‘Good, because my life might just depend on it,’ Bury said, before he turned and strode out the pub.
Christine thought Bury looked a little taller as she watched him leave.
She finished her wine in one swig. This could be huge, but she would tread carefully. Paul Bury seemed an intelligent and reasonable guy, he spoke lucidly with only a soft trace of accent, which was easy to listen to. And he was clearly no fool to have reached such a senior rank. But he could still be wrong. Years of suspicion and paranoia operating in such unprecedented circumstances such as Bury had been in would have affected the most rationale of minds. She couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors he’d seen or the personal pressures he’d experienced; all of which must have had some effect. But potentially, this could be massive. She’d keep her own counsel as promised. She then got up and headed into the main bar, which was getting busier. She needed more wine.
Chapter Fifteen
Vinnie spent most of Friday helping Harry with the mundane admin involved in getting the HOLMES system fully functional, and all the initial actions issued and everyone out. Vinnie oversaw the setting up of the house-to-house enquiry team headed by a Lancashire DS called Graham something. He’d seemed a bit surprised when Vinnie had told him to leave the depository next to the crime scene off his list of addresses to be visited. He told him it was sensitive and he’d cover that omission in his policy log. He didn’t like raising flags within the enquiry team, but he wanted to keep his visit there under wraps for the moment.
After lunch, Harry asked him to come with him as he attended a pre-arranged meeting with the Lancashire chief at the force headquarters at Hutton on the outskirts of Preston. Vinnie drove the six or seven miles to the HQ and asked Harry what to expect.
‘I’ve set up a fifteen minute meet with the chief, ostensibly for a quick update. We’ve got him from 2.15 pm to 2.30pm before he heads off to London for a meeting or conference or whatever,’ Harry answered.
‘And the real reason?’
‘Reedly was bullshitting me when I spoke to him yesterday, and I want to know if the Lancashire chief is complicit, and if he’s not, what’s going on? You’re my witness.’
‘Witness to what?’
‘Witness to what’s said. I know we are Manchester officers, albeit on a regional unit, but the chief of Lancs has overall primacy on the whole investigation, as it’s happened in his area, and also because he’s still a chief constable. Make no mistake Vinnie, all the chiefs piss in a very private barrel.’
Ten minutes later they had passed the security gate at the entrance and parked in the visitors’ bays at the front of the main headquarters building. Vinnie had been here many times before, but never to the top corridor. They were admitted and met by the chief inspector who acted as the chief’s staff officer. He recognised the insipid groveler from previous visits, usually to collect surveillance authorities and other high-level documents that had needed a signature from the top floor. Previously the staff officer had always taken pleasure in making Vinnie wait in reception, and then gone over the top at how lucky he was that the chief or his deputy had deigned to grant whatever authority they were after. And by the smug look on his face, he’d not changed any.
‘This way gentlemen, but you’ll have to be brief, the chief has a very busy schedule, and it’s my job—’ the staff officer started, and Vinnie couldn’t help but interrupt him.
He wanted to end his sentence for him with “—to wipe his arse,” but managed to restrict himself to, ‘Still not got an operational role yet?’
The staff officer didn’t answer, but gave Vinnie a hard look, and so did Harry a moment later as they were shown into an ante room.
Ten minutes passed before Groveler showed them into the main office. Vinnie had wondered if they’d been left there on purpose, and was starting to regret his dig at the staff officer. The chief’s main office was a huge grand affair, with an enormous mahogany desk at one end and a table and six chairs in front of it. At the opposite end were four easy chairs situated around a coffee table. The chief of Lancs was an imposing man, over six feet tall and with a stocky but athletic build, short grey hair, and Vinnie reckoned he was in his late fifties. His name badge over his left breast shirt pocket bore the name CC Brian Darlington. He met them in the centre of the suite and directed them to the easy chairs.
Salutations and introductions over the chief ushered his staff officer away, which gave Vinnie an inward smile.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t got longer with you, I’ve just come off the phone from the home sec whom I’m meeting later, and I have a train to catch with a car waiting outside. The home sec will be asking me how things are progressing, so an abridged update would be handy,’ the chief said.
‘Early days, sir, as you know, but DI Palmer here has a lead on the getaway vehicle, which we are following up covertly at the mo. I haven’t shared that with the rest of the enquiry team yet,’ Harry said.
As agreed before they came in, Harry being the superintendent and SIO would do the talking. Vinnie was there just to listen unless asked a direct question.
‘That’ll do for now, and do keep me briefed on any significant developments, Harry, but why the cloak and dagger?’
‘Not too sure what we are dealing with, just yet, sir.’
‘Explain.’
Harry paused before he continued, and given his concerns Vinnie wondered how far he would go.
‘Be quick,’ the chief added.
‘I think DCC Reedly is not telling us the whole background as to why he was targeted in the first case.’
Vinnie saw the chief’s eyes narrow as his friendly face disappeared.
‘You accusing your force’s deputy of lying, superintendent?’
‘There may well be good operational reasons why certain background elements are sensitive, sir, that’s all. I’m not calling him a liar so please don’t take offence. And I do hope this conversation is in confidence.’
