Bad Boy

by Peter Robinson

  “Can’t say as I have.”

  “He’s an old university and public school pal of McCready’s.”

  “The old boys’ network? Well, Jaff always did move in rarefied circles. A bit too rich for my blood. Cambridge does that to people, you know. I came up the hard way—sheer hard work, getting my hands dirty. I never went to university, and West Leeds Boys High is hardly a public school, so I wouldn’t know about all that. Wouldn’t know this Mallory, either. Jaff has a lot of friends I don’t know about and don’t want to know about. There’s a big age difference, for a start, then the employer-employee relationship. Hardly conducive to friendship. I should imagine Jaff’s friends are more his own age.”

  “Do you know what information Ciaran and Darren wanted from the people they threatened?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “They wanted to know where Jaffar McCready is heading.”

  “Well, then, we’re back to square one, aren’t we?” Fanthorpe spread his hands. “That’s exactly what I’d like to know. Except nobody yet has mentioned the elephant in the corner of the room.”

  “Meaning?” said Banks, though he had an inkling of what Fanthorpe was getting at, and the thought chilled him like a shadow crossing the high daleside.

  Fanthorpe stood up, poured himself another generous shot and pointed at Banks. “Your daughter, Banks. Tracy. Nobody’s mentioned her part in all this yet, have they?” He leaned against the wall and grinned. “Now, if you ask me, you’re a man in a lot of trouble, Mr. Banks, a lot of grief and trouble. I have daughters, too. I can understand that. Who knows, if we put our heads together, then maybe we might even be able to help one another? What about it?”

  JAFF LEFT the van behind a doorless Mini on blocks in a street of dirty redbrick terrace houses not far from Beeston Hill Cemetery. The tall prewar houses seemed to Tracy to loom menacingly over them in the growing dark as they walked away, watched closely by a gang of hooded youths congregating at the end of a ginnel, looking shifty and threatening by turns. There was a mosque on the corner with an ornate mosaic dome. Televisions flickered behind moth-eaten curtains. Canned laughter spilled out into the street and mingled with the beat of a distant pub band. The streetlights had just come on, a jaundiced yellow in the late twilight purple, and they were surrounded by haloes of haze. A hint of exotic spices filled the night air. Behind the high-pitched slate roofs, roiling dark clouds parted now and then to allow a lance of moonlight to break through. There was an edgy feel to the night, Tracy sensed, and the sky seemed to echo it. Perhaps a thunderstorm was on the way. Anything could happen.

  One of the youths turned and called out something after them. Tracy couldn’t make out the words. She could see that Jaff had one hand in his bag, though, and a grim smile on his face. A “just let them try something” smile. Tracy felt her pulse quicken with her footsteps. But nobody followed them. Nobody threw anything. When they got to the well-lit arterial road with its people, pubs, hairdressers, Asian shops and curry houses, Jaff relaxed his grip and removed his hand from the bag. They caught the first bus into the city center and sat upstairs at the front. There were hardly any other passengers at that godforsaken time of the evening, well after office hours and before closing time.

  “Isn’t it dangerous, going to a hotel?” Tracy said. “I told you they’ll be looking for the two of us together.”

  Jaff gave her a sideways glance. “I’m not letting you go, so don’t start that again. We’ll be fine. I suppose you just want to go home to Daddy?”

  Tracy said nothing. She did.

  “Well, that’s not going to happen, so you’d better make the best of things. Don’t forget what I said back there in the van. I mean it.” He looked her up and down. “At least you’re reasonably presentable now. You’ll just about pass muster. Just. How about me?”

  Jaff looked fine. Immaculate as usual. “You’ll do,” she said.

  “It’s a nice hotel I’ve got in mind,” Jaff said. “Not some fleabag place. We’ll be able to have a shower, get room service, minibar, the lot.”

  The bus lumbered on, around corners, across intersections, and finally made its way into the city center.

  “What about the CCTV cameras?” Tracy asked, as she saw the familiar landmarks of the Corn Exchange and Kirkgate Market ahead.

