Screen of Deceit

by Nick Oldham

  There was no pathologist available until the afternoon, so Henry headed back to the police station to begin to pull together the bones of a report and to tell the coroner what he was up to.

  Just another dope-head, self-inflicted death, he guessed.

  Still, a million times better than sitting on his bum at headquarters, pen pushing.

  Henry poked his head around the door of Rik’s office.

  ‘Mind if I hot-desk here for today?’

  Rik looked up and smiled warmly. ‘Just so long as I don’t get shot or knifed.’

  ‘Hey, live dangerously.’

  ‘I do when you’re about,’ Rik mumbled.

  Henry parked himself on a plastic chair on the ‘public’ side of Rik’s desk. ‘How’s the leg?’

  ‘Had a bullet in it – what do you think?’ He gave Henry a withering ‘Duh!’ look.

  ‘Get over it, that’s what I think.’ Henry raised his eyebrows. ‘Any progress on the job?’ He was referring to Operation Wiggum.

  Rik shrugged. Negative. ‘Nah … the Crackman’s still out there, mysterious as a shadow. We don’t have a clue who he is, where he is, or anything … just odd snippets of information, on which that operation was based, to be honest.’

  ‘So it wouldn’t have stood the five by five by five test?’ Henry asked, referring to the way intelligence was graded.

  Rik gave him a guilty look. ‘I kinda exaggerated it … but it wasn’t far off. The two guys we jumped on were definitely involved in something there – obviously’ – he rolled his eyes – ‘but they’ve said nothing, so all we’ve got ’em for is what they did – shoot me and assault you. They’re having it and they’ll go down for it, but they won’t be saying anything more. Bastards. And the gen about the Lexus was spot on, but we got the wool pulled over our eyes with that.’

  ‘Previous owners?’

  ‘Checked out … not a hundred per cent, but they’re saying nothing either.’

  ‘And your source, whoever gave you the information?’ Henry asked.

  ‘Still keeping his ear to the ground.’ They looked at each other. ‘So that’s that, I reckon … anyway, thanks for covering that death, by the way. Run of the mill?’

  ‘Probably, but I’ll do the full works on it.’ He rubbed his face. ‘PM’s later this afternoon … just taken a statement from the younger brother …’ Henry was carrying the start of a sudden death file and he fished out the statement he’d taken earlier from Mark Carter, leafed through it. ‘This lad, the dead girl’s brother, didn’t even know she was on dope … not a close family … mum’s a slapper, older brother’s a big shot businessman who’s right up his own arse.’ Henry regarded Rik. ‘I don’t think I’ve got everything from the young one, though. Get the impression he’s holding back.’ He pouted, shook his head. ‘However, we’ll need to kick-start investigations into her supplier, as you do. You’ll probably have to delegate that to one of your DCs. Her boyfriend will be worth a look at. His name’s in the file. I know him of old.’

  Rik nodded. ‘No probs.’

  ‘Once I’ve overseen the PM, I’ll probably hand it all to you because Headquarters cannot possibly function without me for more than a day.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘And anyway – what’s so all-fired important that I had to cover a job for you lot?’

  ‘We’re all-out on that drive-by shooting the other day … getting nowhere fast.’

  ‘Oh, I recall that one.’ Henry’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to dredge something up, but got nowhere. ‘Anyway, I need to speak to the coroner, cross a few Ts and then get back to the mortuary – after I’ve had something to eat, that is.’

  Henry’s mobile phone rang as he was about to slide into his car. He had just attended Bethany’s post-mortem and not enjoyed it at all.

  ‘Hi Rik,’ he said, recognizing the number on the caller display.

  ‘Hi … the drugs death? Carter?’ Rik said without any formalities.

  ‘Just leaving the PM. Looks like a concoction of drugs.’

  ‘Suspicious circumstances?’

  ‘Yeah, a concoction of drugs.’

  ‘You know what I mean – any evidence she’d been forced to take them?’

  ‘Don’t think so … hard to tell. Why? What’s eating you?’

  ‘Come down to the nick if you’ve got time. I’ll have coffee brewing.’

  ‘Did you say, “Please, boss” then, or not?’

  ‘Boss.’

