The Devil's Interval

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘Bollocks. He’s just made the right decision, that’s all. He would have been mad to sign up with you, anyway. And just so we’re clear. No more meeting, no more talk. From now on, if I see you, or any of your boys, then they’re in play.’

  ‘In play? You mean that you’ll kill us?’ Young looked genuinely amused. ‘What, yourself, like? With your own hands? I’m shaking with fear, John, I really am. You couldn’t kill a kitten. But I’m content that I’ve given you an honest chance to do the sensible thing, no-one can say I haven’t. And you’ll have a hell of a lot worse than me to deal with now, I’ll tell you that.’

  This time Porter did open the door, and got out. Then he leaned back into the car for a moment.

  ‘You do me a favour, Dai. Keep taking the fucking tablets, there’s a good lad.’

  DC Henry Armstrong was back in at work by eight am, and drank his coffee at his desk. It didn’t make him feel any better, but the email from Josie on the CCTV team did. At least a bit. Because there were only three cars that had appeared on both main roads during the relevant time period. Armstrong ran the names and addresses of the registered keepers through the PNC. It didn’t take long, because the first one was exactly what he was looking for. ‘Got you, you bastard,’ he said, and noted a name and address in his notebook. The husband of the registered keeper of a blue Toyota, a Colin Arthur Sparrow, had five convictions for receiving and two for online fraud. All right, there was nothing directly car-related, but he was still the one. Had to be.

  Henry almost bumped into Pepper on his way down the stairs, and just shouted back a greeting from the landing below. She shook her head and carried on. Twenty minutes later he was parking outside a run-down farmhouse on the outskirts of Longtown. It looked to have some old barns round the back too, perfect for storing cars. He was tempted to go and have a quick look first, before he knocked. But he followed the rules, and just banged on the door.

  ‘Aye?’, said a middle-aged man, answering the door, and glancing at Armstrong. ‘You the law?’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’ asked Armstrong, producing his Warrant Card. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Not a chance, mate. What do you want, like?’

  ‘You’re Colin Sparrow?’

  ‘I am, aye. What’s this about? I need to get to work.’

  ‘And what is it you do?’

  ‘You’ve not come out here to ask me that. So get on with it, or get on your way, mate.’

  ‘All right. Where were you last night?’

  ‘At home, all evening. The wife will vouch for me, but she’s out at the moment. Come back in an hour or two, and she might be back.’

  ‘I’ll send someone round to take a statement from both of you later on. Can you be in at six?’

  ‘Aye, that’ll be all right.’

  ‘But just one quick question for now. Can you explain what your car was doing in Carlisle last night, at about ten pm, if you were both at home?’

  ‘Oh, aye, I forgot. The wife nipped in to pick up a carry out.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘The Chinese place, just off Cecil Street.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘About half ten. Does that tie up with your CCTV or whatever, like?’ Sparrow was smiling slyly as he spoke.

  ‘You’ve got a receipt, anything like that?’

  ‘No. I don’t think it’s tax deductible, or owt like that.’

  ‘Did you phone the order in, then?’

  ‘No, she just rocked up, like. Listen, mate, what’s all this about? Give us a bloody clue.’

  ‘A stolen MGB GT. Driven away from Aglionby Street at about the time you say your wife was in the Chinese just round the corner.’

  For the first time Armstrong caught an expression other than amusement on Sparrow’s thin, lined face. It was surprise. Real surprise.

  ‘Sorry, mate’ he said, ‘but you’ve driven all the way out here looking for some crappy old car? No offence, but that makes no sense.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because the last time you lot sent a DC out on enquiries about a missing MG was in about 1967. And only then if it belonged to Twiggy, or owt like that. There’s something else going on here. So what was in it, then? Something tasty, I’ll bet.’

  ‘No, nothing like that.’

  ‘Bollocks. What is it, drugs? In the boot, like? Or hidden inside body panels, maybe?’

