Green For Danger - Volume II of the Operation Jigsaw Trilogy

by Hayden, Mark

  ‘I’m expecting another visitor. Can you do me a favour tonight?’

  Kris Hayes looked dubiously at the wellington boots that Tom had passed out from the back of his car.

  ‘Did you say your cousin was male or female?’ she asked.

  ‘Definitely female. Mind, she was in the Army for a long time. Back home, they used to call her a strapping lass, but not to her face.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re from Yorkshire.’

  ‘’Appen I am, lass. Grew up on a farm an’ all.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It only comes out when I’m at home. My father is actually a circuit judge, and I used to be a solicitor in Edgbaston. We all have our crosses to bear.’

  Hayes gave him a sideways look and pulled on Kate’s socks before plunging her feet into the boots. Tom put his hands in his coat, and they walked through the gates into the Great Western Goods Yard.

  The large apron in front of the buildings was potholed and disintegrating, remnants of the railway ballast from an earlier era peeking through the dissolving tarmac. This is where trains would have lain idle, thought Tom, ready to be fed back into the network, and where lorries would have done the same. On the right hand side of the open area, the surviving tracks were separated by a well maintained steel fence. A passenger train rattled its way towards Birmingham.

  At the back, an older brick building with huge wooden doors was showing its roof trusses and leaning to the side. He pointed to it. ‘Loco shed.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘That brick one. It’s a locomotive shed. You can tell from the height: there’s room for the smoke to escape and for the hoists to take bits off the engines.’

  ‘A Yorkshire trainspotter who used to be in the Fraud Squad.’ Hayes shook her head in sad contemplation of the boss she had been given.

  ‘My school in York was near the railway museum. It was something to do. The museum, that is. I have never stood on a station platform collecting train numbers.’

  The other buildings were more recent but in no better repair. Tom led them through a larger gap where the tarmac gave way to mud, and they soon came across police markers where Hooper and, later, Griffin had been found. They were surrounded on three sides by sheds, though there were gaps between them, and Tom could see houses beyond which must have been where they gained access on the night.

  ‘Okay, detective,’ he said. ‘What are your thoughts?’

  She did look around a little, but not much, and she seemed to focus on the floor. ‘I can’t see anything that SOCO missed.’ She looked at where Griffin had fallen. ‘I know this: I wouldn’t want to die here.’

  ‘He didn’t come to die here, did he? Look around you, Hayes, and try to imagine the night it happened. How much light would there be? Where is the nearest viewing point? You could hold a rave in one of these sheds, and no one would notice.’

  ‘A rave? How old are you?’

  ‘I’m trying to teach you something. Think about it. Griffin and Hooper came in from the back, and they must have known something was going on. They didn’t stumble into this place by accident. We even know that Griffin was dragged away from the football and Hooper was dragged away from Ceri.’

  She gave him a sharp look when he mentioned Hooper’s partner by her first name. Perhaps she was paying attention.

  ‘Then, when they got here, something went wrong. Whatever was happening here was definitely illegal, that’s obvious, but did Griffin come to spy on them? To join in? To disrupt whatever they were doing?’

  ‘He can’t have been coming to arrest them. No way would he have come here without telling Control.’

  ‘I didn’t say he’d come to arrest them. I said he might have come to disrupt them – to stop them doing whatever it was they were doing for reasons of his own.’

  Hayes looked around again. Then she walked back a few paces towards the entrance.

  ‘If you want to avoid being seen from those houses, you’d have to be here,’ she said. ‘That’s quite a way from where Griffin was shot, and Hooper was found round that corner, even further away. Griffin was an experienced detective. He wouldn’t have been seen unless he wanted to be. He must have made himself known, and someone must have unhappy about that. Either they recognised him or they were so jumpy they were willing to shoot first and ask questions later.’

  ‘Good. I agree.’

  Tom turned and started walking back to the car. Hayes clumped behind him, the rubber of Kate’s wellingtons slapping against her feet.

  ‘I hope the next place is indoors, or at least has tarmac,’ she said.

