The Prodigal: Valley Park Series 1

by Nicky Black

  Ronnie Jaques – Durham South.

  Davie Hannon – Durham North.

  Five. Six.

  Micky Morris – Middlesbrough.

  Eight. Nine.

  Tim Fletcher – Hexham and Ponteland.

  Tommy Peacock – Sunderland.

  Eleven. Twelve.

  She closed the notepad and threw it under the rug, just as the door creaked open. She folded the piece of paper in her hand and put it in her jeans pocket.

  Micky was breathing heavily. ‘What’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘Just the shopping list.’ She kept her hands in her back pockets. He held out his hand, still panting, exhausted from the exertion of the stairs. ‘Here, let’s see it.’

  Her hand stayed in her jeans pocket. ‘It’s just some bits...’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, just give it here, man! I don’t want you spending money on what we don’t need.’ He motioned with his hands.

  The piece of paper stayed steady in her hand as she passed it to him. He opened it and studied it line by line. She swallowed as he nodded without looking at her, sniffed and handed it back to her. ‘Get us a paper, will you?’

  She’d taken back the shopping list she’d prepared earlier that morning and put it back in the pocket where the piece of paper that would change her life still lay hidden.

  Amy stirred in her buggy, and Nicola tucked the blanket more firmly around her. As she sat back against Lee, she took the paper out of her pocket and pressed it into Lee’s hand. He sat up with his head on her shoulder, his arms still around her waist, and unfolded it in front of her.

  ‘This is perfect,’ he said, ‘they’ll be known to us anyway, we’ll find them.’ He kissed her on the side of her head. This woman was brave and he felt somewhat humbled.

  ‘That’s not all,’ she said, reaching for the bag in the basket under Amy’s buggy. She took out a mobile phone and gave it to him. ‘It’s his, he gave it to me this morning. Wanted me to phone the house when I got to the hospital, when I left the hospital, when I got to the dog shelter, when I left the dog shelter, the shop, everywhere.’

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘No. It’s switched off – he’ll be going mental. But they’re all in there.’

  ‘Nicola. Do you realise what you’ve got here?’ he said, turning the phone on.

  ‘I don’t want to know. Just do it.’

  ‘You can stay with me,’ he said, waiting impatiently for the screen to light up. But he knew what the answer would be. The children would come first, no question.

  Amy stirred again and Nicola got up to shush her and put her dummy in her mouth as Lee scrolled through the phone, copying down names and numbers. Fletch, Tommy P, Woodsy – Gerry, no doubt, thought Lee, not much of a surprise there. Plod. Lee stared at this entry, his forehead creased. Plod: someone on the inside. Nicola watched him, feeling strangely composed and content, as if a story was reaching its inevitable conclusion.

  As Amy settled back down, and Lee handed Nicola the phone, the piercing sound of the ringtone hacked into the air. Home flashed up on the screen.

  ‘I better go,’ Nicola said, standing up and letting it ring, ‘he likes cat food better than dog food,’ she said, giving Rufus a final stroke. Lee stood up and put a warm hand to her cheek. She covered it with her own, and her voice became urgent. ‘Mooney, if he knows about us…’ she said. Lee began to speak but Nicola put a finger to his lips. ‘Just hurry,’ she said. Lee nodded silently, and watched her as she turned to go, pushing the buggy over the spiralling sand, her head bent against the wind. He braced himself for the night ahead. He had to get it right this time.

  Later that day, Lee bumped roughly into DC Gallagher as he emerged from DI Meadows’s office. They exchanged brusque nods as Lee entered her office without knocking, his features indicating he was ready for battle. Carole Meadows sat back in her chair, a little alarmed at the manic look on Lee’s face. A crumpled piece of paper landed in front of her. She sat up and looked down as Lee’s finger jabbed at the list of names and numbers. She pulled it towards her quickly.

  ‘Is this it?’ she asked.

  ‘Micky Kelly’s contacts, and all twelve of the syndicate.’

  Lee could see DI Meadows trying to contain her smile as she smoothed out the paper, took off her glasses and picked it up to look at it close up.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ she said faintly.

  Lee stood at her shoulder and ran his finger down the list. ‘See here?’ he said. ‘Plod.’

  ‘Plod,’ she repeated.

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ said Lee, snatching the paper from her and taking his phone from his inside pocket.