  The coffee was good, strong. Rik had a reputation for filtering the best fresh coffee in the building. Henry sipped it black, no sugar. He looked over the rim of the ‘Rik’s a Great Leader’ mug that had been provided for him.

  ‘I glanced through this.’ He held up Mark Carter’s witness statement, the one Henry had taken earlier that day. ‘It’s a good statement.’

  Henry tilted his head. ‘And that from a subordinate.’

  ‘Thing is, something struck me,’ Rik went on, ignoring Henry. ‘About a fortnight ago there was a similar drugs-related death in Poulton-le-Fylde, which, as you know, is in Northern Division. I’ve been out for a pint with the DS up there, Jack Broughton –’

  ‘Good man.’

  ‘– good man,’ Rik agreed. ‘He was dealing with it. Young girl. A concoction of drugs wild enough to make any dealer’s heart go bump … not an unusual thing, maybe … but’ – he held up his right index finger – ‘the similarity doesn’t end there. I mean, I might be adding up and getting five, and maybe the mix in the Carter girl’s body will be nothing like, but the similarity is in a name …’

  ‘Jonny Sparks,’ Henry guessed quickly.

  ‘Nail on head,’ Rik confirmed. ‘Ex-boyfriend of the dead girl in Poulton.’

  Henry sat back, thoughtfully sipping his brew. Over the years he had spent a lot of years policing Blackpool and he knew a lot of the young buckos who reckoned to rule the streets, if not personally, then by reputation. One he knew personally was Jonny Sparks, a product of an infamous family of lawbreakers. He’d arrested Jonny a few years back when the lad had been only ten for assault and killing a cat by stamping on it. All the warning signs were flashing, even back then, but Henry hadn’t had any dealings with him since. Even at ten, he’d been a handful, Henry recalled fondly.

  ‘He’s a dealer now.’

  ‘No shock there.’

  ‘And you just wonder if …’ Rik began wistfully.

  ‘If he supplied Bethany with the lethal dose?’

  ‘As well as the girl in Poulton.’

  ‘How far has that investigation got?’

  ‘Not very – mainly for one reason: the dead girl’s family have been very reluctant to help us because, word is, they’re going to sort the matter out themselves.’

  ‘And who might this family be?’

  ‘The daughter is called Jane Grice.’

  Henry went cold. He knew the Grice clan well. Big time crims. Violent, nasty people. ‘Ronnie Grice’s crew.’

  ‘Exactly … and he’s out for blood, so they say.’

  ‘I take it Jonny’s been interviewed over the matter?’

  Rik nodded. ‘Nothing came of it, hard little twat that he is.’

  ‘So, to recap: Beth Carter’s and Jane Grice’s deaths are similar and Jonny Sparks is connected to both?’

  ‘That’s the nutshell.’

  The older detective rubbed his temples, his hangover and headache not having quite left him even now. He felt tired and drawn. ‘So Jonny needs speaking to, but like you say, he doesn’t crack easily … perhaps we could bring some pressure to bear on him.’

  Rik frowned.

  ‘What’s the up-to-date intel on him?’

  Rik screwed up his face. ‘So-so.’

  ‘What about pulling a level two operation against him?’ Henry suggested. That meant an undercover operation with test purchasers. ‘If he got caught red-handed, maybe that would open other floodgates.’

  ‘Worth a try.’ Rik sounded doubtfu
l.

  ‘But in the meantime, I’ll fast-track the forensics on Bethany.’ Henry sank his coffee and pushed himself up. ‘And in the other meantime I need to go back to the Carter household and tell them where we’re up to.’

  ‘Oh, the Royal “we”.’

  ‘It’s always the Royal “we” when I’m about to dump a job in somebody else’s lap.’

  Which brought Henry full circle to where he was right now – leaving Mark Carter’s home, having heard the youngster mutter ‘The Crackman’ under his breath.

  Up to that point, Henry had been pretty indifferent about the case.

  Yes, he was very sorry a young girl had died in such tragic circumstances, but he didn’t feel particularly involved in it. He’d covered the job more as a favour than anything and done what was expected of him and had been happy to hand the package over for someone else to deal with whilst he scurried off back to headquarters.

