by Nick Oldham
‘Oh?’ Crane looked stone-face at Loz.
‘A detective from England came nosing around - a woman.’
Instantly alert, Crane said, ‘When, exactly?’ thinking the cops had moved damn quick to be sniffing around Tenerife already. ‘Two weeks ago, something like that.’
Crane relaxed a little. That was before the robbery, but after the killings in Blackpool. ‘What did she want?’
‘She didn’t come to see you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Came to see that ex-cop, Gillrow. Something to do with a guy who’d been wasted in Blackpool. . . can’t remember his name.’
‘Malcolm Fitch,’ whispered Crane, more to himself than to Loz.
‘Yeah, that’s the name. He used to be one of Gillrow’s snouts, apparently.’
‘What did he tell her?’
‘Nothing, other than to piss off out of it, but he came simpering around to me, shitting bricks about it.’
‘And?’
‘As you weren’t here, I sorted it.’
Crane examined Loz’s profile. ‘Sorted it? What does that mean?’
‘Oh, nothing much - just put the frighteners up her.’
‘How?’ Crane’s nostrils flared.
‘Gave her a bit of a slapping and told her to back off – but tactfully, like. Y’know, I wasn’t specific, just made sure she knew what I meant.’ He did not care to admit the truth of the matter in that the slapping had not gone quite as planned and the tables had been turned.
‘Good, good, well done.’ Crane patted his shoulder. Loz smiled, thinking he had done well. Maybe he had wormed his way back into Crane’s good books.
‘What have you been up to?’ Loz enquired now that Crane seemed to have chilled out.
‘This and that,’ he said vaguely.
They drove on in silence for a while until Crane could stand it no longer. He stretched. ‘I could do with a leak. Pull off here, will you? Too much to drink on the plane.’ He pointed to a junction which led up to San Isidro.
Unsuspecting, Loz hung a right, looped off the highway and stopped in an appropriate place. Crane got out, saying, ‘Have a smoke, if you want. I think this’ll be a long one.’ He walked down a slight, rocky incline where he urinated on some bushes that looked like they need the liquid. Behind, Loz leaned against the high vehicle and lit up.
Crane, having finished, came back up the gradient to the car and stood next to Loz for a moment before punching him as hard as he could in the belly. The cigarette shot out of Loz’s lips like a small rocket and he doubled up as the breath whooshed out of him. Crane followed that up with a couple of fist blows to the side of the head which felled him. Then Crane dragged him back to his feet, pinned him against the side of the car and growled, ‘You stupid fucker! You don’t have the sense you were born with, do you? You’ve alerted the cops and warned ‘em off Warned ‘em off! You don’t do that to the cops - they just come back mob-handed, dickhead.’ He drove his knee up into Loz’s groin. A scream of pain came out, but Crane did not let him go, slamming him hard against the car. ‘You have no conception of what you’ve done, have you?’
‘Billy, why? What’s going on?’ he gasped. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ll tell you, shall I? That fucking girl and her stupid boy friend who lost me fifty grand got taught a lesson. I did ‘em both in. At the same time I did a personal one on another guy who’d caused me grief previously - Malcolm Fitch. Now I’m back having just pulled the biggest fucking all-cash job ever - in which eight people got killed and I walked away with twenty million - and the last thing I want is cops. Does that make sense to you? I’m probably the most wanted fucker in Europe at this moment in time. The only reason I don’t fucking kill you now is that I need you to do something for me. Do you think you can?’
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. . .’
But Crane had not finished his assault. In a final spasm of rage, he head-butted Loz who crumpled to the ground like a sack.
So now here he was, battered and bruised once more, still looking after Nero and keeping an eye on the business while Crane had done a runner to lie low in La Gomera. His boss had left strict instructions for Loz, to inform him immediately if any cops turned up sniffing around, to get some goons to watch the ferry terminal at Los Cristianos for signs of any cops, Spanish or English, and to keep things ticking over - and not to do anything stupid or thoughtless! Crane had said he would always be on the end of a mobile, but just in case he couldn’t be contacted that way, Loz had to e-mail him from the office at Uncle B’s.
