Vinnie knew from his early years as a foot patrol cop, just how problematic and deep rooted some of these problem families were, all shoved into the same streets. He guessed it was still the same; the only difference being that it would now be son, or grandson, of the people he used to deal with causing most of the problems. Do-gooders who claim criminals aren’t subjects of their environments are all talking rubbish. Sure there were exceptions to any rule, but it was mostly rubbish.
‘Let’s leave the club for now,’ Vinnie said. ‘It’ll be more difficult to pull off the scam in that environment.’
‘I’m glad you said that, look Vinnie, I’ve been thinking, as chivalrous as you no doubt are, and as much as I am looking forward to abusing you as my intern, it might be better if I approach Dempster alone.’
Vinnie was about to argue when Christine carried on, ‘If it all comes to nothing, and you need to revert to a cop, it’s better for me that he’s taken me on face value. Not that I’m bothered, but it may save complications later.’
Vinnie knew that she was probably right, but was concerned about her safety, probably more than he would normally be. He pulled up outside a rundown terraced property with a small overgrown front garden with an unusual centre display consisting of a faux leather three-seat sofa.
‘Here we are, look I’ll go with that, but I want you to have my number ready to text on your mobile, so that all you have to do is press send. That can be your signal that you need some help, and I’ll be straight in after you, agreed?’
‘Ok, James Bond, agreed.’
‘Exactly what are you going to tell him?’
‘Not sure until I open my gob,’ she said, before flashing her perfect teeth at him as she opened the car door.
Chapter Eleven
Vinnie couldn’t help admiring Christine’s legs as she strode confidently down the weed covered garden path and knocked on the front door. A couple of minutes later it was opened by a spotty white man in his late twenties with long, dark, unkempt hair. Vinnie immediately recognised him as Dempster from the mugshot he’d seen in the nick. He also recognised him from the car rental company’s CCTV still photo. He was wearing the same stain riddled AC/DC T shirt. Idiot.
Dempster opened the door wider and Christine disappeared inside. The door then closed. Vinnie glanced at the phone in his hand, and then weighed up the front door. It was half-glazed at the top, and the bottom half was made of wood with peeling red paint. It had black streaks within it which Vinnie was sure would be rot of some kind. He’d never known the difference between dry and wet rot. But rot was rot and a well-aimed fart would have that door off its hinges, he thought.
He relaxed a little and looked at his watch. She’d been in there two minutes. He’d already agreed with himself that if she wasn’t out after ten, he’d ring her anyway to check up; he’d stand the bollocking she’d no doubt give him later. But he didn’t have to wait that long; at nine minutes the door reopened and Christine came back out.
She got back in the passenger seat and said, ‘Let’s get out of here,’ as she searched her handbag for something.
‘Everything ok?
‘Yes, I’m just looking for my perfume to mask the scent of that smelly cretin.’
Vinnie smiled as he drove off, but something caught his attention in the rear view mirror when they were about thirty metres away. It was Dempster leaving. He was walking away in the opposite direction so Vinnie pulled over and adjusted his door mirror angle so he could watch.
‘What is it?’ Christine said.
‘I don’t know what you said in there, but he’s just left, and I don’t believe in coincidences.’
Christine quickly filled Vinnie in as he watched Dempster walk down the long road in the opposite direction. Apparently, he’d lapped up the “go to guy” routine and said he was “indeed the man to know on the estate” but he couldn’t help her as “he’d no idea how the fire had started, or who could have done it”.
Then Christine had mentioned that for the right information there might be some cash in it.
‘How did that go in?’ Vinnie asked as he did a three point turn in the road. Dempster was a safe distance ahead of them now so Vinnie moved the car forward slowly, maintaining the gap.
‘He turned a bit then; his eyes lit up at first, but then he scowled and asked me if I was a cop?’
‘Obviously not an avid watcher of the regional news.’
‘Said he was no grass, if I was a cop. I tried to reassure him, but I’m not certain I did. I could see this moral dilemma raging behind his eyes – dosh versus being a grass – he eventually said, he might be able to find out but he “wasn’t sure that I wasn’t a cop”. So I left him, said I’d call back in a day or so.’
