Sleeping Dogs

by Chris Simms

  ‘Cheers. I’m sure I’ll be back in this neck of the woods before long.’

  Jon extended a hand, readying himself for the steel-like grip. ‘Thanks for your help.’

  As they shook, Nick’s eyes shifted to the dead dog. ‘I’ll get back to you with anything I find.’

  Once they were safely out of earshot, Rick gave Jon a smirking glance. ‘Your hand hurting?’

  ‘Yeah, I noticed you kept far enough back to just give him a wave.’ He flexed his fingers and examined them for any damage. ‘Bloke could squeeze blood from a stone.’

  Rick chuckled as he bowed his head, voice turning serious. ‘You reckon the nightclub owner is behind this, then?’

  Jon nodded. ‘We’ve got the same type of van. Same type of dog. The only thing that’s confusing me is the time line. When I was in Clifden in Darragh’s club, that dog and its handlers were over here – up in Newcastle and down in Birmingham. So, are the handlers just mates that he was able to call on to do his dirty work? Or did he pop over here for the fights themselves?’

  ‘If he did,’ Rick answered, ‘and he’s travelling under his own passport, we’ll be able to track his movements.’

  ‘True.’ Jon thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘Including how he got back to the Irish republic.’

  He considered the nightmare process for when a suspect fled to another country within Europe. First step would be to make a Request for Mutual Legal Assistance. That meant going to the CPS who, if they agreed to pursue it, would then approach the Home Office. The official at the Home Office would then contact a counterpart in the country concerned who, in turn, would contact someone in that nation’s police force.

  But, as Jon well knew, any enquiry was only as good as the officer conducting it. And he would be relying on a copper in another country to build a strong enough case for Jon to eventually apply for a European Arrest Warrant. He groaned at the prospect.

  ‘You had a bit of a chat with Nikki.’

  Jon registered the expressionless tone. His colleague knew how close Jon had come to being tempted all those years ago. ‘We were going over the forensics – or lack of.’

  ‘Yeah, she was also flashing you those big brown eyes of hers.’

  ‘Was she?’

  ‘Who’s the father?’

  ‘She’s not – ’ He stopped himself.

  ‘Go on.’

  Sighing, Jon continued. ‘She’s not involving him. Apparently, he buggered off.’

  ‘So just discussing forensics, then.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Rick. I’ve worked on and off with Nikki for years. How could I not ask after the fact she’s pregnant?’

  His partner gave him a wary look. ‘That woman would love to get a hook into you.’ He grasped an imaginary rod and started reeling.

  ‘I see. Like I’m just some brainless fish.’

  Rick smiled in reply.

  The silence between them was broken by a muffled warble. Jon removed his phone and glanced at the screen. Anonymous. ‘DI Spicer speaking.’

  When she spoke, it sounded like she was in the next street. ‘Was that you in the dark blue Mondeo? I was on my way to Darragh’s – you drove straight past me.’

  He came to a halt, staring straight ahead. ‘Siobhain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you get this number?’

  ‘I rang your house. Your wife answered.’

  Alice? Jon frowned. What the hell is she doing at home? ‘You spoke to my wife?’

  ‘Yeah – she gave me your mobile. So I rang it.’

  Treat this woman, Jon thought, like she’s a suspect. You have no idea what her agenda is. ‘What’s happened to Zoë? Is she all right?’

  ‘She’s…she’s doing OK.’

  ‘Doing OK? What does that mean?’

  ‘He slapped her about some. Wanting to know who the hell you were.’

  Was that how he found out where I lived so quickly? Jon thought, rubbing at the back of his head. ‘How bad is she?’

  ‘She’ll be OK.’

  The cowardly fucker, Jon thought, picturing Darragh de Avila.

  ‘That night, I was on my way to find you,’ Siobhain went on. ‘But you zoomed off at a hundred miles an hour.’

  Jon’s step faltered. Somehow, he thought, your words don’t ring true. The gush of a pre-prepared lie. He’d heard it in interview rooms a thousand times before. ‘No one knew of any Zoë.’

  ‘She’s here! You must come back. As soon as she’s on her feet, they’re sending her to Belfast with that delivery.’

