Green For Danger - Volume II of the Operation Jigsaw Trilogy

by Hayden, Mark

  ‘I have an official entry in the late DS Griffin’s notebook which says these forms were found in your possession after a search of your car. As DS Griffin is no longer with us, I am pursuing this investigation for him.’

  Tom placed the V5C forms in the middle of the coffee table and put the microphone on top of them. Kelly’s eyes followed his hands as he went back to the Santa Sack of stolen goods and pulled out four items at random, placing one at each corner of the table. He watched where the other man’s gaze fell and where it tracked back. Kelly ignored the phone and chequebooks, but kept straining his eyes at the other two. When he had finished, Tom reopened Hayes’s notebook and pretended to read it.

  ‘I have a note here relating to anabolic steroids and a lady’s diamond bracelet. Would you like to comment?’

  Kelly licked his lips and moved in the armchair. ‘You can’t use that notebook.’ he said with a note of triumph. ‘It’s tainted.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because Griffin was a corrupt officer. None of his evidence will be admissible.’

  ‘How was he corrupt?’

  ‘I paid him five hundred a month, so I did.’

  Hayes snorted and tried to turn it into a cough. Tom tried to keep the triumph from his own voice when he said, ‘There’s two of us.’

  ‘I can give you two grand this morning, and the same as Griff every month if you can look the other way. I can’t afford any more, this online betting is eating into my trade something terrible.’

  He passed Kris her notebook. ‘DC Hayes, could you make a note of this: Mr Kelly, I am arresting you for conspiracy to bribe a police officer and for conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. You are still under caution. Before I offer you a lawyer, answer me this question. How much did you lose the last time you played poker?’

  Kelly took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. He took a dirty one from the other pocket and blew his nose. ‘Why?’ was all he said.

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why have youse gone to all this trouble? Why have you dragged me up here, gotten yourself into a fight, and done all this when there’s murderers out there running amok. What harm have I done to youse lot that I should be locked in here?’

  Tom looked at Kelly, and Kelly looked from Tom to Kris and back again. Kelly pointed to the microphone on the table and made slid his fingers across his throat. Kill the tape was Tom’s guess though with Kelly it might mean They’ll slit my throat if I talk. It was time for a gamble of his own.

  ‘We’ll need to arrange for forensic analysis of these items. Interview suspended at 12:45.’

  Kris went into the family room’s kitchen to turn off the tapes and the red light on the microphone winked out.

  ‘Give me the counterfeiters and whoever was distributing the notes,’ said Tom. ‘If the tip off is good enough, I’ll put in a word with the CPS.’

  Kelly had started shaking his head before Tom finished speaking. ‘No chance, brother. Their protection goes much higher than your man Griffin.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re right about the poker. I never could get the hang of it, but I know me odds. Stoke City have no chance against United this afternoon, and you have no chance of catching these guys.’

  Kris shifted in her seat and tapped her pen. She was itching to have a go at him. If this were a game of poker, thought Tom, Kelly is holding a very strong hand. He put on his most reasonable voice – the one he used with defence lawyers.

  ‘Look, Mr Kelly, the chances of getting a conviction for handling stolen goods probably isn’t great. I’ll let that slide. You have to remember, I’ve got you on tape offering us a bribe. That’s guaranteed jail time. I can get you for bribing Griffin as well, even if he isn’t around to testify. We can forget all that if you give me the counterfeiters.’

  ‘I’ll take me chances, thank you very much. When you lot were fighting in the passage, the custody sergeant told me who you are.’ He nodded towards Tom. ‘He says you’re up from London and you’ll be going back soon. As for you, DC Hayes, he told me why no detective in Midland Counties will be keen to follow up on your work. My brief will have a word with the CPS and say that as Registered Informant, I was just testing you. They’ll argue a bit, and I’ll get a suspended for pleading guilty. They’ll fine me too – and I can pay that out of the money I save from not having to pay you off.’

  Kelly didn’t push his luck. He sat back in the floppy chair and let the detectives mull it over.

