by Adam Croft
He’d decided to conduct an unofficial stakeout. Frank Vine and Steve Wing would watch the brothel from a vacant property across the street, which Jack would rent out privately. Anything they discovered just wouldn’t stand up in court — there wasn’t an ice cube’s chance in hell of that — but if it gave them a lead or a piece of intelligence which they could follow in order to gather evidence which was admissible in court, then it would all be for the greater good. And, if all else failed, the least it might do is drive the criminals out of town.
What he hadn’t told anyone is that he’d already made enquiries about the property in his own time, and had been pleasantly surprised when he found out who the ultimate owner of the property was.
It was time for a short drive out to Meadow Hill Lane.
37
Wendy rubbed her eyes as she tried to focus on the mountain of paperwork in front of her. She was sure the documents were breeding during the night: the pile seemed to grow every day, and she wasn’t sure how she could ever get it all dealt with.
She glanced up at the kitchenette area and saw Ryan Mackenzie making herself a hot drink. Keen to have a few minutes away from the computer screen and mound of papers, she walked over and started to make herself a coffee.
‘How are things with you?’ she asked Ryan.
‘Yeah, not bad. Same old shit, y’know.’
‘Mandy well?’
‘Yeah, she’s good. She got a new car yesterday, so she’s busy dribbling all over that. I don’t see it myself, but there you go. That’s another five grand that won’t be going towards a house deposit.’
Wendy had seen Mandy’s Facebook post last night, complete with pictures of her shiny new car. She knew what Ryan’s reaction would’ve been, and she was right.
‘Must be good to be thinking of settling down,’ Wendy said.
‘Yeah. I can only imagine. Feels like we’ll never get there, though.’
‘Money’s just money. Main thing is you’re with someone you love and you’ve got a dream to aim for. Think yourself lucky you’re not me. My aim’s like a bloody Stormtrooper’s.’
Ryan laughed. Wendy knew she’d appreciate a Star Wars reference. ‘Yeah, well. It doesn’t all smell of roses, I can tell you that.’
‘You’re young. You’ve no rush. I, on the other hand, am practically decrepit and still living on my own. I might just get some more cats.’
Ryan laughed again. ‘You’ve got that bloke. What’s he called. Pepe.’
‘Xavier. And yes, sort of, but we’re not living together.’
‘Yet.’
‘We’re taking things slowly.’
Ryan smiled and nodded. ‘Ah. I know that tone of voice. That sounds familiar. You mean he’s taking it slowly.’
Wendy laughed. ‘Something like that.’
‘Commitment-phobe?’
Wendy shrugged. ‘I think we just have different priorities.’
‘I thought you were going for your exams, anyway. Surely you’ll have enough on your plate with that.’
‘Another contentious point,’ Wendy said.
Ryan raised her eyebrows. ‘Blimey. You’ve got plenty of those, then.’
‘Yeah, tell me about it. Part of me is dead keen to settle down and get things moving. Maybe even have a family. But another part of me wants to do the whole career progression thing.’
‘Well you sure as hell can’t do both. Not easily. Not in this job.’
‘No, I know. Tell me about it. What would you do if it was you?’
Ryan chuckled a little. ‘That’s an easy one. But then you and I aren’t the same person. We probably wouldn’t make the same choice. That’s what makes it a dilemma.’
‘You’d go for the family, wouldn’t you?’ Wendy asked, sensing she knew the answer.
Ryan tried to be diplomatic. ‘This is a job. It’s one that I’m fully dedicated to and I take it very seriously, but it’s a job. There are other jobs. It’s not quite so easy to replace your personal life.’
Wendy couldn’t argue with that. The only problem was that she had no personal life to replace. The more she thought about it, the more she recognised that the message Ryan was trying to give her wasn’t so much about what she wanted to gain, but what she stood to lose.
She was very fond of Xav, but they were only casually involved with each other. There’d probably be other Xavs out there. Her career, on the other hand, had been her life. She’d spent years trying to become the best police officer she could, fought to get into CID and was immensely proud the day she became a sergeant. But that was the point at which she’d stalled: the point where if she progressed any further she’d match her late father’s job title and potentially go on to outrank him.
Bill Knight’s career and his life had been tragically cut short, and it felt completely wrong for her to follow in his footsteps and end up doing better than him. That should have been him. He could have gone so much further, were it not for one devastating day.
But Ryan was right, even though she probably didn’t realise what she’d said. Wendy had far more to lose on the career front than she did in her personal life and, in any case, if Xav was as keen on her as she was on him, he’d be happy to work around it.
For the first time in a long time, she thought she might finally have made up her mind.
38
Going to visit Gary McCann was always an odd pleasure for Jack Culverhouse. McCann was known in the town as a prominent businessman, and to the police as a prolific white-collar criminal who had slipped through their hands like slime for almost four decades.
He’d started life as a petty criminal, burgling little old ladies and getting away with it, until he’d progressed on to bigger things. He had a penchant for investing in local businesses, although his method of investment usually involved buying a controlling share in a struggling local business and putting in just enough money to keep it afloat, meanwhile using it to launder his illegally-acquired funds before pulling the plug and leaving everyone high and dry.
