Dead Man's Grave

by Neil Lancaster

  He unboxed the brand-new, cheap smartphone that he had just bought from the electrical shop in the departure lounge and snapped in a new SIM card. The fact that McGee and Slattery were tracing Elizabeth Phillips’s phone made using his own phone whilst travelling too much of a risk. He had left it switched on at home, hidden behind a panel in the ceiling in his gym.

  He spent a few moments synching the new phone with the camera feed from home and creating a Gmail account with an innocuous address.

  He went to a payphone at the edge of the terminal, slotted his credit card in and dialled a number from the half a dozen on a list he had written in a notebook before leaving.

  ‘Hello, Janie Calder.’

  ‘Janie, it’s Max. Free to speak?’

  ‘Max? Yes, you okay?’

  ‘Aye, on my way to London, and I’ve left my phone at home. I have a burner, so take this number down, and don’t share with anyone.’ Max read the burner number out to Janie.

  ‘A burner – you think that’s necessary?’

  ‘I’m saying yes. I also think you should get one as soon as you can.’

  ‘Fine. I’m at home and have a spare phone and I got a free pay-as-you-go with my last upgrade.’

  ‘Great, get it in and send me a message as soon as it’s up and running.’

  ‘I’ll do it straight away. Why London?’

  ‘Willie Leitch had a son in Enfield.’

  ‘What?’ Janie said, sounding incredulous.

  ‘Yeah. Funny how the research on Leitch who’s the suspect of one murder and victim of another never turned up that he had another kid, when a births, deaths and marriages search would’ve revealed it,’ Max said sarcastically.

  ‘Just how far does this go? The intelligence team would almost certainly have turned that fact up.’

  ‘I haven’t told you the worst bit, yet.’

  ‘You mean it gets worse?’

  ‘Willie Leitch’s boy, now called Will Harding, was stabbed yesterday in Enfield in an apparent gang attack. By sheer luck an armed surveillance team was behind the gang for another matter and they intervened. Took out the whole lot of them with tasers. Turns out one of them has a photo and address of the young Will in a message on his phone, that came from Eustace Fielding, head of the MDK.’

  ‘As in the same Eustace Fielding that we saw hugging Tam Hardie just a few days ago?’ asked Janie.

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘Shite, I see what you mean. How’s the kid?’

  ‘Not good at all. He’s in intensive care with a nasty stab wound. Not looking good, I understand.’

  ‘This situation just keeps getting worse. What’s next?’

  ‘I’m meeting the DS investigating it. This is a huge lead, but if we go overt, it’s inevitable that it’ll get to Hardie almost immediately. I’m not taking that risk.’

  ‘Fair enough. Do you want me to do anything?’ asked Janie.

  ‘Not right now – just do normal stuff. You working today?’

  ‘Aye, I’m working from home, though, on the laptop reviewing several weeks’ worth of surveillance footage on the trafficking job. They can’t get a reliable address for the main suspects, so because no one on the team likes me, I’ve got stiffed with reviewing it all. It’s taking bloody ages.’

  ‘I like you, pal. Well, I at least am willing to put up with you,’ said Max.

  ‘Only because I keep pulling your arse out of the fire.’

  ‘Anything else happening?’

  ‘Not really, I’ve not seen much of Ross. He seems to be under pressure.’

  Max paused to consider this. He trusted Ross as much as he could in the circumstances, but not enough to bring him on board with his findings. Ross’s only option would be to report upwards, and then it would be all over. It was just him and Janie.

  ‘Okay, message me when you have a new number and I’ll call you soon.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Max pulled out the credit card from the payphone and slotted it back into his wallet. His fingers brushed against Bruce Ferguson’s business card. He took it out and stared at the anonymous-looking card. On impulse, he dialled the number on his new phone and waited.

  The phone clicked and beeped a couple of times before connecting, using an international calling tone. It rang briefly before it was answered with a curt, ‘Yes?’

  ‘Bruce. It’s Max Craigie.’

  ‘Hi, Max. All okay?’ His tone was calm, yet curious.

