The Blue Notes

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘All right. How about another working villain, then? How about Dai Young, say?’

  ‘Would I work for Dai? Are you seriously asking me that, mate? I’ve spent the last six months trying to nick that bastard, not that anyone has taken a blind bit of notice. I’ve been trying to put him in the frame for two recent killings, for a start.’

  ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’

  ‘You what? Speak English, mate. My lad will be home in an hour, and I intend to be there to meet him. So ask your questions, or fuck off out of my face, all right?’

  ‘I just mean that you’re just a bit too keen to tell me that your dad’s lifestyle, and the people he knew, had no influence on you.’

  ‘That’s not even a bloody question. Look mate, good luck with your Open University psychology degree, or whatever all this in aid of. But if that’s it, can we just wrap this up now?’

  Jarvis didn’t so much as blink. ‘So what about the five grand?’

  ‘What five grand?’

  ‘The five grand that you were paid for information concerning police operations. The five thousand pounds that you hid in that shed.’

  ‘All bollocks. Are you talking about the shed that you just searched?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And was there any five grand in it?’

  ‘No. But that doesn’t mean to say that it wasn’t there in the very recent past. In fact, there was a floorboard that showed signs of having been disturbed recently.’

  ‘So what? I’ve not been in my granddad’s shed since I was about ten.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure about that?’

  Pepper didn’t hesitate. ‘Aye, I’m sure. Now look, Holmes, you’ve just searched my house, you’ll already have examined my finances, so you’ll know that what I’m about to tell you is true. I don’t have any five grand, and I’ve never, ever provided any form of information to criminals, whether for money or not. I totally despise cops who do that. In fact, I despise them even more than the kind of cops who are so cowardly, and so frightened of facing up to real cons, that all they can do is work in Professional Standards. It’s strictly for wankers, by wankers. And this so-called interview has been the biggest load of bollocks I’ve ever sat through in my life. Where’s your actual evidence, mate? Because I’ve heard absolutely fuck all so far, like.’

  Pepper had made an effort to exaggerate her anger, and it had’t been hard to do. But if Jarvis had any more on her then she wanted to see it, to hear it, because at present she could only think of one explanation that fitted the facts, as far as she knew them. And unless Jarvis had something else up his non-iron sleeve the only credible explanation was that someone from inside Dai Young’s operation had used whoever was the mole to leak the information about her dad’s cash back to the enquiry. But Jarvis wasn’t biting. If he had any more on her, which Pepper doubted, he most certainly wasn’t saying. But one thing she did know now, absolutely for certain, was that there was a mole within the job. Had to be.

  Ten minutes later she was being driven back to Carlisle in an unmarked car, driven by a young uniformed WPC who Pepper had never met before. The girl tried to chat, but Pepper didn’t respond. Jarvis looked like the kind of sly bastard who would try something like that on. Try to get her talking when she thought the pressure was off. Well, he could fuck right off. And as they drove up the motorway Pepper glanced across at the young woman’s hands on the wheel. Those long, manicured nails didn’t belong to a working copper. They’d be ripped off and bloody by closing time. Pepper made sure that WPC Atkins had noticed her glance, and then waited for her to speak. ‘Just had them done, ma’am. I was on a night out at the weekend. They’ll not last five minutes when I’m back out on the street, will they?’

  Pepper didn’t reply, just smiled to herself and watched the countryside roll by. At least her driver would shut up now, so she could think. How confident could she be that the source of the information about that money was the person who’d actually paid it to her dad? Now that she thought about it again, she concluded that she couldn’t be absolutely certain. For a start, while Dai Young would have known how much was paid, he could only have known where her dad had actually hidden it if he’d told Dai, or someone close to him, himself. That would have been very stupid, not least because Dai was certainly not above simply stealing it back. But it was certainly possible, probable even. But the more she thought about it, the less sure she became. Could her old man have ever been that pissed, that raddled, that reckless? After all, that cash was supposed to be some kind of bequest to her. A sign of a father’s love. Far too late, and completely the wrong kind of sign, but symbolic none the less.

  So, as Atkins left the motorway at Carlisle, Pepper considered another possibility. Had her father mentioned the money in the hearing of one of the cops at the hospital, when he was drugged up, maybe? Had he tried to use one of them to get a message to her, but instead they’d told someone else? Who could that be, if so? Even if she looked up the duty roster for the day after her father had been so seriously injured while driving for Dai Young’s outfit that probably wouldn’t help. There’d be thirty or forty possibles at least, because everyone and their bloody dog had turned out on the night, and even more through the following day.

  So was there another way that she could find out more? As she ran up the stairs to the CID office, her shoes echoing rapid-fire in the stairwell, she started to think about Mary Clark. And by the time she reached the management suite, and the sound of her hurrying feet was dulled by the deep blue carpet, she knew how she’d play it. And for the first time in hours, she was smiling.