  ‘Hang on....’ She reached up for the paper, but Lee had walked away, impatient, the musical bleeping of the numbers going into his phone the only sound in the office. He turned to look at her expectantly as he waited. Their eyes turned to the mobile phone on her desk as it lit up and started to ring. Lee looked at her, his mouth slightly open as he cancelled the call and the ringing stopped. The knock on the door turned both their heads, and Meadows quickly opened her top drawer and dropped the phone in it. Gallagher put his head round the door, his frowning face scouring the room.

  ‘Sorry, ma’am. Did I leave my phone in here?’

  Lee’s mouth closed, and he and Meadows both looked at Gallagher.

  ‘’Fraid not,’ said Meadows, forcing a smile.

  Gallagher hesitated for a moment, then closed the door behind him. Meadows reached into the drawer and turned the phone off.

  ‘In your dreams, Detective,’ she said to Lee, smiling slightly.

  Lee smiled back and looked to the ceiling in relief.

  ‘Get rid of him,’ she said firmly. ‘He can’t be involved in this.’

  ‘With pleasure. But how –’

  ‘– Just do it.’

  Lee fiddled distractedly with paperwork on his desk, and he watched the clock as it ticked its way towards home time. Gallagher had turned his desk upside down, his cheeks shining blood red. His hand went through his hair as sweat rings swelled under the arms of his faded blue shirt. He threw himself onto his chair, his fingers pulling at his top lip as he delved into his mind to the last time he’d used his mobile. Lee watched with mild amusement as Gallagher picked up the desk phone and dialled a number, waiting a few seconds then slamming it down crossly. The riverboat raid: of course they were ready for them. Of course they’d found nothing but the dregs. Gallagher was the anonymous tip-off.

  Lee wheeled his chair closer to his desk. He tapped his fingers on his forehead. He had to get rid of Gallagher so they could plan the next stage without the information leaking. His eyes fell on his in-tray. He grabbed the flyer for the Equalities Seminar and scoured the front page. Valuing Diversity: Your role as a public sector servant in ensuring equal access to grass roots services. Harrogate, 11 and 12 August 1999. An ironic smile brewed. Bingo.

  Lee walked casually over to Gallagher’s desk and put the flyer in front of him. Gallagher started slightly and closed the screen on his computer, clearing his throat and sitting up in his seat.

  ‘Can’t go to this anymore,’ said Lee. ‘Boss said you should.’

  ‘Eh?’ Gallagher took a few seconds to look at the flyer. ‘You’re fucking joking like.’ He looked up at Lee’s indifferent face. Gallagher threw the flyer across his desk and sat back in his chair, laughing, ‘No way. Bunch of lezza ball-breakers? I’m not going.’ He looked around him, smiling, expecting endorsement from his colleagues. When none came, the smile faded and he wiped his palms on the legs of his trousers, turning to the blank screen of his computer, playing with the mouse and eyeing Lee out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘We-ell,’ said Lee, retrieving the flyer and putting it back in front of Gallagher, picking his words out individually, ‘she specifically said that you would be best placed to go.’

  Gallagher snorted. ‘Send her!’ he exclaimed, indicating Thompson. ‘Or one of the darkie coppers from Uniform.’ />
  Lee bent down, his mouth a few inches from Gallagher’s ear. ‘You’re going. Or else my recommendation to Detective Inspector Meadows is that you get transferred to court filing duties. Like that now, me and her,’ he crossed fingers in front of Gallagher’s nose, ‘and your performance leaves rather a lot to be desired when it comes to solving crimes.’ He lowered his voice further. ‘Targets. That’s what the Commissioner wants.’ Gallagher’s eyes glazed over as compliance set in. ‘So, you’ll get the train later, stay at a nice hotel for a couple of nights, and come back on Friday with a whole new vocabulary.’

  Gallagher stared straight ahead. ‘Yes, Sarge.’

  Lee stood up and patted Gallagher on the back. ‘Good man. Now why don’t you go home early so you can pack?’

  Gallagher stood up without looking at Lee and took himself out of the office. Lee sat at Gallagher’s desk and reopened the screen on his computer. Tiger Raey’s lily white face looked at him – his police file, previous convictions, current surveillance and activities. Lee clicked the back button, and there was Micky Kelly. The latest entry read: Nicola Kelly, Wife. Potential Informant. Key contact: DS Lee Jamieson, West End. Paul Gallagher knew how to use a computer alright.

