The Devil's Interval (5 page)

‘A what?’ said Massie.

‘Like a signing-on fee. £20,000 each. In cash, of course.’

‘Payable when?’

‘Now, tonight. On signing of contracts.’

‘Fuck off’ said Roberts. ‘You don’t have written contracts.’

‘Oh, but we do. You’d be employed by our legitimate businesses, and tax will be paid on all monies, excluding tonight’s cash payments. Furthermore, you’d be genuinely responsible for the management of your areas, so it wouldn’t be like your current relationship with Mr. Porter. You’d be real managers, not hired hands. Our policy, as a business, is to decentralise. So although you’d report to me you’d be the captain of your own ships.’

‘It all sounds very fucking modern’ said Roberts. ‘But when we tell John about this it’ll do you fuck all good. You’ll be floating down the Eden before daybreak, and so will your new mate Judas here.’

‘No, we won’t. You see your operation can call on just three operatives who have the skills, and the temperament, to inflict meaningful physical violence on third parties, and one of them is in this room. Would you like to see the list?’

‘Aye’ said Roberts, ‘give it here.’

Young held up his hand and a figure emerged from the shadows, carrying a file. He opened it and passed Young a piece of paper, which he then placed on the table in front of Roberts and Massie.

‘But my name’s not here’ said Roberts, after a moment.

‘It’s not, is it?’ replied Young. ‘You see our judgement is that you’re not really the type, not any more. And what you have to consider, gentlemen, is how many operatives I have at my disposal, right here and right now, to deal with any fall-out from this meeting.’

‘How many?’, asked Massie.

‘Twenty nine, including myself. Many have diagnosed personality disorders and some, including myself, have simply demonstrated their willingness to take actions that most so-called normal people could never even consider. There’s a big difference between handing out a hiding to a grown man and slipping a knife between the shoulder blades of a sleeping child, and twisting gently when it hits the heart. That takes a special kind of man. Now don’t misunderstand me, gentleman. Not everyone in our organisation is a card-carrying psychopath, because then every board meeting would be absolute murder, wouldn’t it? But whenever we take over from another firm we always ensure that we have the manpower in place to ensure a smooth transition.’

There was silence round the table for a long moment. Young reached for his coffee, and took a sip. ‘Are you sure I can’t tempt either of you?’

‘So what you’re saying is that if we come and work for you, then we get all this straight dough?’ asked Massie.

‘That’s it. You’ll fill in your tax return every year, and you’ll get left alone. No-one will take any interest in you any more, least of all the police. Because we all know that this country is built on hypocrisy, don’t we? So as long as you pay your way you’ll find that the cops will soon forget all about you. No more looking over your shoulders, and no more digging up bags of damp tenners from the garden every time one of the kids needs a new laptop.’ Young smiled. ‘You’ll be as respectable as the local bank manager, and that’s a fact.’

‘What if we don’t agree to your terms?’ said Roberts.

‘A very reasonable question. And I’ll give you the answer that we always give. But first, I need to check something. Do you both know what preemptive means?’

‘Aye’, said Massie helpfully, ‘it means acting first, like.’

‘That’s it, exactly. Well, what happens when individuals or groups decline our offer is that we act preemptively against them. We have to, I’m afraid. It’s just a rule that we have. It’s the key to success, in this business. Bloodshed is a cost to the business, so we try to minimise it, but sometimes there is a price to be paid for progress. That’s all I can tell you, really.’

‘Fuck off, Young. You don’t scare me,’ said Roberts, getting up so quickly that his chair fell over behind him. ‘You were just a mouthy kid when you got run out of town, and you’re still a bullshitter now. Porter is dead right about you. This is all a fucking fantasy. We’ll crush you, Young, and you too, Farmer. What a total twat you were, getting taken in by this old cobblers.’

Young smiled, got up, and held out his hand. But Roberts was already on the move, making for the front door. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr. Roberts’, said Young, to his back. Roberts was about to barge into the front door when it opened, as if by magic, and Roberts half fell onto the rain-swept pavement beyond. Young turned back to Massie.

‘And how about you? Are you ready to step up?’

