Beyond Reach (25 page)

Winter held her gaze. She was right. Bazza Mackenzie had always believed what suited him at the time. It was part of his charm, part of his MO.

‘We have to get that contract back, Ez. What’s Garfield’s wife’s Christian name?’

‘Nikki. She’s really nice.’

‘I bet she is. You’ve just let her bury a million euros offshore. They’ll get it back in the end but if that lawyer’s smart he could make it very difficult for them. A million buys a lot of sangria.
Comprende?
’

Esme nodded. Then she sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. Winter stood over her, waiting. Finally her head came up, her eyes shiny with tears.

‘So what do we do, Paul?’

 

They were at the airport car park by half past five. Winter fetched take-out coffees from the terminal while Esme briefed Riquelme’s heavies on the way they were going to play the interception. By the time Winter got back the atmosphere in the car was almost festive.

‘They don’t see a problem,’ Esme told him. ‘Under the circumstances they say there’s no way Garfield will go running to the police. They’re shit hot on money laundering down here.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

They sipped their double espressos in silence for a while. Juan found a local station on the radio. The sun began to dip towards the west. By the time the Hertz Seat turned up, Winter was wondering about the possibility of a nap.

‘They’re here.’ Esme gave him a nudge. ‘That’s them.’

The Seat circled the car park. The woman was driving, a younger man beside her. The Spaniards were watching him too, making their assessments. The car pulled into one of the Hertz reserved spaces, no more than twenty metres away. The Spaniards were already out of the car, moving across to the Seat. Jeans and T-shirts. Obviously fit. They stationed themselves on either side of the Seat, making it impossible to open either door. Winter and Esme joined them.

Nikki Garfield wound down her window. She was a sleek middle-aged woman with a salon tan. Plainly irritated, she wanted to know what was going on.

Esme told her she’d had a change of heart over the purchase of the apartments and the hotel. She’d decided to ditch the project. She wanted the contract back.

‘Why?’

‘Commercial reasons.’

‘Like what?’

‘I’m not prepared to say.’

Her companion leaned over. He was younger, looked in good shape. There was no warmth in his smile.

‘Why the pressure?’ He gestured at his door. ‘What’s with the heavies?’

‘They’re friends of ours.’ Winter this time. ‘They’re looking after our interests.’

‘Is that right?’

The lawyer whispered something to Nikki Garfield. The key was still in the ignition but Winter got there first. He yanked it out then slipped it into his pocket.

At this, the lawyer pushed hard on his door and got out. Winter admired his courage but knew he was doomed. Juan, the older of the two Spaniards, must have been in the military or maybe the police. He spun the lawyer round in a neat armlock and slammed him against the side of the car before kicking his legs apart.

Esme told him to go easy. She still wanted the contract.

‘This is totally out of order.’ Nikki stared up at her, outraged. ‘We negotiated in good faith. We’re civilised people. A contract is a contract. You pledged your word. It’s done, signed, sorted. So now, if you don’t mind, we’ll be on our way.’

She too tried to get out of the car but couldn’t shift the weight of the younger Spaniard against the door.

Winter went round to the back of the car and unlocked the boot. A briefcase lay between three pieces of luggage, two of them in matching pink. He pulled it out. It was locked.

‘You’ve got a choice here, Nikki.’ He was back beside her door. ‘Either we take the briefcase or you unlock it.’

‘That’s theft.’

‘Wrong. It’s negotiation. I expect your tickets are in here too. If you want to get home tonight, maybe you should give me the key.’

The car park was covered by CCTV. One of the Spaniards was looking at the nearest camera. The terminal was a couple of hundred metres away. The last thing Winter needed was a visit from security.

‘The key,’ he repeated.

The woman shook her head. She too had realised that time was on her side.

The lawyer made his move. Lashing out with his foot, he caught his captor below the knee. The Spaniard grunted with pain but maintained the armlock. The lawyer did the same thing again. This time he missed but the Spaniard’s patience had run out. He reached forward with his spare hand, smashing the lawyer’s face against the edge of the roof. The lawyer’s body sagged. His hand went to his face. Sitting on the warm tarmac, his back against the car, he stared at the blood dripping into his lap.

