Behind Closed Doors

by Michael Donovan

  ‘A while back.’

  ‘So why the move to the private sector?’

  ‘There were complications,’ I said. ‘The job no longer fit.’

  Skinner watched me a moment then looked at his watch. ‘So now some Metropolitan brass is going to jump out of bed at two o’clock in the morning to vouch for you?’

  I grinned. The idea of Karl being pulled from his bed had a certain appeal. Karl and I went back. He would vouch for me all right. He’d just bitch about it for a couple of years afterwards.

  Skinner looked at his buddy and made a decision. He walked across to his office to call the Mets and pick up Karl’s number. I just hoped Karl was in reach of his phone. Five minutes later Skinner came out. He looked at me in a new way.

  ‘It looks like you’ve still got admirers on high, Flynn,’ he said. ‘So how come the best detective inspector they ever had – quote, unquote – with high-up friends, is scratching around as a private investigator?’

  ‘Not enough of the high-ups,’ I said. ‘They only spread so far.’

  ‘A first-class detective doesn’t need a truckload of friends to stay in the job,’ Skinner said.

  ‘Call it a character flaw,’ I said.

  ‘Commander Dewhurst tells me I should send you straight home to bed,’ Skinner said. ‘Probably wants me to make your Horlicks and tuck you in. Whereas the standard procedure for a couple of guys who’ve just shot a man is to keep them behind bars where we can keep an eye on them.’ He looked at me. ‘What should I do?’

  ‘I don’t know about my partner,’ I said, ‘but I find Horlicks a little sickly. The going home bit would work, though.’

  Skinner nodded.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said. ‘I want to go right through this thing. Tomorrow.’

  ‘Tell me when you want me in,’ I said.

  ‘First thing,’ he declared.

  ‘We’ll be here,’ I promised.

  Skinner and his buddy were going to be tied up at the station for the rest of the night but they got us a lift in a patrol car. It dropped us back at the cottage. The garden was lit up with Kliegs but Ray Child’s body was gone. A couple of SOCOs were tidying up and a uniformed man was unreeling crime tape across the entrance to the path. The main action had moved up into the woods. Lights flickered through the trees.

  It was two thirty. I climbed back into the Citroen. Child had left the keys in the ignition and a wad of chewing gum on the dashboard. ValuDrive could keep the gum. Maybe they’d increase the rental. Shaughnessy’s Yamaha was hidden in the trees further down. I gave him a lift and he hopped out as the engine stalled by his bike.

  ‘Give my apologies to Jasmine,’ I told him. ‘I’m sorry I ruined her evening. You told her that this was an emergency, right?’

  Shaughnessy shrugged. ‘I only mentioned that your life was in danger.

  I looked at him. Sometimes a straight answer would be fine.

  ‘Tell Jasmine we’ll be seeing her,’ I said. ‘We’ll have a day out.’

  ‘I’ll tell her,’ Shaughnessy said. ‘I’ll tell her you’re still alive, too.’

  ‘Tell her it was you who saved my backside,’ I suggested. ‘You’ll get brownie points.’

  Shaughnessy smacked the top of the Citroen. I fired up the engine and started rolling before he could do it again.

  ‘Yeah,’ Shaughnessy called after me, ‘I like that. I’ll tell her I saved your skin – yet again, Eddie.’

  But I knew he wouldn’t.

  Yet again.

  CHAPTER forty-two

  I hit the sack at four and stared at the ceiling for two hours. Whenever I dozed off it didn’t take. I kept coming awake with images of trees and darkness.

  At six I quit trying. I got up and pulled on my running gear and headed out into a still spring morning. I did three laps of the park, deadly slow, then added another to prove I still had willpower. Pushed up the pace until I was finally overtaking the first of the morning runners. When I got back to the Sun Gate I was gasping like a bulldog in a sauna. I kept up a jog for appearances but by the time I was inside the door and climbing the stairs the act was over. I barely made it to the top. I stood for twenty minutes under a lukewarm shower and let needles of water batter my head. My cheek had swelled up and the water stung. I looked in the mirror and decided that the thing needed a couple of stitches. Made do with Savlon and a plaster. I called Shaughnessy then drank a half-litre of orange juice and headed out into bright sunshine.

