Storm Crow

by Jeff Gulvin

  For a few moments the room was silent as the small piece of veroboard was passed between them. Webb leaned on the desk. ‘One fatality,’ he said. ‘The only person unaccounted for is a tramp called Jack the Hat. Always went into the Diner early in the morning because he couldn’t sleep. He had a place round the corner, but he often slept rough. We know from the witness to the car parking that he was there just before the evacuation. Maybe he dropped off somewhere, maybe he just didn’t want to go. Anyway, I found a dog chewing his ankle.’

  Webb sat down and Clements went back to the front of the room. ‘Not too much, but when do we get very much.’ He looked at Swann. ‘What about the car, Jack?’

  Swann told them what he had. ‘RAH is an East Anglian suffix,’ he said. ‘We’ve got two hundred and twenty-three Vauxhall Vectras sold with that suffix. There’s about half a dozen dealers up there, so I got the research team to do the leg work. We’ll do the London ones ourselves and send the rest out to the counties.’

  He was about to sit down again, when David Whitman, the second man from MI5, spoke. ‘Do we have anything on the driver of the second car?’

  Swann shook his head. ‘The commander made the appeal yesterday, but I checked what’s come in so far and there’s nothing I can see that we don’t know already.’

  ‘What about the colour of the car?’

  ‘Dark, is all the witness can tell us.’

  ‘Videos?’ Christine said. ‘Street cameras and that.’

  ‘We’re still looking at them,’ Clements told her. ‘There aren’t any in Old Compton Street, so we can’t see it being parked. There’s a porn shop along there with one, but it faces the other way. We’ve got a car going past, but you can’t tell anything from it.’

  ‘Approach path and exit route?’ she said.

  ‘We’re trying to work it out.’

  The briefing broke up then and Swann went back to the squad room. Webb took the veroboard circuit back to his cage and then came through himself. Swann was scouring the list of Vauxhall Vectras. He had separated out those registered to London addresses and was nodding. ‘Might get a result here, Webby. Look.’ He showed Webb the listing and pointed to a group of ten cars at the bottom. ‘Hire company in Heathrow. They must buy them from all over the place. I’m going to take a drive out there now. You coming?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’ll drop you back here, then go up and see the crab.’

  ‘Crab?’

  ‘My ex. You know—shuffles from side to side and every now and then snaps her claws at you.’

  Webb shook his head. ‘God, you’re a cynical bastard. You ought to thank her, mate. Look at you.’ He touched the lapel of Swann’s suit jacket. ‘Four-button Armani? Bird like Pia Grava. What’ve you got to moan about?’

  They located the hire company at Terminal 4, close to the long-stay car park. Swann parked in a visitor’s space and they entered the Portakabin office. A young woman was sitting at a desk behind the counter. She was on the phone and lifted a hand to them. Swann looked round the office: nothing to it other than a couple of cloth chairs and a coffee table with Autocar magazines stacked on top of it. Webb stood by the window and looked out over the car park. He motioned to Swann who came over. Webb pointed to the rows of new cars. There were two Vectras among them, both were dark in colour. ‘I’ll go and take a look,’ Webb said.

  While he was outside, the receptionist finished her phone call. She stood up and smiled at Swann. Attractive, with tawny-coloured hair and green eyes.

  ‘Morning,’ she said. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Swann showed her his warrant card. ‘Detective Sergeant Swann,’ he said. ‘Scotland Yard. I want to know if you’ve rented any of your RAH-suffixed Vectras in the past few days.’

  ‘If you hang on a moment, I’ll check the system.’ She smiled and sat down again behind the desk. Swann moved back to the window and saw Webb looking closely at the two cars.

  ‘Here we are.’

  Swann turned again and she stood up, moving over to the printer. The machine whirred and she picked up two hire contracts.

  ‘We’ve rented them both. Vectras are very popular.’

  Swann took the contracts and sat down on one of the seats to read them. Webb came back inside and Swann handed the second one to him. The one Swann looked at had been rented for twenty-four hours on Tuesday at 3 p.m. He looked up at the receptionist.