‘I believe you, aye, I do. So yes, I’m in, like. Roberts has made a mistake, hasn’t he?’

‘He has, it’s true. But look at it this way, Mr. Massie, it’s the last bad decision that he’ll ever make. Now, we need to discuss the arrangements from here. A car will take you back to your house, and will collect your wife and daughter. You’re going for a nice long weekend away, and I promise that’s not a euphemism. You’re one of the family now, as they say. And we need to protect you against any attempted acts of vengeance.’

‘And my money?’

‘Waiting in the car. You’ll be taking up your new post next week. Welcome to our world, Mr. Massie.’

Two minutes later Massie was gone, almost bowing as he backed through the double doors to the kitchen.

‘How about my family?’ said Farmer, as soon as Massie had left.

‘They’re safe, don’t worry. They’re going away for a short holiday too, tomorrow, just until this is all resolved. But I’ve got couple of little jobs for you to do first, mind.’

‘No problem, and thanks, Dai.’

‘It’s the way we operate. But you’re my deputy now, Alan, and with the rewards come real responsibility. You do understand that, don’t you?’

‘Aye. What do you need me to do?’

‘Roberts. I want you to do it yourself.’

‘You mean…’

‘Of course. We have him already, naturally. You’ll be driven to where he is, and all I need you to do is finish it. He’ll beg you to, I expect. The lads who have him, well, they do enjoy their work. A bit too much, if you follow me.’

‘Shit, Dai, I’ve never…’

‘I know, but it’s another rule we have. All senior management have to undertake this kind of assignment in front of subordinates. It helps to reinforce the management structure, we find.’

‘And have you? Done the same thing, I mean.’

‘Oh, aye. More than once. But we’re not the same, are we, Alan? Because I enjoyed it, see. The biggest rush of my life, the first one was. It was the absolute making of me, I’ll tell you that for nowt. Like seeing God, or some shit like that. You’ll never be the same again after, I promise you that.’

‘And what happens, you know, after? He’ll just vanish, will he?’

‘Christ, no. He’ll be found in the morning. Has to be. It’s a key element in our whole strategy, is that.’

‘So you knew he’d turn you down?’

‘Of course I did. He’s loyal is Roberts, stupid too of course, and they’re not what you’d call ideal qualities in this game. People need to be smart, and they need to do what’s best for them. Call it selfishness, if you like. Fear and greed, that’s how you run an operation like ours. So it’s much like any other corporation, isn’t it?’

Young smiled, but Farmer didn’t. He was thinking ahead, about what he was expected to do. The front door opened, and a figure walked in, but stayed near the door.

‘Time to go,’ said Young. ‘And just do as you’re told, and you’ll be fine.’

‘How will I do it? Gun?’

‘No, a bit more up close and personal, for your first. A blade, I thought.’

‘Jesus. And if I can’t go through with it, like?’

‘That won’t happen, I promise. Because one way or another that knife will be getting warm and wet tonight, and it’ll make no odds if there’s one blood group on it or two. And, I’ll be honest, my employers would probably prefer it if there were two of Porter’s top men on the slab in the morning, rather than just one, although personally I’d much prefer it if you’re still around to help run the operation. I’ve got big plans for you.’

‘Fear and greed, I get it.’

‘Exactly. It’s a brilliant management tool, isn’t it? A universal language, like. Works every time. Now you’d better get going. The colleagues who are warming him up for you aren’t what you’d call patient men, Alan. And take my tip about one thing.’

‘Aye, what’s that?’

‘Don’t get into a conversation with him, all right? The troops like to see decisiveness, and I do too. Myself, I like to look them in the eyes as I do it, but that’s probably just me. And just remember the options. Either it’s him, or it’s him and you. You choose, mate.’

Friday, November 28th

10.11 am Major Incident Room, Carlisle Divisional HQ

Sandy Smith was still talking, so everyone else kept quiet. There was a strange smell in the room, like exotic fruit rotting in a waste paper bin. It was too hot as well. And the images on the screen were raw and blood-soaked.

