by Linda Coles
“Sounds like too much cake to me. Even your chair is complaining,” she teased him.
“Funny, Lacey. You’re just jealous.”
“Probably, though I don’t need the extra calories right now.” She patted her stomach. “Married life brings a couple more glasses of wine here and there, though I’m not complaining.”
Jack looked over her shoulder and got to his feet. She turned to see Raj striding towards them. From the look on his face, he wasn’t bringing good news.
“Oxy and codeine. High strength,” was all he said.
Jack’s face fell. “Shit!”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“No surprises it’s a shell company that runs the van.”
Raj had been digging most of the morning while Amanda caught up on some massively overdue paperwork. She looked up from the report she was typing. Raj stood by the corner of her desk. Dressed smartly as usual, he looked handsome in a pale blue check shirt that contrasted nicely with his dark skin. Amanda often thought he should have been a GQ model rather than a copper and not because he wasn’t good enough. No, Raj had a reputation for his diligence, but he also had a reputation for his good looks. She sat back in her chair.
“Hmm. It’s never so easy, is it? Why can’t the criminals we have to deal with be a bit more obvious? Make it a wee bit easier for us just for once.”
“Sorry, not this time. A bit more digging on this one, I’m afraid. Good old-fashioned leg work. Though I did pick up something along the way, a name. Not sure if it’ll lead anywhere but you never know.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, from what I can tell, there could be a link to the north – Manchester, actually. One of the names that popped up in the background was linked to a bust some years back, though nothing came of it. Might be worth chatting to your buddies up there to see if they know of anything like this on their patch. I’m guessing a similar system with the food vans. There’s probably more of them up there than there are down here.”
“Worth a chat. Give me the name.”
Raj handed over a slip of paper and Amanda sat thoughtful for a moment. “Thanks Raj.”
“Let me know, eh?” he said over his shoulder as he began walking back to his desk.
Manchester.
She knew a couple of the detectives in Manchester. She and Jack had worked on a case there together in the past. The infamous Sebastian Stevens had become a trophy for a different type of hunter, and the case had introduced her to DS Duncan Riley and DS Rick Black. The whole case had become a little too close for comfort when her friend Stephanie had become involved, though she herself had escaped unharmed. But both Rick and Duncan were competent detectives. In fact, Rick, who looked remarkably like Buddy Holly, was on a fast-track program to becoming a DI. He’d mused that he might find himself promoted to Croydon in the near future and become her direct boss. While she had no problem with him being younger than her, she’d wondered about his worldly-wise experience. Had he had enough to be a decent DI? ‘Dopey’ Dupin sprang to mind. His own youth hadn’t done him too much harm, though his nickname wasn’t particularly confidence-building or flattering.
Her stomach growled like an old dog. Perhaps another bacon sandwich from a mobile van? She called over to Jack, who was fiddling with a coffee capsule that was stuck in the chamber. He had a knife in his hand trying to pull it back up and out. Amanda shook her head in amazement. For a fine detective, he found basic things a challenge at times.
“I’ll buy you one. It’ll be quicker. Grab your jacket.”
He didn’t need asking twice and left the offending capsule in situ for someone else to wrestle with. He hadn’t seen Dupin making his way in, mug in hand, but Amanda had. While Jack caught her up, she made her own quick exit out into the corridor, encouraging Jack to quicken his pace after her. He had the good sense not to yell at her to slow down. Perhaps he had seen Dupin on his tail after all.
When they were both out in the car park, Jack finally asked where they were going.
“Raj reckons this van might be linked to a set-up up north, around Manchester,” Amanda told him. “It seems a company name that was thrown up with his search was linked to another drugs case last year up there, but nothing was proved. My guess is the two are connected. No smoke without fire, or in this case no pills without pain. I’m going back for another look, see who’s working the counter. Might even mention I’ve a headache or something – you never know. Now we know there is probably something going on, we need to take a closer look and do a bit of fishing.”
“You spoken to Manchester yet?
“No. Thought I would after this. Needed a bacon roll anyway.” She turned and smiled at Jack, who was never one to turn bacon down. “Figured you’d like one too.”
Amanda walked across to the van to place their order. Jack watched from the car, trying his best to take photos without being seen. As usual, there was a queue, and apart from an elderly couple, everyone else looked like regular business people. They all wore the same style of uniform, male or female: standard dark suit, pale shirt or blouse. The only thing that differed was age and shoe style. Amanda joined the back of the line and turned her ears up high in the hope of eavesdropping on a useful morsel. But nobody was talking, not to each other at any rate. The only conversation she heard was when an order was placed and the server asked about sauce colour.
“Yes, love?” the server enquired, taking her away from her thoughts. The man was dressed in chef whites with a matching cap. “What can I get you?”
“Well, if you could deal with my stonking headache, that would be handy.” She smiled up at him sweetly. The man looked unsure how to respond to her request. Amanda took the opportunity to study his face as he processed what she’d said. His eyes darted rapidly to his sidekick further inside the van.
