by Hayden, Mark
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Her. It’s short for St Modwenna. She was one of the few female saints who lived in Staffordshire. Our school’s run by nuns who have a convent near Burton on Trent.’
Tom pointed to the chest of drawers and watched her eyes flick nervously towards a pile of DVDs under her television. He let her rattle through the drawers and noticed that she turned her back to her mother when showing him one of them. Francesca noticed too and craned her neck to see what was being concealed. Tom couldn’t see anything incriminating in the assortment of neatly folded tops and underwear, but he wasn’t a parent. He guessed that Elizabeth would have some explaining to do later.
‘Could you open those for me,’ he said, pointing to the DVDs. This time Elizabeth looked at her mother.
Francesca reached down and sifted through the cases until she found a blank one. She fumbled open the clasp and showed him a blank disk with the words Twilight – Happy Birthday Lizzie written on it. ‘There. See? We bought her a pirate DVD for her birthday. You can take it.’
Tom looked at the posters of Robert Pattinson adorning the walls and believed her. He took the disk anyway. ‘I’ll have a quick look to make sure that’s what it is, then I’ll throw it in the bin and forget about it. Show me the others.’
The rest of the stack were all hologramed authentic copies. Tom was about to move on to the bed (and whatever was underneath the mattress) when he heard Hayes calling up the stairs.
‘Thanks, Elizabeth,’ he said to the girl, and was rewarded with a smile. Francesca was torn between missing the action downstairs and investigating her daughter’s chest of drawers, but she reacted to the more threatening tone from below.
Hayes and Lynch were waiting in the hall. Kris was gloved up and holding an evidence bag which she raised for his examination. It contained a set of blank number plates, and adhesive letters. Lynch was going purple with anger, and a lot of it seemed to be directed at his wife.
‘What’s going on?’ said Francesca.
‘Let’s talk in the lounge,’ said Tom, and led them into the through room, closing the door behind him. He took out a piece of paper and unfolded it before passing it to the Lynches. They had taken up a defensive position in front of the fireplace and they stared at the image on the paper. It was a CCTV printout of a car matching Francesca’s, but with different number plates. From purple, Patrick started to go white.
‘I spent some time working the camera data this morning,’ said Tom. ‘I found that there were several vehicles clocked on the ANPR system with no matching number at the DVLA. There are more than you would think. I checked them all and this vehicle,’ he pointed to the picture, ‘was tracked from a location near here to a location near Wrekin Road. The occupants are wearing concealing clothing but, Mrs Lynch, those cameras are good.’ He had his phone ready and went to take a picture of Francesca. She instinctively turned her head away from the lens, but he snapped her regardless and examined the picture. ‘Thank you, Mrs Lynch. I’ve got a good shot of you wearing the same earrings today as in that picture.’
‘So what?’ said Patrick. ‘It could be anybody in that car, and even if it wasn’t, you’ve no proof it was here or at Wrekin Road.’
Hayes held up the bag again. ‘I found these in an old chest. There was an empty space in the toolbox exactly the same size, and I’m guessing that you threw the others away but forgot this one. I checked the car; there’s considerable wear on the number plate screws which shows they’ve been removed several times.’
‘I want a lawyer,’ said Lynch.
‘Too late,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve got enough here to hold both of you on arson, destroying evidence and several other crimes. I brought you in here because I didn’t want Elizabeth to hear this conversation. You can tell her yourself that she’s being taken into care.’
‘What?’
‘No!’
‘Sir…’
Three voices assailed him but Tom didn’t flinch. Elizabeth Lynch and her school uniform were going to be packed off to Social Services for protection straight away. ‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘your middle daughter is away in London, your oldest daughter is on police bail, and no other relatives would be suitable. It’s the only option. Unless you can persuade me otherwise.’
‘Wait there,’ said Francesca. She stormed towards the french windows in the conservatory and, on his signal, Hayes followed her.
