Nightmare City (35 page)

The two detectives consulted the address they had on their
piece of paper and realised they had taken a wrong turning, were on
the wrong floor, going in the wrong direction. Seymour tutted as
though it was Lucy’s fault. A great deal of self-control ensured
she held back from punching him very hard.

They about-turned as a black woman appeared at the foot of a
flight of stairs which led up to the next landing. The woman saw
them, spun away and walked quickly down the concrete corridor.
Neither of the detectives got a good look at her or thought
anything of it, but made their way upstairs.

When they found the flat door open and the body of a man laid
out on the carpet with a Sony portable smashed over his head and a
pool of hot blood spreading slowly across the carpet, they were
advanced enough in their deductive powers to put two and two
together.

As fast as his bulky frame would allow, Seymour raced after
the black woman whom they had good reason to believe was Gillian
Sharrock, prostitute, with three convictions for soliciting and one
for GBH, and also the person responsible for breaking a perfectly
good TV set on some poor dead bastard’s head.

She had disappeared into the rain.

The incident room was in darkness. The slide projector
whirred, a slide clattered into place and the photograph of a man
was thrown up onto the white screen at the far end. Slightly out of
focus initially, the operator DI Gallagher - brought the man up
sharp and clear using the remote button.

The photo was obviously one taken covertly, probably from a
pinhole camera in a button or maybe a briefcase. It showed a man
sitting at a bar. It was good quality, demonstrating how much
surveillance equipment had improved recently.

‘
Target One: Terry Anderson, also known as Terence Andrews,
Tel Anderson,’ said Gallagher, consulting his notes. ‘Aged
twenty-three, last known address believed to be a flat in Lancaster
on St George’s Quay. He is a fully paid-up member of the travelling
fraternity - a gypo in other words, if you’ll excuse me being
non-PC.’

A titter went round the assembled group of detectives, which
included Henry Christie.

‘
Works as a car-dealer and property-repairer, cash only,
therefore no company records. Drives a Shogun and seems to have
money to throw around. Has previous for armed robbery, bogus
official jobs and a lot of violence. Tough individual. Known to
carry firearms and is wanted for shooting at police officers in
Lincolnshire a few months ago when he was disturbed on a burglary.
Very nasty individual indeed. Lives off the proceeds of crime. All
the details are in this folder.

‘
Henry - your team are responsible for him ... we’ll go into
the details of the operation shortly. We believe he leads the gang
who’ve been robbing the newsagents throughout the area and we have
informant intelligence to that effect. He’s the one who wields the
shotgun, and he’s the one, we believe, who blew our colleague
away.’

Gallagher paused and allowed everyone to remember Anderson’s
face. ‘Target Two...’ Gallagher pressed another button. Another
face appeared on the screen.

Henry smiled with undisguised satisfaction. Transferred,
albeit temporarily, with the speed of light, and now given the
responsibility of leading the team tasked to bring in the gang
leader. He couldn’t credit his good fortune! Back in a fully
operational role, straight into the bosom of the NWOCS whose
members greeted him like a long-lost brother. And straight away,
without any animosity from anyone, in a position to make a name for
himself. Absolutely wonderful!

He wondered how Morton had twisted FB’s arm to allow this to
happen so quickly.

He treated himself to a quick look at Siobhan Robson, sat next
to him. She caught the look and her mouth fluttered a brief smile
which Henry saw in the light of the projector. She looked forwards
again. Henry’s eyes closed tight and briefly in an expression of
heavenly lust, then he tried to concentrate on Target Three, having
completely missed Target Two. He was exquisitely aware that
Siobhan’s right thigh was touching, nay, actually resting against
his left one. Totally innocent, he knew, but it still sent a tremor
of excitement through him.

Pull yourself together, you idiot. You’ve got form for
adultery and you weren’t very good at it then, he remonstrated
internally. And a girl like Siobhan is hardly likely to be
interested in an old buffoon like you.

He cleared his throat, sat upright and put a gap between their
thighs. Until her leg, not his, closed the gap.

This time he ignored it - ish.

Target Four was being introduced by Gallagher.

The bloke on the screen now, in Henry’s estimation, was a
particularly sour-faced git. Another gypsy, as were all the men.
Henry was sharply reminded of Shane Mulcahy. Both their features
were quite similar. Shane was made to look like a choirboy,
however, when Gallagher read out
Number
Four’s antecedents.

The four men - youths really - were a very bad bunch
of
people and Henry could readily believe
they had turned from pure terrifying violence to killing in a
moment. They all had the capability. It had only been a matter
of
time before the robberies became
killing zones.

After the presentation the lights came back
on
.

Tony Morton took the floor. ‘Now you know who we want to
arrest. And please - don’t let there be any cock-ups on
this at all. No heroics, no gun battles, no
shooting - just in and out
and get’ em.
Grab them before they have a chance to fart. We don’t want any dead
heroes like Geoff Driffield, who was trying to prove something to
himself and the rest of
the
world.’

He took a breath. His eyes surveyed the faces of
the detectives in front of him. ‘And that’s all I
have to say. DI Gallagher will talk you through the operation
itself. So ... good luck.’

He stepped smartly off the platform and left the room,
Gallagher taking his place. The latter checked his watch. ‘In a few
minutes, a firearms team will be coming to join us, together with
some Support Unit personnel. There’s no point in progressing this
until they arrive, so I suggest you hang loose and be back here for
three-fifteen prompt.’

‘
Tell me about Geoff Driffield.’

They were in the canteen which, apart from a couple of
traffic wardens taking a mid-afternoon break from
harrying motorists, was deserted. They were sat next to a window
which gave a good view of
Blackpool, the
Tower in particular. They faced each other, hunched over cups
of
tea, in postures which were almost
intimate. Anyone watching them would see they were easy in each
other’s company.

