The Blow Out

by Bill Rogers

  ‘I’ll take what I can get,’ said Jo. ‘And since there’s nothing I can do here I’d like to get back to Manchester as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ll grab one of these golf carts,’ said Teresa. ‘I’ve always wanted to drive one.’

  Jo hung on for grim death as the Liverpool detective attempted a slalom turn on a tricky sloping corner.

  ‘Why would anyone want to kill both Ronnie O’Neill and Morris Grimshaw?’ Jo asked. ‘That has to be the key.’

  ‘Who knows?’ said Teresa. ‘I can tell you that our intel has found no links between them in any capacity whatsoever. As suppliers, customers, or rivals.’

  ‘Not even in relation to this new trend they used to call “going country” but we now term ‘county lines’ where they’re using teenage dealers to invade other people’s territory?’

  The cart tilted ominously as it veered off the sandy track.

  ‘Watch out, Terry!’ Jo yelled, throwing her body to the left to counterbalance them.

  Teresa regained control and continued as though nothing had happened. ‘Not as far as we’re aware. Although I admit it would be strange if the kids they’re sending out to establish new customer bases hadn’t become aware of each other’s presence. Although I suppose one of the existing local gangs might want to send a message to the city dealers to stay away from their patch?’

  That made perfect sense, Jo decided. It would also fit with the nature of the attacks, at least in relation to their resembling assassinations. But why take all the risk and trouble of using ricin as the agent of death? If Andy Swift’s assessment was correct, this bore the hallmarks of a personal revenge crime, not a crime syndicate settling scores.

  The golf cart came to a halt beside the pro’s shop and Jo alighted. Teresa remained sitting there, looking at her phone.

  ‘Come on, Terry,’ said Jo. ‘I’ll drop you back at the hospital.’

  Teresa put her phone back in her pocket and climbed out of the cart. ‘Make that the St Anne Street nick,’ she said. ‘Grimshaw just passed away. Detective Superintendent Ellis is dealing with that end of things. He wants me to chase up the passive media analyses. See if we can identify some potential suspect vehicles.’

  ‘Let’s hope you have better luck than we’ve been having,’ said Jo. ‘I’ll get my team to send you a list of car registration numbers – see if we can’t find a match. Right now, that’s the best hope we have.’

  Only hope, was what she was really thinking as she opened the car door.

  Chapter 34

  Jo was queuing to come off the M62 and onto the M60 when a call came through on her hands-free.

  ‘Sorry, Max, I’m driving,’ she said. ‘Can we keep this short?’

  ‘No problem,’ he replied. ‘It’s not as though there’s a great deal to tell, I’m afraid. A burned-out vehicle matching one of our suspect vans has been found on waste ground in Wythenshawe. No sign of Melissa or her captors. We’re combing the area for CCTV footage to see if we spot a change of vehicle, but if they’re canny, they’ll have done that somewhere else. Forensics are trying to identify the van. Odds-on, it’ll have been stolen specifically for the job.’

  ‘What about Jason O’Neill?’

  ‘His house and Steven Yates’s house are both under observation and subject to digital and telephonic surveillance. We’ve seen and heard nothing suspicious from either of them. On the contrary. Jason O’Neill has been busy ringing round issuing orders to his people to look for Melissa, and warning all and sundry to let him know if they hear any whispers about who might have done this. Failure to do so, he says, will result in severe retribution.’

  ‘Did he sound genuine?’

  ‘Put it this way. If he wasn’t, then he’s a bloody good actor.’

  No sooner had she ended the call than another came through. This time it was Helen Gates.

  ‘Where are you?’ Gates demanded.

  ‘I’ve just joined the M60 at Worsley, Ma’am. I’m heading clockwise to miss the traffic queuing for the Trafford Centre. I should be at Nexus House in about thirty minutes.’

  ‘Forget that,’ said Gates. ‘The Chief Constable wants a face-to-face with the two of us. I’ll expect you at Force HQ in twenty minutes’ time. Don’t keep us waiting.’

  Make that thirty to forty minutes, Jo thought as the traffic began to slow ahead of her.

