Not a prayer.’
Reynolds sat forwards, narrowing the gap between himself and Sam, chess players without the board.
‘Trust me I will get the evidence if you’re involved,’ Sam said.
‘And trust me it’ll never get to court,’ Reynolds’ eyes locked on hers.
‘You wouldn’t know what evidence looked like if it smacked your tight little arse. Like all modern coppers, you haven’t got a clue.’
It was Sam who broke the uneasy silence that settled, Ed watching and wondering where she would move next.
‘Maybe I should arrest you anyway,’ letting Reynolds think about it, the consequences.
‘So you lift me and then what? Try to get me charged, get me on remand, let me die there, surrounded by the scum-bags I spent a lifetime putting away,’ the bitterness as biting as the smoke grey haze in the room.
‘But all you were bothered about was getting them before a court,’ Sam pushed.
Reynolds sat up straight and jabbed his index finger, the voice a blade.
‘Don’t get arsy with me young lady…And at what point do you propose cautioning me?’
‘I’m just here for a chat,’ Sam staying with it, refusing to let herself be intimidated.
Reynolds said: ‘So what do you want? Me to fill in the blanks for you? The wannabe seeking advice from a real SIO.’
‘Something like that,’ Sam told him, keeping her emotions hidden, any pity for him gone.
Reynolds sat back and crossed his legs, eyes sharp, alert, Ed watching him.
He’s still in this...
‘What’s in it for me?’ Reynolds said evenly now. ‘You’re not seriously expecting me to talk myself onto the remand wing are you?’
Sam looked away. The rule of law sat above everything. Noble-cause corruption, whatever the reasons behind it, was no different in her world to out and out corruption. She despised bent coppers.
Sam looked at Ray Reynolds, looked at Ed, and made her decision.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Maybe I don’t have enough evidence to charge you now and while I might get it, it might not come quick enough.’
Reynolds listened, his mouth a tight line.
‘I have no desire to put a man, retired police officer or not, on remand for the last few weeks of his life...’
Sam fumbled in her bag and found her cigarettes, tugging a Marlboro free.
‘But I want to know what happened,’ she went on. ‘I don’t want you taking it to...’
She stopped, the next words held at a mental road block.
Reynolds said it for her.
‘To the grave?’ He held her gaze. ‘Even if I had secrets, how do I know I can trust you?’
Sam fired her lighter and held the flame to the Marlboro, the taste good as she drew in smoke.
‘You’ll have to take my word for it, but things haven’t changed that much since your day,’ Sam told him. ‘A confession here, in your house, without you being cautioned, is worthless. Any brief in the land will trash it; just say your illness had made you confused, vulnerable.’
Reynolds was quiet, listening.
Sam said: ‘What I want is a confession and then for you to make a written statement between now and your last day outlining what happened.’
‘A quasi dying declaration?’ Reynolds gave a weak smile. ‘Very dramatic.’
He reached for a new pack of cigarettes and slowly unwrapped the cellophane.
‘You know I always loved that Ealing Comedy ‘Kind Hearts and Coronets’ but the killer, Louis Mazzini, lived to regret writing the account of his murders.’ He took a cigarette from the packet. ‘Why should I write mine? So you can look good, Sam? So my reputation ends in shame, cut to pieces in the press?’
‘So the families can get closure,’ Sam told him.
Reynolds put the cigarette in his mouth and left it unlit while he unwrapped another biscuit.
‘The families of nonces and gangsters,’ he spat the words. ‘Scum who terrified little kids and decent people. This is about you Sam. Not them.’
Ed had been watching in silence but now he spoke.
‘Maybe plenty will call you a hero,’ he said. ‘They might celebrate what you did, certainly the victims of the ones who’ve been killed.’
Reynolds nodded, a gesture to a point well made, but offered another take.
‘What I may, or may not have done, was not done for acclaim or kudos,’ he said. ‘If it was me, it was done out of a sense that the system is broken, the guilty being acquitted, some of them not even getting to trial. Summary justice dished out for the people.’
He snapped the biscuit in half and popped it into his mouth.
‘If it was me, I’ve done you a favour,’ he spoke through crumbs. ‘I’ve got rid of Pritchard and van Dijk, who would never have stopped, and I’ve started a gang war that will end who knows where. Billy Skinner’s dead, may he burn, Luke Skinner running around like a headless chicken, his brother Mat and his boyfriend Mekins vanished. It’s quite a list. Shame about Harry...’
‘Harry Pullman?’ Sam said. ‘What about him?’
‘He’s upped sticks.’
Reynolds gave Ed a knowing glance.
‘We’ve got Harry,’ Ed told him.
Reynolds picked up his mug, the brew only luke warm.
‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ he said. ‘And his nephew?’
‘Don’t know,’ Ed answered.
Reynolds shrugged then spoke again.
‘Linda was living a nightmare with Pritchard and Scott’s victims at least know he went in agony. Who exactly lost here?’
