‘You haven’t even touched yours yet, love.’
‘They’d be for the kids. Or at least they will be if Tommy doesn’t see them first. He’s got a right sweet tooth, has our Tommy.’
Pepper had only been half joking when she’d told Rex Copeland that she enjoyed the preparation for a raid more than she did getting ready for a night out. The station was quiet, the bosses and their buzzing Blackberrys had gone home hours ago, and it was just real coppers who were gathering in the briefing room. Pepper was under no illusions, though. Some of the lads were just bone idle, some were as thick as mince, and quite a few were both.
But they all had their game faces on as Chief Inspector Ray Henderson, who’d be leading the raid, briefed the team. He told them that, while the premises were undoubtedly unoccupied at that moment, it was also possible that someone could return at any time. ‘So let’s proceed on that basis. As you’ll see it’s a small industrial unit, and the layout is very simple. Essentially it’s one big room with a small office, a kitchen and a loo at the back. No rear doors. We’ll have two armed officers there in advance of the operation, and we have a set of keys from the owner. Our information is that the weapons are hidden in a false drain under an inspection hatch in the floor just here.’ Henderson used his pen to indicate the spot on the plan that was being projected on the screen behind him.
‘Will the key holder accompany us, sir?’ asked one of the older cops.
‘He’ll be in the command and control vehicle, yes. And, because I know you’re a right suspicious lot, let me say this. As far as we are aware the owner of the building is entirely unconnected with these offenders. But we have kept him close since we briefed him on this, so he won’t have been able to warn anyone, even if he wanted to. And we do have a high degree of confidence in our information, which is based on intelligence from two independent sources, and is supported by recent surveillance of our three main target criminals. And, on that point, I should say that two of them did visit the premises earlier today, and one was carrying a large back-pack both on the way in and out. It’s impossible to tell if he was making a deposit or a withdrawal, however.’
‘How many weapons are we talking, sir?’
‘Hard to say, but they’re all hand guns. At least a couple, possibly as many as ten if we’re really lucky. Stocks vary from day to day, apparently. So it’ll be the luck of the draw, you might say.’ No one laughed. ‘Our armourer will make the weapons safe, and they’ll be photographed in situ. Then we’ll all move out, and the surveillance will re-commence. And when chummies come back, we’ll nick them and the hardware.’
‘Have they booby-trapped the place, sir?’ asked the same cop who’d spoken before.
‘You are a little ray of sunshine, PC Baker.’ Henderson waited for the nervous laughter to subside. ‘We’ve got no reason to suspect that they have, but we are using the keyhole camera and the sniffer dog tonight. Needless to say if there’s anything that gives us cause for concern we’ll just have to wait until our boys come back, and nick them while they’re inside. So is everyone clear? We go in quiet and clean, disable the weapons, and get out again. The process takes about ten minutes for an average handgun, apparently.’
There were no more questions, and fifteen minutes later the team rolled out, in three unmarked cars and an unmarked van. Pepper sat between Rex Copeland and a big lad who she hardly knew in the back of the second car. Her body armour was digging in to her hips, but it was a short ride. No-one spoke as they drove, although Rex fiddled with the camera that tech support had given him to use. He was hoping that he remembered how it worked. Since they’d got rid of the civilian snapper DCs like him were expected to turn into proper David Baileys on jobs like this one. And he really didn’t want to get back to the nick and discover that he’d got bugger all.
But Rex Copeland needn’t have worried, because his camera wasn’t needed that night. Nothing exploded when the metal doors were opened, and the redundant drainage pipe was exactly where it was supposed to be. But it was completely empty. No guns, no nothing. Twenty minutes later the unit was silent and dark again, and the cops were on their way back to the station.
Most of them were thinking about the overtime, or the fact that it was turning into a nice, quiet shift, but Henderson, Pepper and Rex Copeland were all thinking about something else entirely. Because they were wondering about when and why the guns had been moved, assuming that they’d ever been there at all. It wasn’t the first time that they’d come up dry on a raid like this, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, so maybe it meant nothing. They all knew that cons were unreliable and unpredictable by nature, or at least by occupation, so perhaps there was no reason to be concerned about the visit that was paid to the unit by the suspects less than twelve hours before the raid. But maybe there was every reason to be concerned.
Pepper didn’t think about Justin until she got home, but when she saw the big red Jaguar parked outside her house - taking up her space and one of her neighbours’ - she knew exactly who it belonged to, even though she’d never seen the car before. It must have cost what she earned in a year, she thought. As she unlocked her front door she felt a wave of tiredness wash over her, but she knew that she’d still have to sit and chat for a bit. Justin would expect it, at the very least, after spending an evening with Ben.
‘Wine’s on the kitchen worktop’ he called out, while she was taking her coat off. And when she’d poured herself a glass and taken a sip she had to look at the label. She didn’t recognise it, but even with the taste of the stale sausage roll that she’d had for tea still furring up her mouth she knew it was good. And, she didn’t doubt, expensive.
‘Cheers’, she said, when she walked into the living room. Justin was on his laptop, and he barely glanced up at her. She was slightly disappointed.