Nikki had produced a mobile. Winter had no idea who she was phoning but knew this was getting out of hand. Seizing the mobile he told Esme they were off. Any minute now security would arrive. Worse still, the police.

‘What about the contract?’

‘We take their luggage.’

‘All of it?’

‘Yeah. Plus the briefcase.’

She stared at him a moment then shrugged. Winter had already removed the luggage from the boot. The Spaniards carried the bags back to their car. The lawyer, watching, made no attempt to stop them. Seconds later, they were on their way out of the car park.

Esme was sitting in the back, nursing the briefcase. The other bags were in the boot. She stole a look over her shoulder. Nikki Garfield was bent over her lawyer beside the hire car, a tissue in her hand.

‘She’s right.’ Esme was shaking her head in disbelief. ‘That was definitely theft.’

MONDAY, 26 MAY 2008. 09.03

It had taken Jimmy Suttle two minutes to brief Faraday on the latest developments over the Blue Dragon murders. Faraday had come in early, wanting to clarify his own role on Major Crime, only to find DCI Parsons already chairing an Operation
Adelaide
meet. Peering round her office door, Faraday counted half a dozen faces at the conference table before beating a retreat. Now, more than an hour later, Suttle appeared to give him an update.

The surviving kids, he said, had both been charged with blackmail. After a brief appearance before the magistrates they’d been released on police bail, stepping out of the court buildings to find themselves mobbed by a huge bunch of supporters who’d taken the bus down from Paulsgrove. The Chinese, meanwhile, had both been remanded on murder charges. Their solicitor was already talking about a defence of provocation and in all likelihood they’d be looking at a couple of years for manslaughter. It was now confirmed that one of the Chinese was an illegal but he’d still be facing an initial stretch inside before the Home Office got round to deporting him. Mr Hua, the owner, was back at the Blue Dragon, contemplating the ruin of his business.

‘What happened?’

‘Someone put a brick through his window first thing this morning. He’s also had stuff through the letterbox, dog shit mainly.’

‘Weren’t uniforms supposed to be keeping an eye on the property? ’

‘They had a bloke on all Saturday night. Then they relied on car patrols. It obviously wasn’t enough.’

Feelings on the estate, he said, were running high. One of the witnesses in the restaurant had filmed the whole thing on his phone and posted the result on YouTube. The movie had become an overnight sensation. Two and a half million hits and counting.

‘We didn’t seize mobes in the restaurant?’

‘Not this one, obviously. We’ve got names, though. We might push for an aid and abet. That’s up to Parsons.’

Faraday nodded.
Adelaide
might end up expending more investigative effort nailing the owner of the rogue mobile than on any other element in the inquiry.

‘So what’s the word from the top?’ Faraday nodded at the corridor.

‘Control and containment. They’re bricking themselves in case this turns into another paedo-fest. They need to lock Paulsgrove down, big time.’

Quite how you’d do that with the resources available was anyone’s guess but Faraday saw the point. Eight years ago Paulsgrove had made the national news after days of rioting over alleged paedophiles living in the community. Some of the stories from officers policing the front line had stayed with him.

‘Vulgarity and ignorance.’ Faraday glanced up. ‘What do you think?’

‘I’m not with you, boss.’

‘Vulgarity and ignorance. I was listening to an interview on the radio this morning. They were talking to a social worker. She used the word “epidemic”. She said Vicky Pollard had a great deal to answer for. You agree?’

‘Yeah. They got her dead right, fat old slag.’

‘But in the wider context …’

‘You mean real life? It’s been that way forever, boss. It’s just fashionable now, that’s the only difference. Actually, it’s worse. People
want
to be Vicky Pollard. She’s become aspirational. That way you get yourself on telly.’

Suttle caught sight of the Operation
Sangster
file on the emptiness of Faraday’s desk.

‘What’s
Sangster
?’

‘Cold case. I’m the pigeon, Jimmy.
Sangster
’s the crumbs. They’re definitely sending me a message here. Problem is, I haven’t a clue what they’re trying to say.’