Vinnie knew that Dempster was the type to grass up his own mother if he thought there was a tenner in it for him, but guessed the difference here was that he knew he was involved, albeit in a minor role, so if he grassed up Quintel and Jason it could no doubt rebound on him.
‘What do you think he’s doing?’
Vinnie didn’t answer straight away as he watched Dempster near the T junction at the end of the road. On the right hand side, the corner was cut off by a triangle of grass, and in the middle of it was a phone box. ‘You must have touched a sore spot,’ he said as he started to accelerate.
‘How come?’ Christine asked.
‘He’s heading for that phone box.’
‘He could be ringing the police to see if I am a cop?’
‘He could do that from his mobile. There’s only one reason villains use phone boxes, and that’s to make dirty calls.’
‘What do we do now?’ Christine asked.
‘We have to stop him. How do you fancy confirming his fears?’
‘Suppose so.’
Vinnie pulled up sharply by the kerb and got out as Dempster was opening the glass door to the phone box. He turned to face Vinnie. ‘A word, Warren?’
‘Who the fuck are you? Another reporter?’
Vinnie told him and saw Dempster look over his shoulder towards the car.
‘Fucking knew it. Reporter, my arse.’
‘A word, Warren, that’s all, before you make any phone calls that may end your life.’
‘What the…,’ Dempster said, before he let the phone box door go, and started to walk towards Vinnie.
‘Not here, jump in the back seat, and we’ll go for a drive,’ Vinnie said, adding, ‘or else you are on your own when Jason comes after you.’ He knew he was taking a risk using Jason’s name, but by the look of fear in Dempster’s eyes, it had done the trick.
‘Five minutes,’ Dempster said, ‘but for fuck’s sake get me off the estate quickly.’
As Vinnie approached the driver’s side he noticed that Christine had moved across and was now at the wheel. Nice one. He clambered into the front passenger seat and turned to face Dempster who was hunched down in the rear.
‘Where to? Christine asked.
Dempster directed her off the estate and onto a major A road named Ribbleton Avenue. It headed east out of the city.
‘I knew you were no reporter, man,’ Dempster said.
‘You’re a smart lad, Warren, but look, we thought we’d try a covert approach, didn’t want your neighbours knowing you’d had the old bill at your door.’
‘I appreciate that, man.’
Vinnie noted a change in Dempster’s tone and attitude, but wasn’t sure why. He knew Dempster had sorted out the transport for Quintel and Jason, but didn’t know if he actually knew anymore about what was going on, he’d have to tread carefully. ‘Look, I’m going to level with you. We know you sorted out the motors for Quintel and Jason.’
‘Says who?’ Dempster said.
‘Says this print out,’ Vinnie said as he showed Dempster the photo. ‘You’ve not even changed your T shirt.’ Vinnie could see the recognition register in Dempster’s eyes, even if it wasn’t really clear that it was him in the picture. That was the thing about seein
g a photo of yourself; you always recognised yourself, even if it wasn’t clear to others.
After a pause, Dempster said, ‘Look, Jason is a mean bastard, and he gave me no choice with the motors. Anyway, it’s not a crime to rent a car.’
‘It is with a knocked-off driving licence, especially one which has come from a burglary,’ Vinnie said.
Dempster then made the obvious comments about being given the licence by Jason, but Vinnie pointed out that the use of the licence was still a crime.
‘Why haven’t you nicked me then?’
‘You’ll have to face that later; it’ll be either a minor fraud or Burglary, or both. Depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On how helpful I tell the CPS you’ve been.’
‘Look, I’ll stand a handling charge, because I honestly didn’t do the break – burglary – but I’m not having a poncy fraud.’
Vinnie knew he had to be careful that he didn’t turn the conversation into an interview, which would be highly improper, with Dempster being the suspect. ‘Just tell us what you can about Quintel and Jason, and we’ll do what we can for you. It’s them we are interested in, not you.’
