Green For Danger - Volume II of the Operation Jigsaw Trilogy

by Hayden, Mark

  Hayes seemed to think the question rhetorical at first, but when Tom raised his eyebrows, she responded. ‘Yes. She’s a Senior Care Assistant.’

  ‘Then that makes it worse. I’ll bet she works very hard for very little money and pays more tax than she should, because no one’s ever shown her how to claim for things properly. Butler, and every other money launderer in the world is just leaching off her back. He wanted something for nothing.’

  Hayes shifted in the seat and fiddled with the safety belt. ‘Fair enough, sir, but to go after his family as well, it seems…’

  Tom interrupted her. ‘Hayes, you ain’t seen nothing yet,’ he said, and put the car in gear.

  Patrick was sitting at the kitchen table going through the VAT returns for Emerald Green Ltd. Since last Thursday he had barely touched his legitimate businesses, but a phone call from his accountant had sent him to the office to pick up the paperwork. He wanted to be at home where he wasn’t surrounded by Dermot’s Wolves posters and looking at the Wolves mug on the desk. He also wanted to be near Fran.

  She brought some coffee through. ‘Remember I’m going to Stafford soon, so I’ll leave you some lunch in the fridge. I don’t want you to start neglecting your diet.’

  ‘Would I use this tragedy to start overindulging? Well, I suppose I would. Thanks love.’

  The phone rang, and Fran went to answer. He got back to his papers and his finger was poised over the calculator when he heard her voice raised from the other room. He put his pen down and tried to listen for some clue. Could it be Maria? Theresa? Fran didn’t sound amused.

  When she marched back into the kitchen, she had gone white with fury, and it seemed to be directed at him.

  ‘That was the police. Not the big boys this time, but the custody sergeant from Earlsbury. They’ve arrested Helen for conspiracy to bribe a police officer. Or something like that. What have you done, Patrick? What have you done to our daughter?’

  He had pushed himself upright and was about to answer, when the room swam a little and his chest started to contract. He slumped back on the chair and felt his pockets for a nitro tablet. Fran dashed to the worktop and fumbled open a container. When she came to stuff it under his tongue, he could see that the concern on her face was not for him but Helen.

  She gave him a minute for the tablet to take effect and then she sat down next to him. At least she took his hand first. ‘It’s got to stop, Pat. I don’t care what you’ve done, you know that, but you’ve got to get Helen out of jail. You’ve got to go down there and confess to everything. Anything. So long as our daughter comes home tonight.’

  Pat held up his other hand for a second and closed his eyes. The tablet finished fizzing under his tongue, and he swallowed the last of the drug. With the relaxation in his chest came a relaxation of the pain in his shoulders, his arms, and his chest.

  ‘I’ll go straight there in a minute,’ he said. ‘I might not come home tonight so there’s some things you need to do. The first one is to get in touch with Dave Parkes.’

  ‘Who? The bloke with the music shop?’

  ‘That’s him. Go and see him in person, not on the phone. Tell him to get James King to call you. When James calls, tell him to go to the police straight away. He knows what it’s about.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘There’s more,’ said Patrick, and he told her where to find a couple of items hidden at his mother’s house and what to do with them. Then he got her to drive him into town.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I have a witness who says you handed over this mobile phone at Earlsbury Park Golf Club. Did you do that?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘This witness says that you gave it to him with the express purpose of allowing your father to communicate without police surveillance. Is this true?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Helen was growing in confidence as the interview progressed. She had immediately asked for a solicitor when booked into the custody suite and had obviously taken the man’s advice by conducting a No Comment interview. It took guts. Every single question had to be answered with the same two words. It was hard to sit there and be accused of things and not deny them. Tom could see every sinew of Helen’s body wanted to deny having anything to do with Dermot’s death, but as they progressed, her responses became slicker.

  It also required patience on the part of the detective. When played back to a future jury, any value from the Defendant refusing to answer questions would be lost if the detective became unprofessional. Tom was okay, but he was beginning to worry about Hayes.