  Armstrong was losing control of the situation, and he knew it. But he couldn’t think of a single credible reason for his interest, other than the truth. ‘No, I told you, there was nothing illegal in it. It’s my dad’s car, if you must know.’

  Sparrow looked interested now. ‘Really? You dad’s? Had it for years, I expect? A bit of a treasured possession?’

  ‘Aye, exactly. So do you think you could help me get it back in one piece, like?’

  ‘Is there a reward?’

  ‘Aye, not going to jail.’

  Sparrow opened the door a little wider, and stepped outside. He looked up and down the road. ‘You can do better than that, mate.’

  ‘I bloody can’t.’

  ‘Then I can’t help you.’

  ‘Good. I’m really glad you said that. Because I’m going to get a Warrant to search these premises, and then we’ll see what we find.’

  ‘You and whose army, mate?’

  ‘Just you wait and see. You see the thing is this, Mr. Sparrow. An old Granada that got nicked a couple of weeks back, you may even have it one of your sheds, that belongs to our ACC’s father. And I believe that the same people who stole that also nicked my old fella’s car. So if I need a Warrant, I will get one, believe me.’

  ‘All right, keep your hair on. Let me put a few feelers out, OK?’

  ‘No. I’m going to make a call, and get that Warrant. I’ll be parked just over there. Then I’ll search your outbuildings.’

  ‘Have it your own way, mate. I’m off to work, but when you’ve got your Warrant you come back. Bring as many of your lads as you like, but you’ll find nowt. It’s rule one of the robbing job, is that. Don’t shit where you sleep, like. Not that I’ve got any bent gear, of course.’

  ‘So why don’t we just take a walk round now, then? Save the taxpayer a few quid.’

  ‘Why don’t you just fuck off?’

  Armstrong turned and walked back to his car without another word. He was parked on the public highway, with a good view of the yard. He called the ACC’s office, and left a message. Half an hour later he was still waiting, and Sparrow was long gone, waving as he walked away. Armstrong was just about to leave when his phone rang. It was the ACC’s PA.

  ‘The ACC received your message, DC Armstrong. He says that you’re to continue with your enquiries, but that a Warrant can’t be granted, in view of the significant resource requirements associated with making a search, and the lack of supporting evidence.’

  ‘But I could do it myself, with just one other officer. I’m not asking for a full search team with forensic support. Nothing like that, honestly. It’s old cars I’m after, and they’re easy to spot.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but the ACC was very clear. To tell you the truth I’m a little surprised that you’ve even come to him with this, DC Armstrong. I’m sure that your own line manager would have said the same. Really, you ought to know better.’

  ‘But I know it’s here. I just know it…’ But Armstrong didn’t go on to explain why, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was now only talking to himself.

  When he got back to the office he told Rex Copeland what had happened.

  ‘So was it there or not, your old man’s car?’

  ‘I told you, the bloody ACC wouldn’t grant a Warrant.’

  ‘I know that, but you took a look anyway, didn’t you?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. Did you actually pay any attention at all when you were at Hendon?’

  ‘But the bloke went out, you said so yourself.’

  ‘All right, maybe I should have h
ad a quick look. The question is, what should I do now?’

  ‘Get back out there?’

  ‘No point going back. They probably moved the cars five minutes after I’d gone. I’m absolutely buggered here, Rex. I need to tell my dad about what’s happened.’

  ‘No, not yet. Listen, the fact that you came knocking at that bloke’s door means that they’re going to want to get rid of the car, sharpish, aren’t they?’

  ‘Aye, probably.’

  ‘So what would you do, if you were in their shoes?’

  Armstrong thought about it for a moment. ‘Oh no. Shit. You don’t mean what I think you mean? They wouldn’t get it crushed. It’s worth thousands, that MG.’

  ‘All they need to say is that it’s riddled with rust and has failed its MOT and no-one would ask any questions. In ten minutes it could be a solid little block of scrap. Talk about disposing of the body, Henry. It’s perfect, that plan.’

  ‘Bugger. I’d better get round the local scrappies then. Will you let Pepper know, if you see her?’

