DIRTY

by Robert White

  He may not have had the most opulent childhood, but his parents never showed him anything but love; simple people, making the best of a bad lot.

  Dave opened the gate that led to the small front garden of the house. Weeds were everywhere. It wasn’t that his father was lazy, he just hated the garden. If it had been his own home, rather than a council house, Dave’s father would have had the whole lot paved.

  Dave lifted a large plant pot that was minus its plant and recovered the front door key. How many times had he warned his parents about this? Some things never changed.

  He slotted the key into the lock and stepped inside. All his senses told him he was finally home.

  Several miles away, one lone Yorkshire Mobile Beat Constable drove his Metro car slowly through the derelict buildings that had once been a carpet mill.

  The new dark blue Escort car stood out like a sore thumb. It was parked well enough and when the officer got out to check, it was all locked up.

  He sat back in his car and contacted his control room. He went through the standard procedure of checking the car on the Police National Computer. The reply was swift, but puzzling. The vehicle registration check came back ‘blocked’. It was a security device built into the computer. It prevented ‘ordinary’ police officers from checking certain vehicles used by other Police forces or government departments.

  There was nothing more the officer could or wanted to do. He simply presumed it was the R.C.S. or Serious Crime Squad sitting on a job. It was none of his business. In fact, he got the hell out of the area. He didn’t want to queer the pitch.

  Besides, it was time to end his duty and go meet his girl.

  Dave walked along his parents’ hallway. The sound of some late night show blared away in the lounge.

  He opened the door to the small sitting room and popped his head around the door. Something he had done hundreds of times before.

  Dave reeled with the shock.

  The television was on its back in the corner of the room. The normally untidy room was devastated. Drawers were ripped from wall units and their contents strewn about. The lounge suite had been up-ended and the base coverings torn away. Dave ran to the small dining room. His breathing laboured from the shock. The same scene met him.

  “Mum! Dad!”

  Dave was frantic. He bounded up the stairs taking three at a time.

  “Mum! Dad!”

  The three bedrooms were all ransacked. Even the bathroom was torn to pieces. Dave returned to the lounge, tried to calm himself and had a closer look. There was a note stuck to the mantle. He snatched it up and read its contents. The message chilled him to the bone.

  Marshall and Vinnie had made it as far as the basement garage when they ran into Jemson.

  He was collecting his gear from the back of the Crime Squad car. He looked pale and very tired. Marshall was still flying from his revelation. “Come on Slick, we’re going on a trip.”

  Jemson’s face fell. “Oh, come on boss! I’m beat. To tell the truth, with Marie and everything, I wouldn’t be any good to you right now.”

  Marshall heard Vinnie mutter a few “lazy wanker” expletives, but ignored them.

  He looked at his watch. It was 1 a.m. The whole team had started duty at 7 a.m. the previous day. “OK Slick. You get yourself some sleep. We can manage.”

  Marshall got on the garage telephone. They would need someone fresh to drive them. As he was dialing, the huge folding garage doors started to open. Andy ‘Armless Dunn drove the Section van inside.

  Vinnie gave Marshall a nudge in the ribs. “Now, here’s a bloke that won’t be too fuckin’ tired.”

  Andy jumped from the vehicle. “Hello Boss!”

  Andy was considerably more cheerful since Dave’s release from Risley.

  Marshall smiled at his old chum. There was so much to tell, but time was of the essence. “Andy, get some plain clothes on and tell the night Inspector you‘re coming with the Detective Inspector and me.”

  Andy raised his arms. “I only got jeans and T-shirt boss.”

  Vinnie was lighting another cigarette. “We’re not goin’ fuckin’ dancing ‘Armless, just be sharp about it.”

  Andy was indeed sharp. Within minutes the three men had commandeered the fastest car in the garage and were speeding into the night. They made a formidable team. They held nearly sixty years of Police experience between them. No one would have the desire to meet any of the three down a dark alley.

  ‘Armless drove, whilst Marshall filled Vinnie in on the details. Andy was enthralled by the tale.

