“Ray Shaw’s death leaves a huge hole in Costello’s operation,” Greco began. “He’ll want to fill it fast. It’s important that we find out who did it. But equally important is why. Is this a takeover bid, or something else?”
“There have been no whispers, sir,” Leah added. “The streets have been quiet. No one is talking. I’ll see what the latest event has thrown up later. But from what I know already, I bet this is as much a mystery to the villains as it is to us.”
“There is another aspect we haven’t considered,” Greco said. “Perhaps it is Costello himself who wanted rid of Shaw. There have been rumours.” He looked at Leah, who nodded.
The team fell silent, considering this.
Eventually Speedy said, “Slicer has run things smoothly around here for years. Why rock the boat?”
“Villains do fall out,” Greco reminded him.
“I think we’re looking at someone entirely new. An unknown face, who has been watching and worked out a strategy for a takeover,” Grace suggested.
“That would take some guts!” Leah exclaimed. “If Costello got hold of him . . .” She shuddered. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes.”
“I put the theory forward because of someone I met at the club last night,” Grace explained. “An odd young man who I now think was playing games with me. He was certainly using me to pass the time while he kept an eye on Slicer. He knew I was police, even made a point of commenting on it. I think we should at least find out who he is and speak to him.”
“You’re looking at the CCTV footage. You’ll pin him down soon enough. Leah, your informant may have heard something by now. There may be nothing on the streets about a takeover, but theories about Slicer’s death will be circulating. I want to know what is being said.
“And you, Stephen?” McCabe asked.
“I want to speak to Jason Horton. I want to know more about what he does at that clinic of his. I’d also like to know how he met Sadie Costello. She isn’t a woman you meet by chance.” He looked at Leah. “You might ask your informant if he knows anything about Rouse’s whereabouts while you’re at it.”
“I can come with you,” McCabe suggested.
“It’s okay, sir, I’ll take PC Dobbs with me.”
The last thing Greco wanted was the super trying to take over. He was a good copper and all right in small doses, but Greco didn’t want to work in his shadow.
He turned to Gareth Dobbs. “You can drive. I’ll see you in the car park.”
Greco went to his office and re-read the file on the Rashid Clinic. There wasn’t much, certainly no mention of Horton doing anything that he didn’t charge top dollar for. If it came to it, he might have to interview Sadie Costello again too. How would that go down with her father?
* * *
Jason Horton greeted them. “Dreadful business. I presume you’re here about last night. Sadie was very upset. She’s known Ray since she was a child.” That conjured up an interesting image in Greco’s head. The small child, sitting on her father’s knee while the mobsters discussed their latest plans.
Horton led them into a small anteroom off the main entrance. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll organise some coffee.”
“There’s no need,” Greco assured him. “This shouldn’t take long.”
“I didn’t see anything last night,” Horton began. “You were sitting only a few yards away from me, talking to Sadie when it happened.”
“We have to speak to everyone who was there,” Greco told him. “Neither you nor Miss Costello are suspects. I know that both of you were talking to me and my colleague at the time. However, you may have noticed something odd, heard something. At this point we need all the help we can get.”
“Wish I could help you, but I’m afraid I can’t. Nothing out of the ordinary comes to mind. It was a fairly typical night at the club. Except for poor Ray of course.”
“You and Miss Costello are there often?”
Horton shrugged.
“Does her father ever go with you?”
“Vinny isn’t up to it, I’m afraid. Anyway, it’s not his thing — clubs, casinos, staying out late. He’s very much a pipe-and-slippers man these days.”
Greco was struggling to get his head around the idea of Vinny Costello with a pipe and slippers. “You’ve treated him here, I believe?”
“You know I can’t discuss my patients. You would have to ask him.”
“I presume he didn’t want plastic surgery?”
“Look, DCI Greco, you can presume all you like, but I will not discuss my patients’ health. However, I will say that plastic surgery isn’t the only procedure we do here. We offer medical consultations and other types of surgery too.”
