Anyway, I devised a compromise. A couple of months earlier I’d uncovered about fifty ecstasy pills in an unrelated search of a suspect’s premises. Because we already had the suspect bang to rights on about a dozen other charges, I’d put the pills in my pocket, thinking they might come in useful at a later date, not so much as a commodity – even in those days there was a lot of controversy over the effects of E, and I didn’t want anyone dropping dead of anything I sold them – but of course they had another use, and that was helping put away criminals who were proving particularly hard to pin down for their crimes. I’d never planted anything on anyone before, but I’d heard about enough cases to know that it usually worked. If it was carried out properly.
Which was the difficult part. The guy, whose name was Darren Frennick, didn’t tend to leave his flat very much, apart from to do the odd deal, and we needed uninterrupted access. We thought about it for weeks, racking our brains for a way to get in there, before we came up with a simple yet foolproof solution. Frennick was an ugly bastard but, like all young men, he had a healthy sex drive. I knew a girl at the time who was a professional escort and who could be trusted with difficult jobs. So what we did was this. Having paid her a substantial amount, funded by Danny, and given her the tablets, we sent her round to the flat. She knocked on the door, and when Frennick answered she told him she was his escort for the evening. He started to claim ignorance, but she was a good-looking girl and he didn’t want to look a gifthorse in the mouth, so he invited her in and kicked out the couple of mates he’d had round there at the time.
As we’d guessed, he didn’t want to escort her anywhere, preferring instead to get straight down to business. But within seconds of his amorous advances she was claiming she wasn’t that sort of girl and an escort meant just that. He asked her what the hell she was on about and continued with his pawing, which was when she showed him some of her kung fu moves. One series of ferocious blows and kicks later and he was out cold on the floor. Quick as a flash, she used a pair of tweezers to remove the packet of pills from her handbag. She brushed them briefly against his fingers, then threw them under his bed. He was coming round by that time so she ran out of there, shouting and screaming, and immediately phoned the police on her mobile phone, saying that this man had tried to give her some pills and rape her. She gave the address and his first name, and the cops, knowing who he was, were round there like a shot. By which time, of course, she’d made herself scarce.
Five minutes later she called the police again, saying that she was sorry, she didn’t want to get involved in pressing charges against the guy, but she had seen him put the pills back under his bed. Despatch passed this information on to the officers on the scene, who’d entered the flat through the open door. A dazed and bloodied Darren Frennick was arrested and remanded in custody. He ended up serving nine months for supplying Class A drugs, which Danny didn’t feel was revenge enough, but which I assured him was the best he was going to get.
And that should have been that. Except that it wasn’t. I don’t think Jean ever found out the full story, but somehow she got wind of the fact that I’d used an escort girl to set Frennick up, and worked out that this was a side of me she’d never seen before and one that she didn’t particularly like. Things became strained after that, Jean repeatedly asking me if I’d ever slept with prostitutes, and not believing me every time I said no. First, the living-together lark went on hold; then a couple of months later, the relationship followed suit.
By rights, I should never have forgiven Danny for fucking up what will in all probability turn out to be my one chance of getting hitched, but he was so grateful for what I’d done, and felt so guilty for the problems he’d caused, that I found it difficult to hold it against him. Jean and I never really saw each other again after that. She met this chartered surveyor from up north and moved to Leeds with him, but Danny and I continued to keep in touch. Occasionally we did business together. One time I sold him a couple of kilos of dope I’d liberated from its wrongful owner. He tried to move it on but ended up selling it to undercover Drugs Squad officers and getting nicked instead. They leaned on him hard, trying to get him to name his source, but his experience with Darren Frennick had hardened him. He feared prison – who doesn’t? – but he kept quiet, even though they told him that cooperation would surely mean a lighter sentence. He ended up doing eighteen months.
Danny was not the luckiest man in the world; nor was he, in criminal terms, one of the best at his profession, but I trusted him absolutely, and there are very few people I can say that about. That’s why I took him with me when I went off to kill three men. Because I knew he’d keep his mouth shut.
He rented a basement flat up in Highgate, not too far from the cemetery, and it was twenty to six when I finally rang his doorbell. He opened the door slowly, keeping the chain on the latch, and poked his head round. His face was pale and there were bags under his eyes. He looked like a man with a lot on his mind.
‘You’re late, Dennis.’
‘It’s the pressures of policework. It makes punctuality close to impossible. Blame the government. They’re the ones letting all the criminals out.’
He released the chain and let me in. I followed him into the kitchen, noticing that his feet were bare and his shirt was hanging out the back of his trousers. A very slovenly state. It looked like he hadn’t set foot outside the flat all day.
‘D’you want a cup of tea, or something?’ he asked, putting the kettle on.
‘Yeah, thanks, a tea’d be nice.’ I put the bag containing his share on one of the worktops and leaned back against the cooker. ‘I’ve got your money here.’
He nodded, getting a couple of cups down from one of the shelves. ‘Cheers.’
