Dead Right (39 page)

At about two o’clock, after Banks and Blackstone had enjoyed a leisurely lunch across the road, it was time to start. They went back upstairs and took Mark into an interview room. It was agreed that Banks, being more familiar with the case, would do most of the questioning. Blackstone would give the occasional prod if things got slow. They weren’t taping this one. There would be time for
formalities later, with Banks well out of the way, if the plan worked. If it didn’t, then all hell might break loose as far as disciplinary actions were concerned. Banks had already warned Ken and given him the option of staying well away, but Ken had insisted on being involved.

“Well, Mark,” said Banks, “I know we haven’t met until today, but I’ve had a great interest in you ever since I saw Jason Fox’s body a couple of weeks ago.”

“I’ve told the police all about that,” Wood said. “I’ve pleaded guilty to manslaughter. What’s all this about?”

Banks raised an eyebrow. “It’s not quite settled yet,” he said. “Not to
my
satisfaction, anyway.”

Wood folded his arms. “I don’t know what you mean. First you leave me hanging about in the corridor for hours, now you start interrogating me. I’m not saying anything. I want my solicitor.”

“Mr Varney? Well, we’ll see what we can do. For the moment, though, I suggest you hold your horses, Mark, and listen to me. Certain new evidence has come to light that puts an entirely different complexion on the Jason Fox killing.”

“Oh? What’s that, then?”

Banks jerked his head towards the door. “We’ve just had a long chat with Mr Campbell and Mr Robertson, and they’ve told us some very interesting things.”

“Like what?”

“Like the truth about what you did to Jason Fox.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on, Mark, surely you can do much better than that?”

“I’m not saying a word.”

“Listen to me, then. According to your brother-in-law Mr Campbell, an old mate of yours from the Cloth Ears days, the two of you were commissioned by Neville Motcombe to get rid of Jason Fox. Jason had become a major risk in a heroin deal you were planning, and a serious threat to Motcombe’s power. Motcombe couldn’t get any of his own members to do it because Jason was too popular with them. Instead, he got two of the people who were already involved in the drug deal—one from each side, so to speak—two people who also stood to gain a lot. I should imagine
Devon wanted one or two of his own lads along just to make sure you did what you agreed, didn’t he? From what I hear, he’s not the kind of bloke to take undue risks. How am I doing so far?”

Wood’s eyes widened. “You know about Devon? Jesus Christ, does he know about this? Does he know I’m here? Have Wes and Frankie been talking to him? Shit, if Devon thinks I’m talking to the coppers, he’ll fucking kill me.”

Banks ignored him. “When Scattered Dreams played at The Jubilee, it gave you the perfect opportunity. Jason was going to be in Eastvale anyway—he had a football match in the afternoon—so you told him you were coming up and that the two of you could go see the band. Maybe it would be a chance to settle your differences and talk a bit of business, try to save the partnership somehow. I’d imagine you were compliant, more than willing to make compromises. You knew Scattered Dreams weren’t Jason’s cup of tea, but suggested he might like to broaden his horizons a bit. Who knows, maybe you promised to go to the next Celtic Warrior concert if he gave your lot a try. Jason had been to The Jubilee before, and he had mentioned that a couple of Pakistani youths went there on a fairly regular basis. I’m only guessing at this part, but I think he’d already chucked a brick through one of their windows, and he’d said he was looking for trouble with them. Perfect for you, if something like that happened in public, wasn’t it? A bonus. As long as it was just a minor incident, enough to draw just a little attention.

“Anyway, according to Mr Campbell, you accompanied Jason towards the ginnel, where he and Mr Robertson were waiting at the other end to render any necessary assistance. According to them, you whacked Jason on the back of the head with the bottle a couple of times, and he went down. After that, you managed to kick him to death all by yourself. They didn’t have to do a thing. And that, Mark, with two eyewitnesses to testify against you, makes it murder.”

Wood turned pale. “That’s not true,” he said. “It didn’t happen like that at all. They’re lying.”

Banks leaned forward. “What didn’t happen like what, Mark?”

“It was like I said. There was just me and Jason. We got into a fight. He slagged off Sheri and Connor. I didn’t mean for him to die.”