Siobhan sighed and collected her thoughts. At length she said,
‘Driffield was always pushing for a result. He wanted glory all the
time, and he wanted it all for himself. He must have cultivated
some good snouts, and obviously he came up trumps with this gang -
but then he didn’t share it with anyone, poor stupid
sod.’

‘
But going it alone? Crazy, even for a glory boy, isn’t
it?’

Siobhan turned the cup on
the saucer
and stared into it.

Henry looked at the top on
her head.
He could see the shiny hair right down to the roots. It was healthy
and he wanted to touch it. Slowly, she shook her head. ‘I think
it’s
exactly
what
he wanted to do. In the past he’d had some good results going it
alone, but he’d taken some stupid risks. I think that lying in wait
for an armed gang was just a natural progression for him. He wasn’t
a team-player, and on
a squad like this,
you need team players. You need to support each other, in more ways
than one. . .’ Her brown eyes rose to meet Henry’s. They seemed to
dance for him, a sort of
seductive
lambada.

‘
What happened on Saturday night, then?’ he asked with
difficulty.

‘
Geoff came on before anyone else and took off without leaving
any details of where he would be. Next thing we knew, we were being
contacted by your lot - we were on a surveillance job in Bury - and
we got the news.’

Her eyes had not left Henry’s face. She was taking in every
detail, every contour and he likewise with her.

‘
H-how long have you been on the squad?’ he asked her. He
coloured up whilst he tried not to think about what it would be
like to bury his face between her breasts and ... well, he tried
not to think about it.

‘
Six years. I’m from Greater Manchester
originally.’

‘
Enjoy it?’

‘
Best job I’ve ever had.’

‘
Seems a long time to be in a specialist post.’

‘
Tony, the boss, likes to keep people who fit in well, support
the aims of the squad, are prepared to work hard and who get
results.’

‘
So you’ve got to toe the party line or else you’re out, is
that it?’ Henry probed playfully.

For the briefest fraction of a moment a look of something like
suspicion crossed Siobhan’s face. So fleeting it was almost
unnoticeable, but Henry caught it, and it disturbed him. What was
it that the question stirred in her? Only later - much later -
would he find out.

Her normal, natural look resumed. She tossed her head back
with a laugh, shook her hair and ran her long fingers through its
silky strands. Her lovely neck was exposed to Henry’s
eyes.

‘
No, nothing like that,’ she said lightly. ‘But Tony likes
people who’re with him rather than against him.’

‘
I’d better not rock the boat,’ Henry said
dubiously.

‘
No, better not.’

Tony Morton was seated in the Officers Mess at Blackpool
police station, chatting to a uniformed Inspector. Gallagher came
in and poured himself a coffee from the pot on the
hot-plate.

Morton excused himself from the lower-ranking officer and went
across to Gallagher. They moved to one corner of the room, out of
earshot of anyone else.

‘
He’s like a dog with two dicks,’ Gallagher said
triumphantly.

‘
Good. I thought he would be. The guy has difficulty keeping
his keks up, apparently, where there’s the slightest possibility of
getting his end away. What about the other areas we discussed? We
need to force those issues as soon as.’

Gallagher nodded. He floated a couple of ideas past his boss
who immediately approved them.

The briefing which followed was very detailed, professional
and thorough. Henry did not like Gallagher for some reason, but he
was impressed by the way in which he had planned and delivered the
meat and bones of ‘Operation Cabal’.

No reason was given as to why the operation was so-called, and
Henry did not ask. Nor did he actually know what the word ‘cabal’
meant. He made a mental note to look it up when he got home,
whenever that would be.

An hour after starting Gallagher was winding up. ‘OK, that’s
about it, men,’ he announced, failing to include the four women
present in the room, three being members of the firearms team.
‘Because we’ve all been on duty for almost eight hours already, the
Operation will commence proper at 6 a.m. tomorrow. This is to
ensure you all get a good night’s sleep, because it may go on for a
very long time indeed. Don’t be surprised if you’re working
fourteen-hour shifts - or more - once we’re up and running. We’ll
do it until we catch them. So tell those loved ones at home. Right,
any questions?’

There were none.

‘
Good. You must be in your ob points at 6 a.m. - so be there.’
His face broke into a smile. ‘Now go home, get some quality sleep
and be ready to roll. That’s it, folks! Henry, chats
please.’

With Siobhan at his side, Henry made his way over to
Gallagher, who handed him a small laminated business-size card. It
was an authorisation to carry firearms.

Henry was stunned. He blinked. ‘But I haven’t carried a gun
for nearly two years and I certainly haven’t kept up my shooting
skills.’

‘
Don’t worry,’ said Gallagher. ‘Needs must. You’ll be OK. I
want you to go back with Siobhan to our offices in Blackburn where
you can sign a weapon and a radio out and get some body armour from
our store. You’re almost one of us now, so you might as well use
our equipment. You need to be armed for this thing, Henry. We’re
dealing with some real nutters here and I want everyone protected
properly who’s likely to come into first contact with
them.’

One of those quivers of unease shimmered through Henry. The
thought of a gun. Last time he’d held one in his hand he’d killed
somebody. Deliberately. An act of self- defence.

He swallowed and stared at the firearms authorisation, dated
that day and signed by the Chief Constable.

Boy
,
this
squad really had some clout.

The offices of the North-West Organised Crime Squad were
situated in what could loosely be described as the ‘red light’
district of Blackburn, just off the main town centre in the area
bounded by King Street and appropriately enough, Mincing Lane. They
were offices which had originally been used by the Lancashire
Constabulary Traffic Department, before over the years becoming
home to a series of specialised police units until eventually the
NWOCS moved in.