COVER BLOWN: covert police work clashes with a murder investigation

by Ian Robinson

  Richards said nothing. His slack jaw unhinged like a python swallowing a rabbit. Nash strode past him. Clarke stood aghast in the main office doorway but held a smile that Nash returned with a wink, as Nash tied back her hair and walked down the corridor to the exit and her car.

  * * *

  Nash waited in the canteen at NSY for DS Harris to return with her chai latte. She needed a sugar hit after her experience with Richards. There’d been no further contact from him since she’d left the office and a call to the incident room confirmed he’d departed shortly after she’d left. Harris sat opposite her and slid the mug towards her along with a packet of shortbread biscuits.

  ‘I hear you’ve had a lively time?’ he said, as he sipped his latte and wiped the foam on the back of his hand. He ripped open his own packet of biscuits with his teeth and spat the corner out.

  Nash stared at him in disgust. ‘Carl, have you no grace? News travels quickly for such a large organisation,’ she said as she wiped her mouth with a serviette.

  ‘I called George to see if you’d left and he explained everything. Now before you have a go at him for not sticking to the rule of what’s said in the office stays in the office, he was proud of the way you stood up for the team. They all heard your speech and felt the same.’

  ‘He had it coming, but to be honest I’m not proud of it. Anyway, it leads me onto our work and a situation you won’t be happy with,’ she said.

  Harris’s forehead ridged like a ploughed field and his eyebrows jutted forwards.

  ‘What does that mean?’ he said.

  ‘It means, a number I was using for a previous job with you has entered our enquiry,’ she said, monitoring his face for the reaction.

  Harris was a tough cookie to predict. He rarely let his body language give his thoughts away. Thankfully, today, he’d taken the day off.

  ‘Well, it’s not uncommon. Numbers cross over at times on jobs, you know that,’ he said.

  ‘Not any old number. My number that I used to communicate with the target on a UC job,’ she replied.

  She smiled at a DC she’d been through training school with. He didn’t come over. He recognised the warmth of the expression wasn’t an invitation to join them.

  ‘Oh. That does make it different,’ Harris replied, after giving it a little thought.

  ‘The number was a pay-as-you-go SIM. I bought it along with the phone at the shop we’re targeting. The number appeared on each of my victims’ phone data. The calls are made at the same time on different days and last for the same duration of thirty seconds. I have to account for how it’s happened. The number’s associated to me and on an intelligence log. One I entered and restricted the access to me alone,’ she explained.

  Harris sat back and blew out a long sigh as he drew his hands along the top of his coarse tight curls.

  ‘Can’t it disappear?’ he said as he leaned towards her.

  ‘Carl! I’m serious. This isn’t going away, and you’d better get your head around the fact. I’m investigating murder and the number’s of significance. Even more so now it’s linked to me as the Investigating Officer and was used to call both victims when they were alive! I can’t explain it; but the data doesn’t lie and neither do I,’ she hissed.

  Harris studied her.

  ‘I was taking the piss, but I can see it was badly timed. There will be an explanation, you just haven’t discovered it yet. How’s Matthews and that ticking bomb, Jonesy?’

  ‘They’re doing fine – in the circumstances. I sent them home after the hospital debacle. Hopefully they can use the time to reflect and make sure they’re fit to be interviewed by DI Richards when the time comes,’ she said.

  Her phone rang out. She retrieved it from her bag and pressed the green button.

  ‘Nash,’ she said.

  ‘DI Nash? This is DCI Jameson from Professional Standards. DS Matthews is suspended from duty until further notice. I’ve taken the liberty of calling him at home and letting him know. You might want to arrange a welfare visit as he sounded upset.’

  Nash cupped the microphone end and turned away from the main canteen and Harris as she replied.

  ‘You lot really are a piece of work, aren’t you?’ she whispered, with venom.

