“Angela Rider informed us that her sister died over ten years ago,” I interrupted.
“That’s bull. Jack went an’ saw her every month. I told him she wasn’t worth it, but the boy never listened to me, did he?”
I shared a baffled glance with Stephen. Why would Angela have told us that her sister was dead if she wasn’t? Or, alternatively, how had Angela been led to believe that Lou was dead if that wasn’t the case?
“Did Jackson have much contact with his cousin, Max?” I tried, pulling myself back together after the revelation.
“That snotty kid? Yeah, too much. I dunno why. He should’ve been hanging with lads his own age.”
“Did you talk to Max at all?”
“Why would I?”
“Where did you see Jackson spending time with Max?” I said.
“Hey, look, what’s with all this, huh? You think the kid had something to do with it all? That brat hasn’t got two brain cells to rub together.”
“We’re looking into all avenues, and it’s important-”
“Yeah, yeah.” Stuart looked at his watch. “You’ve had your ten minutes and more. Get out. I don’t need to be talking to the likes of you.”
I pressed my lips together briefly and tucked my notebook away.
“A family liaison officer will be in touch with you. If you have any information to share-”
“I said get out, you deaf?” he snapped.
“Any information to share with us, please get in touch,” I finished firmly, putting a business card down on the desk. “We’re trying to do the best for your son, Mr Lowe. Please don’t obstruct our progress. Now, have you got an address for Jackson’s mother’s house?”
“Why would I? I haven’t had a thing to do with that mad cow for a bloody long time,” he snapped.
“We’ll need to inform her about Jackson. Do you have an old address we could try?”
“If I tell you, will you get your arse off my property?” he growled.
“Yes.”
He reluctantly did as I’d asked, fumbling around in his desk for an address book whilst muttering and snarling the whole time, making it abundantly clear how much he resented us. Despite his attitude, it was easy enough to keep my temper when I remembered that flash of shock and pain that had passed over his weathered face when I’d broken the news to him, and I waited patiently for him to dig out Lou’s address.
He thrust a bit of paper at us, and I read it over to make sure that his handwriting was legible before giving a nod.
“Thanks for-”
“Get lost.”
We left. Stephen sighed as we clambered back into the car, and I knew what he was feeling.
“Well, we’ve got a lead, however odd all this is.”
“Yeah. I guess we should’ve checked for a death certificate for Jackson’s mum, but Mrs Rider was so certain…”
“It’s bizarre,” I agreed.
I started to plug the scrawled address Stuart had given us into the SatNav, only to be interrupted by my phone’s shrill ringing. I stopped to tug it free.
“DCI M-”
“It’s Adams. I’ve looked into your deceased’s background. Come and see me when you’re back.”
She hung up without waiting for an answer, and I raised an eyebrow.
“People keep interrupting me today,” I muttered.
“Is it hurting your ego a little?” Stephen teased, nudging me in the side. I summoned a grin.
“My ego’s just fine, don’t you worry,” I chuckled. Stephen rolled his eyes.
“So, who was the call from?”
“Adams. She’s got news for us. You want to head to Lou’s first or-”
“Let’s go and see Adams. If we don’t catch her now, she’ll disappear down another work rabbit hole, and we’ll never get to speak to her.”
I sent him a disgruntled look even as I was getting the car into gear and setting off. He looked at me innocently.
“What?”
“You interrupted me,” I grumbled. He sniggered at that, and I couldn’t help but smile, shaking my head at him.
Hewford was bustling when we returned, and we made our way upstairs, forced to pause a couple of times to let other officers rush past.
“Something interesting happened?” I wondered.
“No idea. I heard about a pile-up on the radio, but that’s all.”
That’d be it, I thought with a nod and continued on our way to see Keira. She was on the phone when we arrived, and she held up a finger to ask us to wait. I took a couple of steps away to give her space and leaned against the wall. It was warm in the tech room, like it usually was, due to all the computers chuffing hot air out of their fans, and it quickly began to feel stuffy.