He turned his head and looked at his wife on the windowsill.
‘Not the good guys, that’s for sure.’
When Reynolds rubbed his eyes it had nothing to do with the smoke.
Sam wanted to tell him he was wrong, that the good guys always lost when they tore up the rule book and let true justice die.
‘So, what happens now?’ Reynolds throwing it back on her.
‘I want the names of those involved,’ Sam said.
‘You’ve got them according to your line of thought,’ Reynolds told her. ‘Me and Cat.’
‘A witness at the traffic lights saw three men.’
Reynolds shook his head. ‘You get nothing if you expect me to tip up a decent lad helping two men fulfil their dying wishes.’
‘We’ll find out eventually,’ Sam said.
‘You won’t,’ Reyno
lds digging in, determined. ‘You’ve got nothing. No witnesses, no forensics and you’ll not get me or Cat bless him tipping up anybody.’
Sam believed him but had to push. ‘Was he another retired detective?’
Reynolds stared at her. ‘Move on Sam or this conversation’s finished.’
‘What about Declan Doherty? Did you speak to him?’
‘Declan’s a good sort,’ Reynolds answered. ‘Easy to wind up. He would always buy my innuendos, but you’ll have more chance charging me than you will him and his mates. Not exactly renowned for cracking in police custody are they?’
‘Did you give him any masks?’ Sam asked.
‘No law against that is there,’ this time Reynolds’ smile seemed genuine. ‘I gave them to him for the young ones.’
‘And John Elgin?’ Ed joining in, moving through the cast list.
‘A weak man but decent enough,’ Reynolds stood up. ‘Imagine being born into a life of privilege and having it snatched away on the whim of a vindictive old twat. Considering his start in life he turned out okay. He just needs to wise up, get shot of his wife, stop shagging young girls and settle down with someone nice. Life’s too short to be stuck in unhappy relationships.’
He looked at the photograph.
‘I want to know why Cat replaced the headlight on the Transit and then burnt it out,’ Sam said.
The detective in Reynolds understood the attention to detail, the need to close everything off.
‘Maybe the people concerned felt it had been compromised,’ he said. ‘They might have been wrong, but better safe than sorry. They certainly wouldn’t want to be caught before they sorted Skinner.’
‘The number plate?’ Sam said. ‘Belonging to a traffic car.’
Ray Reynolds laughed. ‘Someone with a sense of humour. Obviously liked the thought of taking the piss out of the Black Rats. Bit like Cat. He once broke into a uniform Superintendent’s office one weekend and wallpapered it in cartoon racing cars because the Super wouldn’t stop talking about his one and only trip to Silverstone.’
Reynolds smiled at the memory.
‘Easy enough to get a set of plates made up the way we would for a retirement present and before you ask, supposing I knew I won’t say where or by who and nobody who made them is going to admit it.’
‘What about the coke to drown Skinner,’ Sam asked, like ticking off a shopping list.
‘Easy enough to get it off someone like Harry I would imagine,’ Reynolds told her. ‘Enough to do the job. Maybe Harry wanted to take over. Maybe that’s why he was accused of skimming by Mat. If you’ve got him you can ask him, but he’s old school. He’s not going to drop any of his friends in the shit.’
‘And Pritchard and van Dijk?’
Reynolds suddenly looked tired, seemed older.
‘What about them?’ he said. ‘Two favours in one if you ask me. Helped out John and Linda. I still see Linda now and again.’
‘Does it go beyond that?’ Sam said.
Reynolds shook his head.
‘Don’t get me wrong, Linda is beautiful and when I helped her years ago she did offer favours in return.’
Sam held his gaze.
‘But I couldn’t betray Barbara then, just like I couldn’t betray her memory now.’
Sam stood up. ‘Can I borrow your pen again?’
Reynolds looked at Ed. ‘Don’t you even teach them to carry pens these days?’
Reynolds reached towards the table, lifted the pen from the newspaper and handed it to Sam.
She thanked him as she headed for the door.
‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Now what?’ Reynolds said to Ed.
Ed shrugged his shoulders and looked at the ticking clock.
It was ten minutes before Sam returned with her briefcase.
Ten minutes is a long time to sit in another man’s house in silence.
‘Any danger I can finish polishing my car,’ Reynolds was on his feet.
Sam was suddenly back in the doorway.
‘Sit down and spare me the indignation and histrionics you murdering bastard.’
The words hit Reynolds like a blow, his face moving from shock to rage in a heartbeat.
‘How dare you?’ his voice burning. ‘Don’t ever speak to me like that, not in my own home, not anywhere. You’ll show me the respect my rank warrants you jumped up little...’
Sam moved across the room, didn’t speak until she was nose to nose with Reynolds.
‘You lost that the day you started your killing spree,’ she said. ‘Did you seriously think I was just going to walk away? Let your number three get away with murder. You might have torn up the rule book but I haven’t. Now sit down.’