  Because of the jurisdiction issues, he had told her to be the arresting officer. They had gone to Helen’s workplace which was the Earlsbury branch of a national pharmacy company. Although the arrest had taken place in the back office, they had walked her out of the shop, and all of Helen’s colleagues had seen her humiliation. And that was the point.

  Hayes was clearly very unhappy about this – very unhappy about undertaking a public arrest on the flimsiest of evidence. She had argued on the way to the chemist that they had enough to arrest Patrick Lynch, but Tom had seen the look in Francesca’s eyes at the church. This woman had taken her husband back into the fold after his indiscretion eighteen years ago and that could only be for one reason – the children. He had taken a gamble that Francesca Lynch would persuade her husband that co-operation was their daughter’s only chance.

  ‘This is a photograph of the late Detective Sergeant Griffin, also known as John Kirkstone. Do you know this man?’

  Helen made the mistake of looking at the photograph and giving it away in her eyes. She knew Griff all right.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Could you describe the relationship between this man and your father?’

  The solicitor decided it was time to intervene. ‘Inspector Morton, you have arrested my client not her father. She can’t be expected to comment on his business.’

  ‘Oh yes she can, as a witness. Please, Helen, answer the question: how well did your father know this man?’

  Helen looked at her brief who shrugged in response.

  ‘No comment.’

  The interview room door opened, and the custody sergeant stuck his head in. It was a different man to the one on Sunday, and he didn’t seem as bothered by Tom’s presence. Obviously not a friend of Griffin’s. He had agreed to give a signal when Patrick Lynch showed up. This was the moment Tom had been waiting for.

  ‘Interview suspended. I believe that we can resume after lunch. Say two o’clock?’ He looked at the solicitor. ‘Gives you a chance to get something else done in the interim. Your client will be comfy enough until then. Oh, and DC Hayes will be re-arresting her on a charge of money laundering.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have a look at this.’ Tom passed the solicitor another copy of the register of directors for Nineteenth Green Ltd. ‘Either your client, or her husband or most likely both of them have been receiving the proceeds of laundered money. You might want to discuss that with her before you nip off for lunch.’

  Helen whispered something to her lawyer who didn’t bother to whisper when he responded to her. ‘You aren’t allowed visitors except at DI Morton’s discretion. I don’t think he will agree, somehow.’

  ‘No, I won’t. Enjoy your lunch, Helen, but I’d avoid the curry if I were you.’

  Hayes packed up the evidence and followed Tom out of the interview room. The custody sergeant took Helen back to the cells; her lawyer took the papers and disappeared.

  Lynch was waiting for them in the main part of the police station. Tom wondered how soon DCS Winters would hear about it all: he hadn’t forgotten that Lynch was under 24 hour surveillance.

  Tom had watched Lynch being interviewed at BCSS but the video feed didn’t do justice to the man. He looked to be in good condition for his age and medical history, and he was dressed in a well cut suit that was almost a match for Brewer, the media relations manager.

  ‘Mr Lynch? I�
�m DI Morton from London and this is…’

  ‘Morton, did you say?’

  For the first time in his life, Tom saw his name strike fear into the eyes of a suspect. He had no idea why.

  It clicked in after a second. Of course! Griffin would have told Lynch exactly who was sniffing around the counterfeit money when Tom first went to Earlsbury last month. The Honorary President of the golf club had come here expecting to do a deal with the Major Enquiry Team; instead, Lynch had been confronted by someone who knew exactly what was going on, someone he couldn’t lie to about the counterfeit notes.

  ‘Yes, I’m DI Morton; I’ve been promoted since the last time I was here. This is DC Hayes of MCPS.’

  Lynch leaned in close. ‘You’ll know I’ve got a friendly ghost haunting me?’

  ‘If you mean the surveillance team, then yes, I do know.’

  ‘If you want to talk, take me to your big new place by the motorway, and I’ll show you somewhere private on the way.’

  It was legitimate. If they booked him in here, then only the Prisoner Escort service could transfer him to BCSS. There was nothing wrong in Tom taking a witness in his own car. He jerked his head towards the back of the station and escorted Lynch through the custody suite. ‘Don’t use this as a shortcut, all right?’ said the sergeant.