  ‘Just doing our jobs, Detective Inspector, as are you. The IOPC are also involved. They’ll oversee the investigation. Again, I’ve let DS Matthews know and told him you’ll be following up with the paperwork for his suspension. I’ve completed it and sent it through to you by email to print and have him sign at your next welfare visit. Have a good day, ma’am, and we’ll be in touch after we’ve spoken to both officers,’ he said.

  Nash turned back and rested her neck over the back of the low faux leather seat.

  ‘Do what you have to. But let me tell you this, if any of your goons go over the top with either of them, then I will be paying you a visit rather than hiding behind a phone, and it won’t be pretty. Good day,’ she said, terminating the call.

  ‘Trouble at mill?’ Harris asked.

  ‘The flour’s off along with the top baker,’ she replied as she grabbed her bag and got up.

  Harris gently put a hand on her arm as she started to leave.

  ‘You’re better than them, Pip, don’t lose your head with their mind games. Remember our training. You were top of the class and we pushed you far harder than anyone else on the undercover course.’

  ‘I should make you iron this blouse.’ She smiled, then leaned over and kissed the top of his head as she left.

  Harris wiped his forehead, then ran his hand along his trousers as he looked around the room with an air of embarrassment.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ‘Why don’t you place the cups on the floor, PC Roberts, and step out of the room.’ The voice of Ivers interrupted the stale air. He was carrying two plates that contained a sandwich on each that he set down on a desk.

  PC Roberts did as directed. Buchanan didn’t move. Ivers had hoped he would so they could grab him while he was away from Diane. It wasn’t to be.

  Ivers sat in a chair, leaned back and pushed one of the plates towards Roberts.

  Buchanan’s eyes stuck out from his skull at the sight and smell of grilled bacon. Diane took no notice. Buchanan shifted his concentration to Ivers.

  ‘I suppose you think you’re gonna smoke me out by eating one of your own eh, pig?’ Buchanan’s head rocked back in laughter as he chuckled at his own joke. A strand of saliva escaped the side of his mouth. His dry tongue licked it away.

  Ivers was confident he’d taste victory. A taste above and beyond anything a hospital bacon roll provided. He also had a team in the background frantically working to bring a resolution to the situation. That team wouldn’t be engaged in talk though. If they were deployed, then Ivers had failed.

  ‘You better have called that cab, copper, cause if you ain’t then that’ll be the last bit of grub you’ll be scarfing,’ Buchanan said.

  ‘Mr Buchanan, the best advice I can give you is to stop. The police have the resources to carry on all night and day for as long as it takes, but do you? Stop now. We can talk outside of these surroundings and let the hospital get back to treating the sick, like Diane, who really does need medical help. Why don’t you let her go?’ Ivers said, his hands held out in a gesture of goodwill that let the bacon scent drift.

  ‘Ha! What you mean is throw in the towel and you’ll drag me out of here and back to the cells in handcuffs. Well, fuck you, cause that ain’t gonna happen,’ Buchanan said.

  Ivers ignored him. He could see Diane was fading.

  ‘Diane could really do with seeing a doctor. Your argument isn’t with her, it’s with us, the police,’ Ivers said.

  Buchanan said nothing so Ivers continued.

  ‘I’m going to send PC Roberts for a break.’ Ivers nodded at Roberts.

  She hesitated, then slid off the desk and walked towards the main doors to the ward where armed officers gathered either side and formed a corridor for he
r to walk through. The lead armed officers who’d opened the swing doors pushed rubber door wedges in place. The doors remained open and all chatter subsided to nought.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Moretti checked his watch. Nash had been gone a while and he guessed whom she was meeting. Clarke had returned to her desk and sported a fixed grimace of a smile ever since she’d overheard Nash and Richards going head-to-head. Moretti turned back to the paperwork on the desk and the charts Clarke had created.