Tom looked at Lynch who was starting to sway gently. ‘Mr Lynch, I think you’d better sit down.’
‘Thank you, I will.’
The Irishman collapsed on the settee and closed his eyes. Tom waited.
Francesca returned with soil on her hands, her clothes and in her hair. She was crying. Hayes was two steps behind her and opening another evidence bag.
‘Here,’ said Francesca, ‘I don’t know what it means, but it’s important.’ She thrust out a shopping bag with a Manchester United beanie hat inside it. ‘Tell them, Pat. Tell them what it is or I swear by St Michael that I’ll never speak to you again.’
Hayes took the hat and dropped it into the evidence bag. Lynch had sat up and put his hand to his chest. ‘Me pills, Fran. Quick.’
Francesca shot into the kitchen and returned with a tablet. ‘I’m only doing this so you don’t ruddy die on me. Put it in your mouth and start talking before I strangle you meself.’
Tom gave him a minute. He stood as impassively as he could with all this going on around him; he was more worried about Hayes than Lynch. Her eyes were wide with alarm, and she was watching Lynch as if ready to start CPR any second. He wanted to put his arm on her shoulder and calm her down, but if he did, not only would it be a sign of weakness to the Lynches, she’d probably hit him.
‘It was in the van,’ said Patrick, mumbling slightly over the pill under his tongue. ‘When I went to look, it had fallen under the passenger seat. I’m thinking that one of them took it off for comfort because it was sopping wet when I found it.’
‘Could it not have been Dermot’s?’ asked Tom.
‘For the love of God, no. He wouldn’t be seen dead with such an ungodly thing in his possession. He was Wolverhampton Wanderers through and through. That hat was worn by his killer: I’d stake my life on it.’
‘You are,’ said Francesca, ‘because if they don’t get some DNA or something off it, I’ll be after you.’
‘We’ll leave you in peace,’ said Tom. He handed Francesca a card. ‘When your husband is ready to make a statement, give me a call directly on that number. I agree with you about one thing, Mrs Lynch: there had better be something to find or we’ll be back. If you want me to hang fire on Social Services, I need a result. I’m not bothered about the arson or the counterfeit goods, but I need something that puts one of their mob at the scene. This should do nicely.’
Lynch piped up from the couch, ‘Excuse me, Inspector Morton, but how can you tie that hat to the van without putting me at the scene as well?’
‘A good question. Hopefully I won’t need to answer it, but I’ve given you my word and I’ll stick to it.’
He let himself out, and Hayes stripped off the gloves on the walk to the car. Shock had given way to fury on her face, and Tom had a feeling it was directed towards him. He popped the boot, and she slung the evidence bags inside. ‘There’s a park down there,’ said Tom. ‘Let’s go and see if they have a café.’
She followed him mutely around the corner and through the restored wrought iron gates of Queen Victoria Park. He was casting about for somewhere to get refreshment, and thought Hayes was doing the same.
‘No one can see or hear us, sir, and I’m fed up of you and your cups of tea.’
‘Get it off your chest, then.’
She walked over to a bench and stood behind it looking at the bandstand. ‘It’s always the women that suffer the most,’ said Hayes. ‘The men go to jail where they get fed and looked after, the women have to go into B&B hostels or leave the area and find themselves with nothing left. Or in this case the o
ld man has a heart attack prior to his kid going into care.’
She turned round. ‘Did you take it out on Lynch’s family because of your divorce?’
‘That’s way out of order, constable, and you know it.’
‘That’s what ACC Khan told me. He said that you were getting divorced, and that I had to watch out in case you tried it on with me. He only said that so he could twist the knife and tell me that “I’m sure you know how to report a case of sexual harassment, Kristal.” That’s why I wasn’t very happy when we first met: Khan had done his best to put me off you. He wasn’t to know that the Fraud Squad are firm believers in the Nuclear Family. Or should that be Nuke the Family – guaranteed results every time. Have you got it in for married, dependent women just because one of them’s taken you to the cleaners in a divorce settlement?’
