03.Crack Down

by Val McDermid

  ‘Let’s be clear about one thing,’ he said, still not willing to let the macho bravado slip. ‘I’m not doing any deals with you. None of this “I show you mine and you let my boyfriend go” routine. As far as I’m concerned, Mr Richard Barclay’s in this up to his fancy tortoiseshell specs.’

  I raised my eyes to the ceiling and sighed. ‘I just love a man with an open mind. Mr Turnbull, by the time you’ve heard me out, you’ll be dying to release Richard, because if you don’t, you’re going to look like dickhead of the year after the papers have finished with you. And that’s not a threat, it’s my considered opinion.’

  ‘Sit down,’ he growled. ‘Let’s hear what you’ve got to say.’

  Ignoring his order, I leaned against the wall. I took my miniature tape recorder out of my bag and pressed the ‘record’ button. ‘Since you don’t seem inclined to tape our little chat, I’ll do it for you,’ I said. ‘It’ll save me having to come back later and make a statement. I know all your instincts tell you not to believe a word that anybody in custody says, but in this instance, you really should have listened. That’s all I did. The only clue in Richard’s story, as far as I could see, was the business with the trade plates. So I did what any good copper should do: I followed my instincts.’ Turnbull looked like he wanted to throttle me, but the part of him that had taken him to the rank of DCI was obviously dying to know what I’d dug up, and right now his curiosity was stronger than his belligerence.

  I took him through it from start to finish, omitting only the details of how I came by the photographs of the inside of Jammy James’s kitchen. ‘Careless of them, leaving the door unlocked, but then, you just can’t get the help these days,’ I finished up, taking the pics out of my bag and spreading them in a fan across Turnbull’s desk.

  He poked at the pics with the end of a Biro, as if they’d soil his fingers. Then he shook his head. ‘You expect me to believe this taradiddle?’ he asked scornfully. ‘Eliot James? As in, Eliot James who plays golf with the Chief Constable? Eliot James who runs charity schemes for underprivileged kids at his leisure centres? That Eliot James?’

  ‘The same,’ I said. ‘Having friends in high places doesn’t stop you being a crook. Look at the Guinness trails. And if doing charity work was a guarantee of staying out of jail, the Krays would still be running London. Look, James is hanging on to his business empire by his fingernails. Check it out. Go down Ice World, The Dinosaur Adventure, Laser Land, or any of his leisure complexes. They’re all empty. His cash flow doesn’t. The only reason DCI Prentice isn’t running a full-scale fraud inquiry into the sleazeball is that she thinks the drugs angle deserves the first bite of the cherry. But if you’re not interested, I know she’ll be after James like a greyhound out of a trap.’

  Turnbull leaned back in his chair. The legs sounded like an avant-garde string quartet. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, how you’ve managed to find all this out so easily when we’ve been trying to get something on this mob for ages?’ he speculated. ‘If I was a suspicious man, I might think it was because you and your boyfriend were in it up to your eyeballs, and you decided to shop the rest of the team to try and get him off the hook. You wouldn’t be the first private dick caught out by the recession who decided to turn their limited knowledge of crime on its head.’

  The only thing that stopped me being arrested for assaulting a police officer was the realization that I’d be as much use to Richard as a chocolate fireguard if I ended up behind bars too. So I smiled sweetly at the insult. ‘If I was going to turn to crime, Mr Turnbull, I wouldn’t have to leave the house. Computer crime. That’s where the real, no-risk money is these days. And I’ve forgotten more about computers than you’ll ever know. Look, I’m not asking you for a major favour. I haven’t once said, I’ll tell you what I know in return for you letting Richard walk away from all of this. I’m handing you all this on a plate, and all I’m asking is that you don’t oppose Ruth Hunter’s request for a short remand so you can start to test the value of what I’ve given you.’

  ‘And that’s all, is it?’ he asked, utter disbelief riddling his voice like a virus in a computer.

  ‘Pretty much, yeah. You see, Mr Turnbull, in spite of your performance this morning, I happen to think you’re an honest copper. I don’t think you want innocent men put away just to make your clean-up rate look better. And I know the strength of what I’ve given you. I think after forty-eight hours you’ll have the same gut feeling I’ve got about Richard’s innocence, and I don’t think you’ll be opposing bail then. But I’m not asking for any promises.’