“What did you think of Lowe?” I asked Stephen while we were waiting.
“Typical alpha sort of bloke. Stiff upper lip, no weakness, that kind of thing.”
“Do you think he had anything to do with the drugs Jackson had, though?”
“He seemed to hate cops plenty,” Stephen started before Keira put her desk phone down and waved us over. We put the conversation on pause and came to stand by her.
“What’ve you got for us?” I asked her.
“The phone’s been used a lot, but it’s all relatively untraceable calls to other burner phones,” she said, launching right in. “I looked into his bank accounts, and there are some suspicious chunks of cash being deposited into there.” She tapped her immaculately painted nail on a set of files, and I scooped them up, scanning over Jackson’s bank details.
“So he was doing well for himself, then?” I asked, frowning as I thought about what Stuart had said. Jackson had been asking him for money, but from this, I couldn’t see why he would unless he was just stupidly greedy.
“Yes and no. His income was sky high, but he had debts to match on other accounts. Overdrafts left, right and centre.”
“Debts from what?”
“All sorts. Gambling, overspending on alcohol and clothes. He didn’t seem to have a job for a long while before he started getting these irregular deposits, but he was living it up like he did.”
I rubbed my forehead. “So he was unemployed, and he got himself into debt, so he went into the drug dealing to get himself out of it.”
“What about Max, though?” Stephen queried. When I sent him a quizzical look, he elaborated. “Jackson was the one with debts, so how’d Max get involved? Was he dragged into it by Jackson?” The disgust in Stephen’s tone was clear.
“If he did, he likely got him into the drugs, too,” I said darkly.
“Back to the tech,” Keira cut in sharply. We both turned back to her with apologetic expressions. “You gave me his laptop. He didn’t use it much, but he was active on social media.”
“You’ve found some of his friends?”
Keira waved a manicured hand. “You can look into his friend lists. I was more interested in the younger teenagers he’d been talking to.”
“What?” My stomach sickened as the worst possibility came immediately to mind. Keira shook her head at me, her eyebrows pinched.
“There was nothing sexual on there,” she said directly, and the pressure on my chest decreased a little. “He was grooming them, but not for that. He was recruiting them to help him transport the drugs like you suspected Max was doing.”
“I see,” I said, my voice thick. Stephen and I were silent as we processed this.
“One last thing. There are pictures on his social media of him with a woman. She’s not tagged, but she’s named once as Lucy.”
“Jackson was romantically involved with her?”
“Seems to have been.”
“Huh. Do you have an address for her? Contact details?”
“Not yet. If her number is in his phone, it’s under a codename. There’s no Lucy.” I gritted my teeth, disappointed, but Keira went on. “Jackson’s phone bill and debit cards are registered to his father’s address. You could start looking there for more information.”
“We’ve just been to see his dad, and Jackson didn’t live with him,” I said, not without a touch of frustration.
Keira gave an elegant shrug, looking eager to finish up with us and get on with her other work. When we didn’t leave, she gave a sigh.
“It’d be my guess that he was living with this Lucy, in that case. But doing the detective work is your job, isn’t it?”
“I’m fully aware,” I said flatly, not quite sure how to take her words. She gave me a slight smile to show she was joking. She turned back to her computer after a moment.
“You gave me Max Rider’s phone also. He called Jackson a great deal and vice versa, but the most interesting thing is that Max’s final call was to a number I can’t track down.”
“Aye?” I said, perking up.
“Pay-as-you-go phone,” Keira said with a nod. “Probably disposed of straight afterwards.”
“So his last call wasn’t for the ambulance?” I thought aloud. We still didn’t know who had called for it, then. More than likely, it was the same person Max had placed his last call to, I reckoned.
“No.”
“Is the number in Jackson’s phone?” I wondered.