Tom thought about swearing, just to wind her up. Instead he turned in the opposite direction, where the park sloped down to the west. The autumn air allowed him to see almost to Wales, he supposed, and he focused on a distant hill before he spoke.
‘My mother trained to be a lawyer, but gave it up to marry my father; next year she’s going to be Lady Morton when he gets his knighthood. My grandmother was a pioneering woman barrister who fought against prejudice all her life. My great grandmother was a suffragette who went on hunger strike for the vote. The thing is, Kris, that during the Great War she started handing out white feathers to men who weren’t in uniform.’
‘So? What does that prove?’
He turned to face her. ‘I don’t know. I’m a cop and a lawyer, not a historian or a sociologist. I’m also a man, so I guess that means I’m confused. What are you going to do?’
‘About what?’
‘About what you’ve just said to the only policeman in the whole of Staffordshire who’s been nice to you and wants to work with you. I can do without you now that we’ve nailed Lynch. Can you do without me? Now that you’ve seen the reception you get from every male officer on the force, and most of the female ones as well, do you want to go back to Divisional CID or do you want to join Professional Standards and wear the Mark of Cain like me? That’s if they’ll have you. If you talk like that to all your bosses, I wouldn’t touch you with a barge pole. You can find your own way back to BCSS from here. Let me know what you decide.’
He left her, outlined against the bandstand, and went back to his car.
If you have the time, Hong Kong can be a beautiful city. If you’re in a rush, it is crowded, ugly, and exhausting. Kate had the time.
The Army would have found her something to do. One of an officer’s responsibilities is to make sure that their men and women don’t sit around and get bored, so they find them jobs to do. The infantry have a saying: Don’t sit around doing nothing, run around doing nothing. But there was no one telling her to run around.
They had visited several Chinese middlemen, and pitched their non-existent product, looking for recommendations. The first agent said, ‘Why don’t you go to Shanghai yourselves? You will find many more people to help you.’ The next three gave much the same response until they lowered their sights and found someone more venal and corrupt. For an up-front fee, he said he would provide introductions to his third cousin in Shanghai who had a contract with a small electronics factory.
After that, they just had to wait. Kate finished her book and signed up for several tours. She was having the time of her life, and after today’s boat trip she had been invited to a second cousin’s restaurant. Even Tom would have enjoyed the food.
The Chinese men she had encountered were very deferential, and she couldn’t help wondering if this was because she was taller than most of them. There was a really sweet waiter at the restaurant who became silent and tongue-tied every time he served her, and then cast glances from the kitchen door. His English was excellent, and she was trying to find out if he was married. After the fourth glass of rice wine she was about to proposition him directly when her phone rang.
‘Where the hell are you?’ It was Leach, sounding even tetchier than usual.
‘Having dinner.’
‘I’ve had a call. We’ve to pick up the equipment.’
‘Now?’
‘No, in a couple of days.’
‘Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t wait up.’
She sat back and pushed away the empty plate. The waiter reappeared.
‘What time do you finish tonight?’ she asked.
‘Very late, very late,’ he replied, and removed the plate without making eye contact.
When the next course was delivered, he slipped a note into her hand. It said Take taxi to this address at two o’clock Here is my number…
The Man Utd hat was in his drawer, and Tom was going to have to make a decision about it. He had been back at BCSS for an hour, and there was no sign of Hayes. He hadn’t even thought about ringing her. He doodled the chain of evidence on a notepad:
?Who does the hat belong to?
?Who can check the DNA for me?
?Will the DNA be on the system?
?What is the relationship between the wearer and Benedict Adaire?
?What do I do when I find out?
?How can I admit it as evidence and keep the Lynches out of jail for arson?
?What if it belongs to Dermot’s friend and not to the killer?
He crossed out the last one. The rain had been so heavy on the night of the shootings that anyone outside would be soaked. He could see Dermot driving the van, and his passenger taking the hat off for comfort and simply forgetting it.