  The Citroen went through its start-up routine and limped away south against the flow of rush-hour traffic. I began to feel half human. Even the shit-heap’s asthmatic progress was a little less depressing in the sun.

  I was in Brighton by eight thirty. I found a café a block from the police station and gave Shaughnessy the location. Then I boosted my spirits and cholesterol with a full English. It was the first thing I’d eaten in twenty hours. The fry-up slid down as if bacon grease was the new super-lubricant. I was mopping up with the last slice of bread when Shaughnessy came in. He ordered fruit juice and watched me like a disapproving aunt. I called the police station and confirmed that Skinner was waiting, then we paid up and left.

  A uniformed woman took us up to the CID room. As we pushed through the swing-doors I spotted a face through the half-open door of a holding room and stopped dead. On the far side of a metal table James Roker’s expression betrayed the ugly mood of someone who’s been hauled out of bed at the crack of dawn. I’d given Skinner the details of Alpha Security’s involvement and I guess he’d read our file. Roker had a few tricky questions to answer. Skinner’s buddy Parch was in the room with him. I stopped a moment at the door. Our policewoman escort tried to keep me moving but I resisted until Roker saw me. He gave me a look.

  It was going to take more than looks.

  ‘How’s it going, Jimmy?’ I said.

  ‘Fuck you, Flynn.’

  Some people you can never talk to.

  ‘Have you told them how you set it up?’ I said. ‘Did you show them the dirty movies? Those guys with Tina?’

  Roker raised a hand and gave me an emphatic bird.

  Spirit.

  I threw in something to dampen it.

  ‘Have they told you that they’ve dug Tina up?’ I was making an assumption but I was on safe ground. ‘It’s a murder rap now, Roker. I guess that’s the chance you take when you work dirty jobs. My advice is go for Queen’s Evidence.’

  Parch had jumped up and was slamming the door before an all-out war got going. The last I saw was Roker giving me the bird again but I knew by the feeling he put into it that he understood his situation. As we walked away the door opened again and Parch skipped out of the room to escort us across to Skinner’s office. He gave me a filthy look but said nothing.

  Skinner kept us two hours, going over the details. Parch came in for part of it. He’d read our file whilst Skinner had been at the morgue viewing the body they’d brought out of the woods. The two had been on the job since they’d first arrived at the cottage last night.

  Skinner confirmed that the body was Tina Brown’s. I’d known it but it was still a blow. Somewhere along the way Tina had become our adopted client. I’d hoped to see her safe and preferably innocent, back home along with Rebecca Townsend. Life isn’t like that. I was going to have to call Sammy.

  We went through everything, end to end. I took them through Paul McAllister’s scheme and the part Alpha Security had played. In the end, Skinner had everything they needed to go back and continue their chats with both McAllister and Roker. He sat back and puffed his cheeks.

  ‘This could have gone on for a while,’ he said. ‘If you can keep the families quiet there’s no reason a racket like this couldn’t run indefinitely.’

  ‘That’s what McAllister thought,’ Shaughnessy said. ‘Another guy who thinks he’s invented the perfect cr
ime.’

  ‘McAllister probably still thinks he was unlucky,’ Skinner commented.

  I nodded. ‘He’d be right. You wouldn’t expect some upstart college girl to blow the whistle on her friend’s disappearance when the family are denying everything. And McAllister didn’t expect the problem with Tina Brown. So I guess he was unlucky. But sooner or later something similar would have happened, because McAllister wasn’t going to stop until something did come apart. He didn’t see that that was the real flaw in his scheme.’

  ‘So how did it go wrong with Tina Brown?’ Skinner asked.

  ‘Larry Slater is the one who knows that,’ I said.

  Skinner nodded and flipped his notepad shut. He was scheduling a trip to see the Slaters later in the day once they’d cleared this end. They’d have Larry’s story then.

  Skinner finally turfed us out and we headed back to town. I was back at Chase Street just after midday.