  “They’re only useful if someone’s watching them and knows what to look for,” said Jaff. “If you think how many of them there must be, you’ve got to realize that there can’t possibly be enough people to watch them all, or we’d be all watching each other all the time. Real Big Brother. It’s a risk, but a minor one. Especially here. Like I said, no one’s going to expect us to come back here. And by the time anyone gets to checking all the CCTV footage, we’ll be sunning it up on the Costa del Sol. At least, I will.” He grabbed the chrome rail.

  “Come on. Our stop.”

  “HELP ONE another? Where do you get that from?” said Banks.

  Fanthorpe sat down and cradled his fresh drink, a superior grin on his face. “I would have thought it was obvious,” he said. Winsome cast Banks a puzzled glance.

  “Go on,” Banks said. “Enlighten me.”

  Fanthorpe sprawled in his chair. “We both know that Jaff McCready’s on the run with your daughter Tracy. I haven’t the least interest in her, but I do have a very strong interest in young Jaff. Like I said, he’s got something of mine, and I want it back.”

  “So it’s I scratch your back and you scratch mine, is that it?”

  “Something like that. I can guarantee your daughter’s safety, Banks—that is, if she’s still in one piece when Ciaran and Darren find her. Can you do that, with all your protocols and procedures and red tape? Can you?”

  “Go on.”

  Fanthorpe leaned forward. “I thought you’d be interested. My proposal is a simple one. Leave me to find Jaff and Tracy. When I do, she’s yours. Unharmed. As I said, I have daughters, too. Believe me, I understand how you must be feeling.”

  “You understand nothing. Don’t try to tell me you give a damn about saving my daughter’s life. All you want to do is carry on making your illegal fortunes.”

  “I can’t help it if I make a good living.”

  “Off other people’s misery.”

  “Giving people what they want.”

  “Selling them drugs?”

  “However you look at it, you can hardly say that you’ve made a hell of a lot of people happy in your life so far, can you? I mean, how many of the petty villains you banged up got rogered so often in prison that their arseholes turned black and blue? How many scared young kids got stabbed by makeshift shivs in the showers? You hardly go around spreading joy and sunshine, mate, so don’t give me that holier-than-thou shit. I’m giving you a chance here. A chance to save your daughter’s life. Don’t you throw it back in my face. I never make an offer more than once.”

  Banks felt sick. The Farmer’s offer was tempting, way too tempting, and he could do as he said; he could deliver with a lot more chance of success than any police intervention could offer. You only had to look at the Patrick Doyle case to know that. Then Banks would have Tracy back and Jaff…well, Jaff was a waste of space, anyway. Who cared?

  But it would mean ending up in Fanthorpe’s pocket. It wouldn’t stop there, either, with Tracy’s safe return. There would be more demands; a little insider information, a tip here, a tip-off there, polite requests to turn a blind eye, payments made. Before long, Banks wouldn’t be able to bear looking at his reflection in the mirror. And Winsome was here, too, his moral compass: a witness to it all. She would never agree, and she wouldn’t lie for him, no matter how rude The Farmer had been to her earlier.

  “And Jaff?” Banks said. “What happens to Jaff?”

  Fanthorpe looked away. “What do you care? I can’t imagine why that would matter to you. I have no real interest in harming him. I just want my money back. Of course, it’s always possible that Darren and Ciaran might see fit to teach him a lesson. What he d
id reflects on all of us, you see. I won’t lie to you. What Jaff has done can’t go unpunished, and Ciaran doesn’t always know where to draw the line.”

  “I do see,” said Banks. “They’re going to kill him. Or they’re going to take him somewhere where you can kill him.” Fanthorpe laughed. “Now, don’t be silly. I wouldn’t harm a fly. Besides, it’s nothing as extreme as that.” He sipped some whiskey. “A short period of hospitalization, perhaps, a while before he can get back in the saddle, so to speak. A mere slap on the wrist. Surely even you can see the poetic justice in something like that. I mean, look what he did, shooting that policewoman. Bit of a goat, too, is Jaff. Your daughter—”

  Before Winsome could step in again, Banks held his hand up, palm out. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “For all our sakes, don’t follow that line of thought any further.”