“But that’s where the money is, isn’t it? In plastics,” Greco continued.
“Yes, and it forms the major part of what we do.”
“You certainly have a fan in Miss Costello. She couldn’t sing your praises loud enough.”
“She prattles on.”
“Hamid Khan was a patient of yours. He and his wife believed you could help him. Why was that, when what he needs is a kidney transplant?”
“Like I just said, I can’t discuss my patients with you.”
“He is currently languishing in Manchester General on dialysis. His wife thought you were going to make him well. How did you plan to do that?”
“We were hoping to get a live donor, a close relative.” Horton sounded impatient. “It is permissible for us to carry out the procedure in such circumstances. I am a renal surgeon with many years’ experience in the NHS behind me. Five years ago, I re-trained in plastics. A very lucrative add-on,” he smiled.
Greco decided to change the subject. “Where did you meet Sadie Costello?”
Horton smiled. “Here, at the clinic. Sadie came to us for treatment.”
“Cosmetic treatment?”
“I can’t say.”
Greco waved a hand. “Yes, of course — patient confidentiality. I will be speaking to her. Offer her the opportunity to expand on what we spoke about last night.”
“That is your prerogative, but I should tell you that Sadie has gone to stay with her parents for a while. I have no idea when she’ll be back.”
Great! That meant any contact would inevitably go through Costello’s people. Sadie would be well coached in what to say long before he could get a statement.
“Do you have any idea why anyone would want to kill Ray Shaw?”
“I’ve no idea. He was a charming man.”
“That depended on how you knew him, Doctor. Believe me, Shaw could be far from charming when he chose. Given that you owed him money, you must have known that.”
“That is my private business. I refuse to discuss it here.”
“If you didn’t have my colleague as an alibi, that fact alone would have given you a motive. How much do you owe, Doctor Horton?”
“None of your bloody business. And it has nothing to do with the case you are investigating.”
They were going round in circles. Horton wasn’t going to tell them anything useful.
Faisal Rashid stormed in without knocking.
“You again! Don’t you have better things to do? There was another murder last night. You can’t possibly think it has anything to do with us. I can’t understand why you insist on rushing here whenever there is any criminal activity in this town.”
Greco smiled at him. “I can assure you that this is just routine. We have to speak to everyone who was in the club last night.”
“And that includes you, does it, Jason? I should have known. We spoke. I thought you were giving that place a wide berth.”
“Sadie and I were having a few drinks, Faisal, that’s all.”
Greco looked at Horton. “Am I to presume that you couldn’t find a close relative to be a donor for Mr Khan?”
The question had been directed at his partner, but Rashid responded, his face blank. “What are you talking about?”
&n
bsp; “Hamid Khan needs a kidney transplant. Doctor Horton here was supposed to help him.”
Faisal Rashid’s dark eyes narrowed to pinpricks. “We do not have a transplant programme here, or anything like one. It’s a nice idea but it would not work in practice. Transplants need donors, don’t they? And there is the problem.” He turned to look at his partner. “We will speak later. Why are you discussing our business with all and sundry, Jason?”
“We are not all and sundry as you put it, Doctor Rashid. We are the police. Currently we have four murders on our hands. So I will ask any questions I think fit, and expect answers.”
Faisal Rashid marched out of the room.
“He doesn’t see things as I do,” Horton said. “Had a relative come forward, I would have done the operation for Hamid Khan. Faisal frowns on us doing anything other than the plastics stuff. It’s where the money is, you see.”
Greco didn’t think Rashid knew anything of interest anyway. Horton was the one with answers. The problem was getting them. While he continued to hide behind patient confidentiality, it was doubtful they would get anywhere. Greco decided to leave it — for now.
Chapter 20
Mickey paced the floor of his small flat. Adrenaline had kept him awake most of the night. His head ached from thinking about what he’d done. Killing Slicer was all very well, but where exactly did it leave him? He’d destroyed his only contact with Costello.