  She took a deep breath and entered the GMP Headquarters fourth-floor meeting room. There were only three people at the table, but the sense of gravitas seemed to fill the whole space. In the centre sat Robert Hampson, the Chief Constable, with Charlotte Mason – the Mayor of Greater Manchester – and Assistant Commissioner Helen Gates on either side. They had their backs to the window, forcing her to take a seat facing them. It felt like an interview, or an interrogation.

  Hampson looked pointedly at his watch.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ said Jo. ‘There was a tanker broken down in the roadworks.’

  ‘Well, we’re all pushed for time,’ he replied. ‘You know everyone here, so let’s get straight to the point. What is the status of Operation Alecto? And keep it brief.’

  How the hell did she answer that? You want brief, she decided, I’ll give you brief.

  ‘Ongoing,’ she said, ‘and complicated.’

  He nodded. ‘By this killing on Merseyside, I presume. Is it connected?’

  ‘That has yet to be confirmed,’ she replied. ‘But it certainly looks that way. The MO is identical. A pellet loaded with poison – presumably ricin – like the one here in Manchester. Even the setting chosen was the same. A golf course.’

  ‘Were the victims connected?’

  ‘Again, we have yet to establish that. They were both involved in the same criminal enterprise, so it’s likely that they would at the very least have been aware of each other. The Merseyside Force and the Regional Organised Crime Unit have agreed to handle their end for the time being. We’ve already set up a direct comms system connecting our two investigations.’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to the Mayor of Liverpool,’ said Charlotte Mason. ‘He’s totally on board with this. This is precisely why we’ve both been demanding resources to fight the drug problem in our cities and pressuring the Home Secretary to scrap his supposedly new drugs strategy and listen to those of us who know what’s happening on the ground. Is this all about spice, do you think?’

  Jo was aware that she was in favour of decriminalising cannabis for medical use, highlighting the appalling impact of supposedly legal highs like spice on the homeless and other vulnerable people in the city centre, and the massive waste of police time in dealing with it.

  ‘It is one line of enquiry,’ she told the Mayor, ‘but it’s too early to tell.’

  ‘Do you have any leads at all?’ asked the Chief Constable.

  ‘We have an exhaustive list of names of those who might have a grudge against either of the victims. Unfortunately, none of the names appear on both lists. We do have partial boot prints and a piece of fabric from the Manchester crime scene, together with hours of passive media to work through, principally from fixed-speed and ANPR cameras. Work is proceeding with regard to all three.’

  ‘But no suspect?’

  ‘What about the ricin?’ said the Mayor. ‘That sounds sufficiently unusual to give you something to go on, I would have thought?’

  ‘That’s why I’ve arranged to visit the Porton Down military science park tomorrow,’ Jo said.

  ‘Military science park?’ the Mayor said. ‘Is that a euphemism for secret arms research establishment?’

  ‘You’re going to Porton Down? That’s the first I’ve heard about it,’ said Helen Gates, raising her eyebrows. ‘Who’s going to lead the investigation while you’re away?’

  ‘My deputy, DS Carter,’ said Jo. ‘We’ll be in constant communication, and if I leave before six in the morning I can be back by three in the afternoon.’

  ‘Not if the M6 has anything to do with it,’ muttered the Chief Constabl
e.

  ‘Is there anything resource-wise we can get you that might speed things up, SI Stuart?’ asked Helen Gates.

  ‘Don’t you think we should approach the National Crime Agency first?’ said the Chief Constable, forestalling Jo’s response. ‘Before we start to use our own extremely stretched resources?’

  Jo raised her hand but didn’t wait to be invited to speak. ‘Sir, if I may? The NCA are already heavily involved in supporting the operation to find Melissa Walsh.’

  ‘Is there a link between this missing schoolgirl and Operation Alecto?’ asked the Mayor.

  ‘I believe so,’ Jo said. ‘A tangential connection.’

  ‘In what sense?’

  ‘We think that she may have been taken by people close to the first victim, who suspect that her father may have been responsible for his death, or at the very least know something about it.’

