by Paul Finch
She nodded. ‘I’ll sort it.’
He opened the car.
‘Heck,’ she said.
He glanced back.
She smiled awkwardly. ‘Sorry for doubting. I should’ve realised you wouldn’t let a scrote like Jackson walk.’
Heck shrugged. ‘If he’d given us something really useful, it would have been difficult. I’ve got a rep for being someone the hoods know they can make deals with. Don’t want to turn that on its head at this stage of the game, but you’re right … some of these animals cross the line once too often.’
Before setting off, he checked through his contacts, found the one he wanted and called it on his hands-free. It rang out as he set off driving, and continued to ring out until he expected it to switch to voicemail. At which point it was answered, the rural East Anglian tones of DC Andy Rawlins filling his Megane.
‘Bit bloody late, isn’t it, Sarge?’
‘Don’t tell me you were in bed, Andy,’ Heck replied, hearing the laughter and clinking of glasses going on behind him. ‘Sounds more like a pub to me.’
‘Hey, we’re allowed some downtime at the end of a busy day.’
‘Relax, I’m not checking up on you. I want to pick your brains.’
‘Yeah?’ Rawlins sounded genuinely surprised – it was a red-letter day indeed when Heck asked someone else their opinion.
‘Where are you and Burt up to with Terry Godley?’ Heck said, referring to the Nottingham carjacker who, several years earlier, had executed a teenage driver and his young male passenger.
Rawlins mused, taking the opportunity to sip some beer. ‘Nowhere much. We’ve been talking to a few faces he’s allegedly wronged.’
‘I’d imagine there are plenty of those to choose from.’
‘There’s one crew in particular who are out for his blood. Three lads and their self-appointed leader … name of Kenny Donovan. About three years ago, Godley ripped Donovan off over a drugs deal. They’ve been looking for him ever since he did a runner. They’re after the reward, obviously, but they want to take it out of Godley’s head in the process. Donovan’s currently doing a year and a half for intent to supply. We went to see him in Doncaster. He said that him and his lads got close to Godley last spring. They’d had word he was dossing in some railway sheds in the St Ann’s district of the city. They went up there tool-handed, but when they forced their way in, nothing.’
‘Bullshit intel?’
‘No, they said he had been there. Some food cartons, tatty old sleeping bag, pillow …’
Heck pondered this as he drove. ‘Seems odd he didn’t take the sleeping bag with him?’
‘That’s what we thought. We went and had a look. Stuff was still there. There was even a rucksack with bits of clothes in it – all gone green with mould. A flask too, couple of old paperbacks. He’d left all that behind. But that’s what you’ve gotta do, isn’t it … when you’re on the lam? You get a hint that we’re round the corner, and you go for it.’
‘Yeah, but he didn’t get a hint you were round the corner, because you weren’t.’
‘Well … us or this Donovan guy.’
‘Where does Donovan think he went to?’
‘No clue, but that’s why he was prepared to talk to us. Said he wanted to put the record straight that Godley’s disappearance was nothing to do with him and his boys.’
Heck found that puzzling as well. ‘Why would Donovan assume we’d think it was?’
‘Dunno. Just said it was a bit spooky.’
‘Spooky?’
‘His words, not mine.’
‘What did he mean?’
Again, Rawlins mused. ‘I suppose the way Godley was there one day and gone the next. Whoever it was told Donovan he was hiding in these sheds, they had no clue where he’d gone after that. But that’s what you do, isn’t it? You get word the heavy mob’s coming and you don’t just drop everything … you cut all ties, so no one knows where you’ve legged it to.’
‘Suppose so,’ Heck said, though for some reason he didn’t feel entirely convinced by that.
An odd thought had occurred to him earlier that evening, just before they’d sprung the trap on Jackson, though he hadn’t really had time to sit and think about it until they’d got the drug dealer back to the station. Gary Quinnell had casually mentioned that John Stroud’s girlfriend was worried something bad might have happened to him while he was on the run. In itself that had meant nothing – who wouldn’t be worried if their loved one was sleeping under benches? Except that Nan Creeley had also been concerned that her brother, Eddie, was in some sort of additional danger. And now, he learned that former criminal associates of Terry Godley, another fugitive, were claiming that whatever had happened to him, it wasn’t down to them.