Stupid! Stupid fool! You should think before you dive in. Too bloody handy with weapons, always have been. What now? How do you get what you want if no one knows you’re around?
Mickey had collared Slicer in the gent’s toilet. He’d told the villain that he wanted in. He said he’d overheard him and knew that there was a lot of money in the pipeline. He wanted his share. Mickey wanted a part in whatever operation Slicer was planning. The man had laughed at him — called him a stupid kid, shook his head and told Mickey to mind his own business. He was to come when called, and until then to go away and not make waves. Mickey had got angry. He wasn’t going to be treated like a piece of dirt. As Slicer had stood there laughing at him, Mickey had shot him dead.
He could contact Costello direct. Tell the big man he was ready for work. Mickey rubbed his eyes and screamed with rage. Costello would think he was a fool. He’d be dead in a gutter before the day was out. He’d planned to take over, run this patch for himself, but he had nothing. No money, no contacts, no access to the drugs he’d need to sell on. And there was more to it than just running drugs. Slicer had been into other stuff. Problem was, Mickey hadn’t let him live long enough to find out more.
He rang his sister. “Need your help,” he hissed down the phone. “I’ve ballsed up. I need to find out what the cops know about those murders. The youngsters and Slicer Shaw.” She didn’t reply straight off. She’d be thinking it through. “You can get hold of stuff. I need this. Come on, sis, you’re in the right place.”
“That boy in the multistorey was an illegal. Probably brought here to work in some backstreet sweatshop. The bloke in the pub worked with that reporter, Rouse. That’s all I know.” She hung up.
So Slicer had been mixed up in people trafficking. Mickey kicked out in fury, hitting the fridge and denting the door. He’d had no idea. He didn’t know the first thing about how to make it happen for himself.
* * *
“I’ve been glued to this screen for an hour or more. Where the bloody hell is he?” Grace was beginning to think she’d dreamed him up.
Joel was unsympathetic. “Not much fun, is it, the CCTV work? You shouldn’t have been so keen to say you knew what he looked like. You’ll know better in future.”
She ignored him. “The time stamp says nine thirty. Greco and I arrived at nine.”
“Was he already there?”
“I don’t know. He might have been. He stood at the bar, drinking. When I spoke to him we’d been in there about ten minutes or so.”
Joel flicked the footage back to nine o’clock. “Sit down, get comfy and watch the main entrance. It was very busy around that time.”
“There’s me and Greco,” she pointed out. “Go back a little further.”
Joel pointed to some people at the door. “Bit of bother there. Even in an upmarket place like the Windfall.”
“It’s the way that pair are dressed. They were never going to get in wearing jeans and T-shirts.”
It was easy for the eye to be distracted. The altercation between the two blokes and the doorman had taken their attention.
“Look!” Joel froze the film. “Sneaking in around that lump of a bouncer. Is that him?”
He was tall, wearing a suit and white shirt. He had his hands in his pockets and slunk past the doorman with no bother. “Joel, you’re a star! Yes, it is.” Grace leaned forward and stared at the screen. “And we’ve got a good, clear look at his face. Print me a copy, please.”
With the image in her hand, Grace went to find Greco. “This is my weirdo,” she announced, placing it in front of him. “I reckon this is the bloke who shot Slicer.”
Greco studied the printout. “He’s young.”
“And he’s tall and skinny. Fits his description too.” Grace nodded at the board in the other room.
“Are you saying that this individual could be responsible for the murder of the two boys as well?”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a leap too far. I can’t see where killing a couple of trafficked runaways could be connected with the murder of Tanner and Shaw. Besides, the method was different.”
“That could be deliberate. Keep an open mind, that’s all I’m saying. Another thing, does he look familiar to you?”
She waited while Greco studied the image. Finally he shook his head. “No. Sorry, I don’t know him.”