  ‘Just as bloody well,’ he grumbled, ‘for you’d not be getting any.’ He stared down at the photographs on his desk, slowly sifting through them, assessing what he was seeing with the eyes of an expert. Turnbull eventually looked up. ‘So, what has Ruth Hunter told you to ask for?’

  ‘I want you to call the Crown Prosecution solicitor and ask that they don’t oppose Ruth’s request for a short remand.’

  ‘That it?’

  ‘That’s it. Now, are you going to give me something back, or am I going to develop profound amnesia about the events of the last three days?’

  He grinned. ‘You know, for a girl, you’re not short on bottle. OK, I’ll do it. I can’t say fairer than that, now can I?’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘You won’t mind if I hang on while you make the call?’

  This time he laughed delightedly, his hand making a half-hearted gesture that, if I’d been a bloke, would have turned into a clout on the back that would have brought my breakfast back. ‘You’re not a Yorkshire lass by any chance, are you? No? Pity.’

  I waited while he did as I’d demanded. He was no more charming to the Crown Prosecution Service’s solicitor than he’d been to me, but he seemed to achieve the right result. On my way out of the door, I said, ‘By the way – Mr Broderick wants to know when you’re going to release his very expensive motor from your compound.’

  Turnbull snorted. I almost expected him to paw the ground. ‘He’s been on to you as well, has he? You tell your Mr Broderick that he can have his poncey set of wheels back when I’m good and satisfied that it’s going to yield up no more clues to me. And that could be after your boyfriend’s trial. Now, bugger off and let me get on. Oh, and leave me that tape, will you? Like you said, it’ll save me having to keep you here all day making a statement.’

  I handed the tape over with a grim little smile. ‘One other thing,’ I said. ‘Nothing to do with Richard. You know those transfers that kids use – temporary tattoos, that sort of thing?’

  Turnbull nodded. ‘I’ve got a seven-year-old that gets in the bath looking like a merchant seaman. What about them?’

  ‘Ever heard of them being impregnated with drugs and used to get kids high?’

  Turnbull pulled a face. ‘I’ve heard rumours, but I’ve never actually come across a case. It’s one of them urban legends, isn’t it? It always happens to a friend of a friend’s cousin’s dog. Crap, as far as I’m concerned. If I was wanting to get kids stoned, I’d just stick something in sweets or fizzy drinks. Helluva lot easier. Why d’you ask?’

  ‘Like you said, urban legend. A friend of a friend’s cousin’s dog asked a doctor I know about it. She said the same as you.’ I got to my feet. ‘Sorry to have troubled you. Thanks. For phoning.’ And I was gone, quitting while I was still ahead. Let’s face it. Telling Geoff Turnbull about Davy’s brush with the hallucinogens wasn’t the way to get his daddy out of jail.

  20

  I walked back through the office door on the stroke of twelve. The door to my office was closed. I raised my eyebrows in a question at Shelley. She pursed her lips and said, ‘I had to shut the door in case any clients walked in.’

  Curious, I opened my door a couple of feet and stuck my head round. I saw instantly what she meant. Davy was still intent on the computer, but now Bill was sitting next to him, clutching his own joystick. Neither of them looked up at the sound of the door. I cleared my throat
. Bill glanced up. As soon as he realized it wasn’t Shelley with some troublesome business query, I could see his attention leave the game and focus sharply on me. He got up, saying, ‘I’ve got to go and talk to Kate, Davy. Thanks for the game.’

  Davy didn’t even look up as he said, ‘But Bill, you’ve got one more life!’

  ‘Well, since you’ve still got four, I guess I’ll have to concede. You win,’ Bill said, pretending to be petulant about it.

  In the glow of the screen, Davy grinned, his body shifting strangely in the chair as he controlled whatever it was that was currently conquering the universe. Bill steered me out of the room and through into his office. ‘He’s a nice kid,’ Bill said. ‘No bother.’ I was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with me. Was I the only person on the planet who liked to live in a child-free zone?

  Bill sat down and stretched his long legs in front of him. ‘So, how did it go?’