Amanda pressed on, this time in a hushed tone. “I don’t suppose you have any painkillers, do you? And I’ll have two bacon rolls wrapped separately as well.” That perfectly innocent smile again. Did his face register what she meant or was she mistaken? Hopeful, but maybe mistaken. Finally, he spoke.
“Sorry, love, I don’t have anything,” he said, and turned to make up the two rolls, though not before she caught his glance again to his partner at his side. When the two bags were ready, she paid her money and turned to walk back to the car where Jack sat watching the proceedings. As she climbed in, she noticed him staring at a young man approaching the car. With a start, she realized he had been behind her in line. Amanda rolled her window down for him. He looked to both sides and then leaned closer to speak.
“If you have a bad headache,” he started, “You’ll need to ask for something a little more specific, like special sauce. That’s all they need to hear. Too many pigs about; have to be careful.”
Amanda slowly nodded her understanding.
“Thanks. Good to know. What about payment?” She took a bite of her sandwich, carrying on with the pantomime.
“Get the app,” he said briskly and walked away. They watched as he got into his own car and drove out of the layby.
Jack raised an eyebrow at Amanda. “Well, if prostitutes have apps now, I guess it’s only natural progression drug dealers do too. Special sauce, eh?”
Amanda, with a mouthful of food, could only nod in amazement.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Back at the station, Jack and Amanda made a bee-line for their desks.
“I’ll get straight on to GMP, see what they know. You get on to cyber. Or is it drug squad? Could be either.” Without waiting for a response, she dialled Rick Black’s number. He picked up on the third ring.
“DS Black here.”
“Rick, hello, it’s DS Amanda Lacey from South Croydon. Remember me?”
“Of course I do, Amanda. Not an easy lady to forget. Or case, for that matter.” There was laughter in his voice and she couldn’t help but smile a little at the phone. “That sounds ominous. What did I do to be so memorable?”
�
�Kicked butt, if I remember rightly. Another madwoman behind bars. How are you, anyway, and what can I do for you?”
“I’m great, thanks. Got married recently and I’m back busy at work as usual, which is why I’m ringing you.”
“Congratulations, Amanda. Now what can I help you with?”
“I thought I’d ask and see what your local drug dealers are up to currently, but not your old-school crack gangs. I’m talking the newer breed, the opiate pushers, oxy and the like. What’s happening on that front near you?”
“Well, I can tell you there is definitely a market and a distribution. Drug squad could tell you more. Can you be more specific?”
“Just following a hunch, though we did find some little empty packets in a public rubbish bin that tested positive for high-strength oxy and codeine. I’m thinking a food van nearby might be involved. Orders are placed with a bacon roll, transactions paid for possibly via an app rather than cash. Know of anything like that on your patch?” Amanda could hear a clicking on the other end of the receiver. She imagined his pen tapping his desk, a habit she remembered he had. It stopped as he began to speak again.
“What makes you think of Manchester. Something linking it back up here?”
“Yes, two things, actually. You’re not far from the Irish Sea – not that we have any reason to think that’s how it’s getting in, but it’s convenient. We also traced a company, though rather tenuously, back to a name from your area. Not directly of course, but his name came up from a previous case that, as usual for him, went nowhere.”
“Oh? Who’s that?”
“Wilfred Day.”
Rick let out a long whistling breath through his teeth and stayed silent for a moment.
“Are you still there, Rick?”
“Yeah, just thinking. He’s like damn Teflon that one. Nothing sticks to him. Slips around like a fried egg in a greasy pan.” Amanda smiled at the analogy. Why did detectives have such vivid imaginations when it came to descriptions? Jack was just the same.
“What’s he like?”
“You mean other than slippery?”
“Yes, what’s he like generally? Hard man, local mob, what?”
“He’s one of the most politely spoken, well-dressed blond-haired blue-eyed thirty-something men you could ever meet. To look at him you’d say he came from money, probably a finance background or similar, complete with diamond-patterned sweater, chinos, and nicely polished brogues. Your typical hard man stereotype he’s not. Far from it.”
“So why has he never been pinged?”
“You mean apart from probably buying off everyone that he can? The juries he’s been in front of love him. He comes across as sweet-natured, funny, articulate, and they lap it up. Lap him up.”
“And that’s not the real him.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement.
“Correct. He might be baby faced and smartly dressed, but behind those blue eyes of his is a ferocious brain working overtime. Kneecapping and grunt work is not his style, but he’s clever, all right, and employs other clever people, of the technically clever type. Hackers and the like, those that can infiltrate bank accounts and data and hit the competition in their pockets rather than their balls. Less mess, less evidence, and probably gets results a lot quicker.
“Sounds like a saint. And he operates in opiates in the main or something else?”
“He’s like all the rest in that respect, running women and booze, but yes, drugs are his forte. I’ve not known him to deal with heroin and the like. Not for some time, actually. Maybe they’ve split the turf into substances instead of geographical area. Opiates attract a more discerning clientele than Skank and heroin. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was bringing in fentanyl too.”
“That’s a worry, then. It’s really hard to tell heroin and fentanyl apart. They’re almost identical to look at.”