Banks shook his head. “I’m afraid that story’s gone right down the toilet now, Mark, along with all your other stories. Let me see if I can get them right.” He began counting them off on his fingers, looking towards Ken Blackstone, who nodded at each one. “First, you weren’t anywhere near Eastvale the night Jason got killed. Second, you were at The Jubilee but you never went anywhere near the ginnel. Third, you
were
there and you saw George Mahmood and his mates kill Jason. And, fourth, you killed him yourself in a fair fight. How am I doing so far?”

Wood licked his lips and shifted in his chair.

“Problem is, Mark,” Banks went on, “you’re a liar. The only version we have any independent corroboration of is the one I just put to you, the one Mr Campbell told us about. So it looks as if that’s the way it’s going to go down now.” He paused, then went on. “After this interview, DI Blackstone and I will be having a word with the Crown Prosecution Service about changing the charges from manslaughter to murder. That carries a much longer jail sentence, as I’m sure you know.”

“You can’t be serious? You can’t believe those bastards.”

“Why not? I certainly can’t believe
you
. Look at your track record, Mark. No, I’m afraid this is the end of the line for you. You get charged with murder now, and you don’t get out of jail for a long, long time. In fact, by the time you get out, your wife will have run off with another bloke long since, and your kid will have grown up and forgotten you. In the meantime, you’ll be fending off the arse-bandits in Wormwood Scrubs or Strangeways. And that’s
if
you last that long. I suspect both Devon and Neville Motcombe have long reaches.”

Wood seemed to shrivel, to draw in on himself like a bank of ashes collapsing. Banks could tell Wood knew he was trapped. He knew lies wouldn’t save him now, but he didn’t know the best course of action. Time to tell him, time to give him a ray of hope. After pulling the carpet from under him, give him a foam mattress to land on.

“There’s only one way out for you, Mark,” he said.

“What’s that?” Mark’s voice was no louder than a whisper.

“The truth. Right from the top.”

“How will that help?”

“I’m not saying it’ll get you off scot-free. Nothing will do that. We don’t have the power to make deals with criminals, reduce their sentences in exchange for information. That only happens on American TV shows. But I can guarantee it’ll make things easier for you.”

Wood chewed on his knuckles for a few seconds, then said, “I need protection. They’ll kill me. My family, too.”

“We can help you with that, Mark. If you help us.”

Mark rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I never meant to kill him,” he said. “Honest I didn’t. It was those two.” He was close to tears.

“Who?”

“Frankie and Wes.”

“What happened, Mark? Right from the beginning.”

Banks took out his cigarettes and offered Mark one. He took it with a shaking hand. “All right,” he said. “But what guarantee have I got that things will go easier for me if I tell you the truth? What are you offering me?”

“You’ve got my word,” said Banks.

“For what?”

“That you and your family will be protected and that your co-operation will be considered.”

“I want relocation for me and Sheri,” he said. “And new identities. The Witness Protection Programme. That’s what I want.”

“I’ve already told you, this isn’t America, Mark. We don’t do things that way in England. Look, like I said, I’m not telling you you’re going to walk out of here a free man. You’re not. One way or another, you’ll serve some time. What I’m saying is that if you give us what we want, the charge can remain manslaughter, not murder.”

“It doesn’t sound like that good a deal to me.”

“Well, it is,” Ken Blackstone chipped in. “The difference is between, say, twenty-five years in a very nasty place—where you’ll be vulnerable to anyone Devon or Motcombe care to send along— and maybe five in minimum security prison. Protected environment. Telly and conjugal visits thrown in.” He glanced at Banks, who nodded. “Your choice, Mark. It’s as simple as that.”

Wood looked between the two of them and his gaze finally settled on Banks again. “What about Sheri and Connor?”

“We’ll take care of them, make sure they’re safe,” said Banks. “You have my word. What about it?”

Wood looked at Blackstone again, who assured him that Banks was right, then he rested back in his chair and said, “All right. Okay. Neville Motcombe approached me several weeks ago and said he knew about my record for drugs offences. At first I didn’t know what he was getting at, then it became clear that he’d made a contact for getting his hands on some pretty large amounts of heroin through Turkey at a rock-bottom price, and he hadn’t a clue what to do about it. Drugs just weren’t part of his gig, but he saw a way to make a lot of money and fuck up the ‘niggers’ in the bargain, as he put it. He really does talk like that. Makes you sick. Anyway, he found out about my drug bust and decided I was to be the go-between.”