  Jon started walking again. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘What?’

  Jon sniffed. ‘It’s a simple question. Who are you?’

  ‘I’m a friend, that’s all. Just looking out for her and keeping my own head down.’

  ‘You say you live in Clifden. You say your name’s Siobhain. No one knew of you, either. I don’t know a damn thing about you.’

  ‘I am Siobhain. I knew Zoë when we were in Manchester. How else would I know about you? About what you did to Salvio? Zoë told me. She gave me your number.’

  ‘So you say. Tell me more about Zoë. What’s the name of her kid?’

  ‘Jake.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘I don’t know. She said he was two when she left Manchester. Six?’

  Six and a bit, Jon thought. You really have seen spoken to her. ‘Why doesn’t Zoë call me herself?’

  ‘He keeps a close eye on her. Checks her phone, has someone watch her. You know the type of man.’

  Jon thought about Darragh. Anyone prepared to hit a woman was, ultimately, weak. Weak and insecure. What’s more, Jon smiled to himself, Darragh himself would know it. Deep down. When he was alone, looking in the mirror, he would see that weakness in his own eyes. Jon carefully filed the knowledge. ‘Are they a couple?’

  Her laugh was full of scorn. ‘He doesn’t let anyone get close to him.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘About, I think. He’s got a place nearby.’

  ‘In Clifden?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Jon realised Siobhain’s local knowledge could be useful. ‘Is he there at the moment?’

  ‘He comes and goes. I’ve not seen him today.’

  He thought about Alice, back in their home for some reason. ‘I need to know if he’s there.’

  ‘I’ll find out for you.’

  ‘Ring me back as soon as you know.’

  ‘So will you come?’

  ‘Do you know what’s happened over here?’

  ‘No,’ she replied, uneasily. ‘What?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Will you not come and get her? She’s no one else.’

  ‘You want me to stroll back into that nightclub and just pluck her out of it?’

  ‘Can’t you?’

  ‘They won’t let me back in there – you must know how things ended up.’

  ‘There is some talk.’ It sounded like she was smiling. ‘Conor Barry, the guy on the door, has bandaging to his nose.’

  ‘Are the police involved?’

  ‘The Guards? That lot will never involve them.’

  That’s a relief, Jon thought. ‘I’ll never be able to – ’ He stopped himself. Why am I even discussing this?

  ‘We can sort something, tell him we need women’s stuff from the chemist. He’ll let her nip out for that.’

  ‘He’d believe that? After me turning up the other day?’

  ‘There’ll be a chance to get her out. At some point.’

  ‘He’ll know you helped her.’

  ‘I don’t care. I hate this town. Soon as Zoë’s safe, I’m off too.’

  Jon sighed. ‘Listen – find out if he’s at home then call me back.’ He cut the connection and started scrolling for his wife’s number. ‘It was that dodgy girl from Clifden.’

  Rick lifted his eyebrows.

  ‘Alice is at our place, she just gave that Siobhain my mobile.’ Jon looked
up at the sky waiting for his wife to answer. ‘Alice, hi babe. Why aren’t you at your mum’s?’

  ‘We’d forgotten Holly’s Nintendo,’ she said breezily. ‘I just popped back.’

  ‘But we agreed – stay away until this thing is sorted.’ The line beeped. Another caller, trying to get through.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ she replied. ‘Wasn’t that what Parks’s phone call earlier was about?’

  Her words were catching and he heard the jangle of keys. She’s on the move, he thought. The line beeped again. ‘Yes – but I didn’t say it was safe to go home.’

  ‘Well I’m setting off back to Mum’s, anyway. When will you be there?’

  ‘Not sure.’ He could hear her opening their front door. ‘Sixish, hopefully.’

  ‘Right. I’ll – ’ She stopped talking.

  A pang of disquiet coincided with another beep from his phone. Piss off calling me, would you? ‘Alice are you still there?’

  ‘Someone’s at our garden gate.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A man. He’s…he’s looking at me.’

  ‘Alice,’ Jon kept his voice low and urgent. ‘Get back in the house.’

  ‘Can I help you?’ His wife’s voice had a hard edge. ‘What do you want? What the bloody hell do you want?’

