‘It’s just something I do as a hobby, a bit of amateur dentistry.’
Then a voice asking if the caller was still there.
‘Yes, OK. He’s on the radio, is he? Tell him that I can see him later on this afternoon – say at a little after three?’
More relaying of the message at the other end, and then Smith was speaking again.
‘Yes, good, I’ll see him then,’ followed by a pause and a frown, followed by, ‘He said what? Should he use the side door?’ and then the penny must have dropped – ‘Oh, I see, yes, tell him to use the side door. And tell him not to eat any more toffees. Thank you for your help, then. Good morning.’
The voice had been different, a little more clipped, the tone that of a busy, professional man who did not make this sort of phone call for all of his patients. Waters wondered whether he would ever have the nerve that it took, whether he would be able to master the number of personalities that Smith had hanging up inside himself, ready to slip a new one on at a moment’s notice. Then he shrugged the thought away and waited for some sort of an explanation.
‘Don’t say that I never do anything for you any more. I’ve just arranged a bit more on the job training for you. You’ve arrested a few poor souls, you’ve been into the courtroom on a few occasions - now it’s time to see their final destination if you’re doing the job properly.’
Waters nodded, waiting for a little more. When it came, it was in Smith’s more thoughtful manner.
‘It’s a bit of a funny one, actually. I’ll tell you about it on the drive down there this afternoon. You go and fire up the Quattro while I let her ladyship know what we’re up to – we could just sneak off, I suppose... But better not. Never tell lies unless it’s absolutely necessary. A QC told me that.’
Smith had a theory: if the architects who designed The Towers had consulted the drug dealers before they did so, the end result would be pretty much what they had in front of them now. The five blocks seen from one of those drones that Smith had been half-joking about earlier in the morning formed a roughly pentagonal shape, the U of the two wings of each pointing inwards towards the centre. The walkways ran along the insides of each U, which meant that they could be observed only from the end of the U or from one of the flats of which it was comprised. The staircases and lifts were all enclosed – nothing could be viewed from the outside.
Watching any activity on the walkways, therefore, involved either positioning oneself down on the ground at the end of one of the Us and using a pair of binoculars, or gaining access to one of the flats on or above the level that one wished to observe. By no means all of the occupants had criminal tendencies but they all had, no doubt, strong survival ones – cooperating with the police and allowing one’s home to be used for surveillance was likely to mean that one would not be living in that home for too much longer after the arrests had been made. An empty flat was one answer but the local council housing officers seemed reluctant to help out – according to Smith, they tended to be disappointed, middle-aged lefties who believed that the dealers’ rights to privacy outweighed society’s rights to put them away, or at least that such a view was worthy of debate.
They were parked by a children’s playground. Beyond it was the fifth tower, the one that completed the pentagon – for postal purposes it went by the name of Churchill, and from time to time Smith had wondered whether any other eponymous object or place on the planet was more likely to have the old boy spinning in his grave. The playground itself was deserted but also peculiarly unattractive – could there be a connection? Each item of proposed amusement was constructed of reinforced concrete or industrial steel or both, and designed, it seemed, to withstand the force of a nuclear blast rather than the leaps and bounds of energetic seven-year-olds. True, there was a roundabout that offered some opportunities for motion, and a slide that grudgingly acknowledged the fun to be had with gravity, but even on this sunny morning the absence of small children spoke volumes. And it was not so long ago, Smith recalled, that he had sat in this very spot with DI Reeve after a visit to Lucy Bell – Reeve had told him to buy a new car... Thank goodness for the old man, though. Alec Bell had been as good as his word; as far as Smith knew, Lucy and Leah Bell had not returned to the flat where husband, father and son had died in the early spring.
Waters said, ‘Not a lot going on here.’
A few months ago, Smith would have asked if he wanted to go and play on the swings while they waited.
‘No, not now. But after dark a bit of grass gets dealt from here. Three brothers, the Routh boys, have been at that for years. I don’t think any of them live in the tower any more but they still keep this as one of their regular spots. I suppose it’s a good retail opportunity – easy access and parking, and free amusements.’
‘They just do grass? Nothing heavier?’
‘Heavier? I can see you’ll soon pick this up. Perhaps you know all about it from the old university days, and you’re just humouring me.’
Waters looked round at Smith, and thought about his next question.
‘Have you ever smoked it – grass or cannabis?’
‘Yes.’
Waters’ look became a stare.
‘But only for professional purposes. I didn’t inhale, obviously.’
‘Obviously...’
It was impossible to say whether he had just been told the truth or not, but Smith did say earlier that one should never tell a lie unless it was absolutely necessary. Did their last exchange meet that criterion?
Smith said, ‘Just to be clear, I’m not going to ask you the same question, but I am assuming that you would know it if you smelt it. Otherwise we might need to arrange a short demonstration.’
‘No, it’s alright. I’ve been to a few parties.’
‘Oh, good. It’s nice to be able to look back and remember that you used to have a social life, once upon a time.’
‘But I didn’t inhale either.’
