by Hayden, Mark
Tom thought of Ceri, Ian’s girlfriend, and what she must be feeling. Had she moved from his bedside since Thursday? Were they allowing her into Intensive Care to sit next to him, or was he in isolation? And what about the armed guard which would surely be near the doors to the ICU? Ceri was a bright young woman, and Tom was sure she’d be strong for her big man, but would she realise what people were already saying behind her back: that Ian and Griff had been in something together and that they had brought this on themselves. The Chief Constable’s coded message couldn’t have been clearer to the officers present: Someone corrupted Griffin and probably Hooper. Take them out before they do it again.
Winters continued. ‘Since then, we have scoured every known associate of both officers in an attempt to answer one simple question: What were they doing there? As yet, we don’t know. According to Ceri Jones, Hooper’s partner, he received a call on his mobile from Griffin at 20:20 and left the flat. Griffin was in the George pub in Earlsbury from around 18:00 until he left after making that call to Hooper. His drinking buddies say that he was enjoying the game on TV and they have no idea why he disappeared.
‘When we discovered Griffin’s car off Sharrow Road, we also found another vehicle, close to the back entrance of the Yard. That vehicle was stolen on Wednesday afternoon, and we had no idea why. We think we now have an answer.’
Tom knew most of what he’d heard so far because Sam Cohen had given him the initial summaries of the case that Winters had prepared. The presentation was now moving into new territory.
‘Whoever set fire to that building on Wrekin Road knew what they were doing,’ said Winters. ‘And they were helped by several hundred litres of vodka. The only thing we got from that crime scene were more bodies and bullets. But those bullets tell a story. The forensics people were up all night testing them, and we are now certain that Robert King was shot by the same weapon that hit DC Hooper, and that Dermot Lynch was shot by the same weapon that killed DS Griffin. The positioning of the bodies also suggests that they were killed elsewhere and then transported to Wrekin Road.’
There were too many officers in the room for Winters to allow a discussion, but Tom was already jotting down questions. When he wrote Type & Calibre of gun he realised that he wouldn’t be allowed to ask that question because it had no bearing on DS Griffin. The more Tom learnt about what was going on, the more he realised how out of the loop he was going to be.
Winters changed the Powerpoint slide to give a list of names that Tom had never come across before. The slide was in two columns with police officers’ names on the left and suspects / witnesses / innocent bystanders on the right. Winters lingered for a second and showed two more pages of the same.
‘Now we know that Dermot Lynch and Robert King were involved, we have a lever. It’s up to you to use it to crack this case and bring things into the open. Naturally, the first person we pulled in was Lynch’s uncle, Patrick. Turns out he was at his daughter’s parents’ evening on Wednesday, and he offered us the DCC’s wife as an alibi.’ Winters’ smile was as grey as the rest of him, but he made the effort.
‘However, we know that Dermot and his uncle were in business together, and we know that the Wrekin Road premises were full of cigarettes and alcohol. One of our first tasks is to turn over every rock and stone in Earlsbury until we find a connection between Patrick Lynch and that warehouse. In addition, the body of Robert King points towards a drugs connection. He was released from prison this summer after doing time for dealing class As. Was King dealing again? Was Dermot Lynch? Someone has eliminated both of them – who stood to gain from their deaths? All the obvious questions.
‘These here,’ he pointed to the screen, ‘are the names given to us by Earlsbury division as people we should talk to, and that brings me to the most delicate point.’
Winters pressed a key to bring back the screensaver.
‘The CID team from Earlsbury is focusing on other issues. You and your teams are not, repeat not, to approach them for any reason. All liaison with them will go through me. Everything. The only exception to that rule is the Professional Standards enquiry being led by DI Morton from CIPPS.’
Winters pointed at Tom, and he felt as if the Mark of Cain had just been placed on his forehead.