  ‘She’s in with the Super and that DI from HQ. The Roberts killing again, I expect.’

  ‘I thought we were supposed to keep our nebs right out of that?’

  ‘That’s Cumbrian for nose, right? If so, yeah, we were. But maybe they’ve decided that a proper street copper like Pepper might actually know something that they don’t.’ Copeland paused for effect for a moment, then added, ‘like’.

  Armstrong smiled. ‘Very good. We’ll make a local out of you yet, Rex.’

  ‘That’s what I’m bloody afraid of.’

  Superintendent Clark poured the tea herself. DI Francis had a young DS called Iredale with her this time, along with a laptop and several large paper files. She was doing almost all of the talking and, to Clark’s relief, Pepper Wilson had mostly been nodding along.

  ‘So that’s about the size of it’, said Jane Francis, accepting her cup with a smile to the Superintendent. ‘Roberts left home at about eight pm on the evening of his death, on foot, and wasn’t seen alive again. As I said earlier, as of now we have two prime suspects for the killing, Phillip Massie and Alan Farmer, but nothing of real evidential significance to implicate either one of them. Certainly not enough to even consider charging one, or both. They’re both associates of Roberts’ of course, and both also work for John Porter. I must admit I fancied Farmer for this one initially, but since he’s turned up again now and has a reasonably solid alibi we’re only looking for Massive now. So I suppose I’m asking what’s your reaction to that idea, DS Wilson? You know Massie, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, aye, I know Phillip, all right. A decent little con, in his day. Can I just ask you something first, though?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You say that Farmer just turned up. Where had he been, and how do we know that he didn’t kill Roberts?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Well, when you were talking earlier, about Farmer and Massie being your prime suspects, I had no doubt which one was the most likely. It would have to be Farmer, every time. I’d be surprised that he could actually kill, to tell the truth, but Massie, no, never. He’d fold, every time.’

  ‘So why have he and his family vanished? All four of them, gone. Passports not used, phone, bank cards, email, nothing.’

  ‘Maybe they’re all dead.’

  DI Francis shook her head immediately. ‘No, that’s not likely. Whoever did this wanted everyone to know that Roberts was dead, so why not do the same with Massie? And why wipe out his family? That’s a bit strong for Cumbria, isn’t it?’

  ‘All right, but how about Farmer suddenly turning up again? He’s been talking to us this whole time, you already know that. So what’s his story?’

  ‘Like I told you earlier, he says he was lifted by people he didn’t know, and kept in some kind of farm building for over twelve hours. We’ve recovered the clothing he says he was wearing, and forensic analysis does seem to confirm his story.’

  ‘And he volunteered this clothing, did he?’

  ‘No, it was recovered from his bin when we brought him in. He never even referred to it when he was interviewed, actually.’

  ‘Why not? Wouldn’t that be the natural thing to do if he wanted to stand up his abduction story? And why seek to dispose of the clothing, but not actually manage it? Can’t you see, Jane? You’re being played here. I reckon he’s being subtle about it, that’s all. Letting you find the clothing was a clever idea. And, take it from me, Alan Farmer is not a subtle or a clever man.’

  DI Francis glanced across at Superintendent Clark, who looked back calmly. She’d said, at the start of the meeting, that she had been recruited to run the division like a business, and not to offer opinions on investigative matters. And she fully intended to stick to that position.

  ‘I see where this is going’ said Jane Francis, heavily. ‘Dai Young is the bogeyman here, I’ll bet, the deus ex machina in this whole thing. He’s the one pulling the strings, isn’t he? Well we’ve spoken to him, and every other low-life in the town, and there’s not even a whisper to connect him to this. So either he’s very, very frightening indeed, or he’s got sod all to do with this.’

  ‘You’re wrong. He’s got everything to do with this.’

  ‘Look, Pepper, I know that you and Young go back, and that you’ve had your problems with him in the past. But as far as we can tell he’s a legitimate small businessman. Intelligence has nothing on him…’

  ‘No bloody surprises there then.’

