Green For Danger - Volume II of the Operation Jigsaw Trilogy

by Hayden, Mark

  ‘Listen, Ian, I heard something the other day.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I heard that one of the gangs has been sniffing around.’

  ‘Are you sure? People are always saying that Elijah’s got gang problems, but it’s just kids. There aren’t enough of them to form a gang, and if they did, their moms would clip them round the ear.’

  ‘It’s not the wannabes; this is for real. There’s a girl in Ezekiel House who has a brother in one of the Birmingham gangs. He’s been round a lot lately, and I saw him at the corner shop this afternoon. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be there tonight and I think he’s loaded.’

  ‘You know what I’m gonna ask next, don’t you?’

  ‘His name, yeah.’

  ‘No. His sister’s name.’

  ‘Oh. I thought I could just say I don’t know him.’

  Ian drove the car back round to Erin’s house. ‘Who’s babysitting?’

  ‘Theresa. You know, Rob’s mother. It was her as told me about the new pole dancing club in Kidderminster.’

  ‘I’d have thought that Mrs King would want you at home and waiting for her son to get out of jail, not heading off to Kiddie to go dancing.’

  ‘You know Terri better than that. She wants her grandchildren to grow up in a house where people work and don’t claim benefit.’ Erin played with the straps of her bag. ‘And she wants to see them. And she wants Rob to know that she cares.’

  It was what had driven Ian and Erin apart ten years ago – first her friendship and then her relationship with Rob King. Rob had been arrested a couple of times, and Ian had been aiming for a career in the police. He had to distance himself from Rob, and that meant saying goodbye to Erin – who immediately fell into Rob King’s arms. Erin and Rob had married, then they had separated when Rob’s brushes with the law had turned into serious dealing of drugs. He was currently doing four years for intent to supply.

  ‘When’s he getting out?’ said Ian.

  ‘Monday.’

  There was nothing more to be said.

  ‘Thanks for the tea – and the lift,’ said Erin as she got out of the car. She leaned over, and Ian thought she was going to kiss him; instead, she whispered a name and address into his ear.

  He drove off and called Control. ‘Message for CID tomorrow, please. Information received on supply of class A drugs on Elijah estate. Please contact for details. Over.’

  ‘Received. I’ll log it.’

  He could have given them the name – but now they would have to see him, and he could try to get involved in the operation and follow-up interviews. It would put him first in the queue when they chose volunteers for attachment to CID work.

  Patrick Lynch had the sense to keep quiet as the guests arrived for his daughter’s birthday party. The last two birthday parties had been in costume, wearing Hogwarts uniforms and celebrating their love for all things Harry Potter. This year was different. They looked like they were dressed to hang out at some American diner. In fact, they looked like they had been hanging out there all night and were ready for bed – pale skin, red eyes and tousled hair. His daughter was wearing a disturbingly tight pair of shorts. He welcomed them to his house and took the first opportunity to ask his wife what was going on.

  ‘Sure, Fran, I was expecting another Harry Potter party. What’s with all the white faces?’

  Fran checked on something in the oven. ‘Where’ve you been, Patrick? Harry Potter’s for little girls now. It’s all Twilight at the minute.’

  ‘Twilight? What’s that?’

  She gave him a look he had often been served over the years – don’t you know what your children are up to?

  ‘Haven’t you seen the posters?’ she added. ‘All over her room.’

  ‘You know I never go in her room. I’ve never been in the girls’ bedrooms. It’s not right.’

  Elizabeth, fourteen today, had two much older sisters who had preceded her through the Lynch household, and one who hadn’t. Patrick had tried to be firm with them, but he never went in their rooms unless Fran had been with him. Well, not after they were babies, anyway.

  Fran put the oven gloves down. ‘I know, and you do right, but there are other ways of keeping up with the kids. It’s all about sex.’

  ‘What? Our Elizabeth?’

  ‘Calm down. You’ll give yourself an attack.’

  Fran leant against the worktop by the sink and enjoyed her moment. Patrick was sure that he had kept tabs on his daughter’s interests. He hadn’t missed a single one of her parents’ evenings. He had taken her riding when she developed a passion for horses (now finished, thank goodness), and he had bought her almost anything she asked for, including the fees for St Modwenna’s school in Stourbridge. So what was Twilight and what did it have to do with sex?

