by Alex Walters
She frowned. 'So as punishment they made him responsible for a failing prison? I suppose that does sound like the logic we’d expect from the Service.'
'Nobody doubted Tim had ability. It was made clear to him this was his last chance. If he turned the place round, it would be one of those career-making moments. If he failed, the best he could hope for was some harmless back room role in HQ. The second inspection report was, if anything, worse than the first. Tim was given some benefit of the doubt as he hadn’t been in post for long at that point but it didn’t look good.'
'And now?'
'Now it’s looking even worse. There’s another inspection due in a couple of months. The view from on high is that the outcomes still won’t be satisfactory. Maybe some improvements but nothing like what’s needed. Tim won’t talk his way out of this one.'
'Bit tough, isn’t it? If he’s taking things in the right direction?'
'I’ve no axe to grind, Kate. I’ve been one of Tim’s supporters over the years. I thought he had real potential. I stuck my neck out for him when some people would have happily seen him canned. He’s a bright guy, an able guy. Maybe just over-promoted. A great Dep, but not up to the top job. There are plenty like that.'
'John Hodges?'
'I’d say so, wouldn’t you? John’s a great guy. Just the person you want standing behind you when things get tough. But maybe not the person you’d want standing in front of you leading the charge. The difference is that John knew it and found his level. I’d love to think that Tim was different, that he’s up to it. But the signs are that he isn’t. That’s why I wanted your opinion. Not to badmouth him, but because I trust your judgement.'
'I thought I’d pretty much forfeited that trust,' she said.
'We’ve been through that, Kate.' He paused. 'Anyway, you were right.'
'Was I?'
'About Carl. You said there was no reason not to release him. The HQ wallahs got jittery and took further soundings, but they could find no substantive grounds to challenge our reports. The Parole Board were happy enough. As far as I know, the decision’s been vindicated.'
'As far as you know?'
'You know how it is with those cases. It’s all hush-hush. But the word on the grapevine is that Carl’s OK. That he’s integrated better than anyone might have feared. New life, all that.'
'He deserved that. Whatever he did or didn’t do, he’d paid the price.'
'Not sure the tabloids would agree with you. It was a notorious case in its day. But, yes, everyone deserves a second chance. Which brings us back to Tim.'
'And that’s why you’re here? Because of Tim?'
'The senior bods are getting the jitters about this place and want it sorted as quickly as possible.'
'They think it’s that serious?'
'They think anything’s serious if it has the potential to reflect badly on them. There’ve been a lot of problems here. The view is that this place is a powder keg and that something’s going to kick off before too long. Either some major incident—a riot, a major escape—or some sort of media exposé. There are too many problems to brush under the carpet.'
'So what’s going to happen?'
'That’s what I’m here to decide.'
'And what have you decided?'
'I haven’t entirely, yet. But you know me, Kate. I’m not one to mess about. Tim’s got to be replaced. But I think it’ll need more than that. The politicians are already getting interested in this place. We need, not just to sort it out, but to be seen to be sorting it out. That probably means a complete overhaul of the management team and a root and branch investigation of the staff generally. A complete clear-out.'
She pushed herself away from the window and sat back down in the chair facing Perry. 'That’s why you owe me an apology, is it? Because I’m going to be collateral damage in Tim’s downfall?'
'I’m just trying to be honest with you. Giving you a heads-up.'
'Which is more than you’re doing with any of my colleagues here.' She could feel herself growing angry.
'I’ll be equally honest with them, Kate, when the time comes. I don’t want any of you to end up as "collateral damage" as you put it. Like I say, it’s a good team here.'
'But they’ll—we’ll—all be replaced? That’s what you said.'
'That’s probably what’ll happen. You might be OK because you’ve only just arrived. You’re not tainted with the old regime.' She was on the point of interrupting, but he held up his hand. 'I just don’t know, Kate. I can make recommendations on how it should be handled but I don’t know how much weight that will carry. When the politicos get involved, they tend to throw the baby out with the bathwater.'