  ‘All is okay. I have a new number for a while, so thought I should update you with it.’

  ‘Very kind. Any particular reason you’ve changed number?’

  ‘Just being careful. I also have a new email address.’ Max read it out.

  ‘Noted. Any actual update for me?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I’m still off the case.’

  ‘And yet you’re calling me?’

  ‘Aye, just to make sure you’re okay,’ said Max.

  ‘There’s no need to concern yourself about me. I’m currently on a yacht in the Caribbean with my employer and a detail of bodyguards. Is my cousin okay in Suffolk?’

  ‘As far as I know. Did I tell you she was in Suffolk?’

  ‘You must have done, pal, otherwise how would I know?’ There was a touch of amusement in his voice.

  ‘I guess I must have. Anyway, as long as you’re okay.’

  ‘Fine. Call me if you need anything.’

  ‘I will, thanks.’ Max hung up.

  Max stared through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the stationary aircraft, without really seeing them. He was sure that he hadn’t told Bruce that his cousin was in Suffolk. In fact, he knew for a fact that he deliberately hadn’t. Strangely this didn’t cause him any worry, quite the opposite. It seemed that Bruce Ferguson was using his own resources to make sure Elizabeth was safe. In fact, it made him feel much better knowing that Bruce Ferguson was looking out for his cousin.

  46

  Max sat in a medium-sized office in the middle of what was left of the old police college at Hendon. All that remained were a few low-rise buildings that surrounded the old parade square that Max had once marched on at his passing-out parade, many years ago.

  The building housed one of the serious crime syndicates that had arisen out of the latest reorganisation of the investigative functions in the Met Police. Their job was the proactive investigation of serious and organised crime using surveillance and other covert techniques.

  Jill sat opposite Max, clutching a mug. She was a tall and lean middle-aged officer, with short, neatly styled hair, casually dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Jill and Max had worked together for several years and had always had each other’s backs. Max trusted her as much as he trusted anyone. She was a first-class operator, both clever and resourceful. She was also as tough as anyone Max had ever worked with.

  ‘We got word from a snout,’ Jill said. ‘One of the bit players from MDK was on the side of the angels, as they say and tipped us off that they were planning to collect a number of shooters for “AK” also known as Eustace Fielding. We ran the job over a couple of days with an armed surveillance team, when out of nowhere they leaped on poor young Will Harding. Luckily the team managed to get to them before they properly disembowelled the poor little bugger.’ She pointed up at a whiteboard on the wall that showed what looked like a family tree with photographs attached and names below. At the top of the tree the sneering features of Eustace Fielding glared at the camera. Below him was a succession of photos of younger males, all black, all wearing the same sneer. The last photo on the whiteboard had the word “Victim” in dry-wipe above it. He was a light-skinned, mixed-race boy, about fifteen, with a keen and eager expression, and short braided hair. “Will Harding” was printed at the bottom of the sheet of paper.

  ‘How’s the boy?’

  ‘Very nasty abdominal injury, perforated bowel and major blood loss. He’s in an induced coma at the moment, after he went into cardiac arrest. It’s touch and go. Parents
are maintaining a permanent bedside vigil. He’s under armed guard in the ITU at the Royal Free.’

  ‘How did we connect to Fielding?’ asked Max.

  ‘One of the gang had a deleted photo of the victim and his address on his WhatsApp feed from a number we suspect is used by Fielding. When we looked at the little twat’s phone the picture was in the deleted items recovered from the Cellbrite download. The cocky sod was playing it all coy until we showed him that, then he started blubbing.’

  ‘Has he snitched on AK?’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t last five minutes in jail if he did. But if we can put the phone that sent the message in his hand, we are good to go. The question then arises, who tasked AK to get the job done.’

  ‘Have you nicked AK?’ asked Max.

  ‘Not yet. We want all our ducks in a row first and we also want to clear up this shit with the Scotland connection. We haven’t a motive at all as to why they wanted to off this young lad, who’s as pure as the driven snow, mate.’ Jill was a fairly bombastic character, but even she seemed moved by the targeting of an innocent.