There had been whispers of far bigger crimes, too. His first wife had disappeared in suspicious circumstances, and the widely-held belief was that he’d been involved in her murder.
Culverhouse saw McCann as something of a nemesis, and McCann saw him as a plaything. The balance of power had shifted innumerable times over the years, but none had ever won what either of them would call a convincing victory. And, despite it all, Gary McCann still — somehow — had an unblemished record and absolutely no criminal convictions.
As he pulled up outside the gates to McCann’s house on Meadow Hill Lane, he was pleasantly surprised to see the distinctive Range Rover parked on the gravel near the house. Not only did it mean McCann was in, but it meant Culverhouse’s instincts had been right all along.
He pressed the buzzer on the gate and waited for McCann to answer. He enjoyed these little skirmishes with his old nemesis, and had prepared a quip for the intercom system, but McCann had said nothing, and instead the gates buzzed and whirred open.
Culverhouse walked through, leaving his car parked on the other side, watching as the front door opened and McCann stepped out onto the gravel.
‘I thought it was you on the screen, but I couldn’t be sure. You’ve put on weight, Detective Inspector.’
‘Detective Chief Inspector. And what can I say? The camera always adds ten pounds.’
McCann looked Culverhouse up and down, nodding. ‘I’d say maybe twenty or thirty.’
‘And I’d say “go fuck yourself”, but there you are. Kettle on?’
‘It will be. Come on in.’
Culverhouse had a personal rule that he’d never compliment McCann’s house or lifestyle in any way. Despite the large sweeping staircase, half an acre of garden and kitchen that looked like it was made with ten tons of marble, he always tried to remain less than impressed.
‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure this time?’ McCann asked, as he sat down on a stool at the breakfast bar in the middl
e of the huge kitchen.
‘You’ve got a property on Alexandra Street. A few, in fact.’
‘I have indeed. All legitimate and above board.’
‘Oh, I’ve no doubt about that. After all, even you have to get some clean money from somewhere, McCann. Funnily enough, I’m not here on strictly police business.’
McCann leant forward, now seeming interested in Culverhouse’s presence. ‘No?’
‘No. I’m here because I want to rent one of them.’
McCann looked at him for a moment, before a smile started to appear on his face. The smile soon gave way to laughter, and before long he was wiping tears from his eyes.
‘You want to rent one?’ he said, once he’d composed himself.
‘Yeah. I do,’ Culverhouse replied, his facial expression not changing.
‘Well you’re in the wrong place. You’ll need to see Arbour James in the town centre. They’ve got the lettings contract.’
‘I’d rather go direct, if that’s alright with you, Gary.’
‘Go on. What’s the joke?’
‘There is no joke. Number 46. I want to rent it. Direct from you.’
McCann was no longer laughing. ‘Why?’
‘Because I do. I only want it for a month, but I’ll pay you three months rent.’
McCann smirked. ‘Sorry, already got someone interested. And anyway, the minimum term’s a year.’
Culverhouse did a quick mental calculation. A year’s rent would be nine grand. In any case, that was irrelevant. Culverhouse went in for the kill.
‘Six months. Four and a half grand. Cash. No agent’s fees, no hassle. I’ll be out by this time next month and you can put it back on the market.’
‘What’s the catch?’
‘No catch,’ Culverhouse replied.
‘One condition. You tell me what you want it for. If you’re using one of my properties as your secret shag pad, I wouldn’t mind knowing about it. I’ve only just had those carpets steam cleaned.’
Culverhouse smiled. ‘Don’t you worry. I’ve got my own carpets to make a mess of. I won’t even set foot in number 46. But, as luck would have it, you’ve just reminded me of something. Does Darwin Road mean anything to you?’
McCann shrugged. ‘Same as it means to anyone in this town, I suppose.’
‘Alright. What about number 53 Darwin Road?’
McCann blinked a few times. ‘Yeah, that’s one of mine too. But I’m guessing you already know that.’
‘Payment in cash, is it? Or maybe you take part-payment by other means?’
McCann narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out exactly how much Culverhouse knew. ‘Go on. Explain yourself, Detective Inspector.’
Culverhouse decided against correcting him. He knew McCann only did it to wind him up. ‘You were seen there. Two nights in a row.’
‘Of course I was. It’s my property. The owner had an issue with the plumbing.’
‘So why not send a plumber?’
‘I like to get stuck in myself.’
‘Oh, I bet you do. I wonder if your missus would be interested in finding out just how “stuck in” you’ve been getting with the short-haired blonde I saw you necking at the front door last night.’
McCann looked at him for a few moments. ‘What about her?’
‘Well, she doesn’t look a thing like Imogen, does she? Who is she?’
McCann let a smile escape from his face. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know, Detective Inspector?’
‘No, not really. What about Imogen? Is she upstairs? I can talk a little louder, if you like.’
McCann nodded slowly. ‘I see. Blackmail now, is it? And you’ve got the cheek to call me a criminal.’