  ‘It did the last time I was there. We’re off to Earlsbury nick.’

  On the short drive, Tom’s hands-free phone went off. He couldn’t reach into his pocket to check the caller so he just pressed Answer and announced himself by rank and name.

  ‘Tom. I thought you weren’t an inspector yet.’

  ‘Hello mother. I’ve got a colleague with me in the car. She can hear you.’

  ‘Oh. Hello. Can you call me when you get home?’

  ‘I’m in the Midlands again on a big case. Don’t know when I’ll be finished tonight.’

  ‘Oh dear, well, I’ll have to ring Diana myself. It’s Great Uncle Thomas. He passed away last night.’

  ‘Sorry. I’ll call you later. Thanks for letting me know.’

  ‘Take care.’

  Hayes was studiously looking out of the window and trying to pretend that his mother’s polished vowels hadn’t been assaulting her ears.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Tom. ‘My great uncle has been ill for some time. He lives – lived – in America, and I only met him a dozen times.’

  She turned towards him. ‘Still hurts, though. I don’t know how to put this, sir, but you’ve just gone the wrong way down a one way street.’

  Tom swore. He looked frantically around and started a three-point turn. After a nervous moment with a delivery van, he reoriented the car and piloted them safely to the back of the police station.

  There was a notice on the door of the custody suite saying No Shortcut to Station. Walk round you Lazy So-and-Sos. Nice welcome. He took the long route and presented himself at the desk. A civilian was behind the glass screen.

  ‘DI Morton and DC Hayes to see CID. We’re on the Griffin case.’

  ‘Thanks. Can I check your ID?’

  Tom hesitated then gave the woman his BCSS pass instead of his warrant card: the fewer people who knew exactly who he was the better. She kept his pass and made a phone call. Finally, she asked him to wait, saying that DCI Storey would be with them shortly. Tom sat but Hayes stood and started reading the notices. Anything to avoid being the first person that people saw.

  Storey didn’t look any older than when Tom had seen him earlier that month, but he had become a lot more dishevelled. Where once there was a crisp shirt, now there were creases. He buzzed them through and took them upstairs. As they entered the CID room, he said, ‘Have they brought you up for your economic expertise, Tom?’

  ‘In a way.’

  ‘It’s a big mess, so I can see that they’d want help from the ECU.’

  Tom was about to correct him when they stopped in the almost empty room. Only one other detective was on duty that Saturday – Imran Hussein.

  ‘Imran, you remember DS Morton, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ interrupted Tom, ‘but it’s DI Morton now. And I’m with CIPPS.’

  Storey winced and bit his knuckle. Hussein had half risen from his chair, but stopped and sat down again, the half offered handshake withdrawn.

  ‘Come inside,’ said Storey.

  As they passed through, Hussein spoke to Hayes. ‘I’m surprised you aren’t on holiday with your pay-off money, Detective Constable.’

  Tom stopped but Hayes marched past him, ignoring Hussein. From behind, Tom could see her spine stiffen in response. She arrived at Storey’s office ahead of him and stood outside, following him in and sitt
ing in a chair by the door. At least she got her notebook out.

  ‘What do you want, Inspector?’ said Storey.

  It was neutral. Neither fawning nor hostile. Tom could work with that.

  ‘Very simple, sir. I want to clear as many of your team as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Good. Now what do you want from me?’

  ‘Two things. First, I want to see where Griffin would have put the stuff he was working on.’

  ‘Winters’s team cleaned all his stuff out on Thursday.’

  ‘I know, but that was his personal stuff. I checked. I want to see where he would have put something work-related if it weren’t on his desk.’

  Storey nodded. ‘What’s the second?’

  ‘A question. You can say “Don’t Know” or “No Comment” if you like, but I’d rather have the truth.’

  Storey’s mouth twitched a little.

  ‘The question is this: do you think Griffin recruited Hooper to CID because he was already corrupt, or because Griffin saw his potential for corruption?’

  Storey didn’t even think about it. ‘No Comment.’