  ‘So, what’s the plan?’

  ‘Surveillance team is getting behind AK with the intention of putting the offending phone in his hand. Probably with a filmed test call from a covert phone. We’ll take him out then, secure in the knowledge he has the phone in his pocket.’

  ‘Well, I think I can help you with a motive, but I have to say, it’s really sensitive. If I tell you the whole thing, I’m not sure where it’ll end,’ said Max, looking at his shoes.

  ‘You wanna give me a hint, mate?’ Jill’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘It’s complicated.’ Max sighed and rubbed his face in his hands, the stress of the whole situation suddenly exhausting him.

  ‘Bloody hell. What’s going on?’ said Jill. Her eyes softened as she looked at Max’s face.

  ‘Who’s the boss, here?’ Max said.

  ‘DI is Rob Cruise, new fella. I don’t know much about him.’

  ‘No, I mean, the big boss. I’m going to have to explain everything, and I only want to do it once. If I go through normal channels this will all go horribly wrong.’

  ‘Mate, you’re being weird. DCS is Tony Jeffry, you know him from the Squad, right?’

  Max’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Tony Jeffry, yeah, he was the DCI before you arrived.’

  ‘He’s not been here long, got promoted recently. A good bloke, as far as I can tell and his reputation is solid. What’s this about?’

  ‘I need to see him. I do know Tony, and you’re right, he’s a good man, and I trust him. Is he in?’

  ‘I think I’ve seen him. Hold up.’ Jill turned to her computer terminal and looked at the direct messaging. The light shone green beside his name.

  ‘He’s in.’

  ‘Can you message him?’

  ‘Really? Is that not a bit weird? I don’t know the bloke, and he has a staff officer who usually manages his diary.’

  ‘Just message him now, Jill, and tell him I’m here and can we come and see him.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Dead sure. We go way back.’

  Jill turned to her computer and tapped a quick message.

  The message turned green indicating it had been read. There was a short pause before the reply came.

  Come up now.

  47

  ‘Max Craigie, how you doing, mate?’ Detective Chief Superintendent Tony Jeffry shook Max’s hand warmly, whilst clapping him on the shoulder. He was a compact man, a ball of effusive energy topped by short, silver hair. He was smartly dressed in a blue suit and plain blue tie adorned with the eagle motif of the Flying Squad. He projected energy and vitality as he smiled broadly and pumped Max’s hand.

  ‘I’m doing good, Guvnor, but I need to talk to you about the most delicate of situations.’

  ‘I’m taking the fact that Jill is here to indicate that it’s to do with the stabbing that the surveillance team intervened in yesterday?’

  ‘You were always astute, Guv, it’s why you’re a chief super and I’m still a DS,’ said Max smiling.

  ‘I take it I’m right?’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘I also have a very nasty feeling that the fact that you are here from another force, and yet I’ve heard nothing about it in advance, is indicative that your presence is not officially sanctioned. Having said this, it could be you are just here to buy me a pint, in which case, let’s get to the Claddagh Ring right away,’ said Tony, talking of the local pub close to the office.

  ‘Unfortunately, it’s the first one, Guv.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’ Tony turned to Jill, his face serious. ‘Now, Jill, normally I would tell someone in this situation to sod off and see their own management and do it properly. However, Max and I worked a number of Squad jobs together, and he pulled my arse out of the fire in one very particular incident, so I’m willing to listen. I’ll also add that the rumours I hear from another very good friend of mine about some concerning happenings in Police Scotland make me very curious. I love a good bit of gossip, so, go on, sit down and hit me with it.’ Tony sat on his chair, pushed it forward and steepled his fingers just under his chin.

  Max told him. He told him everything. After he had finished there was a long silence. Eventually Tony let out a sigh.

  ‘Max, why is it that you don’t want me to get promoted ever again?’ Tony asked with a wry shake of the head.