  ‘P770RAH,’ he said. ‘How many miles did this last hirer do?’

  She checked the computer again. ‘Seventy-two,’ she said.

  Swann glanced at Webb, then stood up and walked over to the counter. ‘Who was working when the car was taken?’

  ‘I’ll have a look.’ She moved to the back of the office and checked a duty roster taped up on the wall. She ran her finger across the dates and nodded. ‘Sally Barnes,’ she said.

  ‘Is she here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you contact her for us?’

  The girl looked doubtful. ‘It’s her day off.’

  ‘Try.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I’m going to need a copy of the hirer’s driving licence.’ He looked down at the form. ‘Edward Davies.’

  The girl suddenly looked flustered. ‘I think I better just get the manager. He’s over at the terminal having lunch. I can page him for you.’

  That’d be good,’ Swann said.

  The manager arrived looking more than a little put out at having his lunch interrupted. He was a squat Italian of about forty. The receptionist had tried to get hold of the Barnes girl, but with no luck. The manager took Swann and Webb to his office in the Portakabin next door, and sat down behind his desk. ‘What’s this all about?’

  ‘The Vectra outside,’ Swann said. ‘P770RAH. I think we’re going to need it.’

  ‘But it’s going out in ten minutes.’

  ‘I’m afraid it can’t go out,’ Webb told him.

  A sudden redness burned in the manager’s cheeks. ‘But the customer has already landed.’

  Swann made an open-handed gesture. ‘You’ll have to find him another car.’

  The manager looked at him and his face sallowed. ‘You can’t just walk in here and ruin my day,’ he said.

  ‘I’m afraid we can.’ Swann leaned on the desk. ‘We’re from the Antiterrorist Branch and we ruin a lot of people’s days.’ He smiled at him then. ‘Now, we can seize the car or you can just let us have it.’

  The man sat very still after that. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Whatever. I’ll find another car.’

  ‘Good.’ Webb sat forward. ‘Now, we need to get hold of Sally Barnes, the employee who was working when the car was rented. Your girl has tried but got no answer. We’re going to need her address and a full copy of the driving licence the hirer used.’ He paused. ‘The car’s been valeted since?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘We subcontract. Clean-up 2, they’re called. They pick the cars up and take them over to Uxbridge.’

  ‘OK. Can you get them on the phone, please?’

  The address on the driving licence was Queen’s House Mews in Hammersmith. Swann left Webb at Heathrow and drove over. He rang the bell of number 4, but got no reply. He phoned Webb from the car. ‘There’s no answer at the address, Webby,’ he said. ‘I’m going up to see Rachael, find out what’s going on. I’ll come back here afterwards.’

  ‘OK. We’ve had the girl in,’ Webb said. ‘Sally Barnes. The body that rented the Vectra was white, about thirty, tall and lean, with cropped hair and tattoos.’

  ‘What sort of tattoos?’

  ‘You’re going to love this. Got a black swastika on the underside of his right wrist.’

  ‘She’s observant.’

  ‘Right-handed. She saw it as he signed the form.’

  ‘How did he pay?’

  ‘Cash.’

  ‘No credit card?’

  ‘Not this hire company. Small outfit, isn’t it.’

&
nbsp; Swann put the phone down and drove up to Muswell Hill.

  Webb waited at the Portakabin until the manager was ready to take him up to the valeting company in Uxbridge. It was on a back street off the main drag, a couple of lock-up garages knocked together. He found four people working; Asians, all of them brothers. A young lad called Mustaq had cleaned the car the day before.

  ‘What overalls were you wearing, Mustaq?’ Webb asked him.

  Mustaq looked at him out of black, suspicious eyes. Two of his brothers, with long hair and bracelets, stood with their arms across their chests.

  ‘I need to know.’ Webb looked at him closely.

  Mustaq plucked at his chest. ‘These ones.’

  ‘How many cars have you cleaned since?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘OK. Have you washed them—the overalls?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Webb frowned. The overalls looked pretty grimy. ‘You sure, Mustaq. I’m not from Environmental Health.’