  ‘Vampires,’ said Fran. ‘They’re the new wizards. There’s these books about a girl who falls in love with a vampire, and now they’re making films and all the girls have fallen in love with the star: Robert Pattinson. In fact, if Dermot doesn’t turn up soon with tonight’s main event, you’re going to be in serious trouble.’

  ‘Me? What? Why?’

  ‘Don’t you remember? She said that what she wanted more than anything for her birthday was to have Eclipse for her party.’

  Patrick vaguely remembered something like that. He began to feel uneasy because he had done nothing whatsoever about it.

  ‘It was at Easter,’ said Fran. ‘We were at Ma’s for lunch and Dermot was there. He said he’d do his best.’

  The gravel crunched at the side of the house, and Dermot himself appeared through the back door.

  ‘I hear you’re going to save my life,’ said Patrick.

  His nephew grinned and fished a DVD box out of his coat. ‘There you go. I’ll tell you how much it cost afterwards.’

  Fran opened the oven, and the men helped her to put things on plates. There was a door from the kitchen into the through-room that made up most of the house, and she led the way with the food. When Patrick followed her, he found the girls were giggling, and some of them had draped themselves over the furniture in provocative poses. They all sat up when Dermot followed him, and the young man was riveted by nine pairs of adolescent eyes.

  ‘Have you got it, Dad?’ asked Elizabeth.

  She was sitting cross-legged on the floor by the TV, not quite at the centre of her own party. That honour belonged to a blonde girl who had even tighter shorts than Elizabeth. Patrick didn’t know where to look and he didn’t remember seeing the girl before. The girls started crowding around the food while the queen bee unfolded herself from the settee and walked over to Dermot as if it were her house and not Elizabeth’s.

  ‘You must be Lizzie’s cousin,’ said the girl.

  ‘That’s me,’ said Dermot with a neutral smile.

  ‘I’m Pandora Nechells. I’m in Lizzie’s class at school.’

  Dermot’s eyes narrowed and something clicked behind them. ‘Your father wouldn’t be David by any chance, would he?’

  The girl flushed and stepped back. Lost for an answer, she went to the food. Elizabeth came over to Patrick and asked him again if he had the film. He beckoned her into the kitchen and pointed to the worktop. The box was plain, and she fumbled to prise it open. When she saw the disk inside, she gave a cry and threw her arms around him. Like her mother, Elizabeth was petite and barely came to his chest. He gave his little girl a big hug and wished her happy birthday again. She ran back into the other room holding her prize aloft and was instantly surrounded by her friends.

  The three adults put pans in the dishwasher, and Patrick was finally allowed into the garden with Dermot for a smoke and a drink. After the heart attack, Patrick had given up cigarettes but couldn’t do without the occasional cigar. Because he was driving some of the girls home later, he stuck to a small white wine. Dermot had a bottle of lager.

  ‘I presume that film isn’t on general release yet,’ said Patrick as they sat down.

  ‘It’s
not even released in America until the end of the month. I had to call in all sorts of favours to find that – and it cost me a grand.’

  ‘A grand? A thousand pounds for a film? I could have made me own movie for that.’

  ‘But didn’t you see the look on her face? It was worth it.’

  ‘Sure and all, you’re right. Thanks, Dermot. Here you go.’

  Patrick had taken the carrier bag outside and took out one of the shrink-wrapped bundles of counterfeit notes out. Dermot took the package and turned it over in his hands.

  ‘Where’s this from?’

  ‘It’s our new business opportunity. Don’t open it. Here, look at this.’

  Patrick handed over one of the sample notes and, while his nephew examined it, he explained what had happened when he met Red Hand underneath the flyover. Dermot nodded and smoked another cigarette while he listened.

  ‘So,’ concluded Patrick, ‘I’m used to selling fake fags, but I can’t see our regular clientele being able to shift much of this stuff without the filth breathing down our necks.’

  Dermot nodded. ‘We need to enhance our distribution network,’ he said.

