Green For Danger - Volume II of the Operation Jigsaw Trilogy

by Hayden, Mark

  James stared around the room. His brother’s room. He had rung the police yesterday and told them he was breaking the seal on the tape at six o’clock unless they came and stopped him. They didn’t.

  When he crossed the threshold, he expected it to be the room of a teenager, covered with posters and smelling of dirty laundry. Except that Rob was a father of two boys. At the end of his life, his little brother had become more of a grown-up than James might ever be. His mother was still raw with grief and shock. James wasn’t cut out to hold the family together.

  He sneaked a look through the curtains. Some of the paparazzi were still there.

  He had convinced his uncle to bring some food round yesterday, but his mother needed more than packets and tins. That had been something else Rob had done – cook his fair share. If something didn’t change, they would all go mad.

  He went downstairs and found Hope tapping away on her computer.

  ‘You busy?’

  ‘Not specially. Just telling everyone what’s going on.’

  ‘If I can organise for someone to bring lunch, can you help Mom to get dressed?’

  She looked a little queasy and brushed some of the red hair away from her face. ‘Wouldn’t she be better getting some rest?’

  James jerked his head towards the ceiling. ‘She’s not resting, she’s festering. The police will arrest her tomorrow because I get the feeling they’ve got jack shit going on, and you know what happens next: blame the black man.’

  ‘What are you going to do? For dinner, I mean.’

  ‘I’m going to ring Roots Kitchen in Dudley and get them to do a big spread. Then I’m going to ring Dave Parkes and get him to collect it.’

  Hope shifted uneasily in the chair. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t think he was very supportive on Thursday or Friday and he was away in London yesterday.’

  ‘It’s about time he got his fat arse round here, then. She can shout at him instead of you and me.’

  ‘She hasn’t been shouting at anyone. I wonder if that’s the problem: you’re so angry, but Mom’s just turned in on herself.’

  ‘What about you, Hope? How do you feel?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Rob wasn’t around much until this summer. First he was with Erin, then he was in that flat and then he was in jail. It felt like having a new brother when he came out, and that the old Robbie is still out there somewhere.’

  He patted her on the shoulder. ‘Go and help Mom. Don’t tell her about Dave – just get her up and dressed and wearing something smart.’

  Parkes took a lot of convincing. James had to lower his voice to swear at him properly, but he caved in and turned up at the appointed hour with the food. Theresa stood up when he came in and then fell into his arms with deep sobs, wrenched from the bottom of her pit of grief. For only the second time since Friday, James felt his eyes brimming and put his arm around Hope. She started crying, too.

  They all managed some of the food, and for once Parkes didn’t try and eat it all himself: like reggae, Jamaican food wasn’t his first choice. Theresa had made an effort to talk about something else during the meal, and a brittle calm descended on the family until James noticed that Dave wouldn’t meet his eye. James started to stare at him, and Parkes’s end of the conversation flagged until Hope gave him a fierce dig in the ribs. He asked her about life in St Andrews, and she started to tell them about the Honourable Amelia and what she did with a live python during Freshers’ Week. At the end of the meal, Theresa excused herself and Hope started to clear the dishes. James stood up and put his arm through Parkes’s.

  ‘Let’s go for a smoke, Dave. The police have been very good. They haven’t taken my stash. Yet.’

  Parkes started to pull away, but James twisted his elbow and pushed him forwards. Hope stood open mouthed as her half-brother dragged her mother’s boyfriend through the kitchen and out the back door.

  James released the older man and pushed him against the garage wall.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on, man? You fucking know something, don’t you?’

  Sweat broke out on Parkes’s forehead and his eyes flicked up to Theresa’s bedroom. ‘Leave off, James. Look at how your mother is – she’s in bits.’

  James poked his finger into Parkes’s chest. ‘I don’t give shit about what you mean to her. That’s her problem. If you don’t fucking tell me what you know, I swear I’ll gut you.’

  He reached into his pocket and took out a very old flick knife. It had been in his father’s toolbox. ‘Talk, Dave, or I’ll stick you like a pig.’

  ‘All right, all right, but not here. I can’t tell you unless Paddy Lynch is there, too.’