  “Fair enough. I can see how you might find it painful. As you say. I simply thought you would approve of my intentions, that’s all. If not, I can’t be in any way responsible for your daughter’s safety.”

  It felt like time for the “If you harm a hair on her head I’ll rip out your spine and shove it down your throat” speech, but Banks didn’t see the point. He was sure that he and Fanthorpe understood each other already. Instead, he said, “People like you can’t let others steal from them. You have to show your power. Exercise it. You have to make examples. Jaff will be executed, no doubt in a slow, painful and terrible way, and everyone you deal with will know it. They will know what happened and why and who did it, will know that they stray at their peril. What you do to Jaff will keep your troops in order till the next time some jack-the-lad thinks he can put one over on you. I can’t be a part of that.”

  “What does it matter? We’re splitting hairs. What do you care about Jaff McCready, especially after what he’s done to your daughter and your colleague? For Christ’s sake, Banks, you must want him d—”

  “I told you not to take that route.”

  Fanthorpe stopped in mid sentence and sighed. “Well, come on,” he said. “Isn’t it about time you woke up and saw what was happening? What you’re really dealing with here.”

  Fanthorpe’s face had flushed as he talked, with anger and with drink. Banks wanted to hit him. Plant a hard, heavy fist smack in the middle of his face and watch the claret flow. “And assuming I went along with this plan of yours?” he said. “Just what would I have to do?” Banks could sense Winsome looking agape at him, but he ignored her. She would find out where he was going soon enough.

  “Why, nothing! That’s the beauty of it.” Fanthorpe’s gray eyes glittered. “A mere slap on the wrist, as I said. You simply have to leave it to me.”

  “To Ciaran and Darren, you mean?”

  “They’ve got a head start. And I’ll bet you anything my contacts are better than yours, that I can find out where Jaff and your daughter are going sooner than you can.”

  “That may be true,” Banks agreed. “So why don’t you just share that information with me, and we can do this all legal and aboveboard. That should make everyone happy. It’ll keep Ciaran and Darren from facing a murder charge and life imprisonment, too. And you, if you’re implicated.”

  Fanthorpe shook his head. “You just don’t get it, do you? You just don’t get it. And have what’s mine disappear from the evidence room, or get tied up in judicial red tape for the next twenty years? No way.”

  “That must be some dodgy fortune you’re after getting back. Or maybe it’s a nice kilo or two of coke? If that’s the case, we’ll definitely be hanging on to it.”

  “That’s none of your business. What is your business is that Ciaran and Darren don’t know to leave Tracy alone. Focus on that.”

  Banks felt a chill run through him, immediately followed by the raging impulse to hurt Fanthorpe. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, though he knew full well the meaning of Fanthorpe’s threat. He could sense Winsome’s empathy, and her determination to hold him back if he suddenly snapped. She was poised, ready. But he wasn’t going to snap.

  If there was one part of the job Banks hated more than any other, it was that feeling of impotence and ineffectiveness he so often felt by having dedicated himself to upholding the law, following the rules. He cut corners from time to time, like everyone, had occasionally acted rashly and even, perhaps, illegally, but on the whole he was on the side of virtuous and good. There was no way he would go along with what Fanthorpe was suggesting. He was going to get Tracy back, and he was going to take Jaff down, Fanthorpe, Ciaran and Darren along with him. He was as certain of that as he had been certain of the true way things stood in his life that night out in the Nevada desert. He just didn’t know how he was going to achieve it all yet.

  “I should have thought my meaning was obvious,” said Fanthorpe. “As far as Ciaran and Darren are concerned, Jaff and your daughter are one and the same. My enemies. Tarred with the same brush. However you care to put it. They’re in it together. If I let my men know otherwise, then all will unfold as I promised. Your daughter will be rescued unharmed, and Jaff will take his punishment like a man.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “That’s asking for trouble. Events would take their course. Why would an otherwise intelligent man like yourself want to take the moral high ground here?”