A youth had appeared on the playground, hoodie up, a heavy, Staffordshire-type terrier straining at the leash and half-pulling him along towards the car. As they approached on the pavement, the youth saw them, and made a point of slowing down and staring in through the windscreen. Smith smiled and nodded back.
Waters said, ‘Someone you know?’
‘No, just being sociable, neighbourhood policing and all that.’
‘But he knew who we are, didn’t he?’
‘Yes – our cover is blown, and our work here is done. Let’s go and meet up with Murray and Butler. Murray and Butler... sounds like a fancy brand of cigarettes. I hope you realise I haven’t had one this morning, purely for your benefit?’
‘Yes, before you say it, children and secondary smoke in cars – I’ve seen the ads. I don’t mind if you do, actually.’
Smith was reaching into his jacket pocket.
‘As long as you don’t inhale.’
Micky Lemon didn’t mind having the police in occasionally. As he worked on the food, he did see two of the regular girls pause at the half-open door, glance at him and then walk away, but four lunches and four drinks at least were useful on a Monday, his quietest day of the week, and the girls would be back tomorrow.
He put an extra dash of tabasco in the prawn cocktail with wholemeal bread sandwich the way that Sergeant Smith liked it, and then turned to supervise the cooking of the burgers and French fries. The big man he also knew as a detective constable but the other two were new to him – a kid out of school, one of them, but the woman was nice-looking. They were all Old Bill, though, that was for sure, and if Stuart Routh came in for his usual it might be interesting. Not that there was ever any business done here – he never had allowed that, and because he had been here a long time and the food was good, the locals respected his wishes. Live and let live was Micky’s motto, and it had served him OK so far.
‘Thank you, Micky. That looks lovely. As you can see, my younger colleagues have not yet realized the importance of a healthy diet if they are to re
ach their prime as you and I have. Not that I am casting any aspersions on your burgers, which are the best-tasting unhealthy food in the city.’
‘Ta, I appreciate that, sergeant. Can I get you any drinks to go with your lunches?’
If this was on expenses, they might lash out a bit.
Smith said, ‘Is the coffee still as bad as ever, Micky?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
‘Right – a tea for me, from the pot mind, not in the mug, with a spot of milk. But don’t let me put anyone else off – everyone should try the Lemon instant roast at least once.’
Micky went away with four more orders, and there was a silence around the table for a minute or two as they began to eat. Waters remembered the food at the Tuck Stop out on the by-pass last February – the burger was equally as good as that and must have been sourced at a butcher’s rather than from a cash-and carry, and the roll was thick, rich white bread that actually had a flavour of its own. Smith’s knowledge of shabby little eateries that produced excellent food was extraordinary until you realized that it too was a part of half a lifetime’s work on the streets of Kings Lake.
‘Right then, this’ll do, won’t it? But it’s a working lunch, folks, so give us a report, John. What have you got so far?’
The answer was not much more than Smith and Waters, but clearly a Monday morning was not the time to be expecting much activity. There was the house on York Road that they had known about for years – two familiar faces had emerged from there at about eleven o’clock after an hour’s observation; as few of these people were early risers, it was a reasonable assumption that they had spent the night there. A few pubs, cafes and coffee bars still allowed dealing to go on – Murray had driven around to see which ones were still open and had not changed hands, and they all wrote down the list of names.
Waters said, ‘So are we only looking at the weed business? Is that all we’re likely to find?’
It was Murray who answered.
‘You say “only” but weed is big business now, compared to when DC was a lad. The stuff they smoke is highly engineered – I’m speaking genetically – and lethal. It’s also much more expensive these days, and there’s a lot of money involved. But no is the answer. You can find at least a little bit of everything in Lake, and the local clinics have more people on methodone than there ought to be for the size of the place. And there’s always been a coke scene as well.’
Smith continued.
‘John’s right, but the thing is that suppliers tend to specialize. You don’t go to one and buy a pick-and-mix selection for the weekend –you have different people to see. It’s like the pre-supermarket retail model; I don’t know if Tescos will move in at some point but no doubt they’ve had a look at it. Another big thing now is growing the weed – all the powders and pills and crystals have to be brought in but weed can be grown in your attic if you know what you’re doing. You have to be a pretty decent electrician, for starters, but a good crop can net tens of thousands in profit.’
Micky Lemon was bringing over their drinks and the conversation took the usual precautions. When he had gone, it was Smith who continued again.
‘Serena, I know you were on a couple of busts out in the sticks – are you up to speed on all this?’
‘I think so, sir.’
Waters winced, Murray almost smiled and even though the café held no other customers Serena Butler glanced around to see if anyone had heard before she mouthed ‘sorry’.
‘Good. Team leaders have been told to use the overtime as they see fit. I don’t know what the others are going to do but now that we’ve recced the ground, we’d do better to take the afternoon off, so to speak, and put in a few hours this evening. John, your home situation is a bit different with Maggie getting closer, and-’
Murray went to protest and Smith waved it away.
