by Rob Ashman
‘What happened to the Critchleys?’
‘After the attack, our operation was holed beneath the waterline and the authorities swooped in on the Critchley brothers. I retreated into my shell and stayed there, nursing a bottle of whisky. What I do know is the elder Critchley brother took the fall, allowing the younger one to walk free. Their head of security – a guy named Rolo – went down, along with a few other guys. I’m told my testimony was critical. I only wish I could remember it. I hit the booze hard and to be honest the whole thing is a bit of a blur. I suppose somewhere in the dusty vaults of Nottingham Police HQ there is a case file detailing the whole sorry mess.’
‘Just to clarify, the Critchley operation was where?’
‘The Critchleys were based out of Nottingham, and we lived in Birmingham.’
‘One of your attackers got away, didn’t you want revenge?’
‘I wanted it more than anything, but I made Blythe a promise that I wouldn’t go looking for them. As she lay in my arms with her blood pooling around us I made her that promise. So, I could never go back on it. The only way I could deal with what happened was to run away and hide. That’s how I ended up here.’
‘What do you do for a living now?’
‘Cash in hand jobs mainly, labouring and casual work.’
Kray gazed at Ellwood’s tear-stricken face. His vacant expression told her time was up. ‘Thank you for your time. I’m sure we will want to talk to you again, Billy. Do you have a number where I can reach you?’
He reeled off his mobile and Kray noted it in her book. She stood up to leave and handed him her card.
‘If you think of anything in the meantime, please give me a call, day or night.’
‘I know the drill.’ He opened the door.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ said Kray. Ellwood nodded back. ‘Oh, just one more thing; how did the Critchleys launder their money?’
‘They owned four nightclubs, ideal for cleaning the cash.’
Kray wandered back to her car, the image of the Paragon raging in her head.
Chapter 34
Kray bustled into the incident room and was pleased to find it empty. There was too much ground to cover to have anyone sitting in the office. Her mobile was pressed to the side of her head.
‘I know you have your hands full at the moment, Duncan, but I want you to look into something for me,’ she said, tossing her bag down on the table.
‘What is it, Roz?’ Tavener replied.
‘Ellwood had a brother named William who was an undercover cop. Back in 2000 he’d infiltrated a gang called the Critchleys who were based in Nottingham. They blew his cover and sent a three-man punishment squad to his house in Birmingham where they murdered his wife. Ellwood killed two of his attackers and the other got away. Dig out everything you can on the investigation; you might need to liaise with both police forces to get the full picture.’
‘Yes, will do. Do you think this has something to do with the death of Michael Ellwood?’
‘I don’t know. It might have a bearing on the case. We need it ASAP. Ellwood said his wife had skin under her fingernails from when she was attacked. Find out if they conducted DNA analysis that resulted in a match with the suspect’s. If you get any shit from Nottingham or West Mids give me a shout.’
‘Okay. Oh, and by the way, when I interviewed the elderly woman at the hospital who shared the same ward as the victim, she confirmed that she saw a man enter the room dressed in blue scrubs. I’m not sure how reliable she will be though, because she also kept asking me, “Where’s the terrorist?” Do you know what she was on about?’
‘No idea.’
‘Just thought I’d ask. Will get on to Notts straightaway.’ Tavener hung up, his new marching orders received and understood.
Kray stuck a picture of Billy Ellwood onto the whiteboard and began drawing connecting lines.
Fucking terrorist, my arse.
Her phone buzzed.
‘Hey, Tejinder, what have you got?’
‘I’m at the Majestic casino in Liverpool and I’m afraid it’s not good news.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’ve spoken to six employees who were here the night Weir was killed and each of them remembers Marshall turning up with his boys. They say they got here about midnight and left around one in the morning, which ties in with our timeline.’
‘Shit,’ Kray said, banging her hand on the desk. ‘Can we lay our hands on anything to verify their story – CCTV at the club, perhaps?’
‘If you’re going to swear, Roz, now is the time. The CCTV at the casino has been out of commission for a week. The manager said I was welcome to check it out but he was pretty adamant it won’t show anything.’
‘Fuck it!’ Kray spun on her heels. ‘Take a look anyway.’
‘Will do. The other thing is they remembered Josh not being there. Something about him missing out because they had sent him on an errand to buy bottles of Mumm champagne. They offered the information without being prompted.’
‘This gets bloody worse. What’s your take on it?’
‘It was too scripted.’
‘I bet it was. Okay, thanks for the update. Stay at the club and see if you can force any inconsistencies.’
‘Will do, Roz.’ Then he hung up.
‘Bollocks,’ Kray said, just as DCI Bagley wandered into the room.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he said.
‘Afternoon, sir, I’ve just got off the phone with–’
‘I’ve been talking to DI Brownlow, to find out how he’s getting on. He told me that his house-to-house enquiries are taking longer than expected because you have pinched one of his officers.’
‘Yes, that’s right, I–’
‘Do I have to remind you that I’m the one who allocates resources around here? And I do so on the basis of priorities.’