Keira blinked at me, and I braced myself for her to tell me it was a stupid question, though I couldn’t see how. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear with a frown and turned to her screen, tapping away for a moment.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think to check,” she muttered, making me realise belatedly that she hadn’t been disapproving of me, but taken aback.
“You’re very busy,” I tried to assure her. She gave a huff.
“I’m fully aware, DCI Mitchell.” She tapped away for a while longer, and Stephen and I shared a look, both of us intrigued by the information Keira had already given up.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she muttered. “You’re right. The number’s in Jackson’s phone too. It’s listed under Humphrey.”
“Huh,” I said. Humphrey could be a guy’s first name, though it was ridiculously outdated. More likely it was a surname, I thought. “We’ll try calling them, then.”
“Sure,” Keira said in a manner that was patently a dismissal.
“Thanks for the help,” I said warmly before we headed back downstairs.
“What now?” Stephen wondered aloud.
“Now we find out who was the last person to talk to Max that night,” I said firmly.
I already imagined options for who this person could be; a friend of Jackson’s, another drug dealer, a school friend of Max’s. Whoever they were, Max had reached out to them whilst he was dangerously high, and it was absolutely essential that we speak to them. Their knowledge of the cousins could be the key to all of this.
Six
I gave the number Keira had found for us a call as soon as we returned to our desks. It beeped in my ear, indicating that the phone was out of service or turned off, and I hissed out a sound of annoyance. I was already planning our next move when Stephen tapped my shoulder, startling me slightly.
“What?”
“Rashford’s waving at us.”
I looked up and saw her looking at us with an exasperated expression, hands on her hips. We both headed over to meet her, and I patted my pocket to check that my notebook was in there. Whatever Rashford wanted us for, I might need it.
“Ma’am,” I said.
“I called you twice. You’re late. Didn’t you get my email?”
“Uh, no, ma’am,” I apologised. I’d not looked at my inbox at all today, and it was no wonder I’d missed it. “We were-”
“Nevermind. Come on through.”
She strode off towards a meeting room, and slightly confused, Stephen and I trailed after her.
“Wish I knew what was in that email,” Stephen murmured as we stepped into the room and were confronted with the sight of a whole group of officers. They turned to glance at us as we came inside, curiosity in their expressions.
I knew that Stephen was really not best keen on talking to any number of people, and I squeezed his shoulder as we moved to the side of the room. The chairs had all been taken, so we leaned against the windowsill, the cheap blinds clicking as I brushed against them.
“It’ll be fine,” I said, receiving a dubious look from him in return.
“Just as long as she’s not going to tear us a new one.”
“For what? We’ve done nowt wrong,” I muttered back.
“I’m sure there’s something.”
I was relieved when Rashford called the meeting to order and got started. I couldn’t think of any reason why Rashford would want to reprimand Stephen and me in front of a roomful of officers, it wasn’t her style, but once Stephen planted the idea, I’d started to worry about it.
“Mitchell, get up here,” Rashford said firmly, breaking into my thoughts. I’d been absently listening to her talk, but she’d mostly been speaking vaguely about the importance of the police being active in our pursuit of combating crime and I hadn’t expected her to call out my name.
I straightened up and walked around the clustered officers to the front of the room. Rashford gave me a nod.
“DCI Mitchell will be leading a project to target the suspected country lines drug dealing that’s been growing in York. He brought to light a recent incident involving the death of a young man, which you’ve all no doubt heard about.”
There was a general rumble of assent. I was taken aback at her proclamation that I’d be leading any kind of project, and I sent a bewildered glance in Stephen’s direction. He gave me a clumsy thumbs up with a strained expression, and I hid a smile.
Rashford must have read my recent report on what had been going on so far, I realised as she talked, and had been concerned by my suspicion that Jackson’s death and Max’s non-fatal overdose had been tied up with country lines drug dealing. I’d detailed the worrying conversation we had with Max’s parents as they outlined his behaviour, but I’d only briefly mentioned my theory since we had been, and still were, short on evidence. It must have been enough to prompt her to act, regardless.