“What was in it for you?”

“Something in the region of fifty thousand quid over a period of a few months, if all went well. Maybe more in the future, if the supply didn’t dry up.” He leaned forward and gripped the sides of the chair. “Look, you can judge me all you like, but have you any idea what that would have meant to Sheri and me? It would have got us out of that fucking prefab, for a start, and it would have given me a good chance at expanding the business, buying some up-to-date equipment, making something out of it. And all I had to do was play go-between for Motcombe and Devon.” He laughed. “It was a bit of a joke on Motcombe, too. He didn’t know Sheri’s Jamaican and that his money would actually be going to help one of the people he wanted to destroy.”

“Didn’t that bother you, Mark? That he was intending to cause so much suffering in the West Indian community?”

“That was just a load of bollocks he came up with for Jason’s benefit. He was after profits, pure and simple.”

“Takes one to know one?”

“Something like that. Anyway, once you get heroin out on the streets, there’s no telling what colour your buyers will be, is there? There’s no colour bar on H. Even Jason knew that. Like I said, I
thought it was funny that Sheri and Connor were going to get some benefit from this.”

Banks shook his head. “So you agreed?”

Wood nodded. “Under Motcombe’s instructions, I met with Wes, then with Devon. They never met Motcombe, didn’t know who he was. I called him Mr H. Anyway, we talked about prices, delivery schedules, methods of getting the stuff into the country, the lot. Then Devon said he’d think about it. A few days later he got in touch with me through Wes and told me to let Mr H know we were in business. I suppose Motcombe got in touch with his blokes in Turkey—I didn’t have anything to do with that end of the operation—and they set things in motion. There were huge profits in it for everyone. Devon wouldn’t stop at Leeds—he’d be shifting stuff to Bradford, Sheffield, Manchester, Birmingham, you name it. Somehow or other, that seemed to resolve the problems on both sides. Motcombe’s about dealing with darkies and Devon’s about dealing with a whitey like me.” Mark snorted. “Great healer of race relations, greed, isn’t it?”

“And where does Jason come in?”

“Motcombe made a big mistake there. I could have told him, but he didn’t ask. He seemed to think Jason would just love the idea. I mean, I don’t think they’d ever talked about drugs or anything other than League business before. But Jason was straight. Even with Motcombe’s justification, he wouldn’t go for it. Motcombe got worried that Jason would spread the word among his colleagues in the movement and they’d chuck him out and put Jason in charge instead. I suppose you know neo-Nazis aren’t really supposed to be into drugs?”

Banks nodded.

“Then there was the matter of the money to be made. Anyway, Motcombe got paranoid, especially as Jason had gained a lot of respect in the movement and people looked up to him for guidance and leadership. Jason was fast becoming a loose cannon on the deck. So Motcombe decided things would be better all around with Jason out of the way. He knew I was desperate for the money, and he also knew me and Jason didn’t get along, so he asked me if I could arrange for the Jamaicans to do away with him. That way, he
said, if they happened to get caught, it’d only be two less ‘niggers’ to worry about. You have to give the guy credit, at least he’s consistent. I didn’t want to do it. I mean, I’m no killer. I know Jason and me had our problems, but I didn’t want to see him dead. You have to believe that. I had no choice.”

“What happened?” Banks asked.

Mark ran his hand over his head. “Like Motcombe asked, I talked to Wes and I told him Jason was involved in the Turkish end of the deal and that he was planning to rip Devon off. I also said he turned out to be a racist bastard, a member of some loony fringe group. Well, I couldn’t tell him the truth, could I? I had to make something up pretty quick, and it had to cover whatever publicity might come about when you found out who Jason was. Wes went back to Devon, who ordered it done. Just like that. No questions asked. And he also stipulated that I had to be in it with them. A sort of test of faith, I suppose. I didn’t want to do it. I just didn’t have any fucking choice.”

“There’s always a choice, Mark.”

“Right. Sure. Easy for you to say that. It came down to me over Jason. Sheri and Connor over Jason. What would you have done? Like I said, Jason and me weren’t close, and the bastard did get on my nerves with all that Nazi shit.”