‘You’d be Vinnie then?’ the voice said.
‘Yes, and you’d be PB?’
‘Aye, call me Paul. How can I help?’
‘It’s to do with a murder I’m deputy SIO-ing. Reggie Carstair. Used to be secretary of state for Northern Ireland, back in the day.’
‘Aye, I heard he’d been slotted. But it was a long time since he worked in the Province, not sure how I can help.’
Vinnie deliberately didn’t mention the attempts on Jim Reedly; he didn’t want to say too much, not at first. ‘It’s just background really, but it is sensitive. I could do with a face to face, if you don’t mind?’
‘Will our mutual friend be coming?’ Bury asked.
‘No she’s a bit indisposed today, though I do hope to be seeing her later.’
‘Her phone’s off. I’ve just tried her.’
‘I know, it got broke. When she gets a replacement she’ll no doubt bell you. When I see her later, I’ll remind her to.’
‘Ok, fair enough. If you are Vinnie, you’ll know where to meet me. The back yard in two hours,’ Bury said, before ending the call.
Fortunately, Christine had told Vinnie about the pub where she’d met Bury, so he knew about the small rear yard turned beer garden. This guy was certainty cautious.
*
Two hours later, Vinnie was enjoying the spring sunshine while nursing an orange juice in the beer garden when a tall, imposing man in his late fifties came through the pub’s back door and came straight over. They were alone and the man quickly introduced himself, as did Vinnie.
‘Sorry for all the cloak and dagger stuff on the phone, but I have to be mighty careful. Has Christine told you anything of our business?’
‘No,’ Vinnie lied, as Bury sat down with his back to the garden wall, and placed a pint of Guinness on the table.
‘Good. It’s just that when I met her yesterday, I was sure I’d been followed away from the hotel. I’ve spent the last two hours making sure I arrived here without an escort, so I have.’
‘Change your hotel.’
‘Already have.’
Vinnie wasn’t too sure why a documentary about how Catholics are now being better treated in public office than Protestants – if true – would warrant the sort of attention Bury was suggesting, but he took his word for it. Or at least believed that Bury believed it.
‘Anyway, you wanted to talk about Carstair?’
‘Yes please,’ Vinnie said, and quickly brought Bury up to speed with details of the murder, keeping to the facts which had been made public, which wasn’t much. ‘Did you know him, personally?’ he asked.
‘Aye, as did all senior officers in the RUC – Royal Ulster Constabulary - and as politicians go I have to say I always found Carstair one of the better ones. But why are you looking back then for your killer, or motive? That was back in the nineties. He must have made many enemies later on after he became home secretary, or is there something you’re not letting on?’
He had a point Vinnie thought, why then? So he fed a bit more into the conversation. ‘Did you ever meet an English DI on secondment to your old force, a man by the name of Jim Reedly?’
‘Ah. Nar I understand. No, I never met Reedly, but I knew of him,’ Bury said, and then went on to outline what he knew of Reedly’s work in examining killings by the police or army.
‘It can’t have been an easy job,’ Vinnie said.
‘Poisoned chalice, that’s for damn sure. But if you think Carstair’s murder relates to back then, why has whoever it is waited twenty years to extract revenge?’
‘A good question to which I don’t know the answer. It may be that they had to wait until he retired from public office to be able to get anywhere near him?’
‘But surely former home secretaries get security for life?’
‘They do,’ Vinnie said, and then explained that the level of such security would be drastically reduced, unless Intelligence identified a specific threat. ‘But in any event he’s been retired several years now, so it makes no sense not to attack as soon as he left office,’ he added, destroying his own theory.
‘Plus, it’s one hell of a grudge to keep alive all this time,’ Bury added.
Vinnie just nodded and then took a drink of his juice.
‘I take it you’re going over all the files relating to Reedly’s job, if that is where your killer comes from?’