  Somehow he’d try and make sense of how Nash’s covert number had appeared on Melissa and Jade’s call data. They were getting nowhere with the investigation. Buchanan was still the main attraction of his travelling circus, where he was doing a great job of being a clown. Moretti was starting to think that Nash was more concerned with her UC role and DS than being the Investigating Officer for murder. Maybe she was looking to leave the team and join Harris fulltime, as the undercover unit were down a DI. He rubbed the top of his head and walked to the coffee machine. A new batch was in preparation and the sweet smell of fresh percolated coffee beans had become too much to resist.

  ‘Do you want a top-up, George?’ Moretti asked as he held a mug up to the light and risk-assessed whether he needed to wash it or not. He decided he’d take the risk and waited for the black nectar to fill the jug.

  ‘I’m good thanks, Nick, but I appreciate the offer. How’s the Instagram enquiry coming along?’ Sagona asked. He stopped typing and let his glasses on a cord drop around his neck.

  ‘Slowly. I know where Matthews was coming from, but I don’t get how this links with our killer. There’s certainly nothing to connect Buchanan with the victims’ accounts. I just can’t see a man like him going to those lengths,’ Moretti explained.

  ‘I know what you mean. I’ve been going through what we have on HOLMES and that isn’t helping much. Sometimes I can see a pattern of evidence or associations building up, but this time it’s very disconnected, apart from the MO for both Jade and Melissa. I get what you’re saying with Buchanan, like, I know his boots showed trace evidence from Melissa’s flat, but he’s given a prepared statement. That alone would be strong in court even when challenged by a decent prosecution barrister.’ Sagona scooted his chair closer to where Moretti was sitting and ducked low as he spoke.

  ‘It’s this other number that’s marked as protected… How on earth can that be?’ Sagona sat up again. His spine cracked as he leaned back and stretched his stumpy legs.

  Moretti knew Sagona had a point. He wasn’t the first of the team to seek Moretti’s counsel on the subject. Moretti intended to find out. When he’d established the facts, he’d make certain it was all disclosed properly to the prosecution barrister if Buchanan was charged with murder.

  He also gave consideration to Buchanan not being the killer. Moretti had been back to the exhibits store on one of his whims and retrieved all the personal property that related to Buchanan. In particular, he was interested in his phone. What Moretti confirmed was that the phone Buchanan had in his possession wasn’t a smartphone but a cheap throwaway one.

  The other searches they’d completed hadn’t revealed a computer either. Buchanan had a website and a Facebook page as they’d already established. Matthews had undertaken further research on the website’s originator. He had established it was from a free start-up offer a website company had designed, keen to assist ex-offenders in the creation of any new business venture, as long as it was legal. There were no subscription fees for Buchanan to be concerned with as the company took care of that. It was a home page only, with a description of his services and a contact number.

  Moretti was back at his own desk. He tried calling Nash but there was no reply. He heard noises coming from the corridor. He got up and walked towards the incident room door and the corridor where DS Matthews’s voice reverberated off the walls.

  ‘Where’s Nash?’ Matthews shouted loudly as he burst through the incident room door.

  Moretti grabbed his arm and moved him towards a storeroom. Matthews offered weak resistance to Moretti’s strength. Moretti opened the door and ushered Matthews in, kicking the door closed behind him.

  ‘What in the fuck are you doing coming back here yawping the house down?’ Moretti demanded, standing nose-to-nose with him.

  ‘I want to see Nash. I want to know why she agreed on my suspension from duty without any kind of a fight on my behalf,’ he said as he looked over Moretti’s shoulder at the closed door, figuring a way past to Nash’s office.

  Moretti pointed at a seat behind Matthews. A seat Moretti had put there for times when he needed space to gather his thoughts.

  ‘Take a seat and calm down, will you,’ Moretti said.

  Matthews shook his head and reluctantly sat. Moretti could see the red flush leave Matthews’s cheeks. Moretti crouched so he wasn’t towering over him. He liked Matthews and could see his performance was out of character. A reaction born out of stress rather than any real animosity towards Nash.