  ‘Which is exactly the kind of escalation we’re trying to prevent,’ said the Chief Constable. He turned to address Helen Gates. ‘Helen, my fear is that as soon as the news breaks about this latest incident, gang bosses across the entire region are going to be looking over their shoulders, wondering if they might be next. Trying to work out who might be behind it, and if they should make a pre-emptive strike. It has the potential to become a nightmare scenario.’

  ‘We’re on top of that, Robert,’ said Gates. ‘Challenger and Titan are both involved. If there’s the slightest hint of any of that, they will know and step in before the gangs get a chance to act.’

  ‘Like they did with this kidnapping?’ he replied.

  Gates was about to protest that this was unfair, but the Mayor got in first. ‘There must be something the Northern Powerhouse can do to support this,’ she said.

  ‘We both know, Charlotte,’ said the Chief Constable bitterly, ‘that until the Government puts its money where its mouth is, this is a powerhouse without any gas in the tank.’

  ‘Thanks to the Mayor they have finally agreed to pay the full cost of the Arena terrorist attack,’ Helen Gates pointed out.

  ‘Only because of the public outrage when it looked as though they were not going to,’ said the Mayor.

  This isn’t getting us anywhere, Jo decided. And I need to get back to Nexus House. She raised her hand. ‘If I might suggest,’ she said. ‘If either the Merseyside Force or the Regional Organised Crime Unit could be persuaded to continue to run the investigation into the killing over at Ainsdale until we at least identify the perpetrator, that would make it much easier for my syndicate to cope.’

  There was silence while they thought about it.

  ‘I’m sure that between us we can make that happen, Robert, don’t you?’ said the Mayor.

  ‘Since we don’t have anything left in the budget to throw at this, I don’t see that we have any option,’ the Chief Constable replied.

  ‘There’ll have to be another press conference,’ said the Mayor.

  ‘But we’ve only just had one, about the kidnapping,’ said Helen. ‘Can’t we just issue a press release?’

  The Mayor shook her head. ‘A second shooting incident involving a toxin that you suspect to be ricin? They’re bound to want answers.’

  ‘That we don’t yet have.’

  ‘Granted. But the speculation that this might be connected to terrorism has to be knocked on the head. Always assuming that you’re sure there’s no connection?’

  The three of them stared at Jo.

  ‘There is absolutely nothing to suggest that there is,’ she said.

  ‘Unless it’s a dry run?’ the Mayor suggested. ‘A terrorist, or terrorists, conducting live trials prior to some form of assassination attempt?’

  ‘You’ve been reading too many crime thrillers, Charlotte,’ said the Chief Constable.

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ the Mayor replied, ‘because you and I are going to have to reassure the Prime Minister following this meeting.’

  She addressed herself directly to Jo. Slowly and deliberately. Her gaze was still and penetrating. ‘Specifically, SI Stuart,’ she said, ‘the Prime Minister wants to know if she should convene COBRA. As the Senior Investigating Officer, are you telling me that she has no reason to contemplate that?’

  The Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, where the heads of security, police, and armed forces meet with the Prime Minister and Home Secretary to plan their response in times of national crisis. Woah! thought Jo. If I get this wrong they’ll never let me forget it.

  ‘At this moment,’ she began, ‘there is nothing whatsoever to suggest that the two attacks are in any way connected with terrorism. Our working hypothesis is that it’s in some way connected with the victims’ involvement in the supply of illicit drugs.’

  The Mayor held her gaze for a few moments, then said, ‘At this moment?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jo.

  The Mayor nodded. ‘Then that is what we shall tell her,’ she said.

  ‘In that case,’ said Jo, easing her chair back, ‘if there’s nothing else?’

  The Chief Constable looked at her for a moment, as though about to reprimand her. He relented and waved her away with a sweep of his arm. ‘No, you’d best get on with it. And make sure you keep ACC Gates updated of any developments, however small. She has a press conference to prepare. Do you hear?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ she said. ‘And thank you.’

  ‘Thank you, SI Stuart,’ said the Mayor as Jo stood up.