  ‘Now is good. Tell me now.’

  Parkes shook his head. ‘I can’t. I can’t. Not without Lynch.’

  James put the knife away. Patrick had a right to know, too, and Parkes had called his bluff. James would no more stab the fat rocker than he would stab himself. ‘I’ll set it up for tonight at the church. Seven o’clock. Now, let’s have a smoke and chill out … eh, step-father?’

  James went to retrieve his stash from the barbecue and saw Hope watching him from over the kitchen sink.

  They opted for the Earlsbury club sandwiches in the bar rather than dine in the restaurant. This was the fourth time in two days that Tom had eaten a meal with bacon, and he wondered whether his blood phosphate levels were going to become critical. There were too many people around to talk about the case in comfort so they made small talk about Tom’s life in Yorkshire and Kris’s guilty pleasure in watching Strictly Come Dancing with her mother. She told Tom that they had to be finished in time for the Results Show that evening.

  On the way out, she pointed to the Nineteenth Hole. ‘Do you play?’

  ‘Not many golf courses in the City of London.’

  ‘You should have picked up Griffin’s clubs instead of his Rolex. From what I hear, a good set is worth far more.’

  Tom stopped in his tracks. ‘What clubs?’

  ‘They were in the garage, by the door. Looked like they were ready to load up and go – either that or he’d just got back.’

  Tom started walking again and when they were outside he said, ‘Golf’s an expensive hobby. I saw no indication in his finances last night of any membership or fees or any charges on his credit cards. That’s another avenue they haven’t looked into.’

  Earlsbury was busier when they got back to the town centre, though few of the shops were open. Tom drove carefully through the archway at the George which said No Entrance and parked next to the skips.

  He led them into the kitchens and found the manager wielding a wicked-looking carving knife. ‘Is that an I.O.Shen?’ he asked him.

  ‘Yes. Get out. This is a food preparation area.’

  Kris stifled a giggle.

  ‘One last thing,’ said Tom. I want a plate of soup and a chef’s coat.’

  The manager waved his knife towards the pass, and Tom picked on a female commis chef and repeated his request, this time showing his warrant card. The woman hurried into a storeroom and threw a white jacket in Kris’s direction, then ladled out some soup and got back to work.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’ said Hayes.

  ‘Put the jacket on, take the bowl and go into the lounge. Say One Soup very loudly, then walk around looking for Kelly. When you find him, stand behind him and look lost. When I go to make the arrest, make sure you liberate a notebook from his friend.’

  Kris struggled into the smaller woman’s jacket, gave Tom a dark look, and set off into the pub. Tom followed her into the lounge bar. It was still half an hour to kick-off, but most of the clientele were flicking their eyes back and forth to the big screen TV. Kris had disappeared around the corner, and Tom followed her.

  A wave of silence preceded him through the bar and washed around the corner. As he turned to see into the nook, Kris dropped the soup down a man’s back and Kelly leaped out of the way.

  The punters pu
shed back their chairs to get away from the flying liquid and shouted in horror. The man with the soup was in pain and reached around to wipe the burning liquid off his neck. Kris leaned forward and lifted a notebook out of his pocket. He grabbed her arm at the same moment as Tom grabbed Kelly.

  Kris broke the bag man’s hold and pushed him away. Kelly looked up and flinched when he recognised the man who’d just put him in an armlock.

  ‘Police!’ said Tom. Half a dozen punters stood up and formed a ring. The soup man looked from Hayes to Tom and was about to start a fight to retrieve the book when Tom said, ‘Mr Kelly’s coming for a chat. Aren’t you?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Kelly. ‘Leave it. I’ll sort it out at the station.’

  The other man backed off, and Hayes stripped off the chef’s jacket. Tom released Kelly and they backed out of the bar. Once safely outside, Tom issued the formal caution.

  ‘That’s no way to start a relationship,’ said Kelly.

  Patrick waited in the golf club lounge until he could talk to the steward in private. The man confirmed that Helen had dropped off one of the phones which Kelly had delivered to Ma’s house. Patrick retrieved the phone and found one message:

  Will call at 1300.