  Jon started running for his car. ‘Get inside and lock the door!’

  ‘You bloody well leave my family alone, do you hear?’

  ‘Get in the fucking house!’ As he opened his car, Rick was also on the phone. ‘Are you inside?’ Jon demanded.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Bolt it.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘I’ll be there in ten.’ He started the engine.

  Rick dropped into the passenger seat, talking fast. ‘Yes – all units. Everything. Thirty-seven Arkville Road, Heaton Moor. It’s an officer’s home residence, I repeat, officer’s home residence.’

  Chapter 18

  Rick called Alice’s mobile as Jon sped along Dialstone Lane, siren wailing. ‘We’re on our way, Alice. Can you see what he’s doing?’ He glanced at Jon. ‘She doesn’t want to go near the windows. In case he throws something.’

  Jon leaned across and asked loudly, ‘Did you hear our front gate open?’

  Rick shook his head in reply.

  ‘Tell her to look through the letterbox.’ He got to the traffic lights leading out on to the A6. Red. Fuck. In front, a stream of cars was crossing in both directions.

  ‘Did you hear that, Alice?’ Rick asked. ‘Yeah – just a quick peep.’ Holding his hand on the horn, Jon went the wrong way round a pedestrian island and forced his way out into the junction. Cars started pulling up and Jon manoeuvred between them.

  Rick had bowed his head, phone pressed against his ear. ‘Is he still there? He is? What’s he doing?’

  Now clear of the mess, Jon accelerated sharply.

  ‘Standing there?’ Rick said. ‘That’s all? He’s looking up at the first-floor windows. OK, that’s cool Alice. What does he look like?’ He listened for a moment. ‘Gingerish hair, quite stocky. Dark jacket. Right, we’ll be there soon.’

  Jon glanced at the dashboard. Sixty-five miles an hour. A speed camera went off behind him.

  Rick spoke again. ‘Where’s he walking? Along the pavement? A car’s pulled up?’

  ‘Description,’ Jon hissed.

  ‘Can you see the type of car, Alice? Only the back? It’s white. OK, that’s good. Is it a hatchback? A hatchback. Great. Toyota maybe. It’s driving off now? Don’t worry – hold tight. We’ll be there in…’ He looked at Jon.

  They were now approaching the point where the A6 passed the centre of Stockport. The white town hall was on their right, colonnades and ornate edging shrouded behind anti-pigeon netting. Jon lifted a hand, three fingers outstretched.

  ‘Three minutes. I need to make another call, OK?’ Rick hung up and selected another number. ‘Les, DS Saville again. A white hatchback, possibly a Toyota. Two male occupants in the front. Passenger has gingerish hair, stocky build and is wearing a dark jacket. Proceeding from the area of Arkville Road, Heaton Moor. Cheers.’ He clutched the phone between his knees.

  ‘Streets are like a rabbit warren round ours,’ Jon growled in reply. ‘I can’t believe she was shouting at him. Asking what the bloody hell he wanted.’

  Rick glanced up. ‘Jeez, that’s India 99.’

  Jon could hear the muted thrum of the Air Support Unit in the sky above. He swung the car into Arkville Road. The street was already clogged with patrol cars, doors wide open, lights silently flashing. Another police vehicle roared round the corner behind them. Jon turned his siren off and pulled up. Alice was in the front garden, pointing off to the side as she spoke to a uniform who, in turn, was busy relaying the information into his handset.

  Producing his badge, Jon negotiated his way past the officers clustered on the pavement. ‘Cheers, boys, I appreciate you getting here so fast.’ He walked up to Alice. ‘Are you OK?’

  She managed a weak smile. ‘Fine.’

  He quickly rubbed a hand up and down her lower back. ‘You did well, babe.’ He found himself glancing about, as if some tangible trace of the men might remain.

  ‘You seem more freaked out than me,’ Alice said.

  The officer who’d been speaking into his handset gave a cough. ‘Sir, India 99 had been called out to an incident in Beswick. That was resolved and the pilot offered to divert here. They’re sweeping the immediate area.’

  Jon glanced up at the police helicopter working its way back and forth like a bird of prey quartering its hunting ground. Once more he felt a wash of excitement at knowing so many resources were there for him.

