He’d given White up with not a second’s hesitation. Honour amongst thieves indeed.
“Who’s this guy and why use him?” I asked.
“He’s just always around, know what I mean? Always in here gambling and playing pool. Does odd jobs around here now and again. He was available, so I asked him to do it.”
Glett grinned. “Gambling on the premises, Matey? You got a licence for that?”
“You know what goes on here, you of all people.” He stared hard at Glett.
“And he brought them back here to you,” I said. Something about that last comment didn’t sound right, but Matey was on a roll and I didn’t want him sidetracked.
“Took them where we wanted them, yeah.”
I could now trace a line from White to Barry Mates. “So, where do I find this Gary White?”
I’d wait till later to ask Mates about White’s claim he’d be protected if he were caught stealing cars. At this time I didn’t want him knowing I already had White’s number.
“Lives over Stepney way somewhere, don’t know the address.”
I nodded as though I were absorbing new information. “What happened to the cars after White got them for you?”
“Bloke who wanted them came and got ’em.”
“He have a name?” Glett asked.
“Yeah, but he’s not in the family. I don’t know his name, don’t even know who he is.” Matey was beginning to sound worried.
“So who in the family asked you to do this, then?” I asked.
“You won’t tell him I told you, will you?” Matey was now looking concerned and his facial expression had tightened up.
Neither Glett nor I responded. Matey was in a bind and he knew it. We had enough to bring him in, and he’d admitted involvement. He’d also said the place was used for gambling. We could close him down in thirty seconds, and then he’d have to explain to those at the top of the family why, despite paying a not inconsiderable sum for police protection, Las Vargas could still be shut down by police without notice. For him, his situation with us had become all or nothing. He waited a few seconds before responding.
“Okay. It was George. George Duncan.”
“What, Big Dunc? Ali’s Chackarti’s driver and bodyguard?” Glett sounded disbelieving.
“Yeah.” Matey nodded. “It was him.”
“Bloody hell.” Glett was laughing, but soon stopped.
“But you don’t know why he asked you to do this?” I said. “No.” He shook his head. “As I said, I thought I was just doing him a favour like, you know, something on the quiet, you know what I’m saying? No one said anything about bombings or anything like that. That ain’t our thing, we’re not bloody terrorists.”
Matey looked and sounded nervous. I could see why. His doing a favour for someone above him in the family pecking order had not reaped the harvest he’d expected, and he’d now had to identify the person who’d asked for the favour to be done.
“Okay, Matey, You’re gonna keep this visit quiet, aren’t you? You know what the word schtum means?” Glett asked.
Mates was told, if he said anything about our visit to anyone, and we’d know if he did, we’d have a word in Ali Chackarti’s ear, and Ali would be displeased at what we’d tell him. Matey said he’d always believed silence was a virtue.
“Oh yeah, that bloke at your door: Mick, is it?” Glett winked at me. “You wanna know what the vice squad caught him doing?”
*
Walking back into the main body of the club we saw Mick leaning against the bar. He looked at us contemptuously as we walked past and simulated spitting on the floor in front of us. Glett immediately leapt forward, grabbed his cheeks and squeezed hard. Mick’s face went the colour of a whoopee cushion and, from his pained expression, it was hurting him. Glett grabbed his neck and turned him round to face the counter. Sonia was behind the bar.
“We’ve just been to see Matey about this circus freak,” Glett said in an even voice. “You wanna know why? Vice squad caught him in a nearby park watching little girls playing and jacking himself off behind a bush. Your eight-year-old daughter was there when he did it, Sonia. We’ve just had to warn Matey about this paedo.”
Glett released his grip and pushed Mick into the bar.
“You dirty bastard,” Sonia screamed, loudly enough to wake the dead. Her scream drowned the volume from the TV. She leaned forward and tried to scratch Mick’s face. “You filthy bastard, get him out of here.” A couple of the nearby drinkers moved towards him.