  Could a serving Police Officer really be responsible for all this carnage? All three had the same question.

  What could possibly be in the mysterious ‘files’ that was of such importance?

  ‘Armless was listening intently. A lull in the conversation was his cue. “I think Dave Stewart screwed McCauley’s house that night.”

  Marshall’s jaw dropped. “Go on Andy. I’m all ears.”

  Andy floored the accelerator of the car as they hit the slip road to the M55. “Well, think about it. He was in the shit with the Chief. Therefore, McCauley would hold a file on Dave. He was madly in love with Anne Wallace. From what I’ve heard, he had a file on her too, remember that drink drive charge that was blown out at Court some time back?

  Marshall and Vinnie exchanged a look.

  They had been away for the weekend. I think they made a plan. Dave persuaded Anne to take McCauley for a drink, get him clear of the house, so he could do the safe. If they could get the files, he would be off both their backs.”

  Marshall was dubious. “I think it sounds far fetched Andy.”

  The car revved steadily under Andy’s control. “I know that Dave had the expertise to do it. He worked as some kind of debt collector, or something, over in Yorkshire.” Andy was gaining confidence in his story. “Look, the Chief was going off the rails. We all knew it. He was hitting the bottle hard. He probably started to brag too much. Even Lucy heard some of the gossip. I think there was something heavy in those files; police business too. Maybe Casey is protecting his own back. It must involve him…”

  “…and Williams.” Vinnie was with Andy.

  “That’s why Williams was topped. He knew what was in there. Casey was scared. Williams was close to spilling the beans. We know Bailey was gonna do the burglary for Holmes. What we didn’t know, was that three different sets of people wanted those files. Everyone has underestimated Dave Stewart. He’d beaten them all to the punch. Well, they say things come in threes.”

  The police vehicle sped from the Motorway and onto the A583. Within minutes, the men were back at Blackpool Victoria Hospital. Marshall needed another slant on the evidence.

  Despite her pain and exhaustion, Marie was delighted to see the men. Coffee and sandwiches were ordered and consumed. Again, the story was recounted. Notes made, arguments raised. At last, the small team of dedicated officers had just about all the pieces of the jigsaw.

  All that was left was to put them together.

  Marshall spoke through his tiredness, “Casey’s duty diary says he’s here in Blackpool. He has been one step ahead of us all along the way. I have no reason to suppose that has changed. He’ll know about Holmes. He’ll know about the information that Clarke has given. I think he’ll be after Dave Stewart.”

  Marshall looked at his colleagues and got nods of agreement from all of them.

  “So,” said Marie, “go find Dave Stewart.”

  Marshall rubbed his eyes. “Easier said than done Marie; he could be anywhere.”

  Marie tried to lift herself from her bed. Vinnie helped her. She was not about to give in. “Look,” she started, “where would you go to nurse your wounds. The lad has been through bereavement; he’s been locked up, beaten and then left to his own devices. He’s been on a revenge mission. Like everyone else, he thought Holmes was responsible for, or would lead him to Anne’s killer. He’ll know the outcome by now, be sure of that. He’ll feel cheated.”<
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  She pushed herself further up on one elbow. “There’s one thing he won’t be expecting.”

  Vinnie didn’t give her chance to finish. He removed his head from the open window where he’d been smoking.

  “Yeah, Rod fuckin’ Casey.”

  Marie nodded slowly. “Which car is Casey using?”

  Marshall shrugged. “Dunno. I presume the section CID car.”

  Now Marie was getting impatient. “Well boss, I suggest you find out and see if it’s been checked.”

  Marshall was very tired and not quite on the ball. Marie could see it and helped her senior. “If you ring PNC at HQ, they can tell you if anyone has checked the car recently.”

  Vinnie moved first. “I’ll make the calls to PNC. Andy, you get on the blower to Dave Stewart's parents, see if he’s run home. If you speak to him, warn him. Casey is one mean bastard.”

  Marie started to pull herself from her bed.

  Marshall shook his head. “Where do you think you’re going Miss?”