  ‘I’m sorry, Guv, but I’m not sure where else to turn. The whole investigation is so corrupted that whatever I do up there will go straight back to Hardie. He has enough clout to get cell sites on phones, and clearly has a direct link in at every level of the force,’ said Max, grimly.

  ‘And we now have a clear dog in this fight with Eustace Fielding facilitating a hit, which if you are right, was ordered by Hardie. In short, we’re involved, and we can take steps to make sure any issues in Scotland do not compromise our investigation.’

  ‘I can prove a fair few things, Guv, just not by conventional means.’

  ‘I get that, and that’s the problem we have so far. Your surveillance, whilst ingenious, won’t be admissible because it wasn’t authorised. We can probably use whistle-blower protection to keep you out of the shit, especially as you were doing what you did to protect innocents, but we need to parallel prove, by lawful means, the evidence you’ve gathered. It’s doable, but I can’t authorise this myself; I need to push it upstairs.’

  Max sighed. He wanted as few sets of eyes on this as possible, but he couldn’t do it on his own. ‘Who to?’ he asked.

  ‘Jeanette Fowler AC Special Ops, but I know her well enough and I’m sure she’ll see it our way. Is there anything time-critical from a risk perspective that won’t let this wait for a few hours?’

  ‘Well, the people at risk are out of the way, but that can’t last forever. Elizabeth Phillips can’t stay hiding, although Ferguson seems strangely relaxed about it all,’ said Max.

  ‘Okay, let me talk to the AC and see if I can get in to see her. Jill, why don’t you take Max for a pint at the Claddagh and I’ll join you in a bit?’

  ‘That sounds good to me. I’m gasping,’ said Jill.

  Max smiled, feeling positive for the first time in days. He felt he was part of a team, once again, ready to take the fight to the bad guys.

  *

  Max and Jill sat in the pub, a large faux Irish establishment a few minutes from the offices. Jill ordered a cider and Max his normal cranberry juice.

  Jill looked at the juice with a raised eyebrow. ‘That’s not what I expected you to order. Fair to say you’ve changed, mate. You’d normally be straight in for a pint.’

  ‘Not at the moment. I found that booze doesn’t really agree with me. I also really like cranberry juice,’ said Max, smiling.

  ‘On a not totally unconnected matter, is there anything new after the shooting?’

  Max felt the familiar knot in his stomach at the mention of the incident in London, two y
ears ago. ‘Nothing new. Inquest finding was what it was, but public interest lawyers are still pushing. You know how it goes. These things can drag on for years,’ Max said, wanting to move the conversation on.

  ‘Hence the juice?’

  ‘Do you know much about the AC?’ said Max.

  ‘Only that she came from Manchester and is really well regarded. Loads of experience and managed to root out corruption when she was there. A bit of a tiger, I hear.’

  ‘Not sure if that’s good or bad, bearing in mind I’ve been driving a horse and cart through regs for a few days.’ Max took a drink of his cranberry. It was dry and cold.

  ‘Not like you had any choice.’

  Max just shrugged and drank his juice. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

  There was an email icon on the screen. Opening up the app, he didn’t recognise the address, which seemed to be a series of numbers and letters with no recognisable features. No .com or co.uk either. Max frowned, wondering if it was just some spam, but something told him to open it.

  There was a simple line of text and then an audio file attachment.

  “The deil’s awa wi’ the Exciseman,” read the text. Recognition flashed through Max’s mind. He had seen that somewhere before.

  Jill must have seen the look on Max’s face. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ve been using a burner, but it’s a line from a Scottish poem, or something.’ He quickly copied and pasted the line into a web browser.

  ‘You Jocks love all that shite, right?’

  Max chuckled, still looking at the phone, curious about the audio file, but not wanting to listen to it in Jill’s presence.

  ‘Want another cranberry juice? I’ll even get an umbrella and sparkler put in it to make it less girly, mate.’

  ‘Sure, why not,’ said Max, as Jill stood and headed for the bar.

  Max returned to the screen on his phone and pressed the audio file icon. He turned the volume low on the phone.