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
‘You don’t usually ask.’
‘Well, I can see you’re in a sensitive mood, so I thought I’d be polite.’
He turned to me, his face registering a vague disgust. ‘This whole thing doesn’t faze you at all, does it?’
I lit the cigarette. ‘Of course it does. But it’s been done now. We’ll know to be more careful next time, but regrets don’t change a thing.’
‘It’s not about regrets. This was a huge fuck-up, Dennis, and the cops aren’t going to let go of it. Not until they’ve caught someone. And that means us.’
I took a drag on the cigarette, feeling tired of all the verbal sparring in my life. I’d once had the chance to become an apprentice plumber, which would have paid a lot more money for a lot less hassle. At this moment, I wished I’d gone that route.
‘Danny, there’s one thing about policework you ought to know. It’s all about trails. If you leave a trail when you commit your crime, which most people do, then the police will follow it until they find you.’
‘Don’t patronize me, Dennis. I don’t fucking need it.’
‘But if you don’t leave a trail then there’s nothing to follow. The police just run into a brick wall.’
He sighed, then turned to pour the teas. I watched him as he beat the teabags with his spoon. He was agitated, badly so; I felt I might have overestimated his nerve. I took another long, thoughtful drag on the cigarette. Most cigarettes I smoke I don’t enjoy. I think that’s the case with the majority of smokers. You put one in your mouth because you know that if you don’t, you’ll only be thinking about smoking and wondering when you’re going to have your next one until you do. But this cigarette was different. It tasted really good.
‘You know, looking at you with that makes me wish I’d started smoking.’
‘Do you want one?’
‘You’d give me one as well, wouldn’t you? Christ, Dennis, the things you get me involved in. And you a fucking copper . . .’
He passed me my cup of tea. It didn’t taste very nice. Underbrewed and too much milk.
‘I’m sorry about the job, Danny, I really am. I didn’t know it was going to turn out to be customs men. If I had, I’d never have touched th
e thing with a bargepole.’
‘So what were you told? Originally.’
‘I was told it was three drug dealers. According to my contact, they were trying to muscle in on some friends of his.’
‘And who was your contact?’
Danny had never met Raymond nor, as far as I knew, had he ever heard of him. I liked to keep Raymond Keen, and my association with him, as quiet as possible. For obvious reasons. ‘You don’t want to know,’ I told him. ‘Seriously. There’s no point.’
He thought about that for a couple of seconds, then let it go. ‘So how did you know they were going to be there? At the Traveller’s Rest?’
‘Those blokes? Apparently my contact had set it up so that they were going there for a clear-the-air meeting with his associates. All I had to do was pick them off when they arrived.’
He shook his head and sighed. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking about this shit all day. Ever since it happened. And if they were customs . . . Think about it. If they were customs, then how the fuck did your associate know they were going to be there?’
‘He says they were corrupt. It was a blackmail job, that’s all I know. They were crooked; they were obviously involved in something they shouldn’t have been.’
‘So, if that’s the case, how do we know the police can’t find a trail?’
‘They can’t find a trail through us.’
‘But what if they can find a trail that leads to your contact? If those blokes were corrupt, then the cops are going to find out, aren’t they? And if they were involved with the man who hired you in some way, then they’ll be able to follow the trail back to him.’
‘They won’t. Everything was very carefully planned.’
‘But that’s not the worst of it,’ he continued, ignoring my comment.
I looked at him. ‘Really?’
‘What if they weren’t corrupt, Dennis?’
I was beginning to get tired of this. ‘Look, Danny. My contact’s a middle-aged businessman who’s made a fair bit of money over the years. What I’m trying to tell you is that he’s an intelligent man. He’s not going to do anything that’s going to get him in a load of shit.’ I finished the cigarette and tea at the same time and threw the one in the other.
Danny sighed. ‘So what I’ve been thinking all day is this: maybe there’s more to this whole thing than meets the eye. This thing could be a lot bigger than we think. If those customs officers weren’t corrupt then they were involved in something so sensitive that they had to die for it.’ He emphasized the last words like a paperback detective making a speech to his assembled suspects. ‘And if that’s the case, then not only is your contact heavily involved, he’s also got some fucking good contacts of his own to set this sort of thing up.’
‘Well, if that’s the case, then you shouldn’t be worried. Because there’s not much chance of us getting caught, is there?’
‘Maybe not, but, well. . . you’ve got to think . . .’ ‘What? What have you got to think?’ He sighed again, choosing his words carefully. It took a long time to get what he wanted to say out. ‘That what’s the point in keeping us alive? We’re loose ends, Dennis. Loose ends involved in something very, very major. And now we’ve done what we were meant to do, then, you know . . .’ He let the sentence trail off into the distance.