  ‘Pass me his betting book,’ said Tom to Hayes. He flicked through the pages and saw that it only related to today’s games. The book was cheap paper, and Kelly probably used a new notebook every time he went out. Not enough for a conviction under the Gaming Act. Although…

  ‘You’re right about one thing, Mr Kelly. I am going back to London, but DC Hayes isn’t. It only takes the word of one police officer to get an ASBO.’

  ‘An ASBO? You’re joking, aren’t you? They’re for teenage hooligans not old men like me.’

  ‘According to the newspapers, they’re being used more and more for older, persistent nuisances. Like you. An Antisocial Behaviour Order can be used to ban people from all licensed premises within a ten mile radius. That would cramp your style.’

  ‘That’s below the belt, but I still won’t say anything.’

  ‘How about this: I’ll leave you alone to fight the CPS if you tell me, in perfect detail, exactly what happened in the George last Wednesday night.’

  ‘I can’t remember too well. It’s the drink, you know.’

  Tom slammed the betting book on the table. ‘Drop the act, Kelly. You wouldn’t last five minutes as a bookmaker without a decent memory. You can remember exactly what happened, and if you give me one detail, just one thing that turns out to be a lie, I’ll stay in Earlsbury and follow you for a month until you’re barred from every pub this side of Coventry.’

  Kelly shrugged. ‘There’s not a lot to tell. It was a busy night and I took a lot of bets. I wasn’t giving any odds on United to win because that Turkish side are rubbish. Griffin had twenty pounds on United to score in each half, and he was on to the third pint that I’d seen him drink. He was there before me as well.’

  ‘Who did he talk to.’

  ‘Just some of the lads. There’s a couple of boys who work at the bakery and start at ten o’clock. They always have a couple before work.’

  ‘Did he look as if he was settling in for the night?’

  ‘Oh, sure. He was pissed off when he got the call.’

  ‘Describe it. Exactly. Every detail, starting with where you were sitting.’

  ‘Where you found me today. Griff sat across the way, but he was waiting to be served when his phone rang. He stepped away from the crush to answer it, and he blocked my view.’

  No phones had been found on Griffin’s body. The records of his official phone had been checked and rechecked.

  ‘Describe the phone.’

  ‘It was his private one and before you ask, I don’t know the number.’

  ‘I guessed that. What make and model was it?’

  ‘How should I know? I can tell you that it wasn’t one of them new smartphone thingies. It was silver and it had buttons on it.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It wasn’t a long conversation. Griff only said two things. He said, “I’ve told you once, I’m not doing it,” and he said, “I’ll need to get someone to give me a lift.” Then he swore and rang young Hooper, but you’ll know about that because he used his other phone.’

  That left one question. ‘How closely involved was DC Hooper in DS Griffin’s business?’

  ‘I don’t know about that at all.’

  Tom raised an eyebrow at Kris, and she shook her head. They just didn’t have enough leverage on him. He started to shuffle his papers. ‘I’m just surprised that Griffin didn’t drink at the golf club.’

  It was only a fraction of a second, but Tom saw Kelly’s e
yes contract. The bookmaker pulled out his clean handkerchief again and mopped his face.

  ‘Take him back downstairs and charge him. I’ll sort out the tapes and start to put the paperwork together.’

  ‘Will you be releasing me on bail?’

  ‘No chance. It’s a night in the cells and off to the magistrates in the morning.’

  Instead of pursuing the counterfeiters, Tom was now going to have to spend his afternoon preparing a case against Kelly. When Hayes returned, he sent her home. There was no point in both of them losing their Sunday afternoons. By the time he returned to Earlsbury Park, his eye was a vivid sunset of purples, blues, reds and an emerging black.

  King’s message had been oblique and abrupt: Parkes wants to talk. Meet at Evening Vigil. Patrick had no idea what this was all about. He hadn’t spoken to Parkes in years, and had only heard about Dave’s relationship with Theresa when he handed over her fiftieth birthday present and she told him that she thought she had found her soulmate in the ageing rocker.