Tom was working on the assumption that Griffin, Hooper and Rob King had been shot at the same time, at the Goods Yard. Dermot Lynch had been shot in the back of the head and dumped at Wrekin Road. The visitors wouldn’t know where it was, so Dermot must have driven them there, probably with King’s body in the back, and there were only two seats. To shoot a man in the back of the head in cold blood is a deeply serious thing. Tom couldn’t do it, of that he was certain.
Therefore, the killer must be inured to violence, and the chances of him not being on the system were slim. He crossed another question off the list.
Winters wouldn’t let him go to Blackpool, but that didn’t mean he was out of the loop completely. He doodled for a couple of minutes, and Winters returned to his office with a drink in hand. Tom dived in before the SIO could settle down to something else.
‘Sir, have you got a second?’
‘Sit down. What is it?’
‘There’s no obvious link between anyone in Earlsbury and Adaire in Blackpool. I just wondered if Adaire had any associates it might be worth tracking.’
‘Have a look at this – but you can’t take it away.’
He passed a folder to Tom and logged on to his computer. Tom opened the folder and found the beginnings of a report into Benedict Adaire. He flicked through the pages and found some surveillance photographs that had been taken this morning. Well, at least Lancashire & Westmorland were keeping their side of the bargain. His colleagues from MCPS were probably still on the motorway.
Adaire had a shaved head which made it difficult to judge his age, and he had been photographed coming out of a substantial detached house. Tom noted that a large fence surrounded the property, and he could see several security cameras on the walls.
He flicked through to a list of other people – Adaire was married (second wife) and had four known children. There was a list of all the directors and employees of his companies, and even of his minicab drivers. Only a couple of the drivers had criminal records and they were both for minor drugs offences some years ago. Neither of them were candidates for potential hit man.
‘Thanks, sir. I’ve made a mental note.’
‘Leave it on the desk.’
Tom did as he was bid and returned to his own workstation. His phone rang with an unknown number. Could it be Hayes?
‘Hello?’
‘Is that Detective Inspector Morton?’ The voice was local and femal
e. He confirmed his identity. ‘I’m Ian Hooper’s mother, and I’m calling from the hospital. He’s not allowed to use the telephone so he asked me to ring you.’
‘Thanks for calling. How can I help?’
‘He says “Could you come and see me during Wednesday’s afternoon visiting?” I don’t know what he wants, though.’
‘Of course. What time?’
‘Three o’clock. He says not to show your warrant card or you’ll never get in.’
There was still no news of Hayes. He made a decision.
Stuffing all the papers into his bag, along with the hat, he stuck his head back into Winters’ office. ‘Something’s come up in London, sir. Can I work from there until Wednesday afternoon?’
‘Fine.’
He left BCSS and headed for London. It was time to call in a favour from the Met.
Chapter 13
Earlsbury – Hong Kong
Wednesday
3 November
The High Dependency Unit had been noisy, but Ian was beginning to miss the attention now that he was in a private room. It had been wonderful having doctors and nurses a few feet away instead of down the corridor. The HDU doctors were also more generous with the painkillers.
He tried to relax the muscles in his abdomen. What was left of them. He could already feel the skin hanging around his arms where his biceps had shrunk from lack of use. Maybe he could get the physiotherapist to lend him some weights.
‘Hello Ian.’
DI Morton was standing at the door. Ian waved him in and pointed to a chair. The inspector looked even worse than Ian felt – he was thinner, if that was possible, and a yellow stain round his eye pointed to some serious action. Morton had noticed him looking at it.
‘Your DCI gave me this,’ he said, pointing to the black eye. ‘Defending your honour or something like that. How are you?’
‘Bad. I can’t do proper physio for another week, and I’m going mad with boredom. That’s one of the reasons I wanted you to come in.’
Morton had placed his coat on a plastic chair and made himself comfortable, but he hadn’t taken out a notebook. This was promising.