‘No, sir, you don’t have to remind me. Brownlow said the officer in question was spare.’
‘Spare? Spare! Do we look like a department that has people spare?’
‘I can only tell you what he told me.’
‘And you didn’t think it was worth running it past me first?’
‘No, sir, it seemed a pretty straightforward move.’
‘Brownlow now says he’s short-handed.’
I’ll fucking kill him.
‘Sir, when I spoke to Brownlow he assured me–’
‘Then I find out that you’ve cordoned off a ward in the hospital because it’s now a murder scene.’
‘That’s right, sir, it’s the Asian woman who–’
‘I know who it is. This is the young woman with enough track lines in her arms to kill three people, who gets run over by a taxi and has a bleed on her brain. She passes away under the watchful eye of the intensive care unit and you think it’s fucking murder? Am I missing something here?’
‘That woman was the victim of trafficking. She was not just some druggy who simply ran out into the road.’
‘Not that shit again. We had this conversation and I told you to pursue the line that she was involved in a drug connection with Ellwood. What evidence do you have that she was murdered?’ Kray cast her eyes up to the ceiling. ‘Come on, Roz, I want to know why we are burning resources investigating the murder of a woman who was probably going to die of her injuries anyway?’
‘They killed her so she couldn’t talk to us when she regained consciousness.’
‘They? Who the bloody hell are they?’
‘The people who trafficked her.’
‘And who are these people?’
‘I… I don’t know.’
‘That’s right, you don’t know, mainly because you’re chasing your intuition again rather than sticking to solid detective work.’
‘But…’
‘But nothing, Roz. We’ve made zero progress with the Ellwood case, zero progress investigating the knife attack leading to the death of Tommy Weir and you now have us chasing ghosts by conducting a murder enquiry into a woma
n who died of her injuries in hospital. What the hell is going on?’
Kray’s phone buzzed again. She glanced at the screen. ‘Sorry, sir, I need to take this.’
‘I suggest you answer my–’
‘Hey, Duncan.’ Roz turned her back to Bagley and paced to the other side of the room. She nodded but said nothing.
‘Roz, I haven’t finished,’ Bagley called over to her. Kray continued to listen on the call. ‘I won’t tell you again, Roz. Hang up now,’ he boomed. This time Roz did as she was told. ‘I don’t appreciate it when one of my team–’
‘That was Tavener.’ It was Kray’s turn to interrupt. ‘He’s with the pathologist at the hospital. The young woman died of heart failure after her brain shut down.’
‘See, I bloody told you.’
‘Her brain shut down because her sugar levels dropped dramatically due to a massive spike in her insulin levels. The spike sent her into severe hypoglycaemic shock. The medical staff in attendance thought it was caused by her head wound and didn’t test her blood. They were alerted when her heart monitor set off an alarm. By then it was too late. Forensics found traces of insulin on the canular stuck into her arm and the post-mortem confirmed a large quantity of insulin in her bloodstream. If the staff had given her an intravenous feed of glucose it would have reversed the effects, but they were unaware she had gone hypoglycaemic.’
‘I don’t understand, what are you saying?’
‘She was killed with a massive injection of insulin. That’s not all – there was another patient on the ward who recalls waking up to see a man in blue scrubs in the room.’
‘So what? They’re in and out all the time I would have thought.’
‘She is a bit hazy on the time but she definitely remembers seeing a man.’
‘Yes, but as I said–’
‘At the time there were no male nurses on shift.’ Bagley looked like someone had let the air out of him. ‘So, is it okay if I keep the spare person?’
Chapter 35
Jade is charging about the flat screeching at the top of her voice. ‘You were right. Your brother’s dead because of that bastard Marshall, even the coppers think so!’
I’m sitting on the bed with the memory box nestling in my lap. Blythe had made it when she found out she was pregnant – a twelve-inch square cardboard box covered in pink newborn baby wrapping paper.
‘We need to start collecting things early,’ she’d chimed. ‘A friend of mine only started hers after the baby was born and she’d lost stuff.’
The box now contains my memories of Blythe. Photographs, jewellery, perfume, a scarf – trinkets and keepsakes that remind me of her. I used to spray her perfume in the air and breathe in deeply; with my eyes shut it was as though she was sitting next to me. I could feel her presence. It was a stupid thing to do, the flood of grief that followed was too painful to bear.
Jade bursts in. ‘Sitting here moping won’t do you any good. You need to stick a knife into Marshall’s good eye.’
‘Give it a rest, Jade.’
‘How much more provocation do you need before you get off your arse and sort it? Christ knows you’re capable, just get out there and do it. I don’t get it.’ Jade is flushed in the face, the dark tattoos inked into her skin look angry.
‘For pity’s sake, leave me alone.’ I pick up the box and hurry into the lounge to get away from her. She follows me. ‘You know why I can’t do that.’
‘Yeah, I know why, but I don’t understand why.’
‘It’s… it’s… because.’
