Green For Danger - Volume II of the Operation Jigsaw Trilogy

by Hayden, Mark

  Bloody hell. He had forgotten that the Principal Investor in Birmingham knew his home address – and that because of his wife’s position in the village, they were listed in the phone book. He took the receiver and said hello. His wife didn’t linger.

  ‘Sorry to bother you at home, Stephen, but I’ve lost your mobile number.’

  It was him all right.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t recognise your voice. Have we met before?’ Jennings could hear traffic noises. The man must have gone looking for one of Britain’s few remaining call boxes.

  ‘I’m a friend from the old days. You’ve got my number, and I’ve got some news for you. I wouldn’t have troubled you otherwise.’

  There was a hint of neediness in the voice which might indicate trouble to come. Because of the man’s connections, Jennings couldn’t afford to ignore him; it might even be important.

  ‘I’m a little busy right now. Can I call you in ten minutes?’

  ‘I’ll be waiting.’

  It took him the full ten minutes to dig out the man’s mobile number and find a suitable SIM card for one of his phones. When the other man picked up, it was quieter in the background. Probably sitting in his car.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ said Jennings.

  ‘You were right about Morton. He’s cracked the case wide open down here, and got Patrick Lynch in custody giving all the gory details. I tried my best to sideline him but he’s persistent.’

  ‘I thought Lynch didn’t know anything.’

  ‘He doesn’t, as such, but there’s been a development. One of the victims’ brothers has come in voluntarily to identify the Blackpool man as being involved in a cold case. There’s a good chance that they’ll be bearing down on your new partner in the near future.’

  The note of whining had come back when the words new partner were spoken, but the man was right – in less than a week, less than four days in fact, Morton had sniffed out the trail better than a foxhound in full cry.

  ‘Thanks for the tip-off. Hopefully things will calm down in your neck of the woods now. Shame about Lynch, though. He’s done very well for you over the years. Very well indeed. Operation Rainbow is a business not a charity. I’m sure that you’ll find yourself a new partner, and when you do – we’ll be ready to do business with you again.’

  Jennings disconnected the call and cut up the SIM card. What a waste.

  Knowing Morton, he’ll be trying to get himself attached to the investigation up in Blackpool. If they broke off with their new partner, Morton would only follow the counterfeit money around the country until they made a mistake – or someone stopped him.

  He had heard some news on the grapevine about the Mortons of Throckton and done a little digging. They were clearly a tenacious family, and there must be something in the water at that farm – even though Captain Lonsdale wasn’t a Morton by blood, she appeared to share a lot of their characteristics. Judging by the way that she had acted in Essex, she was willing to take risks and was very attached to her cousin; if something happened to Morton, she would very likely pursue it, and there was still the matter of her connection to the late Sgt Jensen.

  The counterfeiting was Offlea’s project, and it was his decision as to whether to act against Morton – but if he did, then Lonsdale would have to be put out of the picture as well. That was a shame – she was developing into a very useful asset.

  Chapter 11

  Earlsbury

  Friday – Saturday

  29-30 October

  Every police force pays for some officers to act as full time representatives of the Police Federation. By law, officers haven’t been allowed to join a Trade Union since the police strike of 1919. Apart from not being allowed to call a strike or set up a Political Fund, the Federation is otherwise indistinguishable from any other union; Tom was a member and would remain so unless he rose to the giddy heights of Superintendent. He had never needed a Federation Representative (or Fed Rep), and if he ever did, he hoped it would not be the idiot sitting opposite him.

  Since Patrick Lynch’s arrest on Tuesday, Tom had been up to his armpits in bank accounts and balance sheets as he attempted to straighten out the crooked empire that Lynch had created. Tom was happy to keep a toehold in Earlsbury – they had even given him and Kris a desk at BCSS.

  The bulk of the detectives assigned to the case had been transferred back to their normal units without further explanation after James King dropped his little bombshell. Winters had briefed only a tiny group of senior officers that they were waiting on a DNA result from an eighteen year old case. Unless there was a very highly placed source in MCPS, they might actually have the element of surprise this time.