  It’s nice to feel appreciated, Jo thought as she closed the door behind her.

  Chapter 35

  DAY FOUR – THURSDAY, 19TH OCTOBER

  It was 9.25 a.m. when Jo pulled up outside the gatehouse of the Defence Science and Technology Laboratory. Thanks to an early start, she’d made better time than expected. But the fact that she’d been at Nexus House until close to two o’clock last night meant she had had less than four hours’ sleep. She had no idea how long she could keep this up.

  Somehow the facility seemed less sinister than she had imagined. Apart from the KEEP OUT, MOD PROPERTY, and DANGER! HAZARDOUS AREA! signs on the fences and the two Ministry of Defence police officers she had spotted armed with MP7 semi-automatic sub-machine guns.

  She showed her ID, signed the visitors’ book, and was escorted to the reception building. This single-storey, red-brick and glass structure looked more like the reception centre of a Royal Horticultural Society property than one of the most advanced and secret military facilities for research into chemical, biological, radiological, and nuclear defence measures on the planet. It didn’t make her feel any less nervous.

  ‘Your host will be with you shortly, Ma’am,’ she was told. ‘Please take a seat. And do help yourself to a drink from the machine while you’re waiting.’

  She’d only taken a few sips of a much-needed coffee when a man in his forties wearing a smart blue suit and carrying a small black briefcase arrived at the front desk. He moved like someone who kept himself fit. His eyes regarded her with curiosity behind frameless spectacles, and he had a broad smile on his face.

  ‘Please don’t stand up, Ms Stuart,’ he said. ‘At least finish your drink.’

  They shook hands, and he sat on the couch opposite her.

  ‘My name is Reg Laxton,’ he said. ‘I’m a molecular biologist and team leader. I’ve worked here for fifteen years, and I haven’t had a day off work for sickness in all that time. I hope you find that a little reassuring?’

  Jo grinned sheepishly. ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘No more than most,’ he replied. ‘You’d be surprised how many visitors imagine that they’re at imminent risk of contracting some deadly virus, being struck down by a nerve agent, or leaving lit up like a beacon by nuclear radiation.’

  ‘You can’t blame people,’ she said, ‘given the stories that circulate and the secrecy.’

  ‘Let me set your mind at rest,’ he said. ‘For a start, we’re only one of a number of establishments on this science and technology park and elsewhere, working to ensure the security
and defence of the United Kingdom. Secondly, research into chemical and biological weapons ceased back in the 1950s. Since then we have not, I repeat not, engaged in the development of any chemical or biological weapons. This is a defence establishment. Our work is all about staying one step ahead of those who may already have, or wish to develop, such weapons so we can put in place countermeasures to the threat they may represent. Obviously, this work involves the production of very small amounts of these agents so we can develop means to counter them such as prevention, speedy detection and identification, preventative treatment, and decontamination. However, the safe storage and disposal of such samples is of paramount importance to us.’ He grinned. ‘As I’m sure you’ll appreciate, our concern is not only for the wider public, but for those of us who work here too.’

  ‘And ricin is one of the substances that you test?’

  ‘Among others. There is sarin, for example, and other organophosphorus agents. Then there are the pathogens such as ebola, anthrax, smallpox, and the plague bacterium – to name but a few. In studying these, we have become a major centre for research on behalf of the National Health Service, and one of the world’s leading authorities on viral inoculations.’

  He leaned closer, using his hand to indicate that she should do the same. Then he looked cautiously over each shoulder before whispering in her ear. ‘And, just for the record, we have never had the body of an alien brought here, or to any of our other establishments. Unless you include politicians.’

  Evidently pleased with his performance, he sat back and laughed. Jo joined in. It was, after all, a half-decent joke. Or was it, she wondered, a double bluff ?

  He placed both hands on the coffee table. ‘I see you’ve finished your drink, so I think we’ll crack on. They’ve booked a room for us to use. You can get another cup and take it through with you if you like?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Jo, picking up her bag. ‘And I’m on a really tight schedule.’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’