‘As best we can, but a lot of paper records were destroyed after the peace process was signed, which is why I was hoping you might be able to help, or perhaps if you can’t, can you point me in the direction of anyone who can?’ Vinnie said.
Bury sat in apparent contemplation for a minute as he took all the top off his pint of Guinness. ‘What about Reedly?’ he eventually said.
‘Trust me he has wracked his brains,’ Vinnie said.
‘I guess he’s a target too?’
Vinnie then realised that Bury couldn’t have seen the news put out about Reedly not surviving his injuries from the bomb blast at Blackley. He dearly wanted to tell Bury about the misinformation, and also about the earlier attempts on Reedly’s life. It was not that he didn’t trust Bury, he did, and found him quite charming, but it was all about need to know, and Bury only needed to know what Vinnie had told him. So he stuck to what had been released. ‘I’m afraid Reedly is dead,’ Vinnie said, and then explained about the attack at the cemetery, keeping to the script of Reedly’s faked demise.
Bury looked shocked. ‘That’s a dreadful shame, so it is,’ and then added, ‘You could have used him as bait; and if your theory had been right, you’d not have been waiting too long, if I know those Provo bastards,’ Bury said.
As if Bury could see the surprise on Vinnie’s face, he continued before he could comment.
‘Yous have to understand, that in the world we worked in back in the troubles we had to take risks sometimes, most of the time. Do the unexpected. Nar I know those Provo boys would expect me to play dirty, but they’d have not been expecting yous over here to do that. No offence.’
‘None taken,’ Vinnie said. It was an interesting idea, and not one he’d previously considered. But of course Reedly was not dead, so it could still be used. Of course they’d have to explain to the press the little problem of how he made a miraculous recovery from his mortal wounds. That said, he still couldn’t see the deputy chief constable of Greater Manchester Police being too up for hanging his bollocks out of the window and saying “come kick these boys, I’m waiting”.
‘It would have proved or disproved your theory, so it would have,’ Bury said.
‘Apart from the fact that he’s dead, logistically it would have taken some serious resources,’ Vinnie said, wondering why they were still discussing what on the surface was just a hypothetical theory. He wondered if Bury really suspected that Reedly was still alive.
‘Ah, away with you. I used to get that sort of rhetoric all the time when I was working. It would have been expensive, yes; but I’m telling you it wouldn’t have taken long. And would have worked out a lot cheaper than a murder investigation that dragged on for months or longer.’
It was as if he knew Reedly was alive and was egging Vinnie on to consider his proposal. Certainly, regarding the finances, he did have a point. But Vinnie knew neither Harry nor Darlington would want anything to do with such a plan. Bury had clearly worked in different circumstances and during very difficult times.
Vinnie thanked Bury for his help, and said he would get Christine to bell him later. He also asked him to give what he’d said some thought, in case he could remember a potential suspect, even if it made no sense why he or she would wait this long.
‘I take it you’ve checked those in Prison, no offence,’ Bury asked.
‘Yeah, a lot were released early as part of the peace process and we’ve got a team tracing the others. But apparently, there have been none released in the last eighteen months, which is the timeframe we are using, though we will broaden that if needed. What about me
speaking to anyone else?’
‘Not safe for you to be asking those sorts of questions. You’d get nar answers anyway, but let me make a couple of calls; I’ll bell you if I come up with anything.’
Vinnie thanked him again and left.
As he reached his car his phone – which he’d set to silent during his meeting – vibrated in his pocket. It was a text from Christine, ready for a lift home. Just before he reached his car he turned around and took in his environment. There was no sign yet of Bury following him out of the pub, and as over-cautious as Vinnie thought he was, something in the way he spoke gave his concern credibility. Vinnie then spent a couple of minutes checking out all the parked cars, and recesses on the street. There was no one about. He headed to the driver’s door of his Volvo.