  Rick appeared at his side. He wrapped an arm round Alice’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. ‘Hey, nice going. Cool as a cucumber.’

  A flush appeared on her cheeks. ‘I only went inside and locked the door. Hardly gave you much to go off.’ She glanced at Jon. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Having a go at the person. It’s just…all that’s happened. I don’t know, my temper snapped. I couldn’t hold back.’

  Don’t worry, thought Jon. If it was me, I’d have hurdled the garden gate to get at him. ‘Let’s head in. I could do with a brew.’

  Alice looked over to the group of uniformed officers. ‘Can I get any of you a tea or coffee?’

  They held up their hands, politely declining.

  ‘What’s my husband been saying about my brews?’ She protested light-heartedly.

  Several smiled, replying that they had other calls stacking up, moving back to their cars as they did so. The officer who’d been talking into his handset caught Jon’s eye. Discreetly, he pointed a forefinger at the sky.

  Jon gave a little shake of his head.

  The officer immediately turned away. ‘Give it one more minute, lads. Then you can call it a day.’

  Once in the house, the three of them walked down the corridor to the kitchen. Outside, car doors slammed and engines revved. Jon crossed the room, flicked the kettle on and reached down three mugs from the cupboard. The hair of the man I saw driving the van was tinged with red, he thought. ‘So this guy, Alice. You got a good look at him?’

  ‘Yes. About six foot tall. In his early thirties, heavyish build.’

  Could be the same bloke, Jon thought, plonking a teabag in each cup and turning round. She was sitting at the table, Rick slumped in the corner chair. ‘What about his hair?’

  Her eyelids lowered. ‘Kind of a ginger colour, wavy.’ Her eyes reopened. ‘It was tied back.’ She brushed at her neck with a forefinger. ‘Stubby little ponytail. And his jacket was a black leather one. The ponytail almost touching the collar.’

  ‘Good,’ Rick encouraged.

  Jon leaned against the sideboard. The driver of the van was also mid-thirties and he had longish, straggly hair. Tied back, it would have formed a short ponytail. The only other feature Jon recalled was his flat nose – as if the bridge
of it had been flattened on more than one occasion. ‘What about the shape of his face, Ali? Anything stand out?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she murmured. ‘Fairly ordinary-looking. Squarish jaw. I just remember his eyebrows were quite bushy.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘Not that springs to mind.’

  ‘How about his nose? Thin, fat, hooked, pointed?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t remember. It couldn’t have been especially unusual.’

  Jon fished out the tea bags and added a splash of milk to each mug. What, he wondered, are the chances of it being the same man? Visual recollections were so subjective; different people registered different features. I’d focused on the broken nose because it was a clear indicator the man was no stranger to fighting. If it was the same man, who the hell was driving the car that had pulled up? Darragh?

  ‘Do you think it was one of them?’ Alice asked.

  Jon placed mugs in front of her and Rick. ‘My instinct is, they’re already back home in Ireland. But I can’t say that for certain.’

  She reached for her tea, a vertical furrow forming between her eyes. ‘This isn’t over, then. They’re coming to our house now. Christ, Jon.’ Her eyes sought out his. ‘They’re coming to our house! Why?’

  He sat at the chair next to hers and took her hand in his. ‘We don’t know that, Alice. I mean…’ He struggled to find an alternative explanation for the man’s presence. ‘The Bramleys’ next door is up for sale – maybe this guy was making sure the neighbours aren’t a bunch of nutters. In which case, you just cost the Bramleys a potential buyer.’

  She didn’t smile. ‘Why didn’t he answer me, then?’

  Jon leaned back, casting a glance at Rick. Help me out, here, for fuck’s sake.

  Rick registered the look and blinked. ‘You did start laying into him, Alice. Demanding to know what the bloody hell he wanted.’

  She looked over her shoulder at Rick then turned back to Jon. ‘Why does this feel like I’m in an interview room at the station? You two, a double team.’

  Jon saw the guilt flare on Rick’s face. ‘Until we have more facts, there’s no point panicking.’

  Alice searched out his eyes. ‘You really think this had no connection to what happened to Punch?’