  I filled him in on the weekend’s events. Maybe I should just ring Richard Branson and ask him to release it on CD. It would save me a lot of time. Then I ran through my interview with Geoff Turnbull.

  ‘You think he really will keep an open mind about Richard?’ Bill asked.

  ‘I doubt it. I think the only chance he’s got is for Turnbull to make a lot of arrests. When he realizes none of them even know Richard’s name, he’s going to have to unclamp his jaws from off Barclay’s leg.’

  ‘But he did go along with the short remand request?’

  ‘Sure, but that’s no skin off his nose, is it?’ My early jubilation at getting Turnbull to look properly at my evidence had evaporated. I wondered fleetingly how the families of the Guildford Four and the Birmingham Six had put up with this dislocating ordeal for the years it had taken them to have their loved ones released. I took a deep breath. ‘And now,’ I said, ‘I want to ask you a favour.’

  ‘Ask away,’ he said. ‘Hacking? Bugging? Your wish is my command.’

  ‘None of the above. It’s just that I’ve had enough aggro for one day. Will you phone Andrew Broderick and tell him what Turnbull said about the car? It’s hard enough keeping my head together without having to deal with someone else’s disappointments.’

  Bill jumped up and engulfed me in a bear hug, his thick blond beard tickling my ear. ‘Poor old Katy,’ he said softly. ‘It’s not always easy, being as tough as old boots, is it?’

  I let myself be held, wallowing in the illusion of security. There’s something very solid about Bill. I felt like I was being given a tranquillity transfusion. After a few minutes, I drew back, standing on tiptoe to kiss his beard. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Now, I’m going to take Davy for a swim and a pizza, and then the pair of us are going to get a pile of videos and completely indulge ourselves.’

  ‘You deserve it,’ Bill said. ‘You’ve done a helluva job, considering you started with virtually nothing to go at. Richard’s a lucky guy.’

  ‘What do you mean, lucky? When he sees our bill, he’ll be wishing he was back inside,’ I said. ‘See you in the morning, Bill. Unless you want to come round and play computer games with Davy tonight?’

  ‘I’ll pass,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some rather different games in mind for tonight. Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder, you know.’ Somehow, I found it hard to believe the heart was the organ in question. I wondered who the lucky woman was this week. One day, he’s going to meet one with fancier footwork than him, and that’ll be a battle worth seeing. Till then, he’s working his way through the intelligent female population of the north of England. He once told me he’s never been to bed with a woman yet who didn’t teach him something. I don’t think he was talking about sex.

  There were only a couple of dozen people in the fun pool at Gorton, so Davy and I made the most of the slides and the waves, treating the place as our personal pleasure dome. Although my shoulders screamed in complaint at first, the water therapy seemed to help. Afterwards, both ravenous, we scoffed huge pizzas and enough salad to keep Watership Down’s bunnies going for a week. Then we hit the video shop and chose more movies than we’d have time to watch. I didn’t care. Part of me felt a holiday sense of release. I’d done everything I could to get Richard freed. Now all I could do was wait, and I owed it to Davy to do that as cheerfully as possible.

  As we drove across Upper Brook Street and into Brunswick Street, the traffic slowed to a crawl. I couldn’t see what the problem was, only that there was no traffic heading past us in the opposite direction. Eventually, craning my neck, I could see that the road ahead was cordoned off, and that traffic was being diverted down Kincardine Road by a uniformed policeman. Curious, I swung the car out of the queue, and indicated to the policeman that I wanted to turn right, heading back home. He gave me the nod, and I pulled round the corner and parked. I couldn’t help myself. There’s no way I could ignore something looking that interesting on my own doorstep. At the very least, it looked like someone had raided the local post office. I sometimes wonder whether I chose the career or it chose me. I turned to Davy and said, ‘Wait here a minute. I just want to see what’s going on.’ He flicked a glance heavenwards, sighed and pulled a comic out of his backpack.

  I got out of the car and locked it up, then cut through the council estate so that I’d emerge at the mouth of a narrow alley off Brunswick Street, but further down than the road block. I was almost opposite the pelican crossing, and I could see that there was a second road block a little further down in the other direction. On the pedestrianized little shopping precinct on the other side of the street, two police cars and an ambulance were standing, doors open, just outside the post office. Around them milled a bewildered looking knot of people, police officers trying to keep them away from the person the ambulance crew were crouched over. The wailing cries of a child rose and fell like a siren. While I watched, another pair of police cars arrived.