  ‘I wouldn’t have put it like that but … yes, we need more dealers.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘It’s time, Dermot. There’s another birthday party a week tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m not going. You know I’m not. I’ve got nothing against Hope – she’s a good kid – but you know where I’ll be on Saturday. At the cemetery, paying my respects.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting you forget about your father, Dermot, but Theresa didn’t call her Hope for nothing. It’s her birthday as well as being the anniversary of Donal’s death. After eighteen years, can’t we let him rest in peace, along with Solomon?’

  ‘Try telling that to Bobby King.’

  Patrick walked slowly back inside. The DVD player in the lounge was linked to the TV in the kitchen as well as to the big screen that the girls were watching. He found Fran sitting on a stool looking at a pale young woman and a paler young man talking earnestly in the woods. The young man bore a passing resemblance to Dermot.

  ‘Is it good?’ he asked.

  ‘If you’re fourteen, I imagine it says everything there is to say about life, but no … I’ll switch over to Eastenders in a minute.’

  Patrick took a bottle of lager for Dermot and a mineral water for himself. Fran had muted the sound, and he kissed her head. ‘Thank you for bringing Elizabeth into my life,’ he said. ‘She’s a very special girl, and I’m a lucky man to have had the chance to see her growing up.’

  Fran waved him away, and he went back to the garden. His cigar had gone out and he relit it.

  ‘Bobby’s coming out of jail on Monday. He’ll be there on Saturday, and so will Jim, apparently.’

  Dermot looked up. ‘Even more reason to stay away. I’m surprised Theresa’s going to allow you anywhere near the house with both of them there.’

  ‘She asked me, but no, I won’t go. She also asked me to try and sort Bobby out. I mean Rob, that’s what he calls himself now. She doesn’t want him to go back to dealing. She thought that if I could get him in our game, he might stay away from drugs. Completely.’

  ‘She asked me the same,’ said Dermot. ‘She also asked me to shop him last time, and even told me when he’d have the most gear on him.’

  That was news. Patrick had been shocked when Rob King had been arrested with so much stuff on him and sent down for a clear four year stretch. To find that Dermot had been involved, even at Theresa’s behest, was even more disturbing.

  ‘It did us a big favour too, don’t forget’ said Dermot. ‘It was breaking up King’s group that got Griff his promotion. We’ve done very well out of Detective Sergeant Griffin.’

  ‘So we have, so we have.’ Patrick crushed out his cigar. ‘If we play our cards right, we could keep Rob well away from Emerald Green, you know. We could just sell him the dodgy notes for 50 per cent of face value. That’s a big enough margin for him to make a profit. We have to give 30 per cent to our suppliers so that leaves us one pound in five to make our money. Plus we can get rid of a bit ourselves from time to time.’ Patrick leaned in closer to Dermot. ‘And that man of yours in Blackpool – the amount of fags and vodka they’re taking off us, they must be able to shift some notes as well.’

  Dermot nodded thoughtfully. ‘Could be, could be. Mind you, they only deal wholesale with us. There’s no way they’d take the notes at 50 per cent.’

  ‘Fair enough, but they can make money at 40 per cent, surely?’

  Dermot stood up. ‘I think it’s a great opportunity, especially if Blackpool take a bundle, but I’m not keen on having Rob King involved. Keep me out of this. If you can work with Theresa to pass the goods along, I’ll be much happier.’

  ‘Theresa or someone else, possibly, but you’ll have to come to Hope’s other birthday party. The one we’re having here.’

  His nephew made a face but didn’t argue. Patrick walked with him back to the front drive and remembered something Dermot had said inside. ‘Should I know that girl’s father? What’s her name? Pandora?’

  ‘You should know him. He’s Deputy Chief Constable David Nechells.’

  ‘Well, well. I hope his daughter doesn’t tell him what she’s been up to tonight. Watching pirate DVDs is very naughty.’

  Chapter 2

  London – Earlsbury

  Sunday Night — Monday Morning

  7-8 June

  Tom’s cousin Kate Lonsdale and his younger sister Diana welcomed him with raised glasses and a toast.

  ‘Here’s to Inspector Morton.’

  Tom raised his hand. ‘Whoa! I don’t get the exam results for ages, and then I have to actually get a job.’

  ‘But you did all right yesterday?’