‘First up, I don’t know any Quintel geezer, only that mad bastard, Jason.’
‘Go on,’ Vinnie said.
‘Look mate, I’ve done what you’ve asked so far, can’t we call it quits?’
Vinnie had no idea what he meant, and caught a quizzical sideways glance from Christine too.
‘You don’t know who I am, do you?’ Dempster said with a renewed confidence in his voice.
Vinnie decided not to try to bluff him. ‘No, I don’t know what you’re saying.’
‘Fuck me, you lot, talk about left and right hands and all that shit.’
Vinnie didn’t say anything, so Dempster carried on.
‘I’m the daft twat who introduced your undercover cop to Jason. The one that got barbequed.’
Chapter Twelve
Four hours later, and Vinnie had just taken the head off a pint of lager in a boozer near his home in Stretford, Manchester, as Christine was returning from the Ladies. It was a quiet, traditional backstreet boozer which was presently quiet. Give it a couple of hours and it would start to get busy. They had dropped Dempster off and Christine had jumped out to pick up her own motor and cover Frank Delany’s teatime press update, before doing a short piece to camera for the evening news. This was the first time they had had any chance to talk.
‘Bet you weren’t expecting that little tester from Dempster, were you?’ she said as she sat down next to Vinnie.
‘Not in a million years.’
‘What does it mean? Apart from the fact that my scoop is getting even more scoopier.’
Vinnie had been weighing this question up since he’d dropped her off. He knew that those who handled informants were always kept separate from any investigation teams, and for good reason. The firewall between the two worlds existed to provide security for those who acted as informants, and to provide scrutiny of their use without compromising the investigation team. As SIO on the ground, he knew that intelligence existed about Jason trying to hire a hitman, but not how it had been obtained. A snout was the obvious first thought, but it could just have easily come from a listening device, or even a phone tap, though now he knew where and from whom. Just knowing now gave him huge problems, and Dempster’s handlers would not be overjoyed to learn that their source had outed himself, and had become criminally involved by the hiring of the motors. The whole thing was turning iffy. ‘I’m not sure, is the short answer. But it’s bound to have an effect at any subsequent court proceedings against Quintel and Jason. We’ll have to show the judge everything in private, and he may allow the case to proceed, or he may not.’
‘How come?’
‘Well, first off, Dempster will have to be prosecuted for the offences he’s committed, but under the circumstances CPS may agree to just caution him.’
‘Seems fair to me, he did say that Jason gave him no option.’
‘True, but I think his days as a snout will have come to an end, not least because he outed himself to us.’
‘But we are not going to say anything, and he thinks I’m a cop.’
‘Until he watches the news for the first time.’
‘Don’t worry, as of tomorrow, it’s hair up with glasses on in front of camera; and hair down and no specs on with you.’
Vinnie took a second slurp from his glass as Christine continued. ‘What did Harry say?’
‘He says if we believe Dempster in that he was under extreme duress to arrange the motors for Jason, and it was the first time he’d done it, then he can’t see a problem with the CPS. He also says the dedicated source unit won’t actually confirm or deny if Dempster is on their books, but as we know he is, he won’t be for much longer. It’ll be their job to approach the judge before any trial and try to satisfy him or her that Dempster wasn’t more involved.’
‘Do you believe what Dempster told us?’
‘I think so, but I’m not sure. I know it sounds implausible that he wouldn’t even have Jason’s mobile number, but it could be true about him leaving messages for Dempster at the Labour club, and any telephone number to ring was either a phone box, or he had to wait at his phone box, where we picked him up, for a call.’
‘What leans you toward believing him?’
‘Because I made him recite the phone box’s number and checked later. He knew it off by heart. But the real test will be if he rings us after they contact him again.
Christine just nodded as she took a sip of her white wine, before asking, ‘Well how did he know what number to ring when we stopped him?’
‘I asked him that as we dropped him off and he said he didn’t, he was just going to try the last one he’d been given, and before you ask I’ve had it checked, it’s just another phone box.’