  But not now.

  Mark Carter’s utterance had changed things for ever.

  And all because Henry wanted some glory that he could shove right up the noses of his ex-bosses who had binned him from FMIT.

  The police had been chasing the elusive Crackman for a number of years now without success and Mark’s under-the-breath utterance had suddenly gripped Henry and made him think, What if I could catch this guy? What if he was the dealer behind these two deaths? What if Jonny Sparks could be broken? How good would this make me look?

  Henry’s gut instinct told him that the Crackman was lurking somewhere on the periphery of this investigation and if he could just think of a way of getting to him … maybe headquarters could actually survive without him for a while longer.

  Hell, he thought, what if I could nail the Crackman?

  Eleven

  Mark sat on the beach underneath Central Pier and ate his ill-gotten goods. He was famished and the food tasted amazing, all the better because of the way in which it had been obtained. The rush had been tremendous and for a while he relived the moments again and again in his mind’s eye.

  Only when he’d eaten and drunk and lain back on the cold sand did he start to come down and his brain clouded over once more, images of death and the discovery of Bethany’s body intruding on his euphoria. He could not shake it, so, realizing he needed to do something to keep busy, he walked back into town and started trawling the streets for Jonny Sparks.

  He spent the rest of the morning drifting from arcade to arcade, mooching, killing time, watching, waiting, but unable to track him down. It was like he had gone into hiding, or maybe he was just well camouflaged in the jungle that was Blackpool.

  Hunger revisited him about midday. He considered stealing his lunch, but decided not to. He didn’t want his luck to run out. He walked back to Tony’s Burger Bar, which had now opened for business. He cadged a hamburger and fries from Ray, the owner, in return for clearing out the rear yard, which he had promised to do with Bradley, but never did. It was obvious from Ray’s stilted behaviour that he had heard something about Bethany, so Mark avoided any conversation, did the tidy-up and took the food, which tasted vile today.

  Then he was back on the streets.

  Jonny Sparks was nowhere to be found. In the end Mark gave up, came back to Tony’s – managed to cadge another burger, this time for nothing – and got on his bike and rode home.

  It was time to do his evening paper round, but the thought of being bombarded with questions about Beth and why he hadn’t turned up that morning, put him off. Stuff ’em, he thought.

  He stood outside his house. Didn’t have the courage to go inside. The memory of what happened last time was vivid, upfront. He took a deep breath and remounted the BMX and started more aimless cycling around the estate. He didn’t avoid anywhere, even the areas which, it was said, were no-go for cops.

  Lots of kids lounged round, even though it was still school hours. Some played football, others just hung around, looking dangerous. They watched him, but did nothing to him, as though they could sense he was more dangerous than they were that day.

  There was an aura about him, he thought. It was all about attitude with this lot, and by showing he wasn’t afraid of them, they let him be, didn’t want to mix it. At least that was what Mark believed. There was something festering in him that meant he didn’t care; an anger, a rage so deep he would have fought anyone, and it showed in his demeanour.

  He turned in to a narrow passageway, high-walled, with a dogleg in it, which cut from the estate out to a pretty dilapidated row of shops on the edge of Shoreside. The passage was called Songthrush Walk, but had been nicknamed locally Psycho Alley, somewhere you walked at your peril. Folk had been mugged here, people beaten up in the dark. Drug addicts injected themselves here; used, bloody needles littered the ground. An awful place. A girl had even been abducted from here once, it was rumoured.

  Mark couldn’t have cared less.

  At that particular moment in his existence, nothing scared him other than the prospect of going home.

  He wheeled the BMX around and through the gear-strewn alley, left into the dogleg, then right, where he put his head down and powered out, emerging into the car park behind the shops.

  And it was here he saw Jonny Sparks.

  He was dealing, that much was obvious. With his pair of henchmen, Eric and Sam, at his shoulder to protect him and keep nicks, he was handing over a tiny package to a lad Mark had never seen before and the lad palmed a return package to Jonny, probably money, which was quickly pocketed. It was over in the twinkling of an eye, but Mark witnessed it all go down.

  But that wasn’t what bothered him, because at the exact moment he saw Jonny Sparks, his rage instantly boiled up and he found he couldn’t stop himself from doing what he did next.