'So my career gets wrecked just because I joined the wrong prison at the wrong time?'
'You’ll be OK. You’ll all be OK. Whatever noises are made, everyone will understand the reality. They’ll all know it wasn’t really your fault.'
'You reckon? First, they see me crack up almost in front of their eyes. Then they see me ousted in disgrace from the first job I come back to. How much doubt do you reckon they’ll give me the benefit of?'
Perry gazed back at her impassively. 'That’s not the way it’ll be seen. I'm sure.'
'And what about Tim?'
'Who knows? Maybe some sort of pay-off. Maybe some innocuous HQ job.'
She dropped her head into her hands, exhausted by the whole thing. 'Jesus, it’s a brutal business, isn’t it?'
'Less brutal here than many places, Kate. It’s tough, but we’ve got to make sure the job’s being done properly. You know how important it is we get things right. We can’t just play at it.'
'It still leaves me halfway up the creek. I’m trying to start a new life up here, moving Jack over during the holiday. Now you throw this at me.'
He was still gazing back at her, his expression unchanged. There was something in his eyes, some emotion, she couldn’t read. 'I never expected that it would work out like this.' He paused. 'But I'll do what I can. You know me.'
She forced herself to smile. 'Yes, of course.' But that was just it, she thought. She wasn’t sure that she did know him. Not any more.
CHAPTER TWENTY
On his return, Murrain was struck by an air of depression in the MIR. They were all working hard. Many of the team were still out pounding the streets, conducting door-to-door interviews or following up possible leads. Others were reviewing endless minutes of CCTV footage or collating interview notes. On the surface, it looked busy and productive. But he could feel they were going through the motions. The energy had drained. Murrain knew this was a critical period. If they didn't make a breakthrough soon, things would start to slip. It wasn't that the team would stop trying. It was simply that they'd stop believing they could succeed. Then, almost inevitably, they wouldn't.
Wanstead looked up. 'Chief Super dropped in earlier.'
'Told you to keep up the good work?'
'That sort of thing. Still, seems a decent bloke.'
The previous head of the Serious Crimes Division had spent two years coasting down to retirement and for most of that time had adopted an approach that was hands-off to the point of invisibility. His successor, CS Marty Winston, had been promoted from CID in North Manchester and, apart from a few informal encounters, had been an unknown quantity down here. So far Murrain had found him personable, supportive and reliable, which was the most he ever asked for in a superior officer. 'That's my impression.'
'Asked if you could give him a call when you got in.'
'Thanks, Paul. Will do.'
No doubt Winston would be seeking an update, hoping for some good news. Unlike some of his superiors, Winston had refrained from seeking two-hourly briefings but he'd be getting more jittery with every day that went by.
'Marty? It's Kenny Murrain. You wanted me to call.'
'Kenny. Thanks. How's it going?'
'Well, you know. It's going. But nothing new so far, I'm afraid. Still chasing shadows.'
'
Hear this latest one turned out to be a false alarm?'
'Thankfully.'
'Yes, thankfully.' Behind Winston's despondent tone lurked the truth that both of them understood: that a second snatching might at least have opened up some new leads. 'Anything else?'
'Not to speak of. We're following up this supposed case in Hazel Grove. Checking for sightings of this dark van. But it feels like a long shot.'
'Well, good luck. We just need one breakthrough.'
Just the one, Murrain thought. Any suggestions gratefully received. 'It's only a matter of time,' he said. 'It always is.' Though both of them knew that, day by day, time was running out.
'Something will turn up. Actually, Kenny, the main reason I dropped by was something else. Bit of an odd one, actually. Have you or your team had some dealings with a guy called Kevin Wickham?'
Murrain felt it then, almost like an electrical jolt through the phone. 'Wickham?' he said. 'Funnily enough, I've just got back from seeing him. Why?'
There was a moment's silence at the other end. 'You've been to see him? In what context?'