They both sat quietly for a couple of minutes as they finished their drinks, before Vinnie filled the void. ‘Are you on this story tomorrow as well? You are making a great partner.’
‘Why thanks, kind sir. But no, I’m having to do more work on my exposé job. I’ll get someone else to cover Preston, it’ll not do any harm to keep my face off camera for a while, and to be honest I don’t do too much of the daily news stuff nowadays. More the feature stuff, but I’m always happy to fill in, as and when.’
Vinnie tried to hide his disappointment by just smiling and thanked Christine for her help earlier. It was time to head home to a microwave meal and a couple of bottles of French lager before an early night. He was tempted to dump the motor and ask Christine if she wanted to make a night of it, but now was obviously not the moment, and they both had busy days ahead.
*
Christine watched Vinnie leave the car park of the pub before she drove off in her own car. She had enjoyed today, and had enjoyed Vinnie’s company. She’d seen the side glances he’d been giving her, which she’d enjoyed. The first job they’d worked on together had been all frenetic over a couple of days, and she’d hardly had time to catch her breath, let alone look at Vinnie that way. She had started to ask herself the question, and she didn’t mind. A good sign.
She drove off in the opposite direction, towards Salford and her new flat. It was handy for the Media City down on the Quays, not that she’d had much time to enjoy it since moving in a couple of weeks ago. Her mind then drifted back to the exposé she was working on, she was getting excited about this and had been tempted to tell Vinnie a little about it. After all, he’d taken her into his confidence totally, and she felt a little bit guilty about that. But no matter, she’d no doubt put that right soon enough. She might have to; she might need his help.
Chapter Thirteen
Quintel never agreed with the idiom that revenge is a dish best served cold - he just knew that to serve it properly, carefully, and without issue usually meant that cold it had to be. If he’d had his way Jim Reedly would have eaten his hot. The hotter the better; as per hi
s client’s wishes. But he’d let caution overstate its need when he’d hired Charlie; he’d overcomplicated things by trying to create distance between himself and his target. It was a mistake that had cost him, one he wouldn’t make again. After all, he had Jason with him who was more than capable. Ok, Reedly’s afters would have to wait now he was aware of the threat, but Reggie Carstair would be different. Quintel couldn’t imagine why Carstair would be aware of the attempt on Reedly, especially after only forty-eight hours, and even if he was, he wouldn’t make any connection, imaginary, or otherwise.
Like Reedly, Carstair was a northerner, although he still spent most of his time in London milking the private circuit like all the other greedy bastards - but he still headed north for the weekends. It was then when he was most vulnerable. Thanks to Jason’s skills they had followed Carstair over a few weekends up the M1 and M6 motorways to get a feel for his habits. In fact, they could have intervened several times ad hoc, but the client wanted things doing in his order. And he was the paymaster.
During those reconnaissance runs Jason has stressed the need to stay far behind Carstair’s 4x4 and to do the fact finding in stages. They knew that Carstair would leave the M6 at junction 29 at Bamber Bridge, south of Preston, before heading to his home in rural West Lancashire, but Jason had still insisted on doing the surveillances up the motorway, saying that Carstair might make a regular stop on the way which might identify opportunities.
The weeks of reconnaissance had paid off. Carstair had a following escort vehicle with him until he left the motorway, and then he finished the short journey home on his own as the escort headed back south. It was typical of the man’s arrogance. In London you couldn’t get a cigarette paper between him and his bodyguards, but once back home, he didn’t need them, or so he obviously thought. Jason was unsure whether the security Carstair had was his own or not, but it didn’t matter to them.
The second part of the reconnaissance had been to get ahead of Carstair on his Friday trips home and only follow him when he left the motorway. It was a short journey of twenty minutes or so to his private estate. The luxury house was in its own grounds set well back from the public road, similar to Reedly’s place in nearby Fulwood, north of Preston. Quintel also knew that the property wasn’t protected by local plod, God bless the cuts.
The Badge & the Pen Thrillers Page 31