Whatever had happened to him.
‘You still there, Heck?’ Rawlins wondered.
‘Erm, yeah. Sorry.’
For the first time, the DC sounded curious. ‘Something we should know about? Something new maybe?’
‘No, not really.’ Heck pulled into the Hull Royal car park. ‘Shots in the dark, mate. But one last question. Did Donovan say anything about a blond bloke hanging around? Forty years old … ish. Did he mention anyone like that at all?’
‘A blond bloke?’
‘I know it sounds daft, but that’s all I’ve got on him.’
‘Never mentioned it.’
‘It’s all right … like I say, shots in the dark. Keep digging, eh? I’m sure something’ll come up.’
He cut the call, parked and strolled across the car park towards A&E, advising himself that he had plenty other things to be thinking about, not least the apprehension of Eddie Creeley, without inventing a few conspiracy theories to add to the mix.
‘Oh … so you’re the dumb fuck?’ a harsh voice said.
It was shortly after one, and Heck had only just re-entered the DO at Clough Road. The office was largely empty, aside from Gail, who slumped at her desk, looking dispirited and sallow-faced, and Hodges and Mortimer, who, though they were both at their own desks, were in scruffs, having clearly been called in off-duty. There was one other person, a woman. She was in her forties and about five-seven, but with a solid build, a strong, weather-beaten face and a head of wiry, grey curls. She wore jeans, sandals and a leather jacket over a ragged, shapeless sweater, and now strode belligerently across the room, only stopping when she’d invaded Heck’s personal space.
Heck shrugged. ‘And you are …?’
‘This is DI Warnock,’ Gail said sullenly. ‘Drug Squad.’
‘Morning to you too, ma’am.’
‘You realise we’ve just done four months’ work on Cyrus Jackson?’ DI Warnock said. ‘Four whole months. And now it’s all gone up in smoke because of your cowboy escapades.’
Heck felt puzzled. ‘Sorry, ma’am … haven’t I just served him up for you?’
Warnock glanced at Hodges and Mortimer. ‘Is he always this fucking dim, or does he have to work at it?’
Mortimer smirked. ‘Don’t think he has to work very hard.’
‘Shut up!’ Gail snapped at him. ‘If you’d been more helpful, none of this would have happened.’
Warnock glared at her, for the first time seeming to notice the dried mud caking her clothes. Aside from washing her hands and face, Gail hadn’t been able to fix herself up yet.
‘Who are you again?’ the DI demanded.
Gail stood up. ‘DC Honeyford, ma’am. Serial Crimes Unit.’
‘Oh great, another fucking glory boy. Or is it a glory girl, or a glory person? It’s bound to be some fancy, politically correct bullshit down in London, isn’t it?’
‘Sorry, ma’am,’ Heck interrupted, ‘I’m still confused. Jackson was a clean pinch. What’s more, I’ve given you enough evidence to put him away for ten years.’
‘Oh yes, all your evidence is good. That’s why he’ll be charged. But it wasn’t Jackson we were after. It was his suppliers … and now we won’t get anywhere near them.�
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‘We didn’t know you had Jackson under surveillance,’ Gail replied.
The DI shook her head in disbelief. ‘Yes, DC Honeyford, but it’s my understanding that you didn’t inform anyone about what you intended to do. If you had done, we could’ve told you to leave Jackson alone.’
‘Ma’am,’ Heck said. ‘If you had Jackson under observation anyway, how come you didn’t intercept us at the time and tell us to back off?’
‘It just so happens, DS Heckenburg, that you people at NCG are not the only fucking ones who can’t mount operations as fully manned as they’d like. But we were on top of it, for Christ’s sake! Another couple of weeks and we’d have had the lot of them. Jackson, all his little bike-riding chums, and the overarching power that’s been fuelling them.’
Heck gave her his most sincere frown. ‘I can only offer you a heartfelt apology.’
‘You’d be better offering it to all my team’s wives, husbands and kids, and anyone else who hasn’t seen them for weeks on end.’ She produced a paper cup half full of coffee, but, taking a big swallow, grimaced and threw it away. ‘I don’t know what it is with you fucking people. You think you can just swan in from Scotland Yard, taking over …’
‘Strictly speaking, ma’am, we’re not from Scotland Yard any more,’ Gail said.