‘Rationale?’
‘The press related strategy to protect Charlie’s undercover status was not written by us, which would be usual, but came through your office, and displayed an element of pre-planning.’
The chief appeared to consider what Harry had said for a moment before barking for his staff officer. Vinnie enjoyed watching the Groveler rush into the office, gushing with obsequious platitudes.
‘Who wrote the initial press strategy for Superintendent Delany?’ the chief asked.
‘It came from Mr Reedly’s office in Manchester, sir.’
‘And do we normally allow a neighbouring force to tell us how to do our job?’
‘No sir, but with it coming from Mr Reedly, I thought—’
‘No, you didn’t think; you should have run it past me first, now get out.’
Vinnie absolutely loved this, and gave the Groveler his best sarcastic grin as he shuffled red-faced out of the office.
Then the chief asked Harry to repeat what he had been told to say, which he did, and included the fact that the Home Office appointed pathologist had also been given instructions, by someone, prior to his examination of Charlie’s body. And although disinformation is normal in protecting sensitive elements such as the undercover status of Charlie, and the fact that he was investigating an on-going threat to Reedly, it was as if they were being led to ensure it was done properly.
‘This may be no more than Reedly’s office trying to ensure on-going protection for their DCC,’ the chief said.
‘True, sir, but when I spoke to him yesterday, I was, er I was…’
‘Spit it out, I’ve got a train to catch.’
‘Can I speak candidly, sir?’
‘I wish you would; and for the record, we don’t all dance around the maypole together, naked and holding hands.’
Vinnie couldn’t suppress a laugh, until it was half out, but then quickly regained his composure.
‘He gave me the mushroom treatment.’
Vinnie had no idea what that meant,
but judging by the chief’s expression, he did.
‘Enough said, Harry,’ the chief started, his demeanour softer. ‘I’ll have a proper word with Jim Reedly tomorrow when I’m back from London. But this conversation stays between us, understand?’
Vinnie and Harry both said “yes” in unison, and with that the chief showed them the door and barked at the Groveler to show them out. Vinnie didn’t say anything until they were driving away, towards the city. ‘What’s the mushroom treatment mean?’ he asked.
‘Being treated like a mushroom is an old cop expression; it means to be kept in the dark and fed shit.’
This time Vinnie lost it properly and nearly crashed the car laughing. When the mirth subsided, he asked why Harry had decided to be so bold, a high risk strategy he’d have thought.
‘I was a bit unsure whether we could trust the chief, as we don’t know him, and because of his rank, but after we’d visited Charlie’s bereft parents the other night, he told me to not hesitate if I needed anything. To which I first assumed he meant resources, but then he added that if anyone gave me the mushroom treatment, I was to tell him.’
‘Ah,’ Vinnie said, ‘I understand why you used that phrase now.’
‘Yes, I’m not normally that emboldened when taking to a senior officer, but when he’d first mentioned it I had again assumed he was talking about anyone who was reluctant to assist us. It might be a regional homicide unit that we are now on, but we are still Greater Manchester officers operating in Lancashire Constabulary’s air space.’
‘And now?’
‘He’s obviously a very shrewd man; it makes me wonder whether he suspected Reedly from the off.’
‘Well, we are in his hands now, Harry. I do hope we’ve made the right decision?
‘So do I Vinnie. If we both end up on the traffic department after this, we’ll know why.’
Chapter Sixteen
It was dark by the time Quintel and Jason checked into a new hotel. They picked one in Leyland, south of Preston, not too far from the motorway network. Handy for getting about and they could pick up the local news in the aftermath of their work a short while earlier. That said, it would also be all over the national presses and media anyway, due to Carstair’s status as a retired home secretary, but they still had local things to attend to. Jason was taking a shower so Quintel took the opportunity to update the client. He dialled the number from memory and it only rang a few times before the barking voice of the client answered.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m fine thanks, how are you?’ Quintel said, instantly regretting his lack of professionalism.
‘Don’t be taking the piss. I’m not paying you to take the piss.’
‘Sorry.’
‘There are plenty of boys who would love a crack at this, if I didn’t need unknowns.’
‘Sorry, again, long day. I’ve got an update for you—’ Quintel started to say.
‘Before you say any more, it’s now time we took more security measures. If you are going to tell me what I hope you are, it’s going to get very serious from now on.’
‘Ok, do you want me to sort out a draft folder?’
Quintel knew the that client would want added security at some stage, and as unfortunate a disruption killing Charlie had been, he was just a nobody compared to Carstair. When this had been discussed previously, Quintel had suggested setting up an email account to which only they would have the password. Thereafter messages could be left in the draft email folder, where they could never be intercepted, as they were never actually sent. He’d used this method before and as long as you used publicly owned computers such as in cyber cafes, it was fool proof and left no footprints on privately owned equipment. When he’d suggested this, the client hadn’t appeared too interested. He hadn’t known why.
‘No, I’ve a better idea,’ the client said.
‘It’s no problem, all you’ll need is the password, which I’ll text you in parts.’
‘I’m not good with computers,’ the client said, adding, ‘and I struggle with these modern phones if I’m honest, technology moves too bastard fast. Look, here’s what we’ll do.’