Chapter Fifty
Quintel had been enjoying his Full English breakfast until the text message from McKnowle informed him of his arrival later at Manchester Airport’s Terminal Three, on a Ryan Air jet from Dublin. He also asked him to source two pay-as-you-go mobiles for them both to use during the operation. He told him to wait in the arrivals lounge and he’d find him once he was through customs. At least he hadn’t bothered with his A and B payphone bollocks this time. Though he’d much prefer that, rather than have to endure him personally over the next few days. He was the client, and he had said he mostly wanted to observe and wouldn’t get in the way. Quintel knew he’d have to lay out the ground rules when he saw him. That said, he still didn’t know who the target was, or why? Though the latter wasn’t too important; he was just intrigued.
After breakfast he asked reception for directions to the nearest mobile phone shop and went and bought two disposables as requested. He put them both on charge in his room and preloaded each’s number in the other’s phone memory under the initial A for McKnowle in his, and B for him in McKnowle’s. He’d appreciate the A and B theme, and then he scratched the screen of his with the car key so he knew which was which. He then checked and cleaned both guns, as Jason would have done, and then removed the rounds to give the loading springs in the magazines a rest. Jason had always advised doing this when the gun’s readiness was not needed. A worn spring in a magazine was apparently one cause of ammo load failure. And it was something to do. At midday he packed everything up into the holdall he’d also bought that morning and headed to the car. On his way through reception he reserved a second room for McKnowle and then went to the Nissan and stored everything back in the boot, together with the grenades. Time to head leisurely towards the airport.
He arrived at the multi-storey carpark at Terminal Three at 1.30 pm and had a leisurely late lunch in one of the food outlets in the arrivals hall. At 2.20 pm he checked one of the screens again and saw that the short flight from Dublin was due in any minute. He checked that his personal mobile was on, and then glanced up and saw that the flight status on the large info screen had changed to “Landed”. He made his way to the Information Desk and waited.
Twenty minutes later, a stream of passengers started to filter through and one in particular stopped and looked around before settling his gaze on Quintel. This must be him; they had never met before but this was him. A man in his early sixties, Quintel reckoned, but he was short, with a thin build, and balding short grey hair to match his prison-like pallor. He was not half as imposing as Quintel had expected, but then sometimes the shorter in height and stature a person was, the shorter their fuse. He made directly over to Quintel and introductions over, Quintel gave him his disposable phone and charger.
‘Good, now turn your private one off and don’t use it again until we’re done. And no personal calls on these ones,’ McKnowle said, adding, ‘now let’s get to whichever shithole town you’ve booked us into. I want to discuss the dirty bastard you are going to kill.’
Once away from the airport, Quintel tried to engage McKnowle in a bit of light conversation to ease him in, but he was having none of it, so Quintel went straight in. ‘You said on the phone, that you’ll not interfere, that you only want to watch.’
‘Aye so I did, and I’ll be staying out of your way when it matters, but things change.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, now I’m here, you can make use of me, make the hit easier.’
‘How exactly?’
‘I’ll telt yous later, but suffice to say; with me I’ll be able to get you nearer to the target when it matters, but for now just drive will you, Jackie-boy.’
‘“Jackie-boy”?’ Quintel was sure it was going to be a trying few days.
*
En route to the Royal Preston Hospital, Vinnie called into the Preston office to give Harry a quick rundown of his meeting with Bury.
‘So not too much help then?’
‘Not really, but insightful in some ways. He’s obviously operated as a tricky bastard in the past.’
‘You are not seriously suggesting I try and talk Reedly into putting his arse in the firing line and then try and talk Darlington into authorising it?’
‘Suppose not, it’s just a thought I guess, another way of approaching it, but it may come to it if all else fails.’
‘In your dreams.’
‘How are we getting on with identifying possible targets?’
‘Pick any one from many. But how do we know for sure that Quintel’s not finished and is now on his toes?’ Harry said.
‘I hope he is, as harder as that makes it for us in tracing him, at least we’ll know it’s over. I guess the only way to know is to find out if he’s still about.’