  The Super was in a meeting, but her PA told Pepper that Clark had given instructions to interrupt as soon as Pepper arrived. And, sure enough, twenty seconds later, three or four civilian staff came out, talking about something to do with the budget. And that was Pepper’s key advantage over the Super, she thought as she walked in to her office. Because while Clark could spot an error in a spreadsheet at ten feet she didn’t have a clue about real policing. About spotting a lie, about running an interview. Or about getting to the truth, even when the truth was in hiding.

  So Pepper listened and smiled while Clark expressed her sympathy, poured the tea, and said that she had always been certain that Pepper had nothing to worry about. And then came the question that Pepper had been waiting for.

  ‘So what happened exactly, love?’

  ‘Well they found nowt, obviously. But it was odd, because they seemed to be acting on some very specific info. And it was totally mad, like.’

  ‘How do you mean, mad?’

  Pepper watched Mary Clark as closely as she would the nastiest and slippery of cons, and she didn’t care that Clark had noticed. She wanted her to know how it felt. Until now Clark had only ever been playing at coppering, and this wasn’t a bloody game.

  ‘Those tossers from Professional Standards only had the search team turning over a shitty old shed that my grandfather put up years ago down at the allotments. They seemed to think I was hiding my ill-gotten gains there. Fuck knows why, like.’

  ‘Jesus, that is odd.’

  ‘Aye, which is why they must have had some specific intel. And they look like right prats now, don’t they? The search team will be laughing their bloody socks off. All they found was a bit of compost and some old tools. So I reckon that Dixon and Jarvis must have reckoned that the source of that intel was pretty reliable, like.’

  ‘A trusted informant, you mean?’

  Pepper paused, and kept her gaze locked hard onto Clark’s.

  ‘That’s one possibility, aye. But there are others.’

  It was a moment or two before Clark replied. ‘I see, of course. Silly of me. This is all so new to me, love. I suppose that the information could have come from anywhere, couldn’t it? After all, it was wrong, wasn’t it? I’m beginning to think that this was all a mistake. There’s no bloody mole at all, is there?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that, ma�
�am. Not at all, actually. I still reckon that we’ve got someone on the take, in this nick probably, and that this process will flush them out eventually. Dixon and Jarvis might be running around like headless bloody chickens, but they’ll calm down, and they’ll start using the process.’

  ‘The process?’

  ‘Oh, aye, the rule book, like. That’s the thing about this job. You don’t need to be some kind of genius to be an effective detective, you just need to follow the procedures. Because there have been hundreds of cases like this over the years, and so we’ve developed ways of investigating them that work, 95% of the time. This’ll be no exception. It’s just the same with burglary, fraud, arson, whatever. There’s a procedure to follow, and it usually gets us a result in the end.’

  Clark broke Pepper’s gaze. ‘I see. So what happens next, do you reckon?’

  ‘Well, there are various options. But if I was SIO I’d probably try to narrow the field down a bit.’

  ‘How would you do that?’

  Had the question come just a breath too quickly? Pepper couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Well, ma’am, I’d set up an operation against organised crime, probably targeting cash or gear, and I’d monitor every copper and civilian who’s based out of here, both before and after the raid, or whatever it is. That’s our calls, emails, everything they can get. I’d probably put surveillance on any key suspects for the few hours after the briefing, but before the operation, too. So that’ll mean I’ll probably grow myself a shadow, soon enough.’

  ‘Really? Is that how it’s done? But what if the operation isn’t blown? Would that mean that there wasn’t a mole at all?’

  ‘Maybe, aye, but not definitely, like. Because the thing about this situation is that most of your suspects are coppers, so the majority will know how this plays out. That’s why you have to make the raid target something that’s really worth having. Use your best intel, maybe even risk blowing an informant, but make the mole react. Put them on the back foot, between a rock and a hard place, like. And I’ll tell you one thing, ma’am.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be in that person’s shoes when it goes off, like. Because now they’ve got to choose which risk they prefer. The risk of being caught, and doing five or six years as a copper in jail, or facing up to what Dai Young will do to them, if they don’t feed him what he wants. If it was me I’d take the jail time, every bloody time. But then I know Dai Young. I grew up with that vicious bastard, remember. I know exactly what he’s capable of doing.’

  Afterwards Pepper went back to her own office, closed the door, and quickly scanned her emails. There was nothing urgent, or even interesting. So she booted her computer down, grabbed her bag, and made for the door. When Rex Copeland tried to talk to her she brushed him off.

  ‘All right’, he called out just as she reached the door, ‘we’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?’

  But she didn’t reply, and he knew exactly how she felt. The first time he’d been on the shitty end of an internal investigation, when he’d been at the Met, he kept thinking that he’d landed in some kind of back-to-front universe, where absolutely everything was the wrong way round. He’d been the one in the suspect’s chair, he’d been the one on the sharp end of the copper’s stare. For months afterwards, when he was conducting interviews himself, he had vivid flash-backs, and he often wondered if the whole experience had actually made him a better bobby. He wasn’t certain about that, but he doubted that it had made him a worse one.

  So he didn’t follow Pepper down the stairs, but instead walked over to Armstrong’s eternally untidy desk.

  ‘Step in to my office’ he said, nodding in the direction of the DI’s office. He waited just inside, and closed the door when Armstrong walked in.