  “Because I’m a policeman, Mr. Fanthorpe And as a policeman I could hardly turn a blind eye to murder, could I? Because, however you whitewash it, that’s what it would be. What you’re basically telling me is that you’ll make sure your men hurt my daughter if I don’t let you have your drugs or your drug money back and leave you free to do what you want with Jaffar McCready, including kill him? Well, he might be a criminal, it’s true, but if I do as you say, I become like you. Nothing more than some twopenny-ha’penny gob of slime who’s managed to raise his greedy maw a few inches out of the gutter at feeding time.”

  The Farmer spluttered on his whiskey and dribbled some down his jumper. “Hey, steady on. Bloody hell, that’s a bit strong, Banks,” he said, pointing his finger. “You’ll regret that. Whatever happens, you’ll regret that. Ciaran and Darren are in London already, awaiting my instructions.”

  “Well, why don’t you call them? We’re not stopping you. But you don’t have any orders to give them yet, do you? You don’t know any more than we do. Probably less.” He looked over at Winsome, who smiled and shook her head.

  Fanthorpe stared at Banks for a long moment. “I don’t understand you,” he said finally. “I just don’t understand. I propose a simple deal. I get my money back. I give the thief a slap on his wrist. You get your daughter back unharmed. Where’s the problem?”

  “That’s exactly the problem,” Banks said, gesturing to Winsome that they should be going. “That you don’t see it as a problem. We’ll trouble you no more tonight. No need to see us out.”

  “Was that wise?” Winsome said as Banks got into the passenger seat beside her. “Winding him up like that?”

  “Perhaps not,” said Banks. “I don’t know. But Fanthorpe’s not the answer. If I could arrest him, I would, but we’ve got nothing on him. Not yet. It wouldn’t even do any good to take him in on sus and sweat him in an interview room for a while, either, much as I’d enjoy the opportunity. First off, we don’t have a while, and second, he’s too canny for that. He’d have his team of high-priced lawyers down there like a shot. No, we’ll get The Farmer when the time is right. For the moment I’ll ask the locals to keep an eye on his movements. At least we know now that Ciaran and Darren are in London because that’s where they think Jaff and Tracy are heading.”

  “Can we put a tap on Fanthorpe’s phone? Their mobiles?”

  “Not enough time,” said Banks with a wistful grin. “Besides, he’s bound to have a throwaway. I suppose we could try hanging him upside down or beating it out of him, or maybe pulling his fingernails out with pliers, but that relinquishes the moral high ground pretty damn quickly, doesn’t it?” Banks gestured toward Winsome’s briefcase. �
�And at least we’ve got his fingerprints.”

  “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

  “I’m not that tired. Well done. They might come in useful, and we don’t have them on record.”

  “Well, he’s never done anything illegal, has he?”

  “He certainly hasn’t been caught.”

  “What next?”

  “Back to the station. Regroup. Don’t forget, we’ve got Justin Peverell’s surname and The Farmer doesn’t. We’re not without our contacts, either. I’m still willing to bet that our resources are better than Fanthorpe’s. I also have a sneaking suspicion that Jaff and Tracy are nowhere near London yet. Wasn’t it you who told me that the van they stole was an old clunker? Wouldn’t go more than forty miles an hour? Isn’t that what you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fanthorpe doesn’t seem to know that, either. It buys us time. Let’s go see if Madame Gervaise and the rest have made any more progress with Ian Jenkinson and this Quisling bloke.”

  AS SOON as Tracy watched Jaff walk up to the hotel reception desk and start talking to the pretty young blond receptionist in his best posh accent, offering his corporate credit card, the one that couldn’t be traced back to him, her heart sank. He could do no wrong. Judging by the girl’s smile and her body language, she was practically in bed with him already.

  Tracy seriously considered making a run for it at that very moment, but Jaff’s words and threats came back to her, and the images he had evoked: a car door opening and someone dragging her inside the dark interior; or tossing her into the boot, smothering her with smelly old blankets; the threat of the unseen pinprick in the thigh or hip, waking up in an unfamiliar country; standing on a sort of makeshift stage with other girls, dressed only in pink diaphanous chiffon fluttering in a breeze from nowhere, the leering eyes of the men on the front row crawling all over her. She realized it was a ridiculous image, of course, but it kept her sitting where she was, only a few feet behind him as he made the booking, glancing occasionally back at her and grinning, but giving most of his attention to the blonde.