“Tell me about it. We have the deaths to prove it. It’s the quantity that causes the deaths. A lethal dose of heroin could be thirty milligrams, but with fentanyl, you’re only talking three milligrams to overdose and kill someone –barely enough to cover the bottom of a test tube. Mistakes get made, I know. I’ve cleaned up the bodies.”
“Christ, let’s hope he’s not responsible for distributing that.” Amanda fell thoughtful for a moment, pondering her next question. “So, do you know how his distribution works, how he’s selling it?”
“Typically, he’s had women mainly, that I know of – your stereotype ‘soccer moms’ looking to earn some money while they mind the kids all day.” Amanda could almost see him making speech quotes in the air with his fingers. He went on, “I daresay they are probably customers too. Getting high is the fashionable thing to do with their bored glamorous buddies. But I’m only talking oxy and codeine now, not fentanyl. And he’s had a few students working for him too, looking to earn beer money without doing much. Easy money until they get caught.”
“How about food vans, perhaps?” Amanda wasn’t sure what she wanted the answer to be.
“Not heard anything, but that doesn’t mean no. Ice cream vans and food vans have been used in the past for both booze and drugs distribution, but it did get cleaned up. So, have you got something going on down your way?”
“Not sure yet. Just those empty packets testing positive. If the vans are dealing, it could be a lucrative outlet for someone, and if others get wind of it, it could get a whole lot busier around here.”
“I’m afraid so. Well, thanks for letting me know what’s happening. Hey, keep in touch eh?” The pen was clicking again in the background.
“I will, and thanks for the info. Say hello to Duncan for me.”
“Will do.” Then he was gone.
Jack was hovering like a spaceship.
“That was interesting, what I could hear of it. What next, Boss?”
Jack never called her Boss – unless he was feeling stumped and was hoping she had the next move.
“No idea.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Duncan drove slowly past the park. The traffic behind him on the busy road was impatient; drivers gesticulated rudely as they cruised past in the adjacent lane, wondering who was being such a slow-moving dick. If they had known he was a police officer looking for missing children, they might have been a tad more forgiving, but everyone these days only cared for themselves. As it was, they were all in a hurry to get from A to B and he was in the way, holding them up from something pressing – like morning takeaway coffee.
Another horn blared. He ignored it. Up ahead, he could see the main gates to the park and indicated to pull over. The clicking was almost hypnotic. A light drizzle was falling again, clinging to everything it touched. On a day like today, the park would be empty, dogs ‘in need’ having to make do with a quick in and out on a nearby grass verge or in their backyard. Duncan didn’t care about the dampness as he entered the park and paced down the main path. Finding his girls was more important. Up ahead he could see a uniformed officer who had joined in the search and he sped his pace up to a slow jog to catch him up. As he got closer, he called out to the officer.
“Any luck?” He knew the answer – someone would have called him – but still he was hopeful.
“Sorry, nothing yet,” the officer said. His badge said PC Daniels. Duncan knew he would be wanting to say something more reassuring but couldn’t. Adding your own comments like ‘I’m sure they will be fine,’ or ‘I promise we’ll get them back,’ was something police officers avoided at all costs. It always came back to haunt you if, in the end, things didn’t turn out to be fine. Daniels gave Duncan a sympathetic look. His radio chirped, neatly breaking the awkward pause.
A scratchy voice said something he couldn’t catch.
“Repeat that please, over,” Daniels said.
“Call from a woman on Hyde Road. She has two young girls. Can you attend?”
“What number?”
He and Duncan ran together back towards the gate as the reply came back. When they reached Dunca
n’s car, he yelled at Daniels to get in. Duncan threw the car into reverse and hurtled out onto the busy main road towards the number they’d been given – and hopefully his two children.
The house was only a couple of minutes from where they had been, overlooking the park.
“There, on the steps!” Daniels yelled, pointing to an elderly woman on the front steps, and Duncan did a U-turn to get across. Angry motorists blared their horns but he ignored them, pulled up on the pavement directly outside and leapt from the car. He ploughed up the front steps two at a time, almost knocking the woman flying, Daniels on his heels.
“Are they okay? Are they hurt?” he asked as he pushed past her. There in front of the fire, eating biscuits and drinking warm cordial, were his two little girls, faces still pink from the cold morning air.
“Daddy, Daddy!” they squealed delightedly and leapt to their feet. Both girls flung their arms around his neck and he squeezed them tightly, then held them at arm’s length, swallowing back tears.
“We got a bit far away. Have you come to take us home?” Victoria asked. Duncan took both their small hands in his big ones and squeezed affectionately.
“I have, my darlings. But first, tell me what you’ve been up to.” He smiled encouragingly so they wouldn’t think they were in trouble, which they weren’t. But he wanted to know the story. The old woman stepped forward.
“Perhaps I should tell you,” she suggested. “Won’t you sit down?”
The other officer, who was standing to one side, took his notebook. Duncan sat on the old sofa with Victoria and Jasmine each on a knee. He gave them another joint hug and Jasmine giggled. For some reason, the woman looked familiar, though he couldn’t place her.