Ed hadn’t moved. Like Reynolds, Sam’s outburst had left him stunned. Now he was trying to work out where this was going.
Sam sat down, opened her briefcase and took out her laptop.
She put the laptop on her knee and powered it up.
‘Remember when computers were heavy as hell and stuck on desks?’ She said it almost to herself. ‘These days you can lift them in one hand and be holding more memory than you’d need in a lifetime.’
She took a silver USB from her case, held it between her thumb and forefinger, and raised it towards the ceiling.
‘So much memory in one of these, too.’
Sam pressed the USB into the computer and didn’t look up when she spoke, Reynolds watching her like a man in front of a magician.
‘Smaller and smaller computers with bigger and bigger memories,’ Sam went on. ‘The mobile phone you won’t have is now basically a computer.’
Reynolds’ eyes locked on Sam, nostrils flaring in the charged courtroom silence.
Ed was waiting, still bewildered. Experience had taught him that Sam, like a smart defence barrister, was about to drop a bombshell.
The two men watched as Sam hit a couple of keys, listened without moving their gaze as she spoke again.
‘But it’s not just computers that have got smaller. Lots of technology is packed into smaller things.’
Now Sam looked up and glared at Reynolds. ‘Maybe some evidence did smack my tight little arse.’
She put the laptop on the floor and leaned forward. ‘Did you think it was an accident when I bumped into you yesterday?’
Ed’s eyes were widening by the second.
‘Did it never cross your supercilious macho mind that I knew exactly where you were?’ Sam turning the screw. ‘That I knew you were alone, knew you were doing a crossword?’
She waved the pen. ‘With this...’
Reynolds jumped to his feet.
‘Congratulations. I’m impressed. So you knew I was in the coffee shop. What a detective you are.’
His arm shot up and he pointed at the door. ‘Now get out.’
Sam didn’t move.
‘Sit down,’ it was an order, ‘I’m not finished.’
She held the pen like a prize or a piece of secret treasure.
‘Covert devices are tiny these days,’ her voice quiet now. ‘Do you know you can put a camera in a watch? Or a listening device in a pen?’
Reynolds and Ed followed her hand as she hit play on the laptop.
It was only a moment before Ray Reynolds’ voice boomed from the speaker.
‘Ed Whelan’s got Harry. Jeannie Jackson’s been on the blower.’
Sam pressed pause.
‘You conniving little slag,’ Reynolds spat the words.
‘With the tight little arse,’ Sam’s response coated in sarcasm.
Ed was still trying to process what had happened, what had been in play whilst he was in the Lakes with Harry Pullman.
Reynolds turned to him.
‘You had no idea what she was up to did you, you useless bastard. Ever thought she believed you were the third man?’
Ed looked at Sam, said nothing.
‘It doesn’t matter what I thought,’ Sam said. ‘All that matters is the third man
is on tape.’
The silence moved in on Reynolds like the sliding walls of a tomb in a fantasy film. The cancer wasn’t the reason for his rapid, shallow breathing.
‘And he is,’ Sam said with a smile and an air of triumph. ‘I’ve just had a quick listen in the car. The two of you running through the murders, making sure you’d covered your tracks.’
Reynolds was back on his feet, shouting, breathing deeper, his heart pumping blood to his neck. ‘Breach of privacy! You’ll never get it admitted.’
Sam stood up, authority in every word. ‘Get your coat and lock your car. We’ll do this at the nick.’
She closed the laptop, took out the USB, and placed both back in her briefcase.
She took a few steps forwards. ‘Rest assured Mr Reynolds everything I have done has been correctly authorised in accordance with the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act. You might remember it. I learnt all about it on my looking after lost kids course.’
Chapter Fifty
Friday, 19th December
Neither of them spoke in the car.
Ed was thinking of The Eagles’ song ‘Desperado’. What was that line? Something about letting someone love you before it’s too late?
He looked at Sam and smiled.
She was aware of him looking. She glanced at him and smiled back.
‘I need some fresh air,’ she said.
Fifteen minutes later she parked near the promenade.
‘Let’s have a walk.’
They headed towards the pier, a wind nipping at them, carrying a fine spray and the smell of the churning water.
‘I need to clear my head,’ Sam said.
The sea, rough white waves breaking early, was punching into the pier, the spray getting heavier.
A couple, head down, had their black Cockapoo on a short lead.
‘Is there anything worse than arresting police officers, even if they’re retired?’ Sam said, her cheeks already numb.
‘Did you seriously think I was involved?’ Ed looked away as he spoke.
‘No.’
Lie, Sam told herself, even though she hadn’t hesitated.
Everything and anything was possible in her world.
‘But,’ she continued, ‘I didn’t want anybody on the team to know what I had planned with Reynolds. Besides, if he hadn’t got in touch with Jimmy Bell I’d have been none the wiser.’
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