“Can you give us a reminder of what country lines dealing is exactly, Mitchell?” Rashford urged me.
I pulled my thoughts together. “Country lines is our term for when drug dealers branch out from the cities to sell in smaller towns and rural areas. York may be targeted from cities like Manchester and from York to Scarborough and beyond.” I took a breath before continuing, gesturing with my hand as I spoke.
“They then recruit or blackmail people, usually young or vulnerable people, to transport and supply these drugs, as well as storing them. We have reason to believe that these people are acting in York and targeting teenagers, possibly through social media.” That last point came to me at the moment as I recalled what Keira had been saying about Jackson’s activities online.
“These sorts of organised criminals are particularly concerning, being that they’re often linked to child sexual exploitation, illegal firearms, serious violence and the trafficking of young people.” I ticked the points off my fingers. “None of which we want in York, or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“The evidence remains thin so far, but the incident is concerning, and we want to nip it in the bud,” Rashford agreed.
She went on to explain what she wanted from the team before she handed it over to me. Given little to no notice about any of this, I had to come up with something on the spot. I took a moment’s pause to adjust my jacket and rubbed my jaw thoughtfully.
“Alright, here’s what I need from you lot. We need more information about what happened with Jackson Lowe on Friday night before he died. I’ll send out the link for his social media pages, and then I want his friend lists searched through thoroughly. We want his close friends, people who might’ve been with him that night. If you find anyone who looks likely, especially if they have any sort of record, report back to me.”
I gestured to a few officers to handle that before turning to the rest. “
Then we need to look into Max’s friends. They’re younger, probably linked to him through school and may have nothing to do with this, but it’s worth a shot.”
“Third thing, I want someone to get in touch with the emergency services and find out who called the ambulance for Jackson and Max. They may have crucial information for us.”
I glanced over the officers, some of whom looked more attentive than others. They were almost all constables, and I knew them by face, if not by name. I decided that I’d have to buy them all a few bags of doughnuts and hope that would get them on our side for this, which they’d no doubt been pulled into with as little notice as I was. A little appreciation went a long way when you were lower ranking, I remembered from my own days as a constable.
“If we focus on Max and Jackson and find out what circles they moved in, we’ll be able to chip away at the larger organisation behind this. Jackson Lowe was clearly making money from this operation, but I very much doubt he was ever the key player here. Let’s find who is.” I paused. “Questions?”
There weren’t any, and I released a breath when the officers broke up into groups and left the room, heading off to start on the tasks I’d set them. Rashford had been hovering by the door, listening in, and she gave me a nod and a slight smile before she headed off. Stephen came over and slapped my back, giving me a wide-eyed look.
“Mate, you’re nuts. How did you pull that off? Did Rashford give you a heads-up, and you didn’t tell me or something?”
I grinned. “Nah, that was pure improvisation. We know our stuff, Steph. You could have done the same, I know it.”
“Hell no, I couldn’t. I’d have turned red as a beetroot and melted into the floor.”
“We’ll have to make sure you get some practice, then,” I said with a smirk, and he glowered at me.
“Don’t you dare.”
I chuckled, glancing down at my watch as my stomach rumbled. “Time for lunch, I think?”
“I wouldn’t say no to that,” he agreed.
We headed outside, meeting Sam on the wall outside the station. The two of them chatted away amicably, mostly about Stephen’s wife, Annie, and the kids, while I munched my salad and turned the case over in my head. Rashford deciding to assign me an entire team of officers to assist me and Stephen felt like recognition as to how serious this was. It firmed the bad feeling in my gut that’d settled in ever since we’d spoken to Max’s parents and gave me the fuel to get this figured out. We had a long way to go yet but with multiple officers to help out, I was hopeful.
Country Lines (A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller Book 8) Page 6