Warnock scowled at her. ‘Are you looking for trouble, DC Honeyford?’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘Because I’m telling you … I’ll give you all the trouble you can fucking handle. How long have you been in the job?’
‘Seven years, ma’am.’
Warnock, who’d clearly made an assumption based on Gail’s non-battle-hardened looks, seemed taken aback by that. But she didn’t let it knock her off her stride. ‘You want to stay in, you keep your mouth shut when I’m talking. You’d also be advised to distance yourself from this fella.’ She turned back to Heck. ‘I’ve spent the last hour doing some checking up on you, Heckenburg. You really are a law unto yourself, aren’t you?’
‘Ma’am, I can appreciate that you’re genuinely upset,’ he said, ‘but our enquiry’s serious too.’
‘So serious that you didn’t even take your local liaison with you?’
He didn’t reply.
‘Let me guess why … so you could beat the info you wanted out of Jackson with none of us there to intervene.’
‘It wasn’t quite like that.’
‘Don’t pull my pisser, Sergeant. I’ve heard about the state he was in.’
Heck indicated his own left eyebrow. ‘What about the state I’m in?’
‘No doubt a lamppost came in handy for you.’
‘Seriously?’ Gail said, now hot-faced. ‘You believe Cyrus Jackson, but not Heck?’
This time, Warnock didn’t bother looking at her. ‘Shut it, darling.’
‘I’m not your bloody darling!’
‘Gail,’ Heck warned her. ‘It’s OK …’
‘It’s not OK.’ All of a sudden, the feisty Gail Honeyford he’d worked with down in Surrey was back. Her eyes flashed as she advanced from her desk. ‘Who is this, anyway … the gobshite queen of Humberside?’
Tough though she doubtless was, Warnock looked startled.
‘We’re after an armed robber and two-time murderer, who happens to have committed a load of his crimes on your patch!’ Gail stated flatly. ‘And you’re giving us a world of shit just because we were there when Jackson got caught dealing and you weren’t? Yeah, it’s a cock-up, but Heck said he’s sorry. We couldn’t not arrest him, could we!’
‘Gail, enough!’ Heck said.
‘And if you’re such a bloody hardcase, ma’am … why don’t you go and knock some intel out of Jackson? He’s still in custody. You can use the excuse that Heck did all the damage – I mean, that’s what you’re going to do anyway.’
‘Enough!’ Heck shouted. ‘Put a sock in it, all right!’
Gail shut her mouth but glared at Warnock defiantly.
Warnock responded with a cool smile. ‘Too late, I’m afraid, DS Heckenburg. When I get onto the top floor about this, I was going to go easy on this colleague of yours … on the grounds that she’s way too pretty and well-spoken to be a real fucking copper. But now I can see that she’s as big a fucking reprobate as you are.’ She paused for malicious effect. ‘So, trust me, you two are both in for the high jump.’
‘Ma’am,’ Heck said hastily, ‘I’d like to put it on record that DC Honeyford objected from the outset to my tactics concerning Cyrus Jackson. She didn’t think we should even put an obbo on him without informing local command. And she certainly didn’t think I should have moved in when I did. She only participated because she thought I was in trouble.’
He let that hang, scanning her granite-hard features for any hint of conciliation.
‘Nice try,’ Warnock said, turning to the door. ‘Save it for the disciplinary.’
After she’d gone, Mortimer switched his laptop off and stood up, chuckling.
Gail rounded on him. ‘You should be glad we didn’t let you know, Mortimer. Being the dickhead you are, you’d probably have gone along with it without telling Drug Squad either.’
Mortimer was pulling his jacket on. He looked sharply round. ‘You’ve got some mouth on you, girl.’
‘Oh yeah,’ she retorted. ‘Well—’
‘I said leave it!’ Heck interjected. He locked eyeballs with Mortimer. ‘And that includes you too, pal. Toddle off.’
