Vinnie was all for keeping Charlie’s undercover status, and therefore the operation, a secret, but this was going to the extreme. ‘Won’t the home office pathologist have something to say about that?’
‘He’s already been put on a confidentiality contract, apparently, and he’s not even seen the body yet, let alone examined it,’ Harry said.
‘What about giving out misleading information which could undermine any future court case against those bastards responsible?’
‘That’s why I’ve been told to use words like “suspected, unknown and suggest”. And I’ve been told to do it before the post mortem examination, and to refuse comment once the PM’s been done.’
‘I see, get the bullshit out there before the PM and never correct it.’
‘Exactly,’ Harry said.
‘You’re right, Harry, we are being rubber-dicked.’
‘What?’ Harry asked, so Vinnie explained the expression.
They both sat in quiet contemplation for a couple of minutes before Harry asked Vinnie what his news was, so he told him.
‘That is a piece of luck. I’m going to need you under the radar even more now until we get a clearer picture of things,’ Harry said, before elaborating.
Harry told Vinnie that he would have to play along with the chief’s office’s orders for now, and ensure the investigation was limited to the recovery of evidence from the scene and the attempt to trace Quintel and Jason. He would open a sensitive policy log and record the CCTV DVD in it and indeed all of Vinnie’s enquiries. Statements from witnesses such as the depository man could be actioned later when they knew what was going on. Vinnie was to keep Harry fully briefed and he would have to operate alone.
A twinge of guilt prodded Vinnie regarding Christine’s involvement so far, but he decided not to tell Harry. Now was not the time to add to Harry’s stress. He could see his ruddy complexion already turning purple, and he’d noticed that he’d already given his head an overarm rub, which was another sign of stress. ‘What do you think is going on?’
‘Someone has spent a lot of time thinking through this cover story, and not just to protect the covert side of things, and in any event, that would be our job, not the chief’s office, so it looks as if he’s being advised by outside influences.’
‘Granted,’ Vinnie said, ‘and not by his staff officer, either.’ Vinnie knew the uniform chief inspector who wiped the chief’s butt. Vinnie had always thought that even that particular task was one that no doubt stretched his normal abilities as it were. ‘It can only be about the true motive.’
‘My thoughts too,’ Harry said.
‘That would in-part explain Reedly’s lack of compassion about Charlie. Not that I’m excusing his callous behaviour, because I’m not. But it would explain his single-minded concern with catching Quintel and Jason – if that is their real names, even.’
Harry nodded, and his face seemed to be turning more pink-like once more.
‘But surely motive will have to come out during any court case once we do catch them?’ Vinnie added.
‘They are probably taking it one step at a time; dynamically risk managing things, if you like. But I know when I’m being lied to, and Reedly was lying, no question. And something else, too.’
‘What?’ Vinnie asked.
‘He was frightened, very frightened, as if he knew the threat was not only continuing; but was only going to get worse.’
Vinnie said he’d get the car checked on the PNC and follow that lead, while Harry prepared himself for his next press conference later in the day.
Chapter Nine
Jack Quintel wasn’t too impressed at having to share a room with Jason, but he’d advised him that a downmarket bed and breakfast was less showy and far less traceable than booking into the usual standard of hotel that he would use. Plus the bored looking youth on reception was happy to take cash as he barely looked up from his wank mag, or whatever shite he’d seemed mesmerised by.
He’d had a shower to get the smell of smoke off, him having already left his overcoat in the boot of the car prior to checking in. Jason had done the same with his, but had reckoned they could have both been on fire and the dozy youth on reception wouldn’t have noticed.
He’d just finished a call on his phone as Jason came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him.
‘Was that The Man again?’ Jason asked.
‘Yes, he’s a little more chilled now. He can be an excitable fucker, but I’ve calmed him,’ Quintel answered.
‘I didn’t know you had such a disarming nature, Boss.’
‘I don’t, unless there’s money involved.’
Jason just grinned as he dressed.
‘How well do you know Blackpool?’
‘I can get around,’ Jason answered, ‘done a few stag dos here over the years. Why?’
‘Well, until you’ve had your little chat with Dempster, I don’t want to use him, for obvious reasons, so I’ve rung a contact who knows people around here, and he’s given me a name and address.’
‘Another motor?’
‘No, the one we have will do for now, but we are going to need other hardware if you are going to earn your pay rise,’ Quintel said, noting the expression on Jason’s face. He carried on, ‘I’ve taken a further call while you were cleaning all your important little places, and target number two will be on the move the day after tomorrow.’
‘That’s quick.’
‘I know it doesn’t leave a lot of time, though we’ve done most of the pre-planning effectively already.’
Jason nodded as he finished pulling his sweatshirt down over his jeans. Quintel knew that Jason had spent time in the Signals whilst in the Army, and had impressed him with the reconnaissance he’d previously done. But he’d keep the target’s identity to himself until the last minute. Safer that way.
‘I just hope the name you’ve been given is not a tosser.’
Quintel shot Jason a severe look.
‘Don’t get me wrong, Boss, I mean because it’s come to you third hand.’