  Mustaq looked at his brothers. ‘Listen,’ Webb said. ‘This is very important. I don’t care either way about your overalls, Mustaq. But I do need to know the truth. It isn’t going to matter to you—except if you lie to me. I really don’t like people who lie to me.’

  ‘They haven’t been washed.’ One of his brothers spoke: the tallest one, thin, pockmarked face and hair falling across his eyes.

  Webb went up to him. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Ronnie.’

  ‘And how would you know, Ronnie?’

  Ronnie’s face broke open in a smile. ‘Because I do the washing.’

  Webb laughed out loud then. ‘Good lad,’ he said. ‘Get him another pair. I’m going to need these ones.’

  By the time they got back to the Portakabin at Heathrow, the team from the exhibits office had arrived. The manager gave them the keys to the Vectra.

  ‘You’ve not touched it, Webby?’ Tania Briggs asked him. Webb shook his head.

  The manager of the hire company watched as the car was wrapped in sterile tarpaulins and then hoisted on to the back of a truck. Webb stood with him on the steps, breathing in his cigar smoke.

  ‘Will I get it back in one piece?’

  Webb paused and peered closely at him, pushing the smile from the corners of his mouth. ‘Only if we don’t blow it up.’

  Swann’s ex-wife and children lived in a terraced house close to Muswell Hill Broadway. It was rented, which he did not like particularly, but she hadn’t bought because there was the possibility that her boyfriend would actually get his business off the ground and take them all off to Australia, a thought he liked even less. Rachael answered the door. She still looked attractive, and he stood for a moment a little awkwardly. This was never easy.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ she said.

  He followed her through to the kitchen and squatted on a stool as she plugged the kettle in.

  ‘You’re earlier than I thought.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. The Soho bomb.’

  ‘Will you be able to stay for a bit when the children get in?’

  ‘I’ve got to go over to Hammersmith.’

  She folded her arms and leaned against the work surface. ‘I hear the IRA didn’t do it. Have you any idea who did?’

  ‘We’re looking at a couple of things.’

  She looked wryly at him. ‘Nothing changes then.’

  Swann took the mug of coffee and sipped at it. ‘So tell me what’s going on,’ he said. ‘You talked on the phone about your job and everything. Peter?’

  Her face clouded then and she sighed. She sat opposite him and pushed a hand through her hair. ‘I never get to see him,’ she said.

  ‘Doesn’t he come here?’

  ‘It’s too far when he’s busy in the week, and these days he spends most of the weekend working as well.’

  Swann tried not to smile. Those were the very reasons she had left him, because the job demanded so much. ‘Why don’t you just move in together?’

  She shook her head. ‘He doesn’t want to do that until he can earn enough to support all of us.’

  ‘I pay for the kids.’

  ‘Well, support me, then.’ She got up. ‘If I lived with him, I could help him get things moving. Help him with the selling side of the business.’

  ‘What does he do exactly?’

  ‘Makes furniture.’ She pointed to a mock Queen Anne chair in the corner. ‘He made that.’

  Swann was impressed. He did not want to be, but he was. ‘So you want to live with him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘He’s not ready for that yet.’

  Swann nodded slowly.

  ‘It’s not like that, Jack. I’m trying to get this dance teaching off the ground. Have you any idea how difficult that is when you have to be there for the children? All my classes seem to start just as they’re about to come home.’

  He put his mug on the table. ‘What d’you want me to do about it, Rachael?’

  She looked at him then. ‘I want to know if you’ll have the children.’

  ‘Permanently?’

  ‘No. Just until I can get this sorted out.’

  He thought about it. ‘I’d love to have them,’ he said. ‘But I’m not sure it’d be that good for them. I work almost all of the time.’

  ‘Then change your habits.’

  ‘SO13, Rachael. You know it goes with the territory.’

  ‘Tell me about it. “Short on sleep but long on memory.”’ She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

  He stood up then and put his hands in his pockets. ‘I won’t be able to do anything immediately,’ he said. ‘It’ll take a couple of months at least to sort something out.’