Mortimer’s mouth twisted into a snarl. For several seconds, he returned Heck’s gaze. But maybe seeing something there he didn’t totally like, he finally relented, smiled again and stumped across the office, letting its door swing closed behind him.
‘You too, Bazzer,’ Heck said. ‘I’m sure it’s past your bedtime.’
Hodges, who’d been a fascinated observer, stood up uncertainly.
‘If you’d just let me know,’ he said, ‘I could’ve run some checks for you.’
Heck sat at his own desk and opened his laptop. ‘Like Gail says, it’s a good thing you lads didn’t get involved. It’s a clusterfuck, and it’s best if only I carry the can for it.’
Hodges grabbed his jacket and moved to the door. ‘At least you got a result … of sorts. Whatever Diane Warnock says, we’ve been looking to put Jackson behind bars for ages.’
‘There is that, I agree,’ Heck said.
Strangely apologetic, Hodges left.
‘And that’s the important thing.’ Heck swung round in his chair to face Gail.
‘What is?’ she wondered disconsolately.
‘We got a result … just not the one Barry Hodges thinks.’
‘You mean Nan Creeley?’ She pulled a face. ‘It’s hardly gold-plated.’
‘It’s a new lead, and any new lead is good. And the fact that I took Warnock’s bollocking on the chin means we ought not to have outstayed our welcome on Humberside just yet.’
‘Are you joking? We’ll be persona non grata up here on an epic scale.’
‘Only to the Drug Squad.’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
Heck sat back. ‘Why should it be? Division are providing our liaison.’
‘But Warnock’s going to whinge to everyone.’
‘Gail … do the maths. Warnock screwed up. We caught her boy with bags of gear, openly distributing. Sure, she might have been banking on him leading her to some higher powers. But there’re drug dealers all over Humberside like him. Any one of them could provide the same intel … and she knows it.’
‘So …?’ Gail didn’t look as if she quite believed this. ‘You don’t think she’s going to raise a big stink?’
‘Not unless she wants to be redder-faced than she already is.’
‘What if word gets to Gemma?’
‘She’ll do nothing.’
‘Nothing? This is the Lioness we’re talking about. You know, bites people’s heads off?’
‘The trick with that is to grow another one.’
‘It do
esn’t surprise me you have that ability. But I’m not so sure about me …’
‘Gail, for God’s sake. Gemma’s on the run too. Sledgehammer needs results … but it sounds to me like we’re the only ones even close to nabbing our suspect.’ He allowed himself a sly grin. ‘Jack Reed, for one, has gained no ground.’
‘Jack Reed’s got nothing to do with it. She’ll still call us in, bollock the living crap out of us.’
‘No. She’ll bollock me.’
‘Not just you. Not this time.’ Regret rippled across Gail’s wan features. ‘I shouldn’t have cheeked Warnock like that.’
‘Admittedly, that wasn’t very clever. But you were clearly provoked.’
Gail gave a puzzled frown.
‘You heard her,’ he said. ‘Casting doubts on your ability just because you’re a female.’
‘Heck … she’s a female.’
‘So what? That doesn’t mean anything. Plus …’ he leaned forward with an air of outrage, ‘she mocked the Met’s progressive culture. That won’t go down well at Scotland Yard.’
Gail still looked bewildered. ‘Are you saying the odds are actually in our favour?’
‘Well …’ he mused, ‘we’ll get the piss and wind. I mean, a bit more of it than we’ve already had. But if we’ve also got Eddie Creeley … what will it matter?’
Chapter 18
‘Who is it?’ came a voice from the other side of the weather-worn door.
‘Police officers, Nanette,’ Gail replied. ‘We need to come in and speak to you, please.’
‘There’s no one called Nanette here.’
‘Come on, Nan, love,’ Heck said. ‘We know we’ve got the right place.’
Fumbling movement followed. Assuming the householder was looking out through her peephole, the two cops held up their warrant cards. In addition, they were now suited and booted as per the manual, and that could only help.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Heckenburg,’ Heck said through the door. ‘This is Detective Constable Honeyford.’
‘I don’t know you,’ the voice responded.
‘We’re from the National Crime Group, specifically the Serial Crimes Unit. That means we go after very bad men indeed … which means that though you don’t know us, you can probably guess why we’re here.’