The instructions had concluded with an ominous warning for Loz. Since divulging his crimes to him, Crane had had serious misgivings; Loz was a weak and stupid man, wide open to temptation. A liability.
‘Let me make something very clear to you, old mate,’ Crane said, his eyes never once leaving Loz’s. ‘You know some major shit about me . . . am I right?’
Loz swallowed what felt like a rock and nodded dumbly.
Crane spoke the next words slowly, forming them with exaggerated movements of his lips. ‘Don’t do anything you might regret.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Otherwise you are dead - and no-one’ll ever find your body, unless they analyse what comes out of a lion’s arse-hole. Understand?’ he whispered.
But Loz had had enough of the other man pushing him round, beating him up when he felt like it, shoving his hand into Nero’s cage, treating him like a piece of shit. Enough was enough. A man can only take so much. He had his dignity, his basic human rights and they had been well violated. If he, Loz, could handle things just right, there would be nothing to worry about.
‘This is how it stands.’ Henry was addressing FB and Rupert Davison, though his eyes continually strayed to the latter. Danny sat at the back of the office, looking supportive1y at Henry. ‘We have ascertained by means of the tachograph fitted to the security van that the robbery took place on Lancaster Services on the M6, southbound. A search of the car park found blood on the tarmac and this has since been matched to one of the victims. No witnesses have yet been found, probably because there was a row of builders’ portacabins outside the services themselves which obscured views from the shops across the lorry park.
‘At the scene of the shooting at the White Lund industrial estate in Morecambe, the forensic people - who have worked their backsides off for us - have matched blood found on two sets of overalls found there with all four of the dead security guards. We can be sure, therefore, that the people found dead at the warehouse are the ones who committed the robbery and murdered the guards. This is further confirmed by the guns found there, too. Ballistic matches have been made with the bullets found in the bodies of the security guards. The owner of the warehouse, a very dodgy importer, who, incidentally, reported the job, hasn’t been very helpful yet, but we’re keeping up the pressure on him. He’ll crack, but I don’t think he was involved directly with the robbery or the shooting afterwards.’
‘Conclusions so far?’ FB interrupted.
‘That the robbers had a falling-out over the division of the money, and one or more of them got away with it.’ Henry took a breath. ‘We’ve had some interesting work done by the financial and intelligence analysts, which I’ve just received from Danny. Don Smith, one of the dead villains in the warehouse, seems to have been pretty careless up to a point. We have records of several recent mobile-phone calls to a number in Tenerife and also spending on his credit card for a flight to Tenerife from Manchester and back via Lisbon and Paris.’
‘Why do you say up to a point?’ FB asked.
‘Because we haven’t managed to trace his home address yet. The address for his credit cards and telephones relate to a rented office in Blackpool, which is scrupulously clean, a shell,’ Henry explained. ‘What is obvious, therefore, is that a robbery has taken place, there’s been a fall-out big style between the offenders, an OK-corral-style gunfight, and the survivors have skedaddled with the dosh - and these are the people we need to nail.’
FB gave a weary clap. �
��I know that - what I don’t know is what you’re doing about it.’
‘My best, that’s what.’
‘Is that going to be good enough?’ FB was tough.
Henry’s mouth tightened. ‘Yes. I’ll catch the bastard or bastards. The link seems to be Tenerife - which is also the link to one of the security guards, a guy called Colin Hodge, who visited the place just a short time before the robbery. We think he was the inside man. The other link is Billy Crane, who has suddenly reappeared on the scene. Danny has had him positively identified as having stayed at the Imperial Hotel on the night of the triple murder in Blackpool, and leaving via Manchester Airport the day after, catching a flight to Lisbon, subsequently connecting to Tenerife. I saw him back in the country’ before the robbery in the company of Elphick, Thompson and Drozdov junior - three of the four dead men at the warehouse. The fourth dead man is Don Smith, of course, long-time associate of Crane’s. And today the fingerprint people have given me some partial idents lifted from a vehicle - not enough for court - putting Crane at the warehouse. There are also some partial prints of his on a pistol found there, which is the same gun that killed two security guards, Thompson, Elphick and Drozdov.