  As I parked the ZX on Gerry Lye’s spot a little guy with a cord jacket and clipboard was prodding the bones of the Frogeye. The insurance company was quick off the mark. I identified myself as the owner.

  ‘Bit of a mess,’ the guy told me.

  You can’t fool these assessors.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘A write-off. Unless you know a good paint shop.’

  The guy looked at me po-faced. He was one of those people who only recognise humour when it comes from their own lips. ‘I’ll put in the report and then we’ll see,’ he told me.

  ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘but I assume it will be a write-off.’

  He stayed noncommittal. ‘The company makes the decision,’ he said. ‘I just confirm the condition of the vehicle.’

  I gave him aghast.

  ‘Decision? You think they can resurrect this?’

  ‘That’s not for me to say, Mr Flynn.’

  I looked at the guy. I’d had assessors before. They’re usually working mechanics from the body shops. It looked like this insurance company had its own department dedicated to stupidity. Stupid was the only way you could categorise a guy being cagey about a heap of ashes. But what the hell did I care? If the insurance company wanted to try and resurrect the Frogeye they were welcome. The guy knew and I knew that the car was dead. I turned and walked away.

  I had more important business.

  The day had topped out at eighteen degrees. Spring was finally here. We drove up through Cricklewood and came out on the North Circular. I decided to brave the din of the Citroen’s blowing exhaust and let cool air in but when I tried to wind the window down it seized after six inches. If I forced it further the mechanism would break and leave it permanently open. I wound it back up. Tried the fan in the hope that it might have cured itself. Got the same wash of warm air as yesterday.

  We turned off the North Circular and drove along the fence that protected HP Logistics. The barrier was up, just like last time. Unlike last time I didn’t make the courtesy stop and even the Citroen was fast enough to outrun the pensioner.

  We parked outside the maintenance entrance and went up the stairs.

  Godmotherzilla was still manning the defences. She looked up as we came in and I guess she must have recognised me because she came up from behind her counter as if she’d been stung in her main target area.

  Trouble is, when you’re big you’re not fast. We were past her and into Harold Palmer’s office before she could tear off even a couple of my limbs. She came huffing behind but I slammed the door and put my back to it and after a few seconds she got the message and backed off. We were in.

  Palmer had jumped out of his own chair and was stood like a bull in the arena watching us with popping eyes. I noticed that his panoramic window had been replaced.

  I gave him Sam Sneer and waited.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ Palmer said. ‘I’m calling the cops!’

  He reached for his phone.

  ‘You’d better listen first,’ I told him.

  He paused.

  ‘That was a mistake,’ I said.

  He gave me his own sneer. His was better. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Get out of my office.’

  I waited. Palmer waited too.

  ‘You’d made your point,’ I said, ‘and I’d made mine. Better we’d just left it at that.’

  ‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about, Flynn. Now get the hell out of here or I make the call.’

  ‘I’m talking about knowing when to stop. I was out of your life. No threat to your little scheme to get your haulage contract.’ I gave him a grin. ‘A company called Fashion-Ex. We dug out their name.’

  Palmer shook his head and came round to go chest to chest.

  ‘Flynn, you’re full of shit. HP’s business is nothing to do with you. You declined our commission.’

  ‘That’s because I declined to work your illegal scheme,’ I said. ‘I walked away. It would have been better if you’d just left it at that.’

  Palmer moved an inch forward. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying you shouldn’t start fires you can’t put out.’

  Palmer couldn’t hold back the sneer. ‘So how’s your toy car running?’ he said. He was leaning forward now, trying to push me back. I stayed put.

  ‘As you probably know,’ I said, ‘the car’s not running very well at all.’

  Palmer laughed. ‘A pity. I hear it was a vintage.’

  I stared into his eyes. ‘That was a stupid thing to do, Harold.’

  The laugh shifted to a smirk. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you accusing me of something, Flynn?’

  ‘You had to have the last shot,’ I said. ‘But I guess it’s the kind of man you are. Vindictive. The trouble is, that kind of thing can rebound.’