  ‘I know that. All I’m asking is that you think about it. See if you can help out at all. You’ve got your career, Jack. I need to get mine.’

  He left her then and went back to the car. From his mobile he phoned George Webb.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Hire car’s gone to DRA. How you doing?’

  ‘Rachael wants me to have the kids full time.’

  Webb was silent for a moment. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want them. I just don’t see how I can.’

  ‘What’re you doing now?’

  ‘Going back to Hammersmith. I’ll see you back at the Yard after.’

  ‘OK. Listen. Caroline’s coming in tonight. We’re going to get some solids somewhere. Join us if you want.’

  ‘Thanks, Webby. I will.’

  Swann drove to Hammersmith and parked outside a small three-storey hotel at the far end of the road from number 4, then made his way along the street. A mechanic was working on a taxi outside the blue garage doors of his workshop. He eyed Swann cautiously. Swann ignored him, climbed the steps to number 4 and rang the bell. He heard footsteps in the hall and then the door was opened.

  He was faced by a smallish good-looking man, mixed race, hair curling, like a West Indian, cut tightly against his scalp, fine bronze skin and high cheekbones. He looked up out of very black eyes.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Mr Davies?’

  The man looked puzzled. ‘Er, no,’ he said. ‘My name’s Morton.’

  Swann held up his warrant card. ‘Police, Mr Morton. Can I have a few words?’

  ‘Of course.’ Morton ushered him inside.

  The front door opened on to a high-ceilinged hallway with stripped and polished wood on the floor. Two large rooms led off it and, at the back, three steps descended to a very spacious kitchen. A wide-banistered staircase, the wood again stripped and polished, climbed the wall to the right of the door. Morton led Swann into the lounge at the front of the house and motioned to leather armchairs. ‘What can I help you with, Mr … ?’

  ‘Swann. Detective Sergeant.’

  ‘Sergeant then.’ Morton sat across from him, one socked foot tucked under his backside. He wore a designer T-shirt and running pants. Swann squatted on the edge of the chair and loos
ened the buttons on his jacket.

  ‘Is this your house, Mr Morton?’

  Morton shook his head. ‘I rent it. Well, the company I work for pays.’

  ‘And what company is that?’

  ‘You won’t have heard of it.’

  ‘All the same.’

  They looked at one another for a moment, then Morton smiled. ‘It’s an American company, Mr Swann. Medicourt Communications.’

  Swann nodded. ‘What do you do for them?’

  ‘Consultant. Electrical engineer. I look after most of Europe, so London’s an ideal base, although I’m having a bit of time off at the moment.’

  Swann sat further back in the chair. Morton spoke very well, not plummy but almost. ‘You been here long?’ He motioned round the room.

  ‘Only a few weeks.’ Morton nodded to the furnishings. ‘Not really my taste.’

  ‘Nice all the same.’

  Morton sat forward then and looked keenly at him. His expression was clear and he exuded confidence. ‘What can I do for you, Sergeant?’

  Swann took the copy of the driving licence out of his pocket. ‘I was looking for an Edward Davies,’ he said. ‘We believe he hired a car at Heathrow on Tuesday afternoon. The licence gives this address.’

  Morton leaned across to look at it, but didn’t take it. ‘It is this address,’ he said. ‘But he doesn’t live here.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Afraid not. Must be some mistake.’ Morton shifted himself on the seat. ‘What’s it all about?’

  Swann pursed his lips. ‘You heard about the car bomb in Soho?’

  ‘Of course. Terrible. No coded warning and PIRA didn’t claim it.’

  Swann stared at him for a moment. ‘You know much about them—PIRA?’ he said.

  Morton laughed then. ‘Should I?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Again Morton laughed. ‘I heard it on the TV, Sergeant. It’s been all over the news.’

  ‘It has, hasn’t it.’

  ‘So tell me. What’s this got to do with it?’ He nodded again at the driving licence.

  ‘We believe that a car possibly used in the incident was hired by somebody using this licence. Skinheaded man, tattoos.’ Swann upturned his right forearm and tapped it. ‘Black swastika here.’