‘This is a major enquiry. You in this room have all been on the HOLMES 2 course, but most of your teams don’t know the ins and outs of the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System: that’s why I’m relying on you to ensure that everything you turn up today is entered into the system before you go home. That’s what the overtime is for – to get this enquiry up and running, not to pay for your Christmas presents. Until Monday morning, only Team Leaders are allowed in the Major Incident Room. If you have any questions, contact the MIR manager.
‘Now go and tear these bastards apart.’
The sound of thirty chairs being scraped across the carpet was followed by the bang of swing doors and voices disappearing down the corridor.
‘What’s that?’ said Hayes, pointing to Tom’s notebook.
Tom wasn’t an inveterate doodler, but during Winters’ presentation he had drawn a large £20 note on his pad. In place of the usual text, he had written:
Bank of Toytown. Pay Kelly on demand.
‘I was up here a couple of weeks ago,’ said Tom. ‘It’s funny, neither Mr Kelly nor the outbreak of counterfeiting was mentioned in the briefing. I’ll fill you in later; right now, I need access to HOLMES 2, and I need to find out where the evidence seized from Earlsbury division is being kept. I’ll meet you in the canteen in twenty minutes.’
Hayes’s eyes flicked from the notepad to Tom and back again. She nodded and pushed her way out of the desks. Tom slipped away behind her and headed for the Major Incident Room.
There were no whiteboards covered with theories and flow-charts in the MIR: it was really just a communication and co-ordination centre, and the information was all on computers. It was busy, though. Tom paused at the only significant display – a large scale map of the southern Black Country with a variety of pins and annotations. In the space at the side were four pictures: DS Griffin, DC Hooper, Dermot Lynch, and Robert Marley King. Had Tom caught just a glimpse of King when he was at the West Pole? There was one other list: Significant Witness Interviews for Saturday. Tom scanned it.
Erin King
Theresa King
Francesca Lynch
James King
Three women and one man. These crimes were professional all right, and women make the best professionals – but the crimes were also vicious, heavy and casually committed. Tom could almost smell the testosterone, along with the smoke and fire.
At that moment, Nicole Rodgers came into the room with DCS Winters, who called for quiet. When he had it, he handed over to Rodgers.
‘Sorry, everyone,’ she said. ‘The media circus is going to be even bigger now. One of the Sunday tabloids has made the connection between Robert King and James King, and from him to Queen Victoria. For those of you over thirty, she’s a singer from the telly, and James King is her bass player / songwriting partner. If the Chief Constable can’t give them something else this afternoon, that’s what’s going to be on the front pages tomorrow. Just so you know.’
The room dissolved into animated discussion, and Tom racked his brains. Queen Victoria? Well, if James was a musician, he was unlikely to be a violent criminal.
Tom collected a printed list of evidence that had been logged from the initial search of DS Griffin’s desk and personal effects. He took the list down to the Exhibits Manager and signed out one item. Then he headed back to the canteen.
It was fairly easy to spot the surveillance because only one car followed Patrick’s taxi on to the Elijah estate. When he lingered a few seconds to pay the driver and catch up on some gossip, the car had no choice but to go past them. He waited a minute by the front door, and it reappeared up the road. He gave the officers a wave. This was only the start. By tomorrow they’d have the experts on the job,
and there would be no point in looking for them – always safest to assume they’re there.
Janet opened the door and gave him a wordless hug. He took off his coat and went into the airless lounge.
Maria was sitting on her own, dabbing her eyes and probably wondering why Dermot’s brother hadn’t turned up from London yet. Fran was on the couch with two of their daughters. Elizabeth was leaning on her shoulder, and Helen was trying to get a conversation going. Ma was where Ma always was: in her chair by the fire. Janet had already disappeared into the kitchen to make tea, and the hiss of the gas fire was slowly replaced by the thunder of the kettle.
Fran stood up after lowering Elizabeth gently to the couch. The poor little one had drifted off to sleep.
‘They came round not ten minutes ago,’ she said. ‘They wanted me to go in and give a statement there and then but I told them to arrest me or come back in an hour.’