Culverhouse removed the brown envelope from his jacket pocket and put it down on the counter. ‘Four and a half. Cash.’ He held his hand out. ‘Keys.’
McCann paused for a moment. ‘They’re with Arbour James. I’ll get them to you by tomorrow.’
‘You think I’m giving you the chance to get in there and bug the place? I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t give your only set of keys to your properties to anyone. I’m leaving your house right now and heading straight to Alexandra Street. And I’m heading there with the spare keys I know you’ve got, right here right now.’
McCann smiled, then stood up and left the room for a moment. Culverhouse kept an eye on him, and listened carefully. Within twenty seconds, McCann came back into the kitchen with a set of keys in his hand.
‘Try not to make a mess of the carpets, alright, Detective Inspector?’
39
It had taken a bit of working out, but Jack was pleased with what he’d managed to do. Steve and Frank’d had their rotas amended so they’d both be off at the same time. It was easy enough to swap shifts with another officer, as long as no-one was working obscenely long hours. It had been known for defence briefs to stand up in court and suggest that an investigation was flawed because the officers involved were highly likely to be clinically fatigued. Balancing that with the genuine necessity for everyone to work long hours due to budget cuts and staffing shortages was where the fun came in.
In many ways, he was fortunate to have Steve and Frank. They each had many vices and disadvantages, but he could not fault their loyalty. As unmotivated and grumpy as Frank was, and as lazy and inappropriate as Steve was, each of them would do whatever Culverhouse asked, even if it meant putting their jobs on the line to help get a result. That sort of loyalty was severely lacking in modern-day policing, and he knew he had to protect it at all costs.
That was why the stakeout was completely unofficial and absolutely unconnected with any police business. Steve and Frank would, on paper, be staying in a friend and colleague’s newly rented property for a couple of days to help get it up to scratch and keep an eye on things. Jack had even bought a few tins of paint, just to add to the back story.
The only aspect missing from his legend was why a senior police officer with a mortgage-free house of his own would want to rent a house barely a mile or two away. That, though, didn’t really matter. In any case it was irrelevant — wrongdoing would have to be proven, not disproven — and he was sure McCann would keep things under wraps. He had too much to lose to do otherwise.
Frank and Steve had been told that they were under no circumstances to bring police property into the rented house. There should be no way anyone could claim this was some sort of underhand off-the-record police stakeout.
Jack had briefed them that they should keep their eyes and ears open at all times. A camera had been fitted in the upstairs front bedroom window — small and covert enough that it wouldn’t be spotted, but it would allow them not to have to worry about sitting at the window all day, and would enable Culverhouse to watch back any footage at a later date. It wouldn’t be admissible in court by a long shot, but it would give him a lead to work with and a trail to follow.
Night times would be different. Although they’d managed to disguise the video camera within the pattern of the net curtains, at night it would require an infrared light source to record footage. A circle of red dots would certainly be visible from across the road, so that wasn’t an option. Instead, they’d take it in turns to sit up and watch the property, with a camera and long lens at the ready.
It was a risky business, but Jack had no choice. There was no way in hell he was going to go grovelling to Cummings. The man had practically blackmailed them into privately supporting his re-election, and in justifying an official stakeout they’d have to admit to the errors which led to the deaths of Milan Nikolic and Zoran Petrovic. That would almost certainly give Cummings the impetus to shut Mildenheath CID down and move everyone into Milton House.
If that happened, Jack, Steve and Frank would be pensioned off within months, if not weeks. They didn’t quite ‘fit the bill’ of the modern-day CID officer, and it would be curtains for all three of them. Jack genuinely had no idea what that would mean for the town. His strong instinct was that serious
crime would rise significantly. It was already bad enough with a police presence right in the centre of town. Moving it almost twenty miles away would turn the place into the Wild West.
Jack wasn’t averse to taking a risk, but he’d only risk himself: never the future of the entire unit.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he took it out and looked at the screen. It was a message from Chrissie.
What time do you want me over tonight? CX
In his keenness to get things moving on Operation Counterflow, he’d forgotten all about the dinner that Emily had arranged. He hadn’t even cleaned the house. He silently cursed Emily for putting him on the spot like that, but at the same time was pleased she had. Otherwise, there was no way he would have invited her over. Emily clearly knew that. He looked at his watch and calculated how long he had before he’d have to get back and run a hoover round.
Steve and Frank were due to finish in an hour or so, and would be heading straight to the stakeout house. Officially, they were then no longer on police business until they came back after their days off. It was unconventional, but sometimes the rulebook had to be thrown away.
It was either that or more lives would be lost.
40
Ryan Mackenzie’s research into the ownership of the property being used as a suspected brothel had uncovered the owner as one Mr Ranjit Singh. His registered address was only around fifteen miles away, so she and Wendy took a trip out to see him. With Wendy officially on reduced duties, it would be a good way to get her out of the office for a bit and back into face-to-face business.
Ranjit Singh’s house was impressive in every way. That was hardly surprising, though: the man appeared to own somewhere in the region of sixty properties in the area. Wendy estimated his portfolio must be worth somewhere in the region of fifteen to twenty million pounds.