  ‘Are you accusing me?’

  ‘You burned my car out of spite because I wouldn’t work your little scheme with Fashion-Ex. Yeah, I’m accusing you.’

  ‘Prove it! Prove there was a scheme with Fashion-Ex.’ His eyes closed up suddenly. ‘Are you taping this?’ he said. ‘Is that it? Are you trying to incriminate me? Do you think I’m an idiot, Flynn?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not taping anything, Harold. This is just between us.’

  ‘Then take this as just between us - you’ve got nothing that proves anything, Mr Met-Reject. Nothing about Fashion-Ex and nothing about your poxy little car.’

  ‘Did you find someone else to steal your info?’

  Palmer laughed again and stood back, shaking his head.

  ‘You’re a joke, Flynn. I’m not telling you anything. But yeah, we’re ready with our bid. And yeah, we have all the information we need. With or without your help. There’s always someone will do a job.’

  I grinned. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I guess there is.’ The thought suddenly hit me that Alpha Security would have been the ideal firm for Palmer’s dirty work.

  I stayed on the main issue. ‘You’re in trouble if you don’t get that contract, Palmer,’ I said. ‘You’ll have a lot of units idle.’

  ‘We’re going to get the contract, Flynn. Believe me.’

  ‘Unless your illegal spying game gets out.’

  Palmer sneered. ‘Get out of here, Flynn! If you let one whisper of “illegal” out onto the street I’ll sue you for everything you have. How come it needs two of you to come threaten me?’ He looked at my companion. ‘You’re a real talker, mate,’ he said. ‘The two of you make a good act.’

  I turned to the guy at my side. ‘Do you need to talk?’ I said.

  He looked at me. Shrugged his shoulders. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard enough.’

  Palmer looked from one to the other of us. ‘What is this?’ he said. He looked back at the guy.

  The guy handed Palmer a card. Palmer scanned it. And his expression changed.

  The card wasn’t Eagle
Eye’s. The name on it was Andrew O’Connor, Purchasing Director, and it bore the logo of Fashion-Ex. Andrew had heard all he needed. He didn’t need to say anything. Not even Save the postage on the bid, which personally I would have thrown in. But Palmer’s pop-eyed look told us that he understood that he would be wasting his stamps.

  We left him to it and walked out.

  Rhino glared at us from behind her counter. I gave her a cheery smile. She’d soon have something to glare about.

  We got back into the Citroen and Andrew O’Connor blew out a whistle.

  ‘We owe you, Mr Flynn,’ he said. ‘They were right about our contract policy. The second-lowest bidder. If they’d put in the rigged bid we would have swallowed it. We’d have had Palmer running our logistics for the next two years. Working with criminals we can do without.’

  ‘Just a little tit for tat,’ I said. ‘We were going to keep our nose out, but Harold tipped the scales.’

  O’Connor shook his head. ‘Incredible. To think he burned your car. Wouldn’t you think a firm like HP would be above that?’

  ‘An organisation stoops to the level of its highest officers,’ I said. ‘In this case they had to stoop a long way.’

  O’Connor smiled. ‘How were you so sure it was Palmer who had your car torched?’

  ‘It would never have occurred to me,’ I said. ‘We’ve had some far more likely suspects on our plate recently. It was just a face. In the wrong place.’

  We were back at the gatehouse. The same old guy came out and pressed the button for the barrier with a scowl on his face. HP were a company of scowlers.

  Behind the guy, through the glass of the security building, I saw the face I’d seen at the Podium two nights back, just before the Frogeye went up. Palmer had set his security man on me with a little out-of-hours assignment. The guy must have followed me that night and seen his chance to go for the Frogeye while I was at the club. When I recalled where I’d seen the Podium face I knew who’d burned the Frogeye. It had taken a day or two for the image to click, but eventually it did. The torching wasn’t down to McAllister after all. The joke was that Harold Palmer had unwittingly turned up the heat on McAllister’s operation. Probably it made no difference. Events have a momentum of their own, but I like to think that Palmer helped us move faster on McAllister.