  ‘Pip would’ve had no say in the decision, and for what it’s worth, she gave DI Richards an absolute mouthful when he arrived here demanding to know why she’d sent you two home. She told him not to make contact with you until she’d had a chance to see you both. For all I know, she could be on her way to you now as her phone’s not being answered and I’ve no idea where she is,’ Moretti said.

  Matthews’s head hung over the low-backed chair as he rested his neck and stared at the ceiling.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on, Nick? I did what anyone else would’ve done in the circumstances. Any other copper would’ve got away with it, but not me, oh no, not me – I get the book smashed over my skull until I’m pleading submission,’ he said.

  He ran his hands over his hair and tugged at his widow’s peak as he sat back into the rough fabric of the chair and exhaled. Moretti let him have some time to compose himself. At some point, they’d have to leave the isolation booth Moretti had created and return to the outside world.

  ‘Look, I’ll speak to Pip and let her know how you’re feeling. Being here isn’t going to do you any favours and if Richards is on the prowl, he’ll take the opportunity to ambush you and you don’t need that. Just go home and sit tight while you figure out the account you’ll give to Richards’s team. I know a very good Fed Rep. He’ll help you every step of the way. I can call him once you’ve gone and get him to contact you. What do you say?’

  Matthews looked up at Moretti. Moretti could see Matthews was struggling to compose himself. Moretti reached and tapped the side of his arm below the shoulder by way of reassurance and got up.

  ‘Shut the door after you and for fuck’s sake don’t let on about this space as everyone will want to be in here,’ Moretti joked as he left Matthews to take five before he left the building.

  Moretti moved further down the corridor away from the incident room and took out his mobile. He dialled the Fed Rep as he’d promised. As the man he wanted answered, Matthews walked past and disappeared down the stairs to the block and out onto the parade square.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The armed officer pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at the corridor beyond the open doors to the ward. His colleague opposite nodded at the signal as he shifted his feet and stretched his neck from side to side in readiness for the assault. Buchanan’s voice was all that could be heard echoing along the empty ward as he bellowed at Ivers to bring PC Roberts back. Ivers sat and gave a good show of convincing Buchanan that he was listening but all the time he was concentrating on Diane, assessing how she was coping. He wondered whether the decision to continue the negotiation was about to be removed from his jurisdiction and transferred to the firearms team who were congregated like an armed conga troupe within his peripheral vision.

  Ivers didn’t want to be anywhere near Buchanan when they stormed the ward. Ivers knew they’d managed to feed a fibre optic camera into the room Buchanan and Diane were in. All he could do was try and keep both Diane and Buchanan alive.
That was his primary objective and as he sat distracted by the armed officers, he wondered whether he was going to succeed or not.

  As Diane sat on the hospital bed, her eyes began to flicker as though she’d snapped out of a haze. Her brain had been working overtime in an effort to interpret a smell. A smell that had bothered her the moment Buchanan had entered the ward.

  Roberts had asked her if there was anything distinctive about her assailant, anything that she could remember that would assist them to identify him. The attack had been brutal. So much so that she’d closed her eyes and tried to stay conscious. At the times she’d opened them she couldn’t see him, but only sensed his breath. Her mind was back in the present. Suddenly, she felt as though she was in the middle of a stadium when the floodlights were activated. Her assailant had a distinctive smell. Engine oil. She’d thought she was getting flashbacks to the attack but it was here in the room and had been ever since Buchanan had taken hold of her. This wasn’t the first time they’d met without an introduction. She looked at Buchanan who’d forgotten she was there as he paced the room in front of the door and gesticulated at Ivers as he shouted his demands, and waved the scalpel in front of him emphasising each word.

  Diane let her concentration settle within the room. It was clinically clean, with very little to use against her captor. Then she curled her fingers on the bedding and she smiled.

  Ivers had noticed the shift in Diane’s behaviour and he made sure Buchanan remained focussed on him.