  DI Meadows’s head peered around the door of the office. She called for Lee then disappeared, the door creaking closed. He clicked back one page quickly as he stood up, and there were Mark’s sad eyes peering at him. Lee peered closer at the words DECEASED written in large letters underneath Mark’s photograph. What interest would Gallagher have in Mark Redmond now? Gallagher’s desk phone rang and he jumped: Meadows, impatient that he hadn’t leapt to attention immediately. He moved back to Tiger’s page and minimised the screen, skipping lightly across the room to the door leading to Meadows’s office.

  Meadows indicated for Lee to sit opposite her. She passed him Gallagher’s phone. He stared at a text message – Need some stuff xxx. Joe and Sandy’s party on Saturday. Will need warming up! xx. And another: Mr and Mrs B short. Asking for more Tuesday xx. Lee looked at the sender – Joyce.

  ‘It’s full of them,’ said Meadows.

  ‘Who the hell is Joyce?’ asked Lee.

  ‘His wife.’

  Lee raised his eyebrows. Gallagher had a wife?

  Meadows turned her computer screen around, and before his eyes was a page from the Council’s housing department, and a picture of Joyce Oduwu, Director of Housing, the striking hazel eyes smiling at him in a posed shot. Lee smiled to himself and shook his head. Unbelievable, he thought. Just unbelievable.

  ‘So what now?’ asked Lee.

  ‘You better be ready for an early start tomorrow,’ she replied.

  NINETEEN

  Lee had been pacing Meadows’s office for an eternal five minutes before she appeared at six o’clock in the morning. The dawn raids had been in operation for half an hour, but Micky Kelly and Tania Brewis still slept soundly in their beds. Their front doors intact, their children’s slumber undisturbed. Lee stuck to Meadows like a leech as she walked to the coffee maker and switched it on.

  ‘I want Nicola Kelly out of there,’ his voice shook. He’d thought after yesterday’s revelation about Gallagher that she would be on his side, that they would crack this together.

  ‘You’re too close to it now, you need to back off, let me handle it.’

  ‘She’s in danger, you can’t use her as collateral damage.’

  ‘It’s too personal, Detective, you’d be best to get off my back if you value your career. I’m not as daft as I look.’

  ‘I don’t give a shit about my career -’

  ‘- I know you don’t so I’m doing it for you. Bringing her in would simply attract more attention to her, I’m not authorising it,’ said Meadows, opening the bag of coffee with her teeth.

  ‘Well, get him out, then!’ he seethed.

  Meadows took in his unshaven, tired face through the corner of her eye. She didn’t like people raising their voices at her, and most certainly didn’t like being told how to do her job. But she sensed his volatility and spoke calmly through the chugging of the percolator.

  ‘I thought you said there weren’t any drugs in there anyway.’ Still she didn’t look at him.

  ‘So?!’ he blurted with the half-laugh and wide eyes of a madman.

  ‘We’re not bringing in Kelly until the others drop him in it. I want evidence and corroboration.’ She sat at her desk and stretched her arms above her head in preparation for a sixteen-hour day.

  Lee clenched his jaw and leant his hands on Meadows’s desk. She stayed back, away from his face. ‘You promised me a safe house. Him out first, her out and into safety, then the rest.’

  ‘Now, you know I can’t make promises like that.’

  ‘She could be dead by now!’

  ‘Don’t shout at me!’ Meadows stood up, her knuckles resting on the desk in front of her, their faces now less than a foot from each other. ‘What’s up, can you not hack it?’

  ‘We’re talking about people lives –’

  ‘– if you want out, you know what to do.’

  ‘Why is everything so fucking bureaucratic? Just do it!’

  ‘No!’

  They squared up to each other over the desk. Lee looked into bloodshot eyes, smelt the stale whisky on her breath then stood up straight, resuming his poise. His eyes judged, his lip curled. ‘This place stinks,’ he spat, and left the room a desperate man.

  The main office was empty aside from a couple of uniformed officers drinking tea and doing crosswords. He walked to the door of the control room where the raids were being overseen. He’d have to find a way of overriding her instructions. It would cost him his job, probably his career, but his priority right now was to make sure Nicola was safe. This was their one chance, and if Micky put two and two together, that chance was over. His hand held the knob of the door to the control room for a moment, then he changed his mind and walked out of the station.