“They’re lying, I didn’t do no such thing,” he was shouting above Sonia, who was shrieking and threatening to castrate him as we took our leave. One of the drinkers in the club threw something at him. Glett and I took our leave.
Glett was laughing hysterically as we crossed over the road to my car.
“Is that true?” I asked.
“Who cares? Fuck ’im.” He was still grinning.
“I’ll take it from here,” I said. “I’ll find Big Dunc and talk to him. Thanks for your help. I owe you one for this.”
“Damn right you do,” he agreed as we fistbumped each other. One reason I liked Glett was because, when it was just the two of us, he wasn’t a stickler for rank and protocol.
As Glett went back to his car, the club doors swung open and Mick was seen running away fast, with a couple of guys chasing him and yelling expletives as he disappeared around a corner. I deactivated the car alarm and got in.
Before I drove away, I checked my messages. There were two. One was from Smitherman, informing me I was wanted back in the office ASAP. Oh God. I decided I’d phone in after dealing with the other message.
This was because the second message was from Sally Taylor. There was a smiling emoji next to the message, which simply said, Hey hun, call me. I did.
I wasn’t seeing Taylor tonight. Tuesday and Thursday evenings were what she referred to as boys’ night out because, assuming duty schedules permitted, I went training with my friend Mickey Corsley in his gym. He was a skilled boxer as well as being very proficient in mixed martial arts and kick-boxing. Our two-hour sessions usually began with lots of intense stretches and callisthenics, then moved on to a strenuous iron pumping session using either the Nautilus equipment or the free weights, finishing with some cardiovascular exercises, and then he’d usually beat the crap out of me by showing me all kinds of different holds, moves, kicks and punches after which, but for the body and head padding, I’d be black and blue. We’d have a few beers afterwards to aid my body’s recovery.
One time, a few weeks into my relationship with Taylor, I’d been thinking about her all day long, just could not stop thinking about her, and was still doing so in the gym. I’d struggled even to lift basic weights as I wasn’t concentrating, much to Mickey’s bewilderment. I then went onto the mats to spar with him. Big mistake. He could see I was wholly unfocused. My head wasn’t in the game; my eyes weren’t following my opponent and I was just going through the motions, either throwing punches which my mother could have parried or not keeping my guard up. We took training seriously, so, after a few feints and thrusts, Mickey’d shown no mercy and nailed me with a fast, delicious left jab, right cross combination, which I hadn’t even seen coming. He put everything into both punches and they put me on the floor quite unceremoniously. Without a headguard I’d have probably been laid out cold. Even with a headguard they’d still bloody hurt.
“Rob, what the fuck’s the matter with you tonight? You got a hot date or something?” He’d laughed as I lay prostrate on the mat, listening to bells ringing in my head. “How long you think you’d last in a real fight out there” – he nodded at the door – “if you’re faffing around like a Girl Guide? Keep your guard up, mate, and stick to dreaming in bed.”
I’d never gone to training unfocused again.
But it was now past eight, so I’d not be making it tonight. I called Mickey to let him know. He laughingly called me a wimp. I laughed and responded with a polite fuck off.<
br />
I then settled back in the driver’s seat and called Taylor. She answered immediately.
“Hi, hun,” she said softly. In my mind I pictured her snuggled up on the couch, wearing what she’d worn last night, reading MaddAddam, a book by Margaret Atwood, one of her favourite authors, and sipping a glass of pinot grigio. “What’s your day been like?”
My cheek hurt, there was a swelling under my right eye, which was still partially closed, and my left elbow ached. “Tell you when I see you. What about you, Taylor? How you doing?”
“I’m okay,” she sighed. “I asked you to call because we didn’t have time to talk before we left for work this morning, and I didn’t wanna wait till the next time I see you to say this, because I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t serious when I said what I did, so, in case you were wondering, I just want you to know I really really meant what I said to you when you got into bed last night.”
For two horrible seconds I thought, Oh, Christ, what the hell did she say? and I panicked, but she continued and made it easy for me.