The client then went on to explain to Quintel how he had already identified two public phone boxes, which he referred to as A and B. He’d text the numbers in four texts. The first and third text would be the entire number for A, and the second and fourth put together would make up B. He wanted Quintel to do the same, but was conscious that as they would be on the move, they would need to add more numbers as they went along, but as soon as they had their A and B identified, they were to send the four texts with a five minute delay between each. Then they could speak properly, and Quintel could update him.
Quintel sighed as he ended the call. Although he appreciated the client’s professionalism when it came to security, it all seemed like a lot of hard work for nothing. If only he’d have let him explain the draft folder lark again, it would have been a lot easier. But he was the paying client.
‘Jason, hurry up in there,’ Quintel shouted at the bathroom door, ‘I’ve got a little task for you.’
*
Vinnie had spent the rest of the afternoon sorting the incident room out with Harry, who after a canteen tea had said they both should get an early night and start again on Saturday afresh. They were going to have to work all weekend as it was, so should take advantage where they could. Harry was hoping that the Lancs chief, CC Darlington, would have some feedback for them before the weekend was through.
It had just gone dark when Vinnie arrived back at his house in Manchester, and he’d just let himself in when his mobile rang. It was Harry. He wondered if the chief had rung Reedly rather than wait to see him face to face. ‘Yes, Harry,’ he started.
‘Where are you?’
‘Just arrived home, why?’
‘I need you back here, ASAP.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Do you remember a previous home secretary called Reggie Carstair?’
‘Yeah, retired from politics altogether now, hasn’t he?’
‘That’s him. Well, he’s just retired from life now as well. Or should I say, someone has retired him.’
‘Sorry?’ Vinnie said, before Harry went on to explain. He’d only had a sketchy brief himself as it had only happened within the last thirty minutes or so, and spookily not far from where they had been earlier today when they’d been to see the Lancs chief. It had happened on a bypass a mile or so further on from the police headquarters. Vinnie quickly asked what it had to do with them. Surely another syndicate from the Regional Homicide Unit would be given this job?
‘That’s what I would have thought. But the instructions came from GMP’s force control room. Initially, I thought that because we had just set up our own incident room for the murder of Charlie and the conspiracy to murder Reedly, they’d want us to babysit the start until a second team set up.’
Vinnie said the ‘But?’ that he could feel coming.
‘But, I’ve been instructed to SIO both jobs – crazy – and when I questioned it, guess what I was told?’
‘What?’
‘The CC of Lancs, Brian Darlington, who is hot-tailing it back from London as we speak, had ordered I be given the job.’
‘Surely you can refuse, I mean not only should a separate team catch this, it’s going to be massive from a profile point of view, especially when the press get hold of it.’
‘I was left in no doubt. Meet me at the scene, we can talk there,’ Harry said, before giving Vinnie the exact location of the murder.
Chapter Seventeen
Quintel sent the texts, the third of which was the actual number for A. The first had been the STD code prefixed simply by “A is”. He’d already received notice that the client was at his A, so he gave it a minute and rang the number. He listened to the elongated dial tone which surprised him. He hadn’t noticed it wasn’t a UK number; fortunately, he had plenty of one-pound coins with him. After two rings the call was an
swered.
‘Right we are, we can fecking talk now without worrying about any nosy bastards listening in,’ the client said.
Quintel felt a tinge of worry on hearing the words. He was all for security, and he knew that most serious villains always took care what they said on an open telephone line, or more importantly, on one which could be linked to them. But he also knew it was done out of a sort of cultural habit, rather than any real expectation that someone was actually listening in. There was a tension in the client’s voice that suggested a little more than custom and good operational security. It made him wonder if the client had any grounds to suspect he was being targeted by the filth. ‘Just so you know, I’m one hundred percent happy that the filth here are pissing blind. I take it you’ve no problems where you are?’ he asked, not sure what reaction he would get.
‘If I wasn’t a hundred percent, I wouldn’t be wasting money on you Quintel, so rest assured. And whatever filth knew me was a long time ago,’ the client said.
‘The fact that the client had used Quintel’s name wasn’t good tradecraft, but he guessed it was the client’s way of saying that all was sweet. He briefly considered replying in kind, but didn’t want to antagonise the man further than he needed. ‘Ok, just checking, we’ve both got a lot to lose.’
‘Not as much fecking time as I’ve already lost thanks to those Brit bastards, you should remember that?’
‘Ok, ok, look, I’ve only got a few quid so I’ll be quick. Number two is dead,’ said Quintel, avoiding using Carstair’s name. Now that the shit would be hitting the fan proper he would have to avoid using his name, even if he and the client had been face to face. The client seemed to take the hint as he replied.
‘Aye, number two is a good name for the little shit. Any problems?’
‘None, I should have used my man from the start. Clean as you like, apart from the claret everywhere, of course.’
‘Not too clean, I hope I’d like to imagine the man suffering.’
‘No opportunity with a drive-past. But my man said he saw him look at him a moment before he lost his head.’
The Badge & the Pen Thrillers Page 33