  Marie had her feet on the floor. She was very pale. “I’m coming with you guys.”

  She looked into Marshall’s face with her one good eye. “Don’t say I can’t boss. You know as well as I do, this is probably my last job. I want this one bad.”

  Marshall knew she shouldn’t come, but he needed her analytical brain. “OK, you get you’re shit together. Any rough stuff, you stay the hell away. I have enough troubles.”

  Marie beamed. “Yes sir.”

  Vinnie and Andy arrived back in the room together. Both looked serious.

  Vinnie spoke, “The car that Casey is driving was checked by a section officer in South Yorkshire about two hours ago. The officer is ‘unavailable,’ so we can’t say exactly where.

  There was no answer at Dave’s parents. We sent a patrol ‘round to check. The fuckin’ place is ransacked and there’s no sign of Mr. and Mrs. Stewart.

  Marshall pushed his hair from his face. “Jesus Vinnie, Casey’s gone mad hasn’t he?”

  Vinnie knew just how mad Casey was. “We’ve got to get to Yorkshire and quick. If you take my advice boss, I say, fuck the protocol and don’t tell any fucker we’re on our way. This goes a lot further than a fuckin’ Detective Constable.”

  The four walked slowly along the hospital corridor. Marie was delicate. Vinnie leaned toward Marshall. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

  Marshall looked toward Vinnie and Andy. He squeezed Vinnie’s arm. “I got enough brawn on this job Vinnie. I need some brains.”

  Vinnie looked at Marie and then looked Marshall straight in the eye. “You can say that again boss.”

  Dave sat in the plush office, his right knee shaking in a nervous twitch. He was waiting for Ross. He was the only one who could access the safe where the remainder of the files were.

  Well, that’s what the gorilla in the suit had told Dave when he arrived. That was over two hours ago and still no sign of Ross.

  He was in Sheffield on ‘business’ and would be back later. Dave felt like he was on a knife-edge. He couldn’t take much more.

  The music from Ross’ club pounded in the distance some three floors down. The place was packed with people having a good time. Dave couldn’t remember the last time he felt good. He closed his eyes and let his head fall backward.

  He felt exhausted, cheated and frightened for his parents.

  “You thinking of something nice?”

  Ross had arrived. Dave was relieved to see him.

  “Not in the slightest Mr. Ross.”

  Ross could see that all was far from well. “You got a problem Dave?”

  Dave nodded his head. He was unable to speak now. The events of the past days suddenly weighed upon him. The note left at his parent’s was the final straw.

  His shoulders began to shake. Unable to hide his tears, he covered his face from Ross’ gaze. Ross had never seen Dave troubled by anything. He took hold of the young man and sat him in the nearest chair. “Right mate, just take it easy. Just tell me what I can do for you.”

  Dave rummaged in his jeans pocket and produced the note. Ross took it and read it swiftly.

  Steve Ross seldom showed any emotion. He came from the type of family where to show any kind of feelings was considered weakness. It was fine to show anger though.

  Ross paced his office floor with the note firmly gripped in his right hand. He curled his lip, revealing his gold tooth. His eyes were virtually black. Everyone that knew him well had seen this mood before. They also knew that it meant trouble.

  Ross calmed enough to speak. He sat at his desk and smoothed the crumpled paper with his huge hands. The taking of Dave’s parents was personal. In life, business is one thing, family is another.

  “Let me sort this one Dave,” Ross’ voice was ice.

  “I’ll put my best lads on it right now, but Dave lad…”

  The gangsters face told the story.

  Dave looked up at Ross, tears still on his face, the reality slowly dawning in his eyes. “No! Don’t say that Mr. Ross.”

  Ross was flat calm. “You know they’re already dead Dave?”

  Dave couldn’t believe, wouldn’t believe. Ross had to be wrong. He made mistakes. Everyone does. His voice shook. He took short breaths.

  “No Mr. Ross! They… I mean, Mum and Dad. They’re alive. I know it. I’ll just do as it says in the note. Give them what they want and…”

  Ross was shaking his head. “Dave, stop and think. These people, whoever they are, have already killed four times. Do you think that it matters to them?”