It was rare for Faraday to let anyone so close. Suttle helped himself to the spare chair.

‘It’s quiet just now,’ he pointed out. ‘Maybe they’re just trying to keep you out of mischief.’

‘Yeah. And maybe they’re not. Spend too long in this job and it can get difficult to keep your mouth shut. There are real people out there, real issues. The law’s always been a blunt instrument but lately … I don’t know …’ He turned to the window and stared out, leaving the sentence unfinished.

‘Jeanette Morrissey got refused bail, boss, if that’s what this is about.’

‘I know. I checked. She’ll go down and she knows it.’

‘Of course she’ll go down. She killed someone. Did you ever read the bit about intent when you were a probationer or did that pass you by?’

Faraday shot him a look, aware that he was wide open to this kind of mockery. A policeman’s worst friend was his conscience. Stick strictly to the letter of the law and you couldn’t afford to look too hard at the consequences. Jeanette Morrissey deserved better from Operation
Melody.
As had the memory of her son.

‘We failed her, Jimmy. Munday paid for it in the end but that was her doing not ours.’

‘So what are you suggesting, boss? Should we have drawn our own conclusions and knocked him off? Saved on the budget? Spared Mrs Morrissey all those years inside?’

‘I don’t know, Jimmy, but it doesn’t stop with her. You know what I felt when I watched that CCTV from the restaurant? Those scrote kids on the wrong end of a blade?’

‘Happy, I hope.’

‘Yeah.’ Faraday nodded, surprised. ‘That’s right, that’s exactly right. Happy. Glad. Someone had stuck it to them the way they’d been sticking it to everyone else. In my book that’s a result.’

‘And you think no one else feels that way?’

‘I don’t know.’ He blinked. ‘Do you?’

‘Of course I do. Do I tell some rookie D/C? No bloody way. As far as they’re concerned it’s all in the line of duty. Killing people is wrong. It’s bad stuff. Whether you’re Jeanette Morrissey or a pair of Chinese psychos you get nicked. Us lot do the business, muster the evidence, and away you go. Good fucking riddance. Job done.’

‘But in the small hours?’

‘In the small hours I roll over and give Lizzie a cuddle. She knows. And she knows I know. And there it stops.’

Faraday was oddly touched, one confidence prompting another
.
After years of claiming she was lesbian Lizzie Hodson had evidently changed her mind. Hence the fact they were living together.

‘You’re lucky, son.’

‘Because I’ve got someone to talk to? Someone sane? Someone who cares?’

‘Yeah, all those things.’

Suttle nodded. He was far too tactful to take this conversation any further so Faraday spared him the trouble. Suttle had met Gabrielle. He’d liked her a lot.

‘She’s only out there for another couple of months, Jimmy. Then she’s coming home.’

Suttle nodded, then got to his feet.

‘Thank Christ for that,’ he said.

Mackenzie picked up Winter at Gatwick Airport, summoned first thing by an abrupt text message. It was a couple of minutes past one o’clock in the afternoon. Winter was standing outside South Terminal surrounded by luggage. Mackenzie brought the Bentley to a halt, staring at a pair of pink suitcases.

‘Whose the fuck are those?’

‘Long story, Baz. Unlock the boot.’

Winter dumped the luggage in the back and got in. Mackenzie wanted to know about the contract.

‘Did Ez sign it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Witnessed?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Garfield’s missus signed as well?’

‘I’m afraid so, Baz.’

They were still at the kerbside. Mackenzie gave an approaching security guard the finger and purred away. For a moment Winter thought he was going to drive round the block and drop him off at Departures. Get back there, mush. Try again. Sort it out. Instead, they were heading for the exit road to the motorway.

‘Before I forget, Baz, why didn’t you tell me about your mate Riquelme?’

‘Rikki? Guy who saw you right at the airport?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Because you’d have been up all night Saturday fretting about it.’

‘About what?’

‘About the spic police. They’re clueless, mush. Take it from me. Once Rikki was on the case I knew you’d never have a problem. That guy knows how to look after people. Plus he’s got half the police force on his payroll. In my book that’s called insurance. You were safe as houses, mush. I guarantee it.’