  ‘Yeah. I think so. You have to know everything for the Inspector’s Exam: child protection, custody, traffic, the lot. It’s comprehensive so that all inspectors have to prove they’ve reached a certain standard across all aspects of policing. Don’t worry, no one’s going to appoint me to Territorial Support any time soon.’

  ‘What’s Territorial Support?’ said Kate, thinking of the Territorial Army Reserve.

  ‘Riot Squad,’ said Di. Her brother went to object but she stopped him. ‘Don’t argue. No police politics tonight.’

  ‘Do you want to stay with the City of London Police?’ asked Kate.

  Tom went to check the food in the kitchen before answering. He seemed satisfied with the progress of the roast. ‘It’s more a question of, “Do I want to stay in Economic Crimes?”… because that’s where my experience is. It’s possible to specialise too much. Like the Army, I suppose.’

  ‘Smooth link,’ said Di. ‘So tell me, Kate: is Tom right to be worried about your future now you don’t have anyone telling you when to get up and what to wear? Mind you, if this is your idea of smart casual, you probably do need someone to help you out.’

  ‘What’s wrong with this?’ said Kate. She and Di had been lying at either ends of the sofa with their legs up while Tom did the cooking. Kate swung her legs down and stood up.

  Tom raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t look at me,’ he said. ‘My knowledge of fashion begins and ends at Marks & Spencer, or at least it does now I’m living in a box. Anyway, who’s Di to give advice?’

  Kate wondered what she was doing standing up so she picked up the bottle and topped up their glasses.

  ‘Don’t try and avoid the question,’ said Tom. ‘We are worried about your future. Well, I am. I don’t want you cluttering up my flat, for one thing.’

  ‘Your concern is so touching. I’ve got news for you two. Just before I got too drunk to remember, the Colonel gave me a contact. I’m seeing him tomorrow.’

  ‘Great news. What’s it all about?’

  ‘Sorry, can’t say.’

  Her cousin and his sister stared at her open mouthed. ‘You’re joking,’ said Di. ‘Really?’

  ‘Y
es, really. It’s in the private sector, I can say that much.’

  She sipped her wine and made herself comfortable on the settee, pushing her feet into Di’s ribs just because she could. The younger woman pinched her leg and shifted position.

  ‘Another toast to the chef,’ said Di. ‘Here’s to the next-but-two Baron Throckton.’

  ‘What?’ said Kate.

  ‘Hasn’t he told you? Due to a legal irregularity in America, the Lordship of Throckton is coming home to Granddad, then Dad, then brother Thomas.’

  ‘Erm… congratulations?’

  ‘Don’t,’ said Tom. ‘I was quite happy before and I’m still quite happy. I hope that I’m very much older before I inherit the title, because I’m in no hurry to wish my father into his grave.’

  Kate thought for a moment. ‘Don’t you fancy being an aristocratic detective? Like Lord Peter Wimsey and that other bloke.’

  ‘No. As I said, I want Dad – and Granddad – to enjoy the title for many, many years before I do.’

  ‘Don’t forget that the first Lord Throckton was a detective,’ said Di. ‘As Tom will discover when Granddad gets back from the States with the Memoir.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Di. ‘You’re not a Morton so you don’t know about the Memoir.’

  Ouch, thought Kate, Is Di worried I’m trying to displace her? Kate’s mother was the younger sister who had married the dashing soldier; the older sister had married the respectable lawyer. The lawyer and his wife had gone on to become Fiona, Tom and Diana’s parents.

  Kate was young when her mother died leaving her and her father alone. Her great aunt had given Kate shelter from boarding schools and military bases, and she had made her real home in Throckton.

  The Mortons of Throckton in Yorkshire had seemingly been around since the Domesday Book, but she didn’t remember them talking much about the title – most of the talk had been about the farm and who was going to run it.

  Tom came to her rescue, as he had always done when her clumsy feet or clumsy tongue had got her in trouble. ‘It’s a family legend,’ he said. ‘Apparently, the first Lord Throckton was involved with something very mysterious at the turn of the last century – 1901, I think. He wrote it down in a Memoir and gave it to his heir: only the next in line to the title can read it. Cousin Isaac will pass it on to Granddad now that he can’t inherit. I have absolutely no idea what’s in it, though.’ He turned to Di and said, ‘And what about you? When are you going to give up the day job and concentrate on your Art?’