  Ross handed Dave a very expensive handkerchief. “I’ll tell you what I know; you fill me in on the blanks.”

  Dave wiped his eyes. “OK, but we need to get going.”

  Ross leaned back and picked up a telephone. He barked some orders regarding the club and how he was not to be disturbed.

  “We will Dave, but first, it was you who did McCauley’s drum that night wasn’t it? It had you all over it. I take it that’s how you came about these?”

  Ross spun around in his chair, tapped a combination into a wall safe, removed the files and dropped them onto his desk.

  Dave nodded. Ross continued, “He held files on you and Anne Wallace. Yes I’ve read them. I’ve read them all. I suppose you thought that you could get him off your backs?”

  More nods from Dave.

  “What you didn’t know, was that Holmes and McCauley were already trying to blackmail each other over the Bailey job.”

  “How do you know all this, Mr. Ross?”

  Ross leaned forward.

  “When I read this lot, I knew you were in the shit. That’s the reason I left you the shooter. Not so you could frighten the life out of Alan Clarke. What’s in here mate is dynamite, and it don’t involve small fry coppers either. When you stole this little lot, you were only minutes away from meeting the man who is now causing all the grief.”

  Dave was puzzled.

  “So, who is it?”

  Ross tapped the files with a manicured finger. “There were twenty files here. Take away yours and Anne’s, Holmes and Clarke. That leaves us sixteen options. Out of those, five are dead and two are in jail for a very large fraud.

  These are the nine that remain.”

  Ross spread the brown files out on his desk. He held up two files and put the first in Dave’s hand.

  “The button pusher,” he dropped the second file on the first, “the muscle.”

  Casey checked his reflection. He was an intelligent man. He may not have had a university education like some, but he was no fool. He’d started this job. It would take an intelligent and brave man to finish it.

  Walkden was a fuckin’ soft bastard.

  No bottle;

  When it came down to it, only Casey had all the answers. Mind you, hadn’t it always been that way? Every time the shit hit the fan, wasn’t it him they always called?

  That’s how it all got started; back in ’74. That’s the reason behind all this shit
; the IRA bomber case. What a fuck up that was.

  Clive Williams was a Detective Sergeant back then. McCauley was just an Inspector. The man in charge of the IRA investigation was none other than Detective Superintendent Geoffrey Walkden.

  Hadn’t they all done well? Williams made DI, McCauley a Chief Superintendent and Walkden was now Lancashire’s newest and brightest Chief Constable.

  Yeah, 1974, what a mess.

  McCauley and Williams had done the first round of interviews. They thought they were rough, tough boys. They got nowhere with the Paddy though.

  He just sat and fuckin’ smiled at them. Pissed himself where he sat. Never said a fuckin’ word.

  Walkden wasn’t happy. He wanted a result badly. He needed the pip to go with the crown, the next rung on his slippery promotion ladder.

  Walkden enjoyed watching Casey go to work. Oh no, he didn’t get his own hands dirty. He liked to watch. Walkden loved it when the Paddy started to scream. The Irish bastard shit himself during his beating. Not by choice that time either. He bled all over the fuckin’ place he did. Casey had to burn everything. His own work suit, shoes the lot. When Walkden realised the Paddy had snuffed it, he was crying like a baby. Casey wasn’t his blue eyed boy then.

  Walkden got everyone in the office. He was shaking like a leaf. The big cover up. A death in Police custody; Walkden was convinced we would all go down if we didn’t play the game.

  So everyone played.

  Got away with it too, but McCauley had to be a smart arse didn’t he? Kept all the records. All the original notes times and dates. Who? What? Why?

  No one knew of course, not until that night. The Bailey case was a wrap. Everyone was pissed. McCauley let the cat out the bag then didn’t he?

  Williams tried to shut him up. He’d known all along, bosom buddies and all that. Of course, McCauley said he’d never use it. Then why keep it?