“I’ll stick it on the board.”
“We need his identity. He was at the club so we’ll have to speak to him in any case.”
“Joel is busy fitting names to faces from the CCTV as we speak.” She paused for a moment. “What’s the betting he can’t pin a name on my weirdo?”
* * *
“You the ‘kid?’”
The voice was deep, thick and foreign. Mickey felt a chill in his bones. The call had come through from Slicer’s mobile. “Who wants to know?”
“Meet me, we need to talk. Things are different now. Slicer is dead. Plans have to change.”
Mickey smiled to himself. He’d worried for nothing. This was his way back in. “Where?”
“Know the old mill on Cotton Street, at the back of the DIY store?”
“When?”
“Now. I’ll give you ten minutes. Ground floor. I’ll be waiting.”
Mickey put his blade in the inside pocket of his hoodie. Despite his relief at the contact, he was walking into the unknown. He’d no idea who this stranger was, but it was likely he was the foreign bloke Slicer had been talking to at the club.
Leaving Atlas House, he walked across the square, and headed for a path leading to the rendezvous. Cotton Street was only a five minute walk away. Problem was, nothing happened there anymore. When the mill had been active it had bustled with workers. Even when cotton was long gone the mill had been divided up into units, each housing a small business. Now it was lying empty and derelict, yet another red-brick hulk on the skyline.
Mickey crept inside a gap in the ramshackle double doors and shouted into the gloom. “Hello!”
“Quiet, kid! I’m over here.”
He walked towards the voice. The man stood behind a pile of old wooden pallets. He was tall, thickset, with a shaved head and heavily tattooed arms. Mickey shuddered. He’d have to watch his step. Anger this one and he’d end up worst off.
“Slicer bought it last night. Some scrote put a bullet in his chest. Problem is, he had information that I need if I’m to carry on the good work.” The man smiled, showing a mouthful of gold fillings. “That is where you come in, kid. You worked with Slicer. I want to know everything he told
you.”
Mickey shrugged and backed off a few feet. “He told me nowt. I did the job, took my money, end of story. I didn’t even know why the poor bastards had to die.”
“You’re lying.” Mickey could see the anger on his face. “I don’t have time for this. Slicer or that driver of his must have spoken to you. Tanner had a slack mouth.” He stared at Mickey through dark slits of eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you, kid, but I will if you won’t talk to me.”
Mickey was ready to run. The adrenaline was pumping. This one was dangerous. “Told you, can’t help.” He turned and made for the door as fast as his legs would take him. The stranger was heavy, he’d not catch him. Mickey could outrun the best.
His arm was extended ready to push what was left of the door out of the way. A searing pain in his back floored him. He hit the concrete with a crash. The bastard had thrown something heavy and it had caught him between the shoulder blades. Turning his head, Mickey saw a thick metal bar lying at his side. He could do nothing to help himself, the breath had been knocked from his body.
Grabbing him by the legs, Cezar Todoran dragged Mickey back to the pallets. Mickey was frantic. He kicked out wildly, hitting the man on the shin with the toe of his shoe. Todoran snarled with rage. Hauling him up onto a pallet, he laid Mickey down on his back. “You will talk to me, you thin streak of piss, or you will die.”
Mickey was shaking. He had to think, and fast. He had to get away before this headcase did him some real damage. “Slicer never told me anything!” he yelled. Sweat was pouring off him.
“Then you will suffer.”
Todoran began strapping him down with a length of rope. Mickey tried to struggle free but he was no match for the big man. He screamed into the empty mill in the vain hope that someone would hear. The man had hold of his wrist, pressing his hand down flat so that his fingers were splayed against the wooden slats of the pallet.
“Speak to me now. You are running out of time.”
“Slicer didn’t trust me. He never talked about what was going on. I hadn’t known him that long.”
DARK TRADE a gripping crime thriller full of twists Page 13