“You remember me saying I wanted us to stay together?” Her voice was almost imploring me to say yes.
Phew. I remembered that.
“Yeah, I do,” I said softly. “How could I forget that?”
“Well, I just want you to know it’s true.”
I took a deep intake of breath hearing this. She continued.
“I missed seeing you Sunday evening because of my sister’s drama, you were called away last night, and you’re doing whatever this evening. Not seeing you for a few nights’s given me time to think about you, and about us, and everything about us.”
She stopped for a few seconds. “There’s been so much bad relationship news lately. As I was telling you before you were called away last night, two of my female friends at work have had painful break-ups in the past week or so; one even found out her husband’s been carrying on an eight-year affair with her own sister.” She sounded like this was something she couldn’t believe. “And there’s also my sister, who discovered last weekend her husband’s been cheating on her with an eighteen-year-old girl at his firm, and evidently this wasn’t the first time he’s cheated on her. That’s why she left Sunday and they’re trying to work things out. You know how much my sister envies what we have?”
She paused again.
“I feel great about us, McGraw, I really do, and have done since right from the very start of this relationship. You remember how good everything felt that very first night in the Chinese restaurant?” she said softly.
I did. It’d been a special night for both of us. This was the night where it’d all begun, the night special memories had been created.
“I knew even then we had something, I just knew we did. So, what I’m saying is, I don’t want anything like what’s been happening elsewhere to come between us. We’re good together, McGraw, we really are, and you make me feel wonderful, and it’s the best feeling ever, because nobody and nothing’s ever meant as much to me as you do, or made me feel as good as I do.” She paused for a moment. “That’s the truth, McGraw. That’s why I said what I did last night.”
I felt a lump in my throat a tennis player could use to serve with. I tried to swallow and took a deep breath. She was waiting for my response, so I let a few seconds pass, then I let my emotions do the talking.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Taylor, and I don’t even wanna think about what my life was like before you.” I thought about the last couple of years in my previous relationship. There’d been nights I didn’t even want to go back to the flat, not because I didn’t like her; we just had nothing to say to each other. “I love you too, Taylor.”
The line was quiet for four or five seconds.
“Do you really mean that, Robert?” she asked, slowly, “I mean, really mean what you’ve just said?” Her voice was loaded with meaning and she sounded like she was choking up. That she’d called me Robert told me she was asking directly from her heart.
“Yeah, I really do, Sally, absolutely.”
We were silent for a couple of seconds. I then heard her sniffling.
“Oh, bloody hell, McGraw.” Was she laughing or crying? “You okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
She cut me off. “Don’t be sorry, you idiot.” She was laughing. “I’m just so happy to hear you say that.”
She sniffed and blew her nose. I waited.
“I’m fine now,” she said. “You’ll be here tomorrow, won’t you?”
“Oh yeah, count on it, babycakes,” I responded, trying to lighten the mood with my risible attempt at Humphrey Bogart. At least I think it’d been Bogart who’d said it. Whatever, it had the desired effect as I could hear her laughing.
“That’s good. I love you to the moon and back, McGraw. As I said, I’m surrounded on all sides by relationship break-ups, so I just had to tell you how I feel about us.”
“Glad you did. I feel the same. Love you, Taylor.” I blew a kiss down the receiver and rang off.
Phone calls rarely, if ever, completely drain me emotionally. This one did.
The previous one that had was the last time I’d spoken to Michael Mendoccini after I’d finally accepted he really was part of Red Heaven and a terrorist. I’d sobbed uncontrollably afterwards at the loss of my closest friend, the man who’d been my soul brother throughout my adolescence and early adulthood. I’d felt like some part of me died that evening.
I waited a few moments for my emotions to return to earth before seeing what Smitherman wanted. My heart was racing but beginning to slow down after a few deep breaths. I was on a high after talking to Taylor. There’s no backing out now, McGraw, I thought to myself, but I was happy with that.