  ‘Are we OK talking about this?’ said Armstrong, when they’d both sat down at the meeting table.

  ‘You mean is this place bugged? That’s the sort of paranoia that shit like this brings out in people, Henry.’

  ‘So we’re OK?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. But who gives a shit? I’m not dirty, Pepper’s not, and if you are I’ll eat two of those disgusting sausage rolls from the canteen.’

  ‘All right, so what can we do to help Pepper? You name it, Rex, and I’m there.’

  ‘Appreciate it, mate. And I’m sure Pepper would, and all. Seems to me that there’s only one thing we can do.’

  ‘Prove that Pepper isn’t dirty?’

  ‘No, mate, not that. Prove a negative? Forget it, because that’s not what we do. No, the best thing we can do now is find out who this leak is, if there really is one.’

  ‘Seriously? Professional standards have got a team of ten on this, Rex, I know that for a fact. Christ knows what they’re all doing, like, but what can we achieve that they can’t? Seriously, mate, I just can’t see it.’

  ‘Come on, Henry. You’re living proof that’s a place for the enthusiastic amateur, even in today’s police force.’ Henry was smiling, so Rex went on. ‘Well, it’s not like you need the money, now is it?’

  Henry laughed now. ‘I keep telling you, mate, it’s my dad’s house. Not that you ever bloody listen. So what are you suggesting? Like I say, I’m well up for it.’

  ‘Well, look, we know this nick better than any of those bastards from HQ, don’t we? And we know the local cons, too.’

  ‘Aye, we do. But so what?’

  ‘Let me ask you a question, Henry. Think back over the last few weeks. Have we come across anything unusual, in terms of our caseload? Particularly anything that might connect to Pepper, say?’

  Armstrong shook his head. ‘You’re thinking about Davey Hood? No way, Rex. He’s one of the good guys. He just doesn’t know it yet, that’s all.’

  ‘Maybe, but he’s the kind of bloke who could have been put on this earth to get to Pepper, isn’t he? He’s the bloody strong silent type, and he’s willing to take on Dai Young’s boys. Or at least he seems to be. I’m surprised she hasn’t got a picture of the bloke on her desk already, in a bloody heart-shaped frame, or some shit like that. But what if he’s really some kind of plant? Think about it, mate. Just for a minute. How likely is it that a bloody removal man would ever even think about taking on the likes of Dai Young?’

  Armstrong shook his head, but took his time before he replied. He’d told no one about the fact that it was Hood who’d been ripping off Dai Young’s trucking operations, just as Pepper had asked. But he thought about saying something now, just to prove to Rex that he was miles off beam.

  ‘No, you’re barking up the wrong tree there, mate,’ he said, as firmly as he could.

  ‘Yeah, well maybe you’re right, but there’s more to that bloke than meets the eye, Henry, I’m bloody sure of it.’

  ‘No, he’s just a squaddie with a van who likes to help a damsel in distress. He’s not mixed up with a nutter like Young.’

  ‘You want a bet?’

  ‘No. I don’t bet, as you well know. Anyway, what are you planning to do about this?’

  ‘I’m planning to take a special interest in Davey Hood. Dig about a bit, see what I can come up with. You in?’

  ‘Aye, if you think it will help. What can I do?’

  ‘Find out what we’ve got on this Hood bloke, and his KA’s, and we’ll talk about it tomorrow, OK?’

  Davey Hood had noticed the car when he’d locked up the yard and first pulled away in his battered old Mitsubishi crew-cab. It drew out of a space fifty yards behind him, and arrived at the junction on to the main road just as he was turning left. So instead of driving straight home he took a right down a residential street, and kept his speed low. Sure enough the car, a dark blue hatchback, turned after him, and again when he took another right. He knew this street, because he’d grown up at number 11, and he turned hard onto the unmade track that led to the garages behind the houses. He gunned his truck hard, then handbrake turned in front of the garages. he waited, but the blue car didn’t follow him down the tra
ck.

  He glanced at his watch, gave it thirty seconds and then climbed slowly out of the cab, leaving the engine running and the door open. If it came to it then his old pick-up might be his only weapon. He looked down the track towards the street, didn’t see the blue car, and when he peered cautiously round the corner of the house on the corner it was nowhere to be seen on the street.

  He walked back to his truck, and drove back onto the road. Pound to a penny they’d gone to wait at his house, less than half a mile away, so he drove there, but stopped round the corner and walked from there. Sure enough the car was parked, two up, about twenty metres from his front door. Hood was hungry, so he left his car where it was and walked quickly to his favourite fish and chip shop, about five minutes away. He shared a joke with the girl behind the counter, and then sat in his truck and ate. Afterwards he followed a white van into his own street and parked about twenty vehicles behind the blue car. Anyone with half a brain working that kind of surveillance would walk the street occasionally, but he didn’t expect that to happen. After another ten minutes he had a bet with himself about how long they’d stay. It was 6.20pm, and he was sure they’d be gone by soon after seven. So he still had plenty of time.