‘Jesus, Danny, you’ve got to get yourself into some gainful employment. You’ve been watching far too much TV. This isn’t a fucking mafia film. If we keep our mouths shut and go about our daily business as if nothing’s happened, then we’ll be all right. I told you that on the night. Nothing that’s happened since changes anything.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ he said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
I felt paternal towards him then. ‘I am. Don’t worry.’ I stepped forward and patted him on the shoulder, not in a patronizing way, more of a man-to-man way. ‘Just try not to think about it, and remember, in a few days’ time it’ll all have blown over.’
‘Yeah, I know, I know. It’s difficult, though. Sitting here all day.’
‘Do you want to come to a pub quiz?’
‘Eh?’
‘A pub quiz. There’s one I go to on Tuesday nights when I’ve got the time. It’s teams of four. There’s a couple of blokes I normally play with, but we’re often short of a fourth.’
Danny looked at me aghast, his usually thin blue eyes bugging out like they were on mini springs. ‘Are you serious? Fuck me, Dennis, I don’t know how you can live with yourself.’
‘What? Going to pub quizzes?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Like I said, we’ve just got to carry on as normal. And what’s more normal than a pub quiz?’
‘And to think my sister was going to marry you.’
‘Lucky you came along and fucked it all up really, wasn’t it?’
He shot me a guilty look then, which I knew he would. It was cruel really, making him pay again for something that happened all that time ago.
I grinned at him to show I was only joking, and clapped him on the shoulder again. Still very much man-to-man. ‘Come on, it’ll be a laugh. Shit, it’s got to be better than sitting here biting your nails and gawking at the TV, waiting for your mugshot to appear.’
‘I can’t go back inside again, Dennis. Not after last time.’
‘You won’t have to,’ I told him. ‘I promise.’ We looked at each other for a long moment. ‘So, are you coming then?’
‘Where is it?’
‘Pub called the Chinaman. Just off City Road.’
Danny thought about it for a moment. It looked as though he was trying to work out whether he could afford to do something so frivolous when, by rights, he ought to be putting all his concentration into shitting himself. In the end it seemed he could afford to let his concentration slip for a few hours.
‘Fuck it. Why not?’ He picked up the jiffy bag. ‘At least I won’t be short of cash for a drink.’
10
‘He was an accountant.’ Malik chewed on his sandwich as he spoke.
‘You spoke to your mate, then?’
He nodded, finishing his mouthful. ‘Yeah, last night. He’s been working round the clock.’
‘I can imagine.’
It was twenty past two the following afternoon, and we were in the station canteen. A fairly unproductive morning had been spent helping to collate all the statements we and the other officers had taken so far, in an effort to make some sort of sense of them. So far nothing was leaping out at us, and the one possible suspect, the pimp, had still not been found. Nor was anyone sure where else to look for him.
‘How are they coming along with everything?’
‘You know what it’s like, Sarge. It was difficult for him to say too much but it seems they’re working on a lot of leads. From what I can gather, they’re concentrating on the accountant and trying to establish what he was doing with those customs officers.’
‘Two customs officers and an accountant. It sounds like the name of a bad film.’
‘It’s an interesting combination, I’ll give you that.’
I finished picking at the Caesar salad I’d ordered and pushed the plate away, thinking about the inevitable cigarette. ‘What does your mate make of it all?’
‘He said they’d already dug up a lot of info on the accountant and there was nothing to suggest he wasn’t a sound guy. He didn’t have a record or anything.’
I remembered the accountant’s face, the shock on it as he looked down the barrel of my gun. I lit the cigarette. ‘So what was he doing with them?’
‘That’s the million-dollar question. My friend says there was an official reason why they were together. He wouldn’t say exactly what it was, but from what I can gather the accountant had information on something that was very useful to the customs men.’
‘So they’re pretty sure the customs men were part of some sort of investigation?’
Malik nodded slowly. ‘That’s my impression. He didn’t say for s
ure, but I think that’s the angle they’re looking at it from.’
‘So the only way the murderer would know they were going to be there at that time—’
‘Was if it was an inside job. It’s a worrying thought. You don’t like to think of the forces of law and order as being corrupt.’
‘You think someone tipped the killer off?’
He shrugged. ‘That’s what it looks like. What else could it be?’
I hoped Malik’s information was wrong – which, of course, it could have been. A lot of the time on big cases involving a lot of detectives, contradictory stories get thrown up. From my point of view, it would be a lot easier to believe that the three victims were the pondscum Raymond had labelled them. Not only did it make what I’d done a lot more palatable – at least to me – I also felt it would make it much more difficult for the investigating officers to come up with a result. If it was an inside job, then the list of people who would have been in a position to know where those men were going to be and when they were going to be there would be pretty short.
But at the moment, it was still conjecture. I knew I was going to have to find out more information from Raymond, but at the same time I was going to have to be careful about how I did it. I’d never looked at him as a threat before, but suddenly I didn’t want to give him a reason for wanting me out of the way as well. Maybe there’d been more truth in Danny’s words than I’d initially given him credit for.
The Business Of Dying Page 9