  Pat had taken the phone into the locker room (mobiles were banned in the lounge) and found an unoccupied corner. It rang dead on time.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Lynch.’

  ‘You’re a grand mimic, Adam, so you are.’

  ‘This isn’t Mr Paisley, it’s his boss. I thought you deserved to hear it from me. Operation Green Light is over, I’m afraid. We’re pulling out and going into business with your friends from the North. They’re going to pay for what you lost, so don’t worry about that. You can do what you like from now on – no dividends to pay, no obligation. But no tactical support, either, I’m afraid. I’ll be destroying this phone after we’ve spoken, but I just wanted to say thanks.’

  ‘What about the cops? They’re swarming all over me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to fight that battle on your own. Just remember the initial contract, that’s all. If you mention our involvement, we’ll have to silence you. And your family. All of them. We’ve done it before. Goodbye.’

  Patrick’s hand was shaking when the screen went dark. He’d dealt with thugs like “Adam Paisley” plenty of times, but this was something different. He could hear the distant thunder of guns in that man’s voice, and was glad to be shot of him. He took a deep breath and massaged his chest for a few seconds then went back into the lounge. He palmed the phone to the steward and walked out.

  It took less than two minutes to get from the George to the custody suite by car; Kelly spent the whole time trying to get Hayes to hand back his book.

  ‘Can I not give you some good odds on the boys today? United to beat the Potters at five to one. You’d be robbing me. And if you’re not a sporting lass yourself, your man at home could place a bet for you.’

  Hayes gave him a hard stare.

  ‘Or your woman. I’m not prejudicial at all. If they place the bet, no one knows it’s you, see?’

  Hayes took out her handcuffs and waved them in Kelly’s face as Tom waited to cross the High Street.

  ‘Now let’s not get off on the wrong foot. Your boss was bad cop last time we met and you can’t both do it. Why not start again, and you be good cop, eh?’

  Tom spoke up, ‘Hayes, you take him inside. I’ll bring the evidence.’

  Kelly looked from one to the other. ‘What evidence. You’ve no evidence of anything. Hey, if you’re going to fit me up I want a lawyer.’

  Hayes jerked him out of the car and frogmarched him into the custody suite; Tom collected the large evidence bag he’d stored in the boot overnight and followed along. When he arrived at the desk, he could feel a sudden drop in temperature. The sergeant, so friendly in the morning, was glaring at him.

  ‘Good afternoon, Detective Inspector, or is that Oberleutnant?’

  ‘It’s Hauptmann, actually. I’m more senior than an Oberleutnant.’

  The sergeant opened his mouth and closed it. Tom’s friend in Lambeth had warned him about comparisons with the Gestapo. ‘Front it up,’ he’d said. ‘Make them look a fool.’ Tom had to swallow to get the next line out.

  ‘Have you booked Mr Kelly in?’

  ‘I need to check whether this other officer has authority.’

  Tom went up to the desk. ‘This “other officer” is DC Hayes. You know she has the authority, just like you know I have the authority to put a note on your personnel record. Hurry it up.’

  Hayes’s eyes were pinched and she was pulling Kelly’s arm far too tightly. Tom hoped it wouldn’t show up on the booking room video.

  ‘Sign here,’ said the sergeant to Hayes and Kelly in turn.

  The door to the main station opened, and DCI Storey appeared, looking even worse than yesterday. It was all very well leading your battered team by example, but the man wouldn’t be fit for Monday morning at this rate. At least his presence explained the change in the custody sergeant’s attitude.

  Storey led them through in silence and pointed to Interview Room 1. Tom looked at it and said, ‘Do you have a family room here?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘We’ll conduct the interview there, thank you.’

  ‘It’s locked.’

  ‘DC Hayes will escort Mr Kelly back to the cells, and I’ll help you look for the key.’

  ‘It’s with the DVRA team. Domestic Violence, Rape and Abuse – they’re based in BCSS. They’re only on call at weekends.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Hayes, ‘I think…’

  ‘Thank you,’ interrupted Tom. ‘If you could take Mr Kelly away.’