  This time he couldn’t use his family as cover – he had to call in several favours to get himself dropped off at Our Lady without the police surveillance following him. There were three priests who worked the circuit around Earlsbury, one Irish, one Polish and one English. The Polish Father did the family services because there were a lot of young kids who’d come over with their parents looking for work, just like his own father had crossed over in the 50s. The Irishman, their family favourite, had taken last night’s Mass and dispensed solidarity to the congregation. No one liked the Englishman. ‘Too holy for the Church,’ was Ma’s verdict, and he had to agree. The man was prone to holding public meditations on the Name of Jesus. Now where was the fun in that?

  He went inside and saw Dave Parkes looking lost at the back and James King sitting proudly at the front. Patrick cuffed Parkes on the shoulder and whispered, ‘You can’t sit here on Sunday night. Get up the front.’ Parkes edged out of the pew and went to follow him. ‘Cross yourself, man. You’ll have to learn all about this if you’ve got designs on Theresa.’ Patrick genuflected and crossed himself before sliding into a seat next to King. Parkes bowed instead of genuflecting and crossed himself from right to left. Typical.

  Most of the worshippers were across the way, close to where they would be led in meditation. They looked as earnest and serious as the balding priest who emerged from the vestry.

  The meditation was done through repetition of simple prayers, and it became kind of hypnotic after a while. In the space for silent reflection, Patrick prayed for Griffin and Rob King, for Dermot again, and finally for himself. When it came to that bit, he faltered because Patrick could think of nothing to ask that any merciful God would be likely to grant him.

  ‘Our regular Bible study group will start in the parish office in ten minutes time,’ said the priest at the end. ‘All are welcome to join.’

  Patrick edged towards him and said, ‘Thank you Father. Very uplifting. I can’t join you for Bible study but my friends and I would like to use the sacristy for some … personal prayer.’

  The priest frowned, but didn’t say no. He wouldn’t have dared. ‘Let me get changed, and I’ll leave you to it.’

  There were only two chairs in the sacristy, and James King insisted that the older men sit down. ‘I think you’ve got something to tell me,’ he said to Dave.

  Parkes licked his lips. ‘I’ve got something to tell both of you. I don’t know what you’re going to do about it, but I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Pat, it’s about the Barley Mow.’

  He paused and looked Patrick in the eye. God in Heaven, what on earth was he on about? Dave Parkes was giving him puppy dog eyes and asking for Pat to shut him up, but Pat wanted to hear this.

  James looked utterly mystified and asked, ‘What about The Barley Mow? You mean the Tandoori restaurant?’

  ‘No,’ said Patrick, ‘this was before it changed hands. He means the pub where your father died; the pub he used to own.’

  ‘When did he own it?’

  ‘Eighteen years ago. He was there when it happened.’

  ‘You! You were there when my father was murdered and now you’re sniffing around my mother.’ James put his hands on his hips and squared up to Parkes.

  Patrick was nonplussed. Why was Dave dragging all this up now? ‘Go on, tell us.’

  ‘Am you sure?’

  ‘No, I’m not, but James here is going to beat it out of you anyway.’

  Parkes exhaled a huge sigh of relief. ‘Honest, Pat, I didn’t know you wasn’t in on it. I kept me mouth shut in case you was part of what happened.’

  ‘You’re talking in riddles, man. In on what? Start at the beginning.’

  Parkes gave a humourless snort. ‘How far back do you want me to go?’ For the first time since they sat down, he looked James in the eye. ‘What have they told you, Jim? About what happened to your Dad and Donal Lynch?’

  ‘Why do you want to know? So you can decide which bits of the truth to tell me? Just spit it out.’

  Parkes held up his hands. ‘Okay, okay. It was Pat’s fortieth birthday, and all the boys were there to celebrate. Your mom was in the hospital with your dad…’ his voice trailed off and he looked from one man to the other.

  ‘Rob used to call her the redheaded cuckoo,’ said James, ‘but I’ve always tried to forgive Patrick and my mother for what they did because it wasn’t Hope’s fault.’