‘I’m not expecting you to do every evening for a fortnight – I know that you’ll do some. Serena, you might find yourself working with Chris – we just need to be flexible. Another point is that John and I are known in the area whereas you two are not. Both of you ought to be dressing down a bit – or is it dressing up – and then you can do some wandering into the pubs and whatever if necessary. We can be a bit creative but we cannot be at all careless; we keep in touch at all times and we do not take any chances. Alright? Because although the low-lives that we see on the streets might look like your last choice for a dinner date, it’s the people running them, the creatures higher up the food-chain, that you really don’t want to meet.’
He paused and looked around, just to be certain that the message had got home – Murray and Butler would already know what he meant, and most of that had been for Waters’ benefit.
‘OK. Chris and I are now going to leave town for a couple of hours. It’s nothing to do with the possible after-effects of what you have just consumed, or with what we’re working on – another matter entirely, as they say. John, it’s up to you how the B team uses the afternoon; I’ll give you a call later on. Now, who’s going to get the bill for this magnificent repast? Don’t all shout at once...’
By the time they arrived at the prison, Waters knew the story of the mobile number and the fate of Lucky Everett. They had talked some more about the Kings Lake initiative as well but in between there had been spells of silence that he no longer felt compelled to fill with conversation. Smith drove quickly once out of the city but in an unhurried fashion, always checking the mirrors, always signalling, his eyes always on the road.
Once through the main entrance, they turned right into an area that said ‘Staff parking only’. There was a security gate at which the officer seemed to recognize Smith and waved him through with just a glance at the ID card. Smith parked and looked around before getting out of the car.
‘Well, the uniforms have disappeared along with the body, but I imagine that the rest of the circus is still going on. We’re just going to nip in through that door and turn left. With any luck, we’ll only meet the man we’ve come to meet.’
They were halfway to the door when a figure appeared inside, visible through the glass side-panels of the corridor that led away to the right and apparently walking towards the same point – they would meet at the doorway unless someone turned back. Waters sensed Smith’s hesitation and heard him mutter ‘Sod it!’
But they continued on towards the door. The man had seen them, stopped and was waiting just inside. Smith had recovered himself and spoke as if this meeting too had been planned.
‘Oh, hello. Chris, this is DC Nigel Hinton – Nigel, DC Chris Waters, also of Kings Lake Central.’
Hinton held out his hand and Waters shook it. The man was smiling, friendly enough but obviously still surprised to see Smith again – it was clear that this was one of the detectives that Smith had spoken to about the mysterious reappearance of his old mobile phone number.
Hinton said, ‘I’ve not come down to meet you – I didn’t even know they’d called you back in, to be honest. He’s still in the same room, if you want to find your own way.’
There was a short, awkward pause. Waters had been in the force long enough now to understand the potential political complications that could arise if one force begins making inquiries that involve going off their own territory and onto someone else’s; as well as the strict official procedures and consultations that need to be followed, there is the matter of etiquette towards one’s fellow officers – Smith might well disregard the former but surely not the latter?
Smith said, ‘Nigel, I’ll put my hands up. No-one has called me back in. I can’t find any connection between Unlucky Everett and Kings Lake either, so I don’t have that as an excuse. But while I was here yesterday, I looked up an old acquaintance, and that’s who I’ve come to see.’
Hinton was thinking it over, taking his time. He was not many years younger than Smith, thickset, going grey at the temples, and Waters tried to imagine himself in thirty years or so, still a DC, still doing all the donkey-work,
as Smith sometimes called it. Was Hinton where he was through choice or through failure? On the other hand, there were men like John Murray – outstanding officers who had no wish to climb the career ladder.
Hinton said, ‘Right... Nothing to do with our case, then? You must have some nice DIs, giving you time off to make social calls.’
It was said in a friendly way but the intention was plain – he wanted to know a little more before he let this go.
‘I didn’t say that, Nigel. The chap who’s agreed to see me will have known why I was in the building yesterday, and the fact that he’s agreed to meet in a rather hush-hush fashion might mean that he’s got something for me. It might, that’s all, but that’s why I didn’t want it broadcast.’
Hinton had nodded, understanding, and Smith went a little further.
‘Anything useful that comes up I will pass on to you personally, if you give me a number – you’ve already got mine.’
Hinton had no card but he opened his mobile and showed the number – Smith nodded to Waters to make a note of it.
Smith said, ‘While we’re here, Nigel, any more on Everett? What did for him?’
‘First he got a nasty bang on the head. There’s an imprint of a battery on the skull.’
Smith explained to Waters: ‘They put several AA batteries into a sock. It’s a lethal weapon.’ Then he turned back to Hinton. ‘What else?’
‘Hopefully that knocked him unconscious. While he was on the floor, someone cut the jugular vein. No hacking about, one clean cut. The police doc who certified him said it was surgical. Razor blade set into a toothbrush handle, found in the toilet – no prints.’
Smith’s surprise became a frown.
‘Well, that ought to narrow it down a bit for you. But I don’t get it, Nigel. Everett was small-time, wasn’t he?’
Hinton nodded as he spoke.
‘Yes – that’s all we’ve got on him. The theory is that he got himself mixed up in some prison business, got completely out of his depth. There are some serious people in here.’
Persons of Interest Page 6