‘Our next step must be to trace and arrest Billy Crane. He’s the key to all this and he’s got some nooky questions to answer.But the good bit is - if we don’t get to him first - and soon - he’s as dead as a dodo.’
Later, in the gents’ toilets, Rupert Davison was urinating at one of the stalls when Henry slotted in next to him.
‘Henry, how are you doing? You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?’
‘Like the plague,’ Henry admitted.
‘I’ll tell you what - that Danny Furness has aged well, hasn’t she? I screwed her, you know?’
‘Did you really?’ Henry bristled. He began to pee.
‘Are you still serious about blowing me out over those interview tapes and the like?’
‘Is that why you’ve come today, to ask me that?’
‘I was invited by Mr Fanshaw-Bayley, actually, because I have a vested interest in this investigation. Two Manchester villains are dead, plus their Russian pal. You need to keep me sweet so I can ensure your enquiries around Greater Manchester go smoothly.’
‘Are you saying you would obstruct my officers?’
Davison shrugged. ‘I could ensure they did not get the cooperation they require.’
Henry finished urinating and moved on to the wash-basin. He turned a tap on to a trickle and put his hands under it. ‘That sounds like obstructing the course of justice.’
‘Does, doesn’t it?’ smirked the Superintendent. He finished and joined Henry by the sinks.
‘That interview-tapes business - you know you’ll never get anywhere with it, don’t you? My word against a mere Custody Officer. I handed the master tapes over to him - which is actually documented in the custody records of Thompson and Elphick - so I don’t have a great problem there. As regards the working tapes of the interviews, losing them is unfortunate, but it won’t get as far as discipline. Happens all the time to other officers. I’ll probably get mildly rebuked. I can live with that.’
‘But you did steal and destroy the masters, didn’t you?’ Henry said.
Davison placed his hands under the soap dispenser and then turned on a tap. Henry leaned across and turned it off, coming in close to Davison, eyeball to eyeball.
‘You did, didn’t you?’ Henry pushed.
A smile crept over Davison’s face. ‘Of course I did.’
Henry took a step away. ‘Have you come here to gloat?’ He put his hands towards the hot air dryer, then changed his mind and went for the roller towel. ‘To tell me not to bother going for you, is that it?’
‘Not to gloat, Henry - just to ensure that you don’t waste your breath and time on something where you’ll end up with egg on your face,’ he said confidently.,
‘What happened to the master tapes?’
Wonderfully, Davison came alongside Henry by the towels and spoke in a hoarse, but clear whisper. ‘In a busy custody office, it’s very easy to make things go missing. I went back down a little later and while the Custody Sergeant was tied up booking in prisoners, I helped myself. The tapes are kept on a shelf under the desk until they are collected by the tape librarian, usually the day after. They are destroyed now.’
And so are you, mate, Henry wanted to tell him, but before he could make any sort of response, Davison said, ‘It’s a shame our operation against Thompson and Elphick came to nothing. Unfortunate they bubbled you as a cop, isn’t it?’
Henry’s eyebrows knitted together. Something in Davison’s tone of voice triggered off a warning bell in Henry’s head. ‘You sound like you know something about it?’
Davison uttered a short laugh and moved his wet hands underneath one of the hot air dryers. Henry stepped in and blocked his way before he had a chance to turn it on. ‘Did you tip them off about me?’ he demanded coldly.
Davison and Henry stood face to face for a few tense seconds. ‘What do you think, Henry?’ Davison said without admitting anything. He shouldered Henry out of the way to get to the machine. ‘I’ve got wet hands.’
Henry drew back, repulsed. He stormed out of the toilets and went back to the MIR where FB and Danny were waiting for him. He ripped the miniature tape-recorder out from the small of his back and shoved it into FB’s hands. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘hang the bastard out to dry.’