‘Jesus, the fans do like to bloody chat. When we started this I promised I’d stay accessible, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.’
Pepper laughed, thinking it was a joke. One of the things she’d always liked about Justin was his self-deprecation. But perhaps that had disappeared since the Working Poor became successful, along with the perennial overdraft.
‘No, love, I’m serious. They never bloody leave off.’
‘It’s the price of fame, I suppose.’
‘Maybe, aye. Just give me a minute, and I’m all yours.’
Pepper drained her glass, went back to the kitchen, and returned with the bottle.
‘Top up?’ she said.
‘Better not. My new car’s a bit of a magnet to your boys.’
So he had no expectation of staying. Pepper wasn’t absolutely sure whether to be relieved or not.
‘It’s very nice, your Jag. Did you show Ben?’
‘Aye. We went for a ride. He liked all the techie stuff. Showed me how most of it works, in fact. He’s a bright lad, that’s for sure.’
‘He certainly is. But you know he’ll spend the next month going on about all the things your car does, and that mine doesn’t.’
‘Sorry, love. As the man once said, I can’t help it if I’m lucky.’
‘I think he was being ironic.’
‘Oh, aye? Anyway, I have been. Lucky, I mean. I can’t believe how fast it’s all happened. A year ago we were playing to five drunks and our families in Carlisle pubs, now we’re selling out thousand seater venues. It’s bloody amazing.’
Pepper looked across at Justin. He looked happier and healthier than she’d ever seen him. Slimmer too, although maybe that was the new clothes.
‘It’s what you’ve always dreamed of, love.’
‘Aye, it is.’
‘And is it as good as you’d hoped?’
‘Better, love, bloody miles better. When I’m on stage now I sometimes stop singing, and let the crowd take over. Can you believe that? They know the bloody words better than I do, most of them.’
‘That’s fans for you, I suppose. Not that I’d know. I’ve only got one,
and I think he’s going off me.’
‘No I’m not, love.’
‘I didn’t mean you, Justin. I meant Ben.’
‘Of course you did. I knew that. And I knew you didn’t mean Adam, neither.’
‘You’ve heard about him and the infant teacher?’
‘Aye. And she lives up to the name by all accounts. I hear she’s only in her early twenties, and him well past thirty. Who’d have thought he had it in him, the lucky bastard?’
She smiled, and felt the skin tighten around her eyes. ‘And how old are your fans then, Justin?’
‘We’re not a kids’ band, love. And we’re very careful, believe you me. You’ve got to be, these days, like.’
Pepper drained her glass, and hoped that Justin would do the same.
‘I’d better be off,’ he said, leaving the last of his wine untouched. ‘Listen, I hope you don’t mind, but I bought the lad a gift.’
‘Why would I mind?’
‘There might be a bit of noise, that’s all.’
‘Not another video game, Justin? I’ve told you, he already spends far too long on those.’
‘I know. And it’s not a video game, it’s a guitar. A little half size. I showed him a few chords earlier on, and he says he’ll practice every day.’
Pepper smiled. ‘That was thoughtful of you, love, thanks. I’m sure he’ll love it.’
‘Here’s hoping. Who knows, he might even follow in my footsteps one day.’
‘Aye, well. Thanks, anyway.’
Pepper tried to think of something more positive to say, but she was too slow. Justin was already getting up from the sofa, folding his laptop closed, and reaching into his pocket for his car keys.
‘I know you never reckoned what I’m doing as a real job, Pepper, but you were wrong. Can’t you at least admit that? There’s more than one way of making something of your life, you know.’
‘I know, love, I know. How does the song go? ‘That ain’t working, that’s the way you do it’?’
Justin laughed. ‘Aye, that’s about it. Except it’s not just MTV these days, it’s YouTube too. When we’re playing I can sometimes see the first few rows of heads in the audience, and most of them are filming us on their phones. The next day it’s all over the internet, honest. Sometimes I just wish people would just enjoy things as they happen, and not feel the need to work all the bloody time. You know what I mean, love?’
At that same moment, and only a few streets away, Davey Hood pressed a button on his battered G-Shock and started the countdown timer. He used his bolt cutters to get the gates to the yard open, then he rolled the big plastic drum across the yard, keeping up a jogging pace all the way to the diesel pump in the corner. He knew that there was CCTV, and that the alarm would start ringing in a few seconds, but he still had time. Even if someone called it in it would still be at least five minutes before the cops arrived. And he’d be well clear by then, no problem.
The process of persuading the diesel pump to work was simple enough, if you knew how. And Davey most certainly did. He pumped a hundred and fifty litres, feeling the drum fill up. Then he put the nozzle back, and made sure that the pump was turned off again and was absolutely safe. He didn’t want some poor sod getting drenched in diesel, or worse, in the morning. And he smiled when his watch alarm went off, because he’d just finished rolling the drum into the back of the van, had secured it with chocks, and was putting away the steel loading ramps. Then he drove away slowly, and even as he was leaving the industrial estate he still hadn’t seen a police car.