  Parkes looked relieved. He continued. ‘When the phone rang, your mother asked to speak to Pat. She tried to warn him that Sol was on his way over, but she was too late. That was before mobiles, and she had to drag herself down the corridor to use the phone. Anyway, Sol came into the bar and started shouting the odds. He was like a madman. I’ve never seen someone so wild.’

  Pat opened his eyes. He hadn’t realised they were closed as Dave told the story. A story he had buried very deeply inside himself even though he’d been living with the consequences for eighteen years. Parkes was right, the look in Sol’s eyes that night was a glimpse of Hell.

  ‘Donal – Dermot’s dad – stood up. He tried to act the peacemaker, but Sol just lashed out and stabbed him. No one realised at the time what had happened except for one bloke.’

  Parkes paused again and looked at Patrick. He was giving him one last chance to stop the story. One last chance to keep the genie in the bottle. Patrick didn’t stop him and didn’t encourage him. If Dave was meant to tell the story, so be it.

  ‘What bloke?’ said James. ‘They told me it was a big brawl and my father was stabbed in the fight. That’s what they said – no one knew how it happened..’

  ‘No,’ said Parkes. ‘That’s not how it went down. There was one bloke, a little bloke from Belfast that I’d never seen before. He knew what was going on and he knew that Sol was going to gut Patrick like a fish. Your dad had a huge knife with him. This bloke stands up and takes out a knife of his own. He cut your father’s throat like he’d done it before. Then he finishes his drink, spits on your dad’s body and walks out.’

  James turned to face Patrick. His eyes were cold, but his lip was twitching with rage. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I don’t know, James, I really don’t. He was over from Belfast to see one of the units in Birmingham. I was just looking after him.’

  ‘Units? What units?’

  ‘He was IRA.’

  James’s eyes widened in shock. Before he could say anything, Patrick continued. ‘He was the last one. I swear it. He saved my life because Dave’s telling the truth: I was in shock, and Solly would have stabbed me and goodness knows how many others. Don’t forget, your dad had already killed Donal when Ben stepped in. I never saw him again.’

  ‘But I did.’

  Dave was looking at the floor, but his voice carried around the little room like a gunshot.

  ‘When? How?’

  ‘A few weeks ago. Talking to Dermot.’

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Are you mad? What are you talki
ng about?’

  ‘It’s true. I went to see Dermot at the Wrekin Road place, and he was there. He faded into the background when I appeared, but I’d recognise him anywhere. I didn’t ask Dermot who it was because I was shit scared he’d recognise me, and I turned me back on him. It was Dermot who said the other bloke was a friend from Blackpool.’

  A silence descended on the sacristy, a silence born of shock and grief and memory. It soaked into the multi-coloured robes hanging in the wardrobes and it pushed up against the crosses and candles stacked in the corners. It was Patrick who shattered it.

  ‘Who did you tell? I know you must have told someone or we wouldn’t be sitting here tonight.’

  ‘Rob. I told Rob that the man who killed his father was doing business with Dermot.’

  ‘Why in God’s Holy Name did you do that?’

  Parkes raised his eyes from the floor. ‘Because Dermot was ripping me off with those dodgy notes. Some mate of his came into my shop and bought a signed vinyl copy of Made in Japan. He paid five hundred quid for it in fake notes. I was round at Terri’s and I told Rob about it. He told me that Dermot was distributing them and I should ask for a refund.’

  It was starting to make sense. Pat didn’t think Dave was telling the whole truth, but it made sense. Dermot had come out of prison with new connections in the North. These people were well set up and well protected and could handle large volumes of business. He never asked, but he wasn’t surprised that an ex-IRA man should be behind it. And then along comes Dave the Rave, big fat Dave who wants to get into Theresa’s knickers and wants her son to accept him as one of the family. So what does he do? He drops a fecking hand grenade into things by telling Rob what happened to his father. God, what a mess.

  ‘Just one question, Dave’ said Patrick, ‘how did Robbie get from hearing about his father over dinner to a bloody great shoot-out in the Goods Yard?’

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t. I just know that Rob said he was going to sort it.’

  ‘I have a question,’ said James. ‘Who the fuck is this bloke? You called him Ben.’