‘He took a very heavy beating first, but it was the stabbing that killed him. The initial PM results are clear about that. A number of tentative attempts, or maybe it was some kind of torture on the poor bastard, then one clean blow to the heart. Almost as if there were two perpetrators. Dumping him at the rubbish tip like that may have been intended to be symbolic or some shit like that, but it was certainly effective in terms of reducing the amount of reliable forensic material that’s available. But he wasn’t killed there of course, that’s obvious. And before any of you ask, yes there is CCTV at the tip, but no, it wasn’t working. Disabled at just after 7pm last night, perpetrator unknown.’

DI Jane Francis, sitting next to Mary Clark, decided to take a risk, and proceed on the potentially risky assumption that Sandy was now open to questions and comments. ‘But the initial PM says time of death between 10.30pm and midnight, so the CCTV was knocked out in advance?’

‘Exactly. You’re the detectives, but it looks like the dump site was chosen before Peter Roberts was murdered. They seem like right master criminals, this lot, in comparison with our usual brand of have-a-go-heroes.’

‘Makes sense that it was done by a pro,’ added Pepper, ‘because Roberts was John Porter’s right hand man, had been for years. Looks like we’ve got some kind of power struggle kicking off here, ma’am.’

‘I agree’ said Jane Francis quickly, and Pepper smiled at her encouragingly. Perhaps they were going to be able to work together on this after all, despite everything she’d heard about Jane’s schoolmarm manner. ‘Our information is that a crime syndicate centred in Glasgow, the details are already in the case background on the system, is intending to move into this area, as a precursor to hitting the major conurbations of northern England. This killing may well be an initial skirmish, if you like.’

‘With respect, ma’am,’ said Pepper quickly, ‘I don’t think we’re talking about latter-day Border Reivers here. I think that a local man named Dai Young is very intimately involved in this.’

‘Thanks, Pepper’ said Jane Francis, not looking as if she meant it. ‘I saw your file note on Young, and we’ll certainly establish his whereabouts for yesterday evening. But, to be honest, there’s nothing in his record to suggest that he’d have anything to do with a murder, let alone the killing of a significant criminal player. As you’ll all know Roberts was suspected of involvement in three killings between 1980 and1994, and there have been persistent rumours about all three, but we’ve never had sufficient evidence to proceed. So whoever took Roberts out has to be a significant player and Young, I’m afraid, looks suspiciously like small-fry.’

‘But what about the fact that Young is relatively new back to the area?’ Pepper persisted. ‘Can the timing really be coincidence? And I did predict that this would happen, didn’t I?’

‘You did, and as I say your contribution is noted and appreciated. And we’ll certainly involve you, and your team, as and when we need help. But the Organised Crime Unit was established specifically to lead the Force’s response to offences like this one, so lead we will.’

‘But….’ Pepper began again.

‘DI Francis is right’, Jane Clark interrupted firmly, and Pepper didn’t think that she’d ever heard her cut across anyone before, even that twat from the DfT who’d gone on about traffic light sequencing for an hour at the senior management meeting the week before. ‘I’m sure that your views are valued, Pepper, and it goes without saying that we all stand ready to assist Jane’s team as and when there’s a specific request for help.’

‘So I’m not being detached to join the team, as local liaison?’

‘That won’t be necessary’ said Jane Francis, quickly. ‘We already have two officers on our strength who have CID experience in this division. One of them actually knew Roberts pretty well, as a matter of fact. So we’ll take it from here.’

‘Look,’ said Sandy Smith, ‘if you lot want to have a domestic be my guest, but I’d like to finish up here so I can go and take a shower. Our forensic suits do a totally shit job of keeping the smell at bay, as you can all probably tell.’

But everyone was too polite to say anything, so Sandy Smith went back to her slides, and Pepper tried to avoid glancing across the table at DI Francis. Pepper had heard that she’d shacked up with a now retired Superintendent who Pepper had only met once, when she’d tried to give him a self-defence refresher. The bloke had fought like an absolute jessie she remembered, he didn’t even try, but DI Francis seemed to be made of significantly sterner stuff.