The local St. John Ambulance base was less than a mile away, and it took even less time to reverse the process. And this time he picked the lock to the yard too, so that he could leave the place properly secure when he left. Or, more accurately, he could leave the place no less secure than he found it. But Hood was slightly disappointed to discover that the two ambulances in the yard only took about thirty litres of between them. He’d hoped that they’d have needed more.
When he’d finished he reloaded his van, secured the St. John’s yard and drove back to his own small depot, with the freshly painted Hood’s Haulage sign swinging stickily in the cold, midnight breeze. He parked the van, checked that his storage building was secure, and walked home. And a police car did come past, with its blue lights flashing, just as he was about to turn into his own street. He made that about a thirty five minute response time, assuming they were headed to his first port of call. They’d have been down on Botchergate before, he thought, sorting out the drunks and the dirtbags, and in a few minutes time they’d be talking to the irate owner of another one of his competitors.
But Hood didn’t give a shit about Harry Watkins, or his business. Because Watkins knew something that the two PCs in that jam sandwich most certainly didn’t, which was that half of his haulage contracts came courtesy of Dai Young, whose boys made bloody sure that when the best local contracts came up for renewal they went to Watkins, and a couple of other local firms too. Davey Hood was sure that they all paid handsomely for that muscular endorsement, and no doubt they also moved stuff around for Young as and when required, but he also knew for certain that he’d never, ever go down that same path.
When he’d left the army, over a year before, one of the so-called advisors down at the dole office had told him that soldiers tended to be a bit too rigid in their thinking when they returned to civvy street, and that they often needed to work in structured environments, where they were given clear instructions. And Hood had told the bloke, in no uncertain terms, that the only reason he’d left was to get away from a bunch of upper-class chinless bloody wonders telling him what to do all day and night. And now, with a van bought and paid for, and two decent ex-army lads on the payroll, he’d be buggered if he’d let the likes of Dai Young give him orders.
And his twelve years in the army had also taught him that there were some people that couldn’t be reasoned with, and that it didn’t pay to even try. Not ever. So he’d carry on getting his little bit of retaliation in first, and if Young’s lads came round some time, then he’d be ready for them. Both of the lads he’d recruited had been regular customers of Young’s drug pushers when Davey had first found them, and now that they were both clean and healthy he had no doubt that they were loyal, and more than willing to mix it if needs be. And Dai Young had to be one of two things. Either he was a paper tiger, a straw man, or he was a proper fanatic. A true believer. But Hood had come across that type before, back in the military, and he was pretty sure that he’d learned how to deal with them too.
Easter Monday, April 6th
Dai Young’s office, Carlisle, 12.10pm
Dai was enjoying being in the office without his staff. Some of the lads called them the stiffs, but he just thought of them as civilians. There were five of them, one man and four women, and they were responsible for running all of the legitimate operations. They knew nothing about his other interests, or rather they knew nothing more than that it would be deeply unwise to steal so much as a paperclip from work. They were all intelligent people, plenty clever enough to know that there was a reason why they were being paid twenty percent more than the going rate for their roles, and also that it would not be sensible to try to find out what that reason was. They seemed like nice, normal folk, and he’d pretty much forgotten what those were like. Sometimes he sat in his office and just listened to the feed from the hidden microphone in the ceiling of the open office beyond. Their talk of children, holidays and extensions, both built and yet to be constructed, was strangely soothing. Like getting a glimpse into a world where everything was beige, and soft, and deadly, deadly dull.
He’d trained himself to become a different person when he walked in through that office door, as he did on most working days. It was how he imagined a normal boss would be, and although the staff seemed to go a bit quieter than he expected when he arrived they seemed friendly enough. One or two even shared a joke occasionally, and when they did he did his level best to
laugh. But today was different, because it was a bank holiday. Which meant that only the bad guys had come in to work.
Jonny Adams was his first caller of the day. He liked Jonny, partly because he was a local lad, but mainly because he frightened pretty much everyone except Dai himself. And that made him useful. So Young found himself smiling as he watched the younger man walk from the main door towards his office. He made all the furniture look too small, somehow, and Jonny had to bend his head, as if in respectful genuflection, to get through Young’s door.
‘Sorry to come in so early, Dai.’
‘I keep punter’s hours these days, son. I’m in here at nine sharp, five days a week. You should try it. See how the other half lives. It’s like eating that bran breakfast cereal. It tastes like shit at the time, but you feel better for it afterwards.’
‘If you say so, boss.’
‘So what can I do for you? You look like a bloke who’s come with good news.’
Adams looked worried now, and Young always liked to see that too.
‘Do I, boss? Well, it’s not exactly good news. More of a heads up, you might say. You know Harry Watkins?’
‘The haulier? Not personally, but I know of him, aye. A weak, greedy bloke, just like the rest of them.’
‘He’s been robbed.’
‘Diesel again?’
‘Aye.’
‘And he was under our protection, right?’
‘Aye.’
‘So what are we doing about it?’
Adams looked confused now. He’d expected that Dai would have told him what to do next already. That’s how it usually worked, anyway.
The Blue Notes Page 2