Quintel said, ‘Explain?’ as he felt his flash of temper subside.
‘Well, you don’t know the guy is what I mean, and sometimes these tossers have shit sticks for weapons, and expect proper cash.’
‘If you need to break anything to get to the good stuff, do it. We don’t have time to piss about.’
‘Fair enough, Boss, I’ll just put my trainers on and I’ll be with you.’
‘Then we can grab some food and kip, it could be a busy day tomorrow; we’ll need to make the final arrangements for Friday. And if all goes to plan, this will put the shits right up that worm Reedly. Things might be turning out for the best after all,’ Quintel finished.
*
Vinnie thought about what Harry had told him as he drove to the car rental firm who had hired out the family saloon that Quintel and Jason had fled in. He’d been a little surprised to learn it was from a different firm to the other one. Both were national outfits, but at least this one hadn’t reported the car stolen.
He’d known Harry on and off for several years, but it was only recently that he had worked with him, when they’d been chasing the escaped murderer Daniel Moxley, and as wound up as Harry could get, Vinnie trusted him and his judgement. If he said that Reedly was holding back, then holding back he was. But at least this gave Harry the excuse to cut Vinnie loose on his own. He’d just have to be careful how he went about it. That was when a certain idea started to form, but it would depend on how he got on at the car rental place. Knowing his luck, Quintel could have dropped the motor off at any of the companies national outlets, no doubt wiped clean or worse.
It was late morning by the time he walked into the car hire firm’s Preston city centre office. Parking was a nightmare in the centre of Preston and Vinnie couldn’t be bothered finding a car park so had abandoned his car on double yellow lines with a two-penny piece on the dashboard. It was many years since he used this ruse and he was u
nsure if it still worked. It was supposed to tell any passing traffic warden that the plain car parked illegally was that of a copper on duty. Hence the two-penny coin. A one-penny would also have done, but obviously not a silver coin. But back in the day the traffic wardens had come under the command of the local police whereas today they were council run, so it was a risk; the days of getting out of parking tickets were long gone unless you had a big blue light on top.
Ten minutes later Vinnie retrieved his coin, grateful that there was no ticket on his car, though he still didn’t know if the old ruse had worked or not. The really good news was that the rented car was still out on loan - it had been hired two days ago by a local. Vinnie rang Harry and gave him the details for intelligence checks. He’d also managed to obtain a still photo printout from the company’s CCTV showing the hirer. It wasn’t too clear as the white male had been wearing a baseball cap, but the bloke who’d given it to him had been the same guy who had dealt with the hirer, so was able to add to the description.
Harry rang back after only a couple of minutes to say that the driving licence used to hire the motor had been stolen from a local burglary over twelve months ago. He should have expected this. He told Harry about the CCTV still and description and said he’d head straight back in to see if any of the local cops could put a name to it, he wouldn’t hold his breath.
*
Quintel kept seeing new strengths in Jason that he’d never known were there. True, he had used him for years, but he himself was new to this line of work. If all went well they could make quite a name for themselves, and become very wealthy. Their current client was paying serious money for what was relatively straight forward stuff. He should have made the switch years ago. Importing drugs was just getting harder and harder, taking longer and longer, and with greater risks. Their current work was as easy as robbing kids, which was where it had all began a long time ago.
No, Jason seemed happy with the sawn-off shotgun and the Glock17 handgun they had bought, together with ammo. Though the little toe-rag they had traded with in a bedsit on a side street off Blackpool’s Central Drive wouldn’t be able to count the money for a while; well, not until his fingers were better.
As Jason had predicted, the little turd who called himself Shocka – whatever the fuck that meant – had tried to sell them some crap that had clearly spent time submerged. That had plainly annoyed the big man. Quintel had thought he was going to give him a slap there and then, but no, it was when Jason had asked about oil, when he flipped.
‘I wouldn’t have thought about that, Jay,’ Quintel had said afterwards as they’d walked away, heading towards the promenade.
‘They drill it in into you in the Army, Boss,’ he’d replied.
Quintel smiled as he lay in bed the following morning and replayed the scene in his mind. Jason asking “do you have any oil”? And Shocka’s reply, “If you want bum lube you’ve come to the wrong place”. Though, after all they were in Blackpool, Quintel had thought.
‘I hope your contact won’t be upset, Boss?’ Jason had said.
‘Don’t worry about that, the cheeky shite got what he asked for, anyway, he can probably only count to five as it is. And we still left the correct amount of cash behind – minus Insult Added Tax of course – we’re not thieves.’
Jason had grinned, and Quintel had asked, ‘What about the oil, anyway?’
‘We’ll manage, it was more for the Glock than the sawn-off and the one we eventually got hold of looks brand new.’
‘Excellent,’ he’d said, and then they’d dumped them in the motor and headed off to eat.
Back to the present and Jason walked out of the bathroom and said, ‘Is that a grin or a grimace, Boss? Last night’s curry repeating itself?’
‘No, I was just admiring your work last night. It was a grin,’ Quintel answered before throwing back the quilt. They had better get going; they had a busy couple of days ahead.
Chapter Ten
‘Hi Christine, how did your filming go?’ Vinnie asked into his phone.