‘All possible intelligence sources are tasked and out and about looking for any mentions of him, but so far nothing. Which perversely might turn out to be a plus,’ Harry said, adding, ‘how much do you trust Dempster? You know he’s told his handlers that he wants no more to do with them.’
‘Understandable really, but he promised me if Quintel made contact, he’d let me know that at least.’
‘Believe him?’
‘As far as one can. Look, I’ve got to collect Christine from the hospital shortly and take her back to Manchester.’
‘Where to? Not that I expect she or her sister are in any further danger now,’ Harry said.
‘Agreed, as long as Quintel thinks she’s dead, and to be honest, even if he knew she was still alive, would he be mad enough to risk trying to finish her off? He’ll know we will be all over her and Lesley,’ Vinnie said, cringing to himself slightly on using Lesley’s name.
‘So, where are you taking her?’
‘Back to her place, where her sister has been temporarily moved to. There is no suggestion that her address is compromised.’
‘What about Dempster?’
‘I’ll pay him a visit later on this evening, just to keep him warm and remind him of our arrangement.’
‘Why not bell him?’
‘No, Harry, his sort always has a better recall of things when you are stood in front of them.’
‘Fair enough, keep me posted.’
‘Will do,’ Vinnie said, before heading off to collect Christine.
*
Quintel was nearing the junction at Preston where the M55 motorway to Blackpool starts from the M6 which they were currently on, when McKnowle broke the silence Quintel had been enjoying.
‘I forget how fookin busy your roads are over here.’
‘Yeah, well it is rush hour now,’ Quintel said as he decelerated yet again down to about thirty miles per hour.
‘Nar your man Jay’s gone, who’ve you got left on the team?’ McKnowle asked.
‘Just a local busybody who thinks he’s the go-to man.’
‘Will you need him again?’
‘Depends on who the target is?’
‘Arr don’t be worrying about that, I’ll be giving you all you need on that front.’
‘Well, I guess I won’t be needing him then.’
‘And afterwards?’ McKnowle asked.
‘I intend to re-locate abroad and stick to this
line of work, but only after I’ve had a suitable break, of course.’
‘Of course,’ McKnowle said, adding, ‘so this guy’s no part of your team, then?’
‘To be honest, I’ve been in two minds whether to off him or not once we’re done,’ Quintel said.
‘Excellent, Jackie-boy. I was hoping you’d say that. I won’t be wanting any loose ends, so I won’t. The shit’ll be thick enough when it’s done as it is. It’ll be like eight layers of shite with an extra layer on top.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning let’s go and do the fucker, nar. It’ll save fucking about later, it’ll keep the filth well-busy, so it will, and it’ll get us out of this bastard traffic.’
‘Ok, you’re the boss,’ Quintel said as he noticed the half-mile marker board for junction 31A and switched his left-hand side indicator on.
Chapter Fifty-One
Quintel drove to the estate where he knew Dempster lived, but there were no signs of life at his home address. Jason had been his first point of contact, but he remembered Jason once saying that Dempster spent a lot of his time at the local labour club. The sat nav took them there and he pulled up outside, but set back. The club was a typical sixties-built concrete-fronted shithole with metal grills dressing the outside of the windows. It was towards the end of a cul-de-sac, which was where they were parked, with high privet behind them. Quintel used the cover to grab both handguns from the boot. As he gave McKnowle one of them, he saw the man’s eyes shine as he turned the weapon over in his hand.
‘It feels good to handle one of these again,’ McKnowle said.
‘Been a while?’ Quintel asked.
‘Twenty or more fookin years thanks to those bastard Brits – no offence.’
‘None taken, I’d been meaning to ask you about that, I take it you were locked up?’
‘Prison? I wish. It was much, much worse than that I can telt you, but it’ll have to wait ‘till later. I tell yous over a pint.’
Quintel was intrigued as to what McKnowle meant, but also glad the ensuing rant that would undoubtedly accompany the story would wait until later. They had work to do.
The Badge & the Pen Thrillers Page 47