  In his mind that morning, he had mulled over the options as to exactly how he would approach Jonny. He’d eventually decided that, if at all possible, he’d talk calmly and rationally to him. Discuss matters.

  But as soon as he spotted him, that was all chucked out of the window.

  Jonny Sparks was going to die!

  A surge of strength and energy ripped through his whole being, like a great beast, the Incredible Hulk, maybe. He forced his right foot down on the pedal and accelerated toward Sparks.

  Eric and Sam saw him straightaway.

  On their words of warning, Jonny looked up with surprise on his face.

  Jonny’s customer saw Mark approach too. Without any hesitation, he ran for it, not knowing who Mark was but obviously sensing trouble.

  Jonny held his ground, Eric and Sam slightly behind him in their usual defensive positions.

  Mark just focused on Jonny. Total concentration was on him, like a racehorse with blinkers, everything else chopped out but the target.

  Three metres short of Jonny, Mark yanked on the brakes and slithered to a spectacular, grit-spraying halt. He dropped his BMX in a way he’d never done before, just letting it clatter to the ground, then on foot ran at Jonny, his head low like a rugby player, and drove his shoulder into Jonny’s guts before he could work out what was hurtling at him.

  He bowled into Jonny with all the force he could command, ramming into him like a runaway express. With Mark’s right shoulder in his belly, Jonny bent double and emitted an unworldly gasp as every drop of air inside him whooshed out. Jonny staggered backwards, forced by Mark, arms flailing like a wind turbine, and landed on his backside, smacking down on the concrete, jarring his spine as he hit it hard.

  Then Mark laid into him.

  Mark had rarely been in fights, but from somewhere inside he found the strength and power to begin pummelling a yelling Jonny Sparks with blows and kicks, rained in with perfect accuracy, like he was a brilliant street-fighter. The reality was he was just a young boy driven by that volatile mix of grief and anger.

  He felt like he had smashed Jonny a hundred times.

  Jonny rolled into a protective ball, unable to do anything other than cover himself as much as possible from a surpris
e onslaught virtually impossible to defend against.

  And though it seemed like the beating went on for ages, it was only seconds … long enough for Sam and Eric to react.

  Suddenly Mark was yanked roughly up, kicked in the side and pushed off Jonny, who, satisfyingly from Mark’s perspective, was whimpering like an abused puppy.

  Eric had grabbed him. Sam had kicked him.

  Mark staggered away, but that animal-like driving force inside him propelled him back toward the whining Sparks, savagely heaving Eric out of the way, pounding a fist into Sam’s face and diving between the two, back on to Jonny who, with a face full of terror, was attempting to scramble away.

  Arms and fingers outstretched, Mark landed on Jonny, and with the force still raging inside him, tried to drag him to his feet by the collar. Jonny screamed as Mark kicked his arse with as much power as he could muster, sending him sprawling again.

  He landed hard, flipped around and like a terrified crab, scuttled backwards on all fours trying to get away from Mark.

  ‘No, no, no!’ Jonny yelled. ‘Don’t hit me, please,’ he begged.

  ‘You killed my sister,’ Mark roared.

  ‘I never,’ Jonny began, his eyes darting this way and that, working out how to escape.

  ‘You … argh!’ Mark gasped, his words getting nowhere, because Sam had come in behind him, having picked up a piece of wood as long and heavy and handy as a baseball bat from a pile of fly-tipping, and whacked Mark across the shoulder blades. It was a good job he hadn’t smashed him across the back of the head, because he could have killed him. Even so, the blow was spectacularly effective. A shockwave rippled through Mark’s body all the way down to his knees, weakening them to rubber. They gave way and he crashed down, suddenly all his pent-up power deserting him. He dropped on to all fours and his head sagged. Sam delivered another blow across his back at right angles to Mark’s spine, smashing against his kidneys. Mark yowled like a kicked hound.

  Jonny Sparks, true to form, recovered instantly. He was up on his feet in a second and delivered an almighty kick into Mark’s ribs which flipped him over, leaving him open for Jonny to drop like a ton weight on to his chest, straddle him and pin him to the ground, a cruel expression on his face.