‘Come on, what have you got to lose?’ She grabs her hair and mimics pulling it out. ‘You have no fucking life anyway! You go to work, eat shit food, watch TV and have the occasional wank. Hardly an enviable lifestyle. Walk up to the bastard and slice through his windpipe, then we can watch him gargle his last breath together. Wouldn’t that be great? If you get caught and go to jail, so what? You can go to work, eat shit food, watch TV and have the occasional wank just as well in prison.’
‘That’s enough! I’m off for a drive.’ I push past her and bang the front door closed behind me. ‘And don’t bother coming with me.’
I can hear her yelling as I hurry down the stairs to my car. I slam the door and breathe deeply, a welcome silence washes through my head. The engine cranks into life and I pull away from the kerb.
The urban scenery drifts by and I try to blank Jade’s words from my mind. Life is never that simple.
Blythe was never supposed to die first, that was always my job. I was five years her senior and when the beer and wine flowed it was a topic that never failed to make its way into the conversation.
‘You know you’re going to die first, don’t you?’ she would say, giggling.
‘Yes, if I get given the choice,’ I would reply.
It made us laugh every time.
When we married we thought about having it written into our vows. It had a certain ring to it.
…in sickness and in health,
to love and to cherish,
till death do us part… only, you have to die first.
We scrapped the idea. Blythe’s family would have disapproved even more than they did already. When I think about it now – it doesn’t make me laugh. I never got the choice to go first. One minute she was there and the next she was gone.
And therein lies the problem – nobody tells you how to be a man. If you’re female there are a million different places where you can seek advice, each one telling you how to be a woman. The majority of it is a heady mix of toxic ideologies and conflicting advice, designed to perpetuate self-loathing, but at least it’s there. At least women can choose.
If you’re a man there’s nothing.
Then, when you reach the age of thirty-something, you kind of work it out for yourself and the message is pretty simple: Go to work and look after your family. That’s it.
There are nuances around the edges about love and fidelity, and not being a total dick – but basically that’s it.
So, when as a man, you fail at fifty percent of what is a straightforward to-do list, it’s tough to take. It leaves an indelible mark on your soul that no amount of living can wash away.
I only had to do two things and one of them I screwed up. The only thing I have left is a solemn promise, a promise I cannot break.
I find myself parked at the side of the road. Autopilot has kicked in and I’m staring at the front of the Paragon. I check my watch. An hour has gone by since I got away from the torment of Jade. I lift the lid on the memory box and lift out the scarf, breathing in her scent as deeply as I can. There are still faint notes of Blythe but the fragrance has gone, replaced mainly with the smell of old clothes.
I pick a photograph from the bottom of the box. It’s not a holiday snap, or a picture from a raucous night out, it depicts a tiny person not yet born. The black, white and grey blend together to show a head, a leg, one arm and a rotund belly. All in glorious silhouette.
At the bottom is printed: Wed 1 March 2000 – 18 weeks. I remember it as if it was yesterday. We were both in awe of what we were looking at and Blythe gripped my hand as the nurse handed over the scan picture. We danced our way out of the maternity ward. We were so happy.
I look up and see movement behind the glass doors of the club. A dark shadow moving slowly. Then a square of fluorescent yellow bursts into view. It’s a Post-it.
I shove the box off my lap onto the passenger seat and drive out of town. About half a mile down the road I swing into the car park of a hotel, get out and dash to reception. A tall, willowy woman with long hair and glasses greets me at the desk.
‘Hello, sir, how may I help?’
‘Do you have a public payphone?’
‘Certainly, down this corridor following the signs for the Business Hub, and there are two on the left.’
I thank her and follow her directions. I find the phones mounted to the wall, lift the receiver, feed money into the slot and push the buttons. I hear a syntheti
c warble at the other end. It rings and rings.
Pick up, pick up.
‘Hello,’ a curt voice answers – it’s him.
‘Are you able to talk, Mr Marshall?’ I ask.
‘That was quick.’
‘I find it pays to have eyes everywhere.’
‘So it would seem.’
‘Can you talk?’ I hear the sound of a door closing.
‘I can.’
‘I hope you have good news for my client?’
‘There is a new shipment coming in and we will be auctioning the merchandise tomorrow at the Paragon.’
‘That doesn’t give me much notice.’
‘We prefer to operate on a just-in-time basis with the stock, I’m sure you understand.’
‘Of course. My client will want to be there in person if that’s acceptable?’
‘That won’t be a problem. There will be others in the room along with a number of remote customers. A door fee of five thousand pounds will be levied on entering the club and it is a cash only event. I will be checking the money myself on arrival and, of course, deducting our fee.’
‘That all sounds in order. How does my client gain access?’
‘Knock on the front door and ask to buy a used car. That will gain him entrance.’
‘Can I assure my client that your operation has security and discretion as its number one priority?’
‘You can. You can also tell your client that there is a ten per cent house commission on all purchases and another five per cent commission for me.’
‘Is that usual?’
‘The house commission is a standard charge, the one for me is… shall we say… another goodwill gesture.’
‘My client is very grateful for his FastPass and would be only too pleased to show his appreciation.’