Their lovemaking took place on the deep pile rug in front of Danny’s living-room gas-fire. It lasted a long time and both experienced a prolonged, satisfying orgasm, leaving them feeling tired and mellow. Henry lay on his back, Danny tucked up on her side next to him, her fingertips tracing lazy circles around his nipples, chest and stomach.
‘Before we were rudely interrupted by FB, you were going to say something to me - remember?’
He took a deep breath. ‘The only reason I took that under cover job was to get away from you.’
‘Me - why?’
‘All that stuff we went through with Jack Sands, all the time I spent with you. . . I was falling in love with you, Danny. It was doing my skull in. Life at home was getting unbearable because all I could think of was you and wanting to be with you - even though we hadn’t actually done anything like this.’ He indicated their nakedness. ‘I took the U/C job to get away from it all, take a break, get things into perspective. I thought I’d find it was just a silly infatuation, that I was just kidding myself. Wrong! All I could do was think about you - and when I got the chance to come home, what happens? Before going home to Kate, I go into Blackpool nick and see you instead.’
‘And ask me how to win your wife back - and I suggested shagging her! I really wanted you to shag me.’
He laughed a little. ‘I needed to be sure how I felt about you. I’ve done some crackpot things in my life with other women, Danny, on the pretence of being in love, but I wasn’t. I was just having my ego fuelled. You are different.’ He paused. ‘I love you.’ He waited for a reply.
‘This could get very complicated,’ Danny said cautiously, but feeling wonderful having heard Henry say the words.
‘Don’t I know it.’
‘And unpleasant.’
‘Yep.’
‘And costly.’
‘Oh don’t, now you’re digging a knife into me.’
‘And people will get hurt.’
‘I know.’
‘And we will suffer professionally.’
‘Yeah.’ He pushed himself up on to one elbow and faced her. ‘You’re talking future tense.’
‘Yes ... all those things will happen. If you want to go for it, then so do I because I love you very much, Henry. I’ve fancied you for years and now I want you for ever, whatever it costs. I love you.’
Henry touched her cheek. They kissed tenderly.
‘You will have a lot of difficult things to do, Henry, but I promise you I’ll be here for you, however tough it gets. I won’t let you down.’
His pager rang out shrilly from the settee where his trousers had been dumped. He rolled away, glancing at his watch as he did so - it was 10 p.m. - and checked the message. He picked up Danny’s phone and called Control Room, talked to the Duty Inspector, lying back as he conversed. Danny sensuously rubbed her breasts along his rib cage. ‘Thanks,’ he said and hung up. ‘Interesting ... we need to get back in. There’s been a development. Crimestoppers have had a call from a male who says he has urgent information about the M6 robbery and that he wants to speak to me - now.’
They dressed quickly and were out of the house minutes later, jumping into their respective cars. Before setting off, Henry leapt out of his and trotted round to Danny in her unrepaired MX-5. ‘Sorry about this,’ he said awkwardly, ‘but I should just phone Kate and let her know.’
‘Sure.’ She gave him her house keys and waited while he went back in and made the call. ‘Did you dial 141 before dialling your number - you know, so my number is untraceable?’ Danny asked when he gave her the keys back.
‘No. Oh, shit - no, it’ll be all right.’
Chapter Twenty
‘Don’t get upset.’ Henry attempted to calm Danny. ‘This guy could be our key to cracking this job.’
‘And he’s also the one who attacked me on the beach in Los Cristianos,’ Danny spluttered angrily. Her wild eyes glared at Henry. ‘He indecently assaulted me. He would have raped me if I hadn’t kicked six shades out of him.’
‘Danny, please,’ Henry cooed. ‘I think I know how you’re feeling.’
‘How the hell could you..?’ she started to demand. Her voice trailed off and she wound her neck in with a remorseful, ‘Sorry.’
‘Forget it.’
‘It’s just I’m so tired. There’s so much gone on recently.’
‘Forget it,’ he said again. ‘Let’s just hear what he has to say and if it’s all crap, then we’ll beat him up together, shall we?’
She managed a smile and nodded compliantly.