  That left two questions, the most pressing being Ian Hooper. Reports from the hospital said that he was off the critical list but was still seriously ill. It would be the worst time for him, thought Tom. He would be out of intensive care, but wouldn’t feel any better for weeks – if at all. Abdominal wounds were notoriously unpredictable. Winters had been back for a further informal chat; Hooper had added nothing to his original statement. That meant it would be Tom’s turn soon. When the Fed Rep allowed him, of course.

  The other question was DS Griffin’s mobile. After one of the sessions interviewing Lynch, his solicitor had handed Tom a slip of paper with a mobile number on it. The solicitor had said, ‘My client believes this is the last part of the bargain – you let his daughter go in exchange.’

  Tom had ordered Helen’s release – but only on police bail. He’d told Lynch that until he knew the number was genuine, he needed the option; the Irishman had nodded cheerfully in response. He would deal with that at the weekend, back in London. For now he had to cope with Ian Hooper’s Federation Representative.

  ‘Be realistic,’ said the Rep. ‘Why would DC Hooper have an informal chat with you?’

  ‘Because it’s in his best interests to do so.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t see it like that. You can’t interview him under caution until he’s been signed off as fit for that purpose – which could be a very long time. And then there’s no guarantee that he’ll have anything to say. I wouldn’t co-operate if I were him, and I’ll be telling him so.’

  ‘What does he say about this?’

  The Rep recrossed his legs. ‘It’s my role to represent DC Hooper’s interests.’

  ‘You haven’t been to see him, have you.’

  The Rep didn’t dispute the statement.

  ‘I’ll save you some work here,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve been through all of Hooper’s financials, and I can see no evidence that he was in receipt of corrupt payments. Unlike Griffin. However, I need to be sure. There’s a nasty smell around all the Earlsbury CID, and until I can get some air in to blow it away, it’s going to linger. The sooner Hooper can satisfy me, the sooner I’ll leave him alone.’

  ‘It’s very, very rarely in an ordinary constable’s interests to co-operate with Professional Standards. Hooper’s been shot in the line of duty – what more proof do you need that he’s a hard working officer who’s put himself in harm’s way to protect the public?’

  ‘You haven’t even read the file, have you, because if you had, you wouldn’t be spouting rubbish like that. Griffin was on the take. He was supposed to protect a shipment of counterfeit currency, but something went wrong. I need to know whether Hooper was Griffin’s sidekick or his victim.’

  Hayes was taking notes. Her opinion of the Federation was even lower than Tom’s, because when she reported her colleagues with the working girl, the Fed had closed ranks around the men instead of supporting the whistleblower.

  The Fed Rep straightened the edge of the file on the desk between them. It had Hooper’s name on the front and CIPPS in big letters. A courier had brought a pile of CIPPS stationery for him on Wednesday, including his new business cards.

  ‘You’re right, Inspector, this is a complex situation. How about I review the file for a few days while Hooper continues to recuperate. It’s not as
if he’s going anywhere, is it?’

  With that, the Rep stood up and packed his briefcase.

  ‘DC Hayes will show you out,’ said Tom.

  When she returned, he was on the phone looking for someone. He covered the mouthpiece and said to her, ‘Don’t get comfortable. We’re going out.’

  He got the reply he was hoping for and replaced the receiver. ‘We’re going to have a chat with Erin King.’

  ‘You mean we’re going to a lap dancing club.’

  ‘Pole dancing.’

  Tom had to use the satnav to find The West Pole. His vague description to Hayes had produced only a curled lip and a muttered comment about male drivers.

  ‘Did you miss a game last Saturday?’ asked Tom. ‘What did you say? Castle WFC?’

  ‘No. There aren’t enough teams in the league to play every weekend. We’re back in action tomorrow, unless you need me for something.’