And Pepper did smile across the table at Jane when Sandy finished, because it was obvious that they’d got sod-all to go on, and that it probably wouldn’t really matter how bloody clever DI Francis was. The investigation would go nowhere, slowly. Because, after all, this was a bad-guy on bad-guy killing, so neither the community nor the bosses would give a shit about it. So as soon as the investigative costs started to mount, and they would, then Jane would get shut down hard, and it would mean a modest, but still visible, black mark on her record.

Pepper said as much to the Super after the meeting, when all that was left in the room were the empty coffee cups and a faint smell of the municipal dump, but it made no difference.

‘Come on, Pepper, take the pragmatic view for once. Because if you’re right and DI Francis gets nowhere with this, and Dai Young does emerge as the key man in terms of organised crime, then you’re in the perfect position, aren’t you? That meeting was minuted, you know, and I’ll make sure that your comments are included. He, or should I say she, who controls the minutes, controls the world. You just remember that.’

‘But that won’t help in the near term, will it? There’ll be more bodies, you mark my words, ma’am. Young will have this place under his control in weeks, I’ll bet, and old school cons like Porter will seem like philanthropists in comparison. We need to get the bastard now, or at least persuade him to go back to where he came from.’

‘I thought he came from Carlisle?’

‘He does. I meant go back to where he’s been for the last ten years.’

‘I’m sorry, Pepper, but I’ve done all I can. It’s DI Francis’s ball, so let her run with it. If she drops it, then that’s her problem.’

‘Maybe that’s the view you take on the top floor, ma’am.’

Mary Clark rarely seemed openly exasperated, but this was one of those occasions.

‘No, Pepper, you’re wrong. You really do need to try to get away from all this ‘us and them’ stuff. Try to get a bit of balance in your life, for God’s sake. It’s all right to work hard, and then leave the job at the door, even when the job’s really important. In fact, it’s the right thing to do. Look at me. I gave fifteen years of my life to making damned sure that my stores didn’t run out of twenty eight types of bloody hair conditioner. And you know what’s really funny? I actually thought it was important. More than important, a matter of life and bloody death, in fact. So now I’ve got no family, and no life. So I know what I’m talking about, even if I have only been in this job for five minutes.’

‘I know what you mean, I do, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. But it’s all right for a bloke to live the sodding job, isn’t it? He’s the bloody big man then, isn’t he?’

‘I hear you, and you’re right. Double standards, as per usual. But that’s not the point, is it? The point is to discover what’s right for you. And I’ll tell you something else, Pepper, I envy you.’

‘You envy me, ma’am?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised. You’ve got a great kid, lots of friends, you’re popular at work.’

‘I wouldn’t say that, ma’am. Most of the lads think I’m a pain in the arse, because I’m forever asking them to do me favours.’

‘Yes, but they do them, don’t they? So you think on, Pepper. But we shouldn’t be sitting here talking about all this, you should be saving it for the counsellor. He gets paid to listen to women wittering on.’

‘I’m seeing him today actually, ma’am. I’m almost looking forward to it, as a matter of fact. And I’d better get off, actually. But one thing before I go. I was impressed at the way you managed to look at the screen just then, even at the post mortem shots. I couldn’t do that, not when I first started.’

‘Oh, that. It doesn’t bother me, to tell the truth. Just badly butchered meat, isn’t it? I just try to avoid thinking about the minutes leading up to his death. That must have been terrifying for him, mustn’t it?’

Pepper hoped that none of her team would want her help, so she tried to avoid eye contact when she re-entered the open CID office. But DC Armstrong couldn’t have looked any more needy if he’d had his arm held high in the air, the way that Ben did when he forgot he wasn’t at school and really, really wanted his mum’s attention.

‘Yes, Henry’ she said, smiling and heading over to his desk. ‘I’ve only got a minute, I’m afraid.’

‘Are we on with the Roberts killing now, then?’

‘No, it’s not that. That’s gone to the Organised Crime Unit.’

‘But they know about Dai Young?’

‘Yes, Henry, they know. Now, what’s your problem?’

‘It’s these stolen classic cars.’

‘Sorry, love, but I just don’t have the time for that right now.’