He folded her in his arms and whispered in her ear. ‘You’re the best, love, and you know that. You’ll be fine.’
He heard a theatrical sniff from behind him, and realised that he hadn’t actually spoken to Maria. He placed a dining chair next to his sister-in-law so that he could put his arm around her. ‘I’m so sorry, love. So sorry. He was such a good lad, and a credit to you and his father.’
Maria started crying again, and Patrick gave her another tissue from the box on the table.
‘Is it because of what happened to Donal?’ she said. From across the room, Fran shot him a look. ‘You know, with Dermot and Robbie being found together … is it because of what happened to Donal and Solly?’
‘That was eighteen years ago, love. Whatever happened, it’s because of what they got up to today, not what their fathers got up to last century.’
Maria pushed his arm off. ‘Dermot didn’t get up to anything. It was you who got up to things and you who got Dermot involved in the business. What was he doing there, Pat? What was he doing in that warehouse?’
He treated it as a rhetorical question, and tried to comfort her again. At first she resisted, but she took the comfort of his arms, as she had done when Donal was knifed in the heart. Francesca and Helen were both staring at her, mother and daughter united in their contempt for a woman who would accept comfort instead of a straight answer.
Pat hoped that his son-in-law would never test Helen’s patience in the same way that he had tested Francesca’s. He doubted that Helen would be as forgiving as her mother.
He patted Maria on the back and turned round. Ma’s eyes had been on him since he entered the room, and now it was time. He slipped off the dining chair and knelt in front of her.
‘I’m sorry, Ma.’
They had the canteen to themselves this time. All the officers were off in their teams being briefed, and only the occasional junior admin worker scurried in with orders for their bosses. Tom and Kris took the same table, but this time she sat opposite him. She booted up his laptop and showed him how to log in to the BCSS network and get into HOLMES 2.
‘Sorry about that, sir. For showing you up by going into the briefing.’ When he waved away her apology and drank his tea, she pressed on. ‘Can we go back to the beginning? I mean, can we have our own briefing so I know what’s going on?’
He leaned back in his chair and looked at her carefully. ‘Have you ever heard the expression Tilting at windmills?’
‘I’ve heard it. Sort-of means something pointless.’
Tom brought his chair back down to the ground. ‘There’s a book called Don Quixote where this old bloke thinks he’s a knight and goes off to attack these giants with his lance – that’s the tilting part. Except that they’re not really giants, they’re windmills. Everyone laughs at him. My my ex-boss accused me of doing that. Tilting at windmills.’
Hayes shuffled back in her chair. She thinks I’m mad, thought Tom, and I don’t blame her.
‘Ex-boss?’ said Kris. ‘What do you mean?’
‘This time yesterday morning I was a DS in the London Fraud Squad, more or less. I took this job with CIPPS because I think there are giants out there who need to be brought down. Here, look at this.’
Tom took out his phone and scrolled through to the picture of Tanya Sheriden in hospital, her face ripped open by Joe Croxton at the beginning of the PiCAASA investigation. Kris Hayes flinched away from the picture then looked back again.
‘That girl brought a small piece of a jigsaw to me,’ said Tom, ‘I told her it was like a bit of blue sky – a start, but only a small one. I’ve got another piece of the jigsaw up here in Earlsbury.’
They leaned towards each other, and Tom told her what had led up to the events of Valentine’s Day, when Miles Finch and Joe Croxton were killed, and when the big picture – the pattern on the lid of the jigsaw box – had melted in the Essex snow. The only bit he left out was the part played by Kate.
Hayes blew out her cheeks. ‘Blimey, sir. You’ve given up a job in Fraud to join CIPPS and chase around here?’ She shook her head and finished her tea. ‘But we’ve got no authority, really, have we?’
‘It’s like this. The Chief Constable really wants to know whether he can trust the rest of the Earlsbury CID team. That’s all. But before we can answer that question, we have to work out the extent of Griffin’s corruption. Effectively, I’m betting my career that I can find a lead from Griffin to the counterfeit distributors, and from them to the printers, and from them to whoever created this whole bloody jigsaw in the first place.’