  ‘No, I’m going home to my hired box.’ Hayes raised an eyebrow. ‘Since the separation, I live in a studio flat in the City. My father said it reminded him of a poem by Philip Larkin. I deliberately haven’t looked it up.’

  The Friday lunchtime trade at The West Pole was starting to pick up when they arrived; the first dancers were due out in ten minutes.

  Tom introduced himself to the manager and asked where Erin was. ‘Can you wait until the girls come out?’ he asked. ‘You can use the dressing room then.’

  Tom nodded his agreement and declined the offer of a drink.

  There was no fanfare or drum roll to announce the dancers – the music started, and they emerged from the beaded curtain. Erin slipped through the side door at the same time. Hayes picked up her bag but Tom stopped her.

  ‘Let’s wait a minute. This is Erin’s first day back at work, and she needs to know what’s been going on in her absence.’

  Hayes sat back down on the stool and, for want of anything better to do, they watched the dancers perform a badly synchronised ensemble. Erin was filming it on her phone. When the music changed, and the girls began their individual routines, Tom and Kris got up and showed their warrant cards discreetly. Erin led them through the back.

  ‘I’m sorry about Robert,’ said Tom. ‘How are the boys?’

  ‘You came to see me with Ian, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I was with the London police then, looking for counterfeit twenty pound notes.’

  Erin’s chin came up in defiance. The Lynch family had clearly filled her in on the extent of police investigations. Tom moved to reassure her. ‘I’m not here about Robert, that’s up to other people.’

  ‘Rob. His name was Rob.’

  ‘Of course. I’m here about something else. I couldn’t help noticing that you are a friend of Ian’s.’

  ‘So what? We’ve known each other for years. Since school.’

  ‘And you care about him – as a friend. I’m going to put a proposition to you that you can ignore if you want, but I hope you think about it first.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’m not with the Economic Crimes Unit any more. I’m with Professional Standards now. We are the officers who get called in when another officer is accused of something.’

  Erin’s gaze flicked from Tom to Kris. ‘I’ll bet that makes you popular.’ Hayes gave a snort.

  ‘DC Hayes is on loan,’ said Tom. ‘She’s trying to decide whether to make the move permanent.’ Hayes treated him to her best hard stare but said nothing. ‘So you can see that Ian isn’t going to want to talk to me.’

  ‘Why do you want to talk to Ian? He’s the original honest copper and he was even a prefect at school – that’s one of the reasons we split up.’

  ‘He told me about that. I like Ian too – but that’s not enough. I need to know what he was doing at the Goods Yard, and until I do, there’s going to be a big question mark hanging over him. If I arrest him and interview him under caution, I’ll have to do a full investigation, look into every detail, make a note of his visits here – and I bet the manager will tell me everything. I might find something really trivial that I can’t ignore. Something that loses his pension. If he has to retire on medical grounds, he’ll be on benefits without that pension.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘When you go and see him – and I’m sure you will – tell him that he should invite me into the hospital for a chat. Nothing on the record, just a chat. I promise.’

  Erin bounced on the soles of her feet. ‘He said you were a good bloke. If I speak to him, will you promise he won’t get into trouble?’

  ‘No, because he might – just might – be guilty. If I see him for a chat, I promise I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt – nothing on his record at all. He can recuperate in peace.’

  Tom took out a card and passed it to her. ‘Just give him that and tell him to think it over.’

  She took the card and slipped it into a pocket.

  ‘You’ve got some work to do on those dancers,’ said Hayes to lighten the mood.

  ‘Tell me about it. You’d think I’d been off for a month, not a week.’

  ‘Do you run classes?’ asked Hayes.

  ‘Not yet, but I’m thinking about it. Have you got a card too?’

  She passed one over, and it joined Tom’s card in Erin’s pocket. The detectives headed for the emergency exit where Tom had caught his fleeting glimpse of Rob King. ‘Kris, are you thinking of a change of career?’