‘But I’m stuck, and the ACC has been on the phone already this morning.’

‘Has he? Shit. Hasn’t he got some buttons to polish, or something? OK, so what’s the problem, love?’

‘I’m working on the assumption that whoever has been nicking these old cars is breaking them for parts, and selling on the most valuable bits, online most likely. I’ve spoken to the DS in Greater Manchester who’s regional lead on this sort of online crime, and when he stopped laughing at me he said that I was most likely right. He can’t help me find them though, which was no surprise.’

‘Did he have any suggestions at all?’

‘Aye, he suggested that we have a whip round and buy the old bloke a replacement car, because it’s the only way he’s ever going to drive one again.’

‘Charming. And I suppose you’re having no luck trying to find the stuff for sale locally?’

‘No. They’re not listing the gear on the auction sites, or if they are they’re being clever and they’ve set up an account outside the county.’

Pepper thought about it for a moment. ‘Tell you what, Henry. I have to pop out for a bit, but when I get back how about I call the ACC, and let him know that we’ve drawn a blank? That it’s game over, like. He was pushing his luck, ever getting you involved at all, to tell the truth.’

‘No, no. Not yet, Pepper. I’ve had an idea how we could maybe flush them out, so we could nick them on the job, like.’

‘Great. Proactive bloody policing, I like it. So what is it, this brainwave?’

‘How about we leave a classic car somewhere attractive, a car park in the city or something like that, and fit it with a tracker? That way we could follow it, so we wouldn’t have to keep eyes-on the whole time.’

Pepper laughed. ‘It’s a great plan, Henry, except for one small detail. We don’t have a classic car kicking about, do we? I know my car is old; but it’s old as in crap, not old as in classic.’

‘My dad’s got one. An MGB GT. He’s had it since he was a medical student, back in the ‘70s. It’s totally original, or so he keeps telling me.’

‘I’m sure it is, Henry, which is why you can’t go using it on an operation like this. It could end up in bloody pieces.’

‘I’d ask his permission, obviously.’

‘Look, I’ve got to run, so I’ll leave it with you. But try to come up with another idea, and remember that I’m happy to have a word with the ACC for you and get this knocked on the head. If I just tell him that it’s Jane Francis on the phone when I call him I’ll probably have him eating out of my bloody hand.’

‘You what?’

‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll be back in an hour, maybe sooner. Maybe much sooner, come to think of it.’

DC Rex Copeland was washing his hands in the gents when his phone rang. He juggled the phone, swore, and answered on the fourth ring. It was Alan Farmer.

‘You have a name for me?’

‘Same rules as before. Nothing on the phone. We meet, you write it all up after. Just like you did the first time. All neat and official.’

Copeland laughed. ‘So you’ve got access to our systems, have you? Like hell, you have. You’re just a bullshitter, mate.’

‘Do you want the bloody name, or not?’

‘All right, keep your hair on. Same place, I take it?’

‘No. I’ll meet you outside the cathedral. By the main entrance. Twenty minutes.’

It wasn’t raining when Copeland arrived, although it had been and it looked as if it was going to again. He stood and waited near the huge doors, facing away from the cathedral, but there was no sign of Farmer. So he walked up to the massive wall, and put his hand against the cool stone. He looked up, and got a big drop of rainwater straight in the eye. ‘Shit’.

‘That’s no way to talk’ said Farmer, ‘I hope you’ll behave yourself when we’re inside.’

He pushed open the door, and led the way in. Copeland wondered when he’d last been in a cathedral, or any kind of church. On a school trip to St. Paul’s, probably. But this one smelt much as he remembered, of candles and time, and it was that same colour too, as grey as a day-old corpse. But the ceiling in this one was a deep, dark blue, with gold stars standing out, and he stopped and looked up.

‘Impressive’ he said, quietly.

‘We didn’t come for the architecture though, did we?’

‘You’ve got a name for me, then?’

‘I have. Terrence Arthur Maxwell. Tel to his mates. Mean anything to you?’

‘No. Should it?’

‘Aye, it should. He’s only the highest profile escaped con in the country. Been on the run two years now, he has.’