'The false alarm you mentioned. A couple of the team interviewed the mother. Wickham was there. Partner or boyfriend or whatever you want to call him.'
'And you went to talk to Wickham?' There was a faint emphasis on the name.
'My officer thought there was something—well, not quite right about the way he behaved. In the circumstances we thought it best to have another chat with him.'
'You wanted to see the whites of his eyes, Kenny?'
No doubt the gossip about Murrain's methods had long ago reached north Manchester. 'We're desperate for any kind of lead, Marty. I don't want anything significant to slip through the net.'
'No, quite right. So what did you think?'
'There's something odd about him, certainly. Whether it's pertinent to this case, I don't know yet. But I think he's worth checking out a bit further.' He paused. 'What's this about, Marty?'
'To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. I had a call this morning.'
'Go on.'
'They'd been in touch with the Chief. Who'd passed it down to me. Some bod from the Ministry of Justice.'
Murrain could feel it more strongly now, that familiar steady pulse through his skin. The sense of some meaning coalescing he couldn't quite apprehend. Almost as if there were a voice calling to him, just out of earshot. 'What's this to do with Wickham?'
'That's the thing. The first question he asked was whether we were investigating a Kevin Wickham. I said the name meant nothing to me, but I'd find out.'
'How the hell did they know?'
'That was the first question I asked, if a little more circumspectly. Or, at least, why they had reason to think we might be. They said they'd received notification that someone had accessed his records on the PNC.' There was a pause and the sound of rustling papers. 'A DC Wallace. She's one of yours, isn't she?'
'She is. And, yes, she checked him out on the PNC. There was some trivial offence recorded but nothing relevant to what we're interesting in. What's this all about?' It wasn't news to Murrain that use of the PNC could be monitored in this way, but the MoJ's involvement was more than intriguing. Generally, if the file was significant for some reason—typically because the individual in question was an undercover officer or subject to a Witness Protection order—it was another force that was alerted.
'They weren't very forthcoming. Just asked if I could look into it and get someone to call them back asap. Which is what I'm doing.'
'You want me to give them a call?'
'Better you than me, Kenny. Christ knows what questions they might ask. You'll have all the answers. You'll keep me posted if it's anything important?'
'Of course.' He finished chatting to Winston and sat for a moment with the phone still in his hand, feeling that familiar repetitive pulse and wondering what it might be telling him. Finally, he tapped in the number that Winston had given him.
'Hello. John Barker.'
'Mr Barker. This is DCI Murrain from Greater Manchester Police. I was asked to give you a call. In connection with a Mr Kevin Wickham, I believe?'
'Ah, yes. Thanks for calling back—' There was a pause and the sound of Barker rustling through papers. 'Right, yes. We understand one of your officers has accessed Mr Wickham's file on the PNC. Is that right?'
'We access a lot of files on the PNC, Mr Barker. Can I ask what—?'
'Yes, but Wickham's file. That's been accessed?' Barker's voice was mild, but he had the air of someone unaccustomed to being questioned.
'I believe so, but—'
'Can I ask why your officer was interested in Mr Wickham?'
Murrain was generally a patient man, but he could already feel himself being rubbed up the wrong way. 'With respect, Mr Barker, can I ask why you're interested?'
There was a pause. 'I'm not playing games here, DCI Murrain. I want to know why your officer was interested in Wickham.'
'I'm not playing games, either, Mr Barker. You'll appreciate I can't simply provide potentially sensitive information to anyone who enquires. Even if they're from the MoJ. I don't wish to be uncooperative, but I don't know who you are, what your roles is or why you're making this enquiry. Without more information I'm afraid I'm not in a position to assist you.'
There was another silence, presumably while Barker processed this. Murrain had a feeling the outcome might be the termination of this conversation and another call to the Chief. Well, fair enough. If Barker presented his bona fides to the Chief, they might start to make some progress.
'My role, DCI Murrain, is concerned with public protection. I need to know the reasons why your force is interested in Kevin Wickham.'