Hayes tapped her fingers on the table and played with the ends of her hair where they emerged from the cornrows on her scalp.
‘Where do we start then?’
‘Have you got some wellingtons in your locker?’
‘No. I haven’t even got a locker.’
‘You’re a bit shorter than my cousin, but I’ve got some that should fit. Right, DC Hayes, lead me to the Great Western Goods Yard.’
Ma Lynch didn’t often give orders, but when she did, they were law. After Patrick had apologised, his mother had announced what a terrible, terrible trial he was to her, and he had been allowed to sit down and enjoy his cup of tea. Helen told him that her husband would be off shift at two o’clock, and an idea started to form in his mind.
‘Will he be going straight to bed?’ asked Ma of Helen.
‘Probably not. He did get a little sleep last night, so he should be okay.’
‘Then he can join us for six o’clock Mass. We’ll all be there to support Maria.’
Maria looked worried. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be well enough to go tonight,’ she said.
Fat chance, thought Patrick: she’ll be more worried about missing The X Factor or whatever show is sucking out the nation’s brains through the TV.
Ma was not to be gainsaid. ‘All the more reason to be there. All of us who are back in Earlsbury will go and support each other tonight, just like we will afterwards.’
As well as being an order, it was also a code. 1950s Dublin was a very different place from twenty-first century Earlsbury. What people did then was show out. Pat knew that the purpose of tonight’s visit to Church was to show the community that the Lynch clan still stood strong and had nothing to hide. Word would get round.
The second part of Ma’s statement had been addressed to him. When the funeral was over, Ma expected Patrick to contribute financially to Maria’s future. She’d be lucky. There were going to be a lot of cutbacks, whether he went to jail or not. He’d bounce back in time, but not soon. Not this time.
‘I’ll pick you up,’ said Fran to Maria. ‘Pat can bring Ma and the girls.’
He wouldn’t be surprised if Fran told Maria, in the privacy of the car, that she would find some work for her to do. Paid work, that is. Every penny that Pat earned from now on would have to be accounted for. Subsidies to Maria Lynch were somewhere at the bottom of Fran’s list, below the golf club subscription and the winter break in Portugal.
A flash of light through the windows caught his eye. The unmarked pol
ice car that had followed him on to the estate pulled up, and a woman got out. Their controller must have given them the order to bring his wife in for the interview. He touched her arm and pointed. Seeing the policewoman, Fran set her mouth for action and got up to go, giving Ma a kiss on the way out.
Once her mother was out of the way, Helen excused herself to go out for a cigarette and Patrick joined her.
‘Could you lend us a tab, love?’
‘No, Dad. Your heart can’t stand it, and if Mom smells smoke on you, it’ll be me that gets it in the neck for supplying them.’
He shook his head. ‘They’ll keep her for hours yet. Besides, I don’t think I can get through today without one.’
She hesitated then handed one over and lit both their cigarettes.
‘Listen, love, you know what I felt about Dermot, don’t you?’
Helen nodded and sucked on her cigarette. They had only been a couple of years apart at school, and Dermot had always had a soft spot for her.
‘Well,’ he continued, ‘things are going to be bad for me for a while – perhaps for a long while. I had no idea of the people he was mixing with, and I need to be careful.’
Helen’s eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t owe nobody nothing do you? No one’s gonna be coming after us?’
As she started to speak, he shook his head vigorously. ‘No, not at all, nothing like that, but they’ve pretty much wiped out the business and the cops will be all over me. I need to get in touch with people. Discreetly. They’ll be monitoring everything for a while – including you.’
Helen looked around the garden, half expecting to see a pointy hat appear above the rhododendron, and Pat thought she might have a point. Didn’t they have those fancy microphones now that could pick up conversations through glass? He drew her aside and turned his back on the other houses, whispering in her ear.