‘Straightforward enough, thanks.’
‘Are you in any rush to get back to Manchester?’
‘No, my editor wants me to keep covering Preston; though at some stage I need to get back to other work.’
Vinnie’s interest in this secretive exposé Christine was working on was piqued, but he wouldn’t pry just yet, especially as he needed her help, his earlier idea was a goer now. ‘Look, do you fancy meeting up for a late lunch? I’ve got a proposition to put to you.’
‘O - Kay,’ she replied slowly, adding, ‘but remember the last time that happened you nearly ended up getting me killed.’
The Moxley job, still fresh in Vinnie’s memory. ‘True, but what a scoop you got.’
‘That’s not fair; you mentioned the scoop word. Now, I’ve got to know.’
Vinnie smiled as he gave Christine directions to a restaurant on the outskirts he’d noticed near the motorway junction when he’d first arrived.
*
Fifty minutes later, they had both eaten a club sandwich with fries, and Vinnie was enjoying relaxing in Christine’s company. Over lunch, he’d told her about Harry being stonewalled and him sending Vinnie out on his own agenda until they knew exactly what they were up against.
‘What, you mean like, corruption?’ Christine asked.
‘Could be, but I’m not sure it’s that, but there is certainly a hidden level to this,’ he answered. Vinnie then told her about his trip to the hire firm.
‘Bummer,’ she said.
‘Well, then my luck changed. One of the local criminal intelligence officers recognised the face and description, said he’s called Warren Dempster, a local petty thief who lives on one of the outer estates, not too far from the murder scene, though I don’t think that’s too relevant.’
‘He’s not Quintel or Jason then?’
‘No, too scrawny, and anyway he’s not an assassin. When he’s not robbing the locals of their DVDs he’s known for hanging around the big boys’ tent.’
‘What do you mean?’
“‘Delusions of his own self-worth” is how the intel officer put it. Apparently, he gets used by the serious villains as a gopher, though he apparently likes to think of himself as some kind of quartermaster, a Mr Fix-it.’
‘Ok, so where do I come in?’
‘Well, I could just go straight in and lock him up, but he’d no doubt just say he was paid to hire a car by some unknown shadowy figure, or even worse, just sit there and go “no comment” on interview. And we’d be no nearer Quintel or Jason, in fact they’d probably get tipped off that we’d pulled Dempster.’
‘What about the burglary, where the licence came from?
‘My, aren’t you the Miss Marple,’ Vinnie said, noticing a flash of red in Christine’s cheeks. He carried on, ‘Only kidding, no you’re right to some degree, he’d probably say he was given the licence by whoever had propped him to hire the motor, we’d charge him with burglary of course, but he’d probably only get done for handling. Hardly much of a threat.’
‘Ah, I see, so what do you want me to do?’
Vinnie grinned, he’d remembered on the Moxley case they had gone on the knocker – door-to-door – and where he’d usually get told to fornicate with himself, it amazed him how much further Christine had got coming from the press angle. “Vanity interviewing” she’d called it, saying how everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame at some time. He reminded her of this and then added, ‘Seeing that this Dempster has such an ego, I thought if you went in with the investigative reporter angle, and say how you’d been pointed in his direction as he was known and respected as the local “go to man” he might slip up and come out with some intel we can use. We can always revert to plan A and lock him up later. What do you say?’
‘Sounds like fun. And can I use anything I get?’
‘When it’s safe to do so without compromising the investigative side of things.’
Christine did
n’t answer right away; Vinnie knew this was always a difficult point between the press and the police, each with very different agendas. He broke the impasse. ‘It worked well last time. Look at the scoop you got.’
‘There you go mentioning the S word again. Ok, I’m in but I’m not waiting until after some court case, Vinnie Palmer. If we get something we can use, then redact it if you must but I’ll need to give my editor something in the next twenty-four hours. I can always use the “unnamed local resident says” routine.’
‘Fair enough, but what’s with the “we” bit?’
‘Because if we are doing this, then you get to be my bitch. Sorry, I mean junior reporter.’
A short time later Vinnie drove onto the council estate where Dempster’s last known address was. According to the intel officer, Dempster spent a lot of time in a Labour club which adjoined the estate. He told Christine he’d drive around to locate where the club was and Dempster’s address before they made an approach. Get a feel for the place, just in case this was a bad idea.
The place had seen better days, but he’d certainly been in far rougher areas. He tried to remember to drive around at normal speed; cops’ natural default was to crawl around such streets, taking in all around them. It was probably what made them stand out as cops.
Glancing up ahead he could see the rundown Labour Club, no doubt Dempster felt more at home there than he did at home. His sort usually did, probably had his own stool at the bar. The concrete fronted building looked the same age as the council estate it edged, probably built in the 60’s, when such estates were shooting up everywhere on the outskirts of towns and cities. Idiotic social engineering thinking of the time thought it was a good idea to house all the problem families on these estates among decent families who needed housing help. It was a disaster for those decent folk and for everyone else as towns and cities grew outward and eventually enveloped these estates.
The Badge & the Pen Thrillers Page 30