  ‘Sorry. Won’t happen again.’

  Lynch cast a look at the door leading to a row of cells. ‘Is she in there?’

  ‘No, that’s the men. Your daughter’s round the side. Come on.’

  They took him out the back, and Tom was now sufficiently comfortable with the one way streets that he could get out of town without crossing the High Street. No one followed them, and it would take a while before Winters realised that Lynch had left the station. He drove towards the motorway.

  ‘When you get to the roundabout, take the third turning, the one before your police station, and stop in the lay-by,’ said Lynch.

  Tom did as he was bid and had to squeeze his car in between two lorries. ‘Let’s go up the hill, there’s a quiet place at the top,’ said Lynch.

  ‘Go with him, Hayes,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll get the teas in. Sugar, Mr Lynch?’

  ‘I’ve got sweeteners, thanks. That’s very good of you, Inspector. Especially good of you not to make the girl do it.’

  ‘She’s Bad Cop,’ said Tom. ‘She’s going to soften you up before I get back.’

  Tom reckoned the next time he did something without telling Hayes first, she’d go on strike. His DC looked from one man to the other and got out of the car. She and Lynch walked carefully up the incline at the back of the lay-by.

  When Tom joined them with a carryout tray of drinks, he found that the other side of the embankment sloped down to a security fence. It was private and sheltered, and the used condoms lying around suggested that they weren’t the only ones who knew about it.

  ‘Not much of a bad cop,’ said Lynch. ‘She’s been asking after me family. Turns out I know her mother as well. Small world, round here, sure it is. Don’t drink your tea yet, they’re scalding hot those cups.’

  Tom put the tray on the ground. ‘You’re going to jail, Patrick. You’re going to jail for bribing Griffin and money laundering. That much I can prove already, now that I’ve seen the golf club records. The question is this: are you going to let your daughter go to jail as well or are you going to help me catch those counterfeiters?’

  ‘Helen is innocent. She’s had nothing to do with Griffin or my little businesses. She’s got her own life.’

  ‘Too late, Patrick. You’re a smart man, I know, but you’re not a criminal lawyer. All I have to prove is that Helen received the laundered money. It’s enough to get one criminal record for her and a matching one for your son-in-law. I can have the house, too. If you don’t believe me, you can let her take her chances.’

  Hayes reached down and took one of the drinks for herself. ‘He means it, you know,’ she said to Lynch. ‘He got that black eye when he took a woman’s credit cards off her. It was ugly.’

  A gust of wind found its way behind the embankment and blew Lynch’s hair adrift. He was developing quite a comb-over. The Irishman smoothed it back in place and picked up his own tea.

  ‘I can’t. Not “won’t”, it’s “can’t”. The guys who sent me the counterfeit notes have cut me off completely, and they’ve started doing business elsewhere. I don’t know who they are or how to get in touch, and if I did know, I’d let Helen, Elizabeth, Francesca, Hope, and everyone go to jail rather than give you their names. They’re worse than the Blackpool lot.’

  ‘Blackpool?’

  ‘Yes, Blackpool. The men who shot my nephew are bunch of fellas from Blackpool. I can give you their leader in exchange for laying off Helen. If you go about it properly, you might use him to get at the Rainbow guys because, they’re doing business directly now.’

  Tom’s phone rang; he checked the screen and saw that it was BCSS. He rejected the call.

  ‘Come on, Patrick. Stop talking in riddles. Who are the Rainbow guys?’

  ‘When we started in business together, they said I had to have Green in the name of the company. I thought it was a joke at first, but they’ve got some other colours, too. One day on the phone, I heard one of them say Rainbow. That’s all.’

  Tom thought of the piece of blue sky that he thought was a bit of jigsaw. Not a jigsaw, then, but a rainbow. No. He preferred jigsaw. Hayes reached into her pocket and took out her phone. He shook his head at her and she too rejected the call.

  ‘Why you, Patrick? Out of all the bent market traders in England, why did they choose you to distribute fake twenty pound notes? They must have been doing business before that.’