  She wheeled the prisoner round, and Kelly looked utterly bewildered at the sight of two coppers tearing strips off each other.

  When the door slammed behind Hayes, Tom said, ‘No station commander has off-limits areas in his building. There must be a key.’

  Storey’s voice rose in pitch and volume. ‘I’ve told you, Morton, it’s locked. Use the other room or sod off back to London and take the Squealer with you.’

  Tom had had enough. He pushed Storey against the wall and lifted his finger, but Storey grabbed hold of his lapels and head-butted him. Tom turned away a fraction, and the DCI’s forehead missed his nose. Instead, it landed on his eye socket, and he staggered away in pain with lights flashing and then Storey kicked him in the stomach.

  He collapsed on his side and curled up. From above, he heard a scream as Hayes launched herself over his body to crash into Storey. Tom struggled for breath, and the other two fought briefly on the floor, but Hayes soon had Storey on his front with his arms pinned behind his back.

  ‘You okay, Tom?’

  ‘Heeurgh. Ow, shit. I think so.’

  ‘I was trying to say that I know the head of DVRA and she told me it’s not a key, it’s a combination. I can text her.’

  Tom climbed to all fours and tried to stop his club sandwich coming back up. ‘I deserved that. Thanks.’

  Hayes climbed carefully off Storey’s back and stepped aside. The DCI got up and and straightened his tie. ‘Do you often let girls fight your battles?’

  Hayes turned her back on Storey and looked at Tom’s left eye. ‘I’ll make the call to DVRA and put you in the custody suite medical bay. That eye needs attention.’

  There were still stars winking across his vision, and Tom knew he needed a time out. He let her guide him to the medical bay and waited with his head between his knees.

  ‘Have you done First Aid?’ he asked when Hayes pronounced that his eye was not seriously damaged.

  ‘No, just been an older sister. You learn a lot that way.’

  ‘I think my vision’s cleared now. Let’s get Kelly.’

  ‘Why did you want the family room?’

  ‘All the other interview rooms have video feeds that can’t be turned off. The family room is the only one with an indepe
ndent system, and I don’t want Storey eavesdropping.

  ‘Neat. I’ll remember that.’ She stood back. ‘Sir, what would you have done if I hadn’t come along?’

  ‘You know my cousin, the one that rang up when we were in the car?’

  Hayes nodded. ‘Kate, yeah.’

  ‘Same thing happened to me at school once. She got me out of that one as well. Told me afterwards that I shouldn’t start something I can’t finish.’

  He went to the Gents and checked first to see if Storey was there. In the mirror, a black eye was already forming. ‘Last time,’ he said to his reflection. ‘That was the last time I let that happen.’

  He took a deep breath and went upstairs to meet Hayes.

  He cleared away the children’s toys and chose the squashiest armchair before ordering Kelly to sit in it. The man’s small frame was almost swallowed, and he had to struggle to sit up.

  Hayes pointed to the microphone on the coffee table and gave the Caution.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ said Kelly. ‘Turn the tape off.’

  ‘So you don’t want a solicitor,’ said Hayes.

  ‘No, let’s get this over with, and let me get back to the pub. They’ll be kicking off in a minute.’

  Tom dragged the enormous evidence bag over to the settee where he and Kris were sitting. They had filled it with a variety of desirable items from the CID storage room: mobile phones, perfumes, a couple of laptops, several cheque books and other miscellaneous examples of shady merchandise. Each item was in its own evidence bag, but the preprinted forms on the outside of the bags were blank – no one had logged these items or made any official record of their existence. He took out the bag containing the V5C forms from his last encounter with Griffin and Kelly.

  ‘I am showing Mr Kelly Exhibit 10/539422/01. This consists of a number of DVLA Log Books with serial numbers that are known to be stolen. Mr Kelly, do you recognise these?’

  ‘What? Are you mad? That’s all been sorted.’

  ‘DC Hayes, could you pass me DS Griffin’s notebook.’

  Kris rummaged in her bag to give herself thinking time, and then handed over her own police notebook: the HOLMES 2 Exhibit Log was strangely quiet about the real thing. Another loose end.