Murrain mentally counted up to five before responding. 'OK, Mr Barker. We don't seem to be getting very far. Perhaps we need to try a different approach. I'm really not being difficult. But I do have certain responsibilities. Which, as you'll appreciate, also involve public protection. As well as the protection of potentially sensitive public data. I can think of several reasons why accessing the PNC might trigger an alert—'
'DCI Murrain—'
'First,' Murrain ploughed on, 'because the individual concerned is an undercover officer. That would normally trigger an alert with another force or maybe with the NCA. Second, because the individual is on a witness protection programme. Again, that might trigger an alert with another force. But I suppose in a very sensitive or high profile case, I could see yourselves or the Home Office being involved. Do stop me if I'm getting close, by the way.'
'DCI Murrain—'
'The third reason, I suppose, would be if the individual in question was a high-profile ex-offender who had been given a new identity. The Mary Bell kind of case. How am I doing?' Murrain had been working out the logic of this as he was speaking, but the rising electrical buzz through his veins was already telling him he was on the right lines.
'You're not to be underestimated, are you, DCI Murrain?' Barker conceded grudgingly. 'Well, if we were to say that your assumption is not a million miles wide of the mark, would that persuade you to provide me with the information I'm seeking?'
'Of course,' Murrain said, 'as long as the process is mutual. As you say, we're both in the business of public protection. If there's anything about Wickham that's relevant to my investigation, I need to know about it.'
'So you accessed Wickham's file in connection with an investigation?'
'That's the nature of our business, Mr Barker.' Murrain decided he'd had enough of the sparring. 'Yes, one of my team accessed Wickham's PNC file in the course of a current investigation. But I should say that, at present, Wickham isn't material to our enquiries. His was just one of numerous files we've accessed. You'll appreciate that any major investigation involves countless routine enquiries, most of which go nowhere.'
'May I enquire about the nature of this major investigation?'
'You'll have seen the reports in the media,' Murrain said. 'A child murder. Ethan Du
nn.'
There was another pause, much longer this time. Finally Barker said: 'I see. In that case, DCI Murrain, I think we really do need to meet. And as soon as possible. I'll make the arrangements.'
***
Barker was as good as his word. Four o'clock that afternoon found Murrain in a one of the meeting rooms in Fred Perry House facing an array of important-looking individuals. CS Winston was sitting beside him, looking as if he'd much rather be anywhere else.
Barker himself appeared the epitome of a Whitehall mandarin, with an expensive-looking suit and an air of unchallengeable authority. From the moment of his arrival, he'd taken charge as if no other arrangement were possible. That was fine by Murrain, but he could see that Winston was beginning to bridle.
'Thank you, gentlemen,' Barker began. 'I'm grateful that you were all able to make yourselves available at such short notice.'
'And we're delighted to welcome you,' Winston said, pointedly. 'We're obviously keen to gain some understanding of the situation here.'
'Of course.' Barker nodded in the manner of a teacher congratulating a well-intentioned pupil. 'Perhaps we should begin with some introductions. As you know, I'm John Barker. MoJ.' Murrain noted that Barker had given no indication of his job title or role.
Barker gestured to the man on his left. 'Colin?'
'Colin Ashworth. Assistant Chief Probation Officer. Greater Manchester.' Ashworth was a tall, skinny man who blinked at the world through thick spectacles. He nodded towards the third visitor, a thick-set man with short-cropped grey hair.
'Robin Kennedy, Protected Persons Unit, National Crime Agency.'
'DS Martin Winston,' Winston said, adopting the same formal tone. 'My colleague, DCI Kenneth Murrain. DCI Murrain is leading the investigation into the murder of Ethan Dunn.'
Murrain couldn't recall the last time anyone had referred to him as Kenneth. It would have been his late mother, probably, in those final days before the Alzheimer's swallowed her entirely. 'We understand you can tell us something about Kevin Wickham?'