  ‘I think it was Dermot,’ said Patrick a little too smoothly. ‘He came up with the contacts. Poor lad did a stint in jail. But you’ll know all about that.’

  Two men walked around the end of the embankment and started to hurry towards them. For a second, Tom thought that Patrick had arranged an ambush, but then he recognised one of the surveillance officers. He had about ten seconds left.

  ‘I want Griffin’s private mobile number, and you only tell me, okay? It’s that or the deal’s off.’

  Lynch nodded.

  The two surveillance officers arrived. ‘Is everything all right, Inspector? We were worried that we’d lost track of Mr Lynch.’

  ‘You’re just in time,’ said Tom. ‘Mr Lynch is about to tell us who shot his nephew.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Lynch. ‘James King is going to do that, although it does depend on how good your storage is.’

  Tom picked up his cup of tea, now cooled to a drinkable temperature.

  ‘DC Hayes, would you like to caution Mr Lynch?’

  ‘A pleasure, sir.’

  ‘How did you do it?’ asked DCS Winters.

  Tom shrugged. ‘You thought it was about the future. You were looking to see who was muscling in on Dermot’s business. I focused on the past and joined up the dots. Not only that, many of your officers saw Griffin as a copper. I looked on him as a criminal.’

  ‘I can see what you mean. Perhaps that’s why the Chief Constable insisted on having you aboard. Still, job done.’

  Winters tossed some of the files from his desk on to the floor. ‘Won’t be pursuing them any more.’ He looked up at Tom. ‘I suppose you’re going to want to question him, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m still in charge of the Professional Standards case against Griffin and Hooper, but it seems that it’s all rather interlinked.’

  ‘I know. Look, the MCPS Economic Crimes guys are pretty stretched at the moment. They couldn’t even afford to lend us anyone for the Major Enquiry – another reason you were ahead of the pack. Would you mind looking into the money laundering as well as the corruption? We need to have something to charge that slippery leprechaun with before he runs away again. Just for the rest of this week – I’ll put in a proper request to CIPPS.’

  ‘Thanks, sir. You didn’t have to do that.’<
br />
  ‘I’m not about to invite you to dinner, Tom, but I’d be stupid not to use a good resource when it’s in my kitchen cupboard.’

  Tom’s imagination boggled at the idea of him being in Winters’ kitchen cupboard and, if so, what sort of ingredient or implement he might be. Food processor, possibly? Something that puréed and blended suspects? Maybe not. Winters’ shameless use of him to go through Lynch’s financials was in their mutual interest, but it hadn’t resolved their other differences.

  ‘Fair enough, sir. Two other things, if you don’t think I’m pushing my luck. The first is DC Hayes and the second is the question of Griffin’s front door key.’

  ‘You can keep Hayes. No one else wants her. I’ve had a word with my Exhibits Manager, and she does remember you handing it in. She’s made a report to that effect. Mind you, that doesn’t mean someone stole it – you could have left a spare in the lock or it could have been you that took it.’

  Tom nodded. There was no point in being unnecessarily unpleasant.

  ‘Now,’ said Winters, ‘how did Lynch say he was going to identify the Blackpool mob?’

  A DS from the team knocked on the door, and Winters waved him in.

  ‘Sir, sorry to interrupt, but James King has come in and says the man who shot his brother is the same one who shot his father eighteen years ago.’

  Blimey, thought Tom, that’s going to take some sorting out.

  Sir Stephen Jennings was sitting by the fire reading Keith Jeffrey’s MI6 – A History of the Secret Intelligence Service. It was a very big book, and he had been meaning to start it for some time. It was the WI meeting later tonight so he should have a fairly uninterrupted run at it: the best way to approach a new book was to give yourself enough time to get engrossed. If he wasn’t enthralled by eight o’clock, it would be going on the shelf for reference.

  He heard the landline ringing and left his wife to answer it – almost certainly another of the village ladies asking for a lift or checking who was going to bring the milk. Footsteps approached the library, and his wife passed him the cordless phone. ‘It’s for you. Calls himself Mr Green.’