  Tom turned to Hayes. ‘Have you got that, Constable?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good.’

  Storey stood up and went to the door of the office. He shouted across to Hussein, ‘Show DI Morton the pending cases area,’ and then he stood aside until Tom and Kris were out of the way. Behind them, he slammed the door.

  Hussein stood waiting for them and then walked up another flight of stairs to the attic of the Victorian building. At one end of the low corridor, an even lower door was padlocked shut. Instead of a key, the lock was a combination. Hussein hid the tumblers from them as he released it then pocketed the padlock.

  ‘How could you spend the night in Ian’s home and then investigate him for corruption?’ said Hussein. ‘How could one officer do that to another. You might as well have slept with his girlfriend.’

  Tom took half a step back. To his left, Hayes bristled and stuck out her jaw. Her eyes flicked between the men. Tom’s armpits prickled with sweat, and then Hussein walked away.

  To his retreating back, Hayes shouted, ‘He stayed with Hooper because Cousin Malik didn’t have any room.’

  Hussein stopped for a beat then went downstairs. Tom let out a big breath.

  ‘I’m not going to be your Sancho Panza,’ she said to him. ‘Yes, that’s right. I looked up Don Quixote on the internet while you were talking to Storey. I’m not going to run round cleaning up after you.’

  Tom leaned against the wall and rested his head on the sloping ceiling. He had expected it to be bad, but not this bad. He hadn’t thought that CIPPS’ reputation was quite so terminal until it was shoved in his face. But that wasn’t the worst thing. It was the fact that he had let Hussein walk away. That was his fault, not CIPPS’. Hayes was about to say something else, and the anger was making her dark brown skin almost orange. He held up his hand and closed his eyes for a second.

  ‘Give me your notebook, Kris.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I’m really really sorry about that. It’s just that…’

  ‘Stop it. Stop apologising and stop lashing out and give me your notebook.’

  She handed it over, and he tore out a sheet from the back (so as not to disturb the page numbers). Leaning against the wall, he wrote:

  Bring the largest evidence bag in the station. Now. DI Morton.

  ‘Give that to Hussein. Don’t say anything to him, just hand it over and come back. Not a word, okay?’

  She snatched the paper and disappeared. He could hear her feet going down each step then back up again.

  ‘Now we wait,’ he said.

  And wait they did. After a couple of minutes, Tom said, ‘Is he really ACC Khan’s cousin?’

  ‘Yes. Sort-of. Something to do with an uncle marrying Khan’s younger sister, I think.

  It took Hussein nearly five minutes to return with a very large, laptop-sized evidence bag and a huge, dining chair-sized version. Tom examined them and put the enormous one on the floor. He offered the other bag to Hussein.

  ‘Put your head in that, Constable.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Put your head in the bag. It’s evidence of your stupidity and needs to be catalogued. It may not be a crime, but it’s certainly not good on your record.’

  Hussein gave him a look of contempt and opened his mouth.

  ‘Now give me the padlock.’ Tom held out his hand, and Hayes stepped to her right, blocking the way back down. Hussein fished it out of his pocket and dropped it on the floor. Hayes stepped aside, and he walked away.

  ‘Try not to take so long to think about it, next time before you put them in their place,’ she said to Tom.

  ‘I will, if you try to take longer to think about it. So it’s us and them now? You said put them in their place.’

  ‘It’s always been us and them for me. Did you ask for the bag just to have a go at Hussein or is there a real reason for this?’

  Tom scooped up the bags, the padlock and his briefcase, and gestured for Hayes to open the door.

  ‘We’re looking for blank V5C forms. You know: vehicle logbooks. A bundle of them. And when we’ve found them, look for anything in an evidence bag that you think someone might have been offered for sale in a pub – stolen, illegal, counterfeit. Use your imagination and keep going until we’ve filled the bag.’

  ‘The big bag or the huge one?’

  ‘Let’s not beat about the bush. The huge one. We’ve a slippery fish to catch, and the more bait the better.’

  ‘Talking of fish, do I get lunch on this job or not?’