  ‘…and we’ve got nothing to connect him to any of this, either. Maybe you just want him to be connected, that’s all.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean?’

  ‘Well, your dad says…’

  ‘You’ve spoken to my old man about this? Christ, he’s just a drunk. He knows nowt about nowt, everyone knows that. Jesus Christ.’ Pepper was almost shouting now, and she started to stand up. Jane Francis motioned, palms down, that Pepper should sit down.

  ‘Your dad was interviewed, yes. He’s just on the list, that’s all.’

  ‘What did he say, then? What did he bloody say?’

  ‘I’m paraphrasing, but that you’ve got an obsession with Young. He says that he thinks you had a relationship with Young, years ago, and that it ended badly. He says that’s why you’ve got it in for the bloke now.’

  ‘And you actually believed that shit?’

  ‘Which part?’

  ‘Any of it.’

  ‘So it’s not true?’

  ‘My dad is an alcoholic, scumbag con, and I haven’t believed a word he’s said since I was five years old. And you actually believed him? You actually took him seriously?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Pepper, I didn’t want to give any offence. So let me be absolutely clear. There’s no evidence that Dai Young has played any part in this murder, absolutely none. And, to be frank, even if he were a working criminal this would be miles above his pay-grade, Pepper. We’re talking about some very serious organised criminals here. And if we’re right they’re moving in on this area now, and Phillip Massie is their local man. It’s that simple.’

  This time Pepper did get up, and she laughed. It sounded a bit strange, even to her. Like it was being strangled in her throat.

  ‘Massie? A gang leader? Not a fucking chance. He’s too weak to lead the fucking woodland pixies liberation front, that should be obvious to anyone, even the Super here. No offence, ma’am. But you classroom coppers, you bloody amaze me. If most cons weren’t so unbelievably fucking stupid we’d never catch any of them, with you lot on the case. Phillip Massie, a gang boss? Christ, what a joke.’

  ‘More tea?’, Superintendent Clark asked Jane Francis, when Pepper had gone.

  ‘No, thanks, we’d better be better getting back. That was no help at all, I’m afraid, ma’am. Pepper wasn’t listening to a word we told her, and nothing she said made any sense at all.’

  ‘Really? I am surprised. As I said before I can’t offer any insights into
operational affairs, and I do know the jokes they make about me, but I did take something from what Pepper said. She told you, in no uncertain terms, that in her view Massie isn’t a murderer. Or did I pick that up wrong?’

  ‘No, but like I said…’

  ‘And Pepper knows Massie, correct? I believe that she’s interviewed him on numerous occasions.’

  ‘Well, yes…’

  ‘So I’d be inclined to give weight to what she says. Pepper is an outstanding officer, with an excellent arrest record.’

  ‘Understood, ma’am.’

  ‘Good. And one other thing, before you go, DI Francis. I’m not sure whether you mentioned Pepper’s father knowing what sensitive territory that is for her personally, but let me make one thing clear. If I had the slightest evidence that you’d deliberately encouraged that outburst, engineered it almost, then I’d be straight on the phone to your supervisor. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll note DS Wilson’s comments, and send you a copy of the minutes for your approval.’

  ‘Good. And all the best with your investigation.’

  Jane got up, and DS Iredale followed suit.

  ‘I hesitate to mention this,’ said Mary Clark, as Iredale was stuffing the files into his bag as fast as he could, ‘but I suppose you’ve considered the possibility that you’re both right?’

  ‘In what way, ma’am?’ asked Jane Francis. She seemed vaguely amused by something but unwilling to show it.

  ‘Well, you believe that a major criminal gang, possibly led by the Ferris brothers, is connected to this offence?’

  ‘That’s right, we do. They’re one of two or three possible candidate criminal organisations, anyway.’

  ‘So could it be that Dai Young works for them? That way you’d both be right.’

  Jane shook her head. ‘It’s a nice idea. But as I said, ma’am, Young’s just not a player.’

  ‘All right. Just a thought. But you will remember to minute that suggestion too, won’t you?’