  ‘No, but there’s the Castle WFC Christmas Party to think of. That should get them going.’

  Tom was summoned to a meeting in the BCSS conference room after lunch, just when he was thinking of trying to beat the traffic back to London. The top table from last Saturday was there, minus the Chief Constable: DCC Nechells, ACC Khan, Brewer from media and DCS Winters. The other surviving DI from the original enquiry was there too, along with a middle-aged woman in a smart suit who identified herself as Evelyn Andrews, the Chief’s personal assistant. The man himself was apparently in Liverpool for an ACPO meeting, but wanted to know immediately what was said.

  The only outsider was a smooth man with public school hair combed over his forehead and a muted but colourful tie. Nechells was the last to arrive, and he took the chair.

  ‘Mrs Andrews, Gentlemen, thank you for coming on a Friday afternoon. I won’t keep you long, I hope. This is Mr John Lake from Security Liaison. His job is to act as first point of contact between police forces and various security services in matters not related to terrorism. John, over to you.’

  ‘Thank you. I should clarify that – it’s matters not related to islamist terrorism, actually. What I’m going to talk about today is very much related to terrorism, but nothing to do with Al-Qaida.’ Lake opened his slim briefcase and took out a paper. Across the top was something like a barcode. ‘My office received a flag this morning from the National DNA database, which was triggered when you put in a request. DCC Nechells has filled me in on the details, so I’ll cut to the chase. The man you want in connection with the death of Solomon King in 1992 and also with the current investigation has been known to us for some time. He was in the IRA.’

  All the officers around the table looked at each other, but none of them spoke. Lake continued, ‘When the peace process was concluded, a lot of people had their sins forgiven. Murderers were released, files were closed, and records were destroyed in the name of community relations. However, the message was given to the IRA high command, in no uncertain terms, that this was a one shot deal. Any crimes committed after the peace process began were going to be pursued as normal.’

  It was Winters who interrupted first. ‘Does that mean we have to lay off him?’ The whole room could hear the unspoken subtext two of our own were shot here and two others as well.

  ‘I’ll tell you now, the CPS will never prosecute for the Solomon King murder. Not in the public interest. Since then, this man has kept his nose clean, and there is no official record of his DNA, but there’s nothing to stop you beginning an operat
ion from scratch.’ Lake pushed the paper into the middle of the room. ‘May I introduce you to Benedict Adaire. This man has killed more people than anyone I’ve ever come across. Be careful.’

  Lake nodded and left; Nechells took over. ‘Preliminary work by Nigel has put Adaire in Blackpool with a registered minicab business. A discreet word with our colleagues in Lancashire & Westmorland hasn’t revealed any active enquiries with him at the centre.’ He paused and picked up the piece of paper left behind by Lake. ‘This is a delicate situation. Our witness only shows that Dermot Lynch was talking to a man who may or may not be Benedict Adaire, and that Robert King believed him to be involved with his father’s death. I’m going to liaise with my opposite number up north and put a strategy in place. Until then, this goes no further. Understood?’

  The room nodded collectively, and Nechells followed Lake out of the door along with Khan, Brewer and Evelyn Andrews. That left Winters, Tom, and the other DI who said, ‘Can you tell us anything, sir?’

  ‘No,’ said Winters. ‘Go home, both of you. There’s nothing to do this weekend.’

  Kate was used to jet lag. Flying to Iraq, and especially to Afghanistan, messed with your system, and Hong Kong was even further. She was ready to drop down on the spot and sleep for England. Her boss seemed oblivious.

  They were waiting for further instructions to proceed to Shanghai: before they left, they had to collect the hardware for the intercept operation in China, and they had to establish a cover story for themselves as a British technology start-up looking for a manufacturing partner. They would then visit several firms and attempt to install the intercept equipment while they were there. The clock said that it was tea time, but Kate’s biorhythms were insisting on bedtime. She asked for a diet cola when the waiter came over: anything to keep her awake.