  He knew the address: it was on the Pembrook Estate about a mile from Valley Park. A fair number of his schoolmates had come from the Pembrook. It consisted of three high-rise blocks and four streets of three-storey, prison-like structures with dark brick balconies that sunlight never reached. The streets were laid out like a crucifix, with the three towers at the centre. Kevin Moone lived on the tenth floor of Falcon Rise, which contained mostly bedsits and one-bedroom flats, a flytrap for the mentally ill, alcoholic or just downright lonely. He pounded on the door several times, the sound echoing in the early morning quiet, waking the dogs of the neighbourhood, who belted out their warnings to their snoring masters.

  Mooney only had to open the door an inch before Lee kicked it back, throwing Mooney into the hall and over a mound of boxes full of computer keyboards and mobile phones. Mooney held his hand over his nose as Lee bent down, picked him up by his T-shirt with one hand and threw him against the wall.

  ‘How man, gerroff! I’m disabled, me!’ screeched Mooney, frightened and disoriented.

  Lee’s voice fizzed. ‘You sad, evil bastard.’ He pinned Mooney to the wall by his throat. Lee thought for the first time in his life he could kill a man.

  Mooney frowned, recognition creeping over his face. ‘I know you,’ he gurgled, his throat constricted. ‘You’re the one shagging Micky’s lass.’

  ‘And you’re a murderer.’

  ‘Am I shite,’ Mooney scoffed, saliva running down onto Lee’s curled hand.

  ‘You will be when Kim Redmond dies. And she will die. And she’ll die because you gave her heroin.’

  ‘No I didn’t.’

  Lee let Mooney go, only to push him harder against the wall, lifting him off the floor so only the tips of his toes touched the filthy grey carpet. Mooney’s bulging eyes grew even wider.

  ‘Kim’s house is sealed off. There’ll be bits of you all over the place. Nicola’s agreed to testify as a witness.’

  ‘Fuck off, will she. You can’t prove nowt.’

  ‘Wanna bet? Coppers can do anything. Framed
Mark, didn’t they? He was about to do a nice little ten-year stretch.’ Mooney swallowed hard and Lee continued. ‘I’ll make it my lifelong ambition to put you away, even if it means a little white lie here and there. My word against yours.’

  Mooney’s face twitched violently for a few seconds. He’d already done just short of a year in Durham in his twenties. His short-arse frame had been the undoing of him, having to act as gofer for several of the lifers just to keep the soapy hands of the shirtlifters off him for a few months. But he couldn’t keep them off him forever. He tried to blink away the memory and the dread. Lee took full advantage of the change in demeanour.

  ‘I’m prepared to bargain with you,’ he said, loosening his grip so that Mooney slid slowly down the wall. ‘Twenty pence could buy your freedom.’ He reached into his pocket and took out a twenty pence piece, holding it so close to Mooney’s face that he had to cross his eyes to look at it. ‘Here’s what you do with it. You go to the phone box, you ring Tiger.’

  ‘What for?’ Mooney looked at the coin as if it were about to bite his face off.

  ‘All you have to say are three little words. And they’re not I love you.’ Mooney looked Lee in the eye and heard the words: ‘Micky. Kelly. Grassed.’

  Micky stood at the bedroom window, scouring the street. Stevie’s teenager of a wife had been on the phone, effing and blinding at him. Half the syndicate’s doors had been driven in. They’ll be coming for you, Micky! she’d barked at him. Micky had hung up. If Stevie had any brains he wouldn’t be storing any gear in his own house. Only twats played that game. But if a load had just come in the night before, and they were holding it before distribution, they were all fucked. Micky grinned to himself. At last, he’d know who the grass was. Wouldn’t the filth spare them? The grass would be somewhere safe. The grass wouldn’t be arrested. He’d be able to point the finger with confidence, prove it wasn’t him. A simple process of elimination. So he waited for them to come, with pleasure.

  After twenty minutes passed, Micky started to feel uneasy. The phone rang again, and he picked it up cautiously. They’re all gone, Micky! Stevie’s screeching wife sobbed hysterically. Every single one of them! Micky hung up angrily. Every single one of them. So the grass was outside the syndicate. He turned furiously towards Nicola as she entered the bedroom nervously. He grabbed her painfully by both arms.