  One of the ambulance crew stood up and shook his head while his colleague continued to crouch on the ground. There was a commotion at the heart of the crowd, then a stretcher was loaded into the ambulance. The spectators parted, and the ambulance reversed on to the road and sped off. The crowd stayed back long enough for me to see a policewoman ushering two young boys into the back of a police car, which shot off in the wake of the ambulance, blue light flashing. It was hard to be certain from that distance, but they looked disturbingly like Wayne and Daniel.

  By this time, I was a question mark on legs. I’d also spotted a familiar mane of black hair bobbing around on the fringes of the crowd, tapping people on the shoulders and thrusting a tape recorder in their faces. I checked that none of the cops were looking my way, then I nonchalantly nipped out of the alley, crossed the street and headed for Alexis. If anyone had tried to stop me, I’d have insisted I was on my way to a dental appointment in the precinct. If the police were suspicious enough to check it out, Howard’s receptionist knew me well enough to back me up.

  As I drifted closer, I could see the police officers were working their way through the crowd, taking names and addresses rather than attempting statements. I could hear odd snatches of shocked conversation: ‘all over in seconds…’; ‘…balaclava over his head…’; ‘thought it was a car backfiring…’; ‘police should do something about them druggies…’ Alexis was over on the far side, tape recorder shoved under the nose of a uniformed inspector. I took my notebook and tape recorder out of my handbag and rushed round the fringe of the crowd to Alexis’s side. I arrived in time to hear him say in harassed tones, ‘Look, I can’t tell you any more now, you’ll have to wait till we have a clearer idea ourselves.’ Then, seeing me and falling for my instant disguise, he added, ‘And I haven’t got time to go through it all again. Get the details from her,’ he said, gesturing towards Alexis with his thumb. She turned and clocked me. Her face, already paler than usual, seemed to go even whiter.

  ‘For Chrissake, what are you doing here?’ she hissed.

  ‘I could say the same to you. What’s happened? Somebody taken a pot at the
post office? And where’s the rest of the pack?’

  ‘Still on their way, if they even know about it. I just happened to be driving back to your house when it all came on top. Kate, you’ve got to get out of here! Now! Move it!’ Alexis started hustling me away, back towards the side street where I’d left my car.

  ‘Why?’ I protested. ‘What’s it got to do with me?’

  ‘Where’s Davy?’ she demanded, still shooing me away from the crowd and back across the street.

  ‘He’s in the car.’ We’d reached the opening of the alley and I stepped in, then stopped in my tracks. I wasn’t going another pace further until she enlightened me. ‘What is going on, Alexis? What happened back there?’

  She ran a hand through her unruly hair and pulled a crushed packet of cigarettes out of her bag. She lit up and took a deep drag before she spoke. ‘I’m sorry, but there is not a gentle way of saying this. Cherie Roberts just got killed,’ she said.

  I felt like I’d been punched in the chest. The air emptied out of me like a burst balloon. ‘A robbery? She got in the way?’ I asked.

  My face must have betrayed my hope that this had been no more than a horrific accident, a tragic and malignant twist of fate, for Alexis turned her face away and shook her head, smoke streaming down her nostrils in twin plumes. ‘No. It was a hit.’

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose between my fingers. I didn’t want to believe what Alexis was saying. ‘That can’t be right,’ I said half-heartedly. ‘For fuck’s sake, she was no big deal. She was just another single mum, trying to get through the days and keep her kids out of trouble.’

  ‘I’ve covered too many stories like this over the last couple of years in the Moss and Cheetham Hill,’ Alexis said bleakly, referring to the violent drug wars that have practically doubled Manchester’s homicide figures. ‘According to the eyewitnesses, Cherie was coming out of the post office after cashing her child benefit. There was a car parked on the other side of the road. When she came out, the car revved up, shot across the road, mounted the pavement and drove towards her. When they were a few feet away from her, she got blasted from the rear window with both barrels of the shotgun. It was, variously, a metallic blue Sierra, a silver Toyota, a grey Cavalier, and nobody’s admitting to getting the registration number.’