  St Andrew’s Hall was having its afternoon nap. The house was quiet except for the background creaks and groans as the Edwardian radiators warmed the stones. The fire was laid, but not lit. Lady Jennings would be gone for the afternoon, and Sir Stephen left the house to its slumber, taking his dogs and his shotgun with him.

  He went down the drive, over the lane and then into his woods: they weren’t huge but they did contain a variety of wildlife. Jennings knew exactly where the rabbit warrens were located in relation to each other and to the open pasture on top of the hill. After letting the dogs run loose for a while, he called them to heel and told them to stay next to a big oak tree, then he moved slowly along the track for the last hundred yards before the woods ended and he got a clear view of a mound. The rabbits were feeding, and right on the path were two bucks. He got one of them with his first barrel.

  Calling the dogs, he picked up the rabbit and went to the top of the hill. Will Offlea was waiting for him.

  ‘Nice shooting, Sir Stephen. You’ve not lost your touch, so I see.’

  ‘Hmph. Only got the one, though. Scarcely worth making a pie from.’

  Offlea’s names were legion, and his choice of name depended on who he was talking to: Red Leader, Barbarossa, Red Hand and now Adam Paisley. For goodness sake, thought Jennings, whatever next? Today, his man was dressed for fell running and had obviously arrived from some distance away.

  He sat down next to the Ulsterman and put his shotgun carefully over his knees. The threat of rain seemed to have moved north but it was cold and little whips of wind found their way around the woods and under the collar of his Barbour. Offlea passed him a hip flask.

  ‘Why on earth did you suggest meeting on a golf course?’ said Jennings.

  ‘I’m thinking of taking up the game, so I am. That’s where our man Lynch does his business. Great for privacy, and you can wear any disguise you want.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have described Pringle sweaters as a disguise; I’d never be seen dead in one. You could always tell which officers didn’t have a future in the Army: they took up golf when they made captain.’

  ‘We don’t all have our own estate to wander around, you know. Some of us live in cottages. At the moment.’

  ‘One wood and a couple of pastures doesn’t make an estate. Anyway, what’s going on up there?’

 
; ‘Duck and cover time, sir. Everyone’s gone to ground and no one knows anything. I had a wee chat to our Principal Investor there this morning and the news gets worse. The police standards people in London have sent up their new recruit – Tom Morton.’

  ‘Damn and blast. That man doesn’t take no for an answer, does he? What’s he doing?’

  ‘He’s looking into Griffin who, as we know, had no link to the counterfeit money, but he’s shown us before that he can find things out, given time. Have you any news on that cousin of his? Morton wouldn’t have cracked open Blue Sky without her, and we need to keep her well away from Earlsbury.’

  ‘She’s in Scotland. We’re going to try and get her out of the country completely after that. Skinner reckons that with a little more prodding, she could be a valuable recruit for us.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be a turn-up for the books?’ He paused. ‘Morton’s not the reason I asked for a meeting: I’ve had contact from the men who walked off with our money and left a trail of corpses in their wake.’

  ‘I see. Are you sure it’s them?’

  ‘It’s them, right enough. They used the mobile we gave to Patrick Lynch. They must have taken it off his nephew before they shot him.’

  ‘What do they want?’

  ‘To do business. They say they want to pay us for the two million they took on Wednesday and carry on afterwards. I said I’d need to talk to you about it.’

  ‘If this had happened last year I’d have said it was too risky. I’ve heard from Clarke in Afghanistan – the Red Flag shipments are starting up again next week. They are the priority and always will be. But that’s not the point.’

  Jennings took another swallow from the hip flask and passed it back to Offlea.

  ‘Have you heard what this new government are proposing? They want to cut the Army by up to 20 per cent. Not just the budget, but the number of actual men. Probably more by the time they’ve finished. There’s only one way they can do that: pull out of Afghanistan as quickly as possible. We’ll never be able to keep Red Flag going without a substantial presence on the ground. And if the Army is cut by that much, Operation Rainbow will be needed even more.’