After a few more deep breaths I phoned the office. Who better than Smitherman to bring me back to earth with a crash landing?
“You’re needed back in the office, DS McGraw. We’ve got the results of the DNA tests.”
*
Smitherman was at his desk and gestured for me to sit. He picked up a folder and pulled out a few sheets of paper. He then nodded at the bruise under my right eye.
“What happened there?” He was half-smiling.
“Girlfriend’s husband came home unexpectedly,” I said lightly, “and he’s a big bugger, plays front row in the scrum for London Welsh. I wasn’t quick enough out the door.”
He chuckled to himself, but he knew I was joking. Bruises were an occupational hazard. He then adopted a serious, businesslike manner.
“Just printed these off.” He passed copies to me. “The pathologist in Dorset completed the identification tests late this afternoon. Unfortunately, as I suspected, the bodies were all too badly burnt to get any viable DNA samples from them, but they were still able to identify a few of the bodies by other methods, so this means there’s good and bad news.”
“What’s the bad news?” I thought I knew what was coming.
“The one name we wanted didn’t come up.”
“I can guess who, can’t I?”
“We’ll get to that in a moment. We’d already surmised one couple was that Welsh family, the Coopers, from the registration number, but Mrs Cooper’d had dental surgery not too long before, and she’d had a gold tooth inserted. They identified her from her X-rays.”
I felt momentary sadness. The Coopers were just an ordinary Welsh couple driving to catch a ferry to go on holiday and, if Dick’s statement was correct, they’d been targeted by whoever was in the other car and they’d burnt to death. I just hoped they’d died instantly.
“You still with us, DS McGraw?” Smitherman asked.
I agreed I was.
“The other couple were also too badly burnt for DNA to be obtained from them. But the pathologist had a bit of luck because the man’d broken his leg playing football a few years before he died and he’d had some new kind of plastic plate inserted on his femur. It was quite an advanced piece of surgery for the time, and he was identified from the X-r
ays at the hospital, so we’re assuming the other person was his wife.”
Smitherman was about to continue talking when I leapt in.
“Was his name Matt Green, by any chance? If so, the other person’s his wife, Kimberley, and she was four months pregnant when she died.”
Smitherman’s eyes opened wide in surprise. He couldn’t have looked more surprised if I’d just told him I knew how much he had in the bank.
“Yes, that’s correct, that’s the name given.” He laid the file on the desk. “How’d you know that?”
“I ran a search for couples who’d gone missing fifteen years ago through the system. Several went missing but were either found or returned under their own steam later; I only found three couples who’d disappeared without explanation and never reappeared. The Greens seemed the most likely as they’re from Southampton, which isn’t too far away from where the crash occurred, and it fitted in with the timeline. The other two couples were from the North, which made them less likely to be down that way.”
“Very good deduction.” He looked beatific, almost smiling at me. “You know, there are occasionally those times when I truly do believe you’ll make a real detective someday.”
We both smiled, a rare moment of humour while talking about a tragedy.
“Anyway,” he went on, “the bad news is, they can’t identify the other body, whoever it was driving the other car. Too badly burnt for any DNA to be obtained and no other markings to help us identify this person. He took the full impact when the vehicle burst into flames. So, officially, he’s still listed as being dead but, unofficially, we don’t know if the other passenger’s McGreely or not.”
“But at least we know his wife and son didn’t die in the crash.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“So we have to assume, then, the family’s still together until we can establish otherwise.”
“That’s also true.”
But for the article Taylor had unearthed about the crash, with its reference to an eyewitness DI Marbutt hadn’t mentioned, we might never have been able to reach this conclusion.
“Oh, yes,” Smitherman said. “Your inquiry about McGreely yesterday? A police shrink had a couple of talks with him when he was being held in custody. The report’s quite a long one, but their conclusion in simple terms? He’s a sociopath, a cold-blooded killer. Despite claiming to be a devout Catholic, planting car bombs caused him no sense of moral conflict whatever.”
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