The Retribution (11 page)
Greening nodded stiffly. ‘The interview room’s set up for you. Audio and video streams. We’re all very surprised at Jason’s involvement. He’s been doing so well on the Therapeutic Community Wing.’
Ambrose shook his head in disbelief. ‘A prize student, obviously.’
Greening nodded towards the officer who had escorted him in. ‘Officer Ashmall will show you to the interview room.’
Dismissed, Ambrose followed the officer back into the corridor, through another sally port and further into the labyrinth of the prison. ‘Did you know Vance?’ Ambrose asked.
‘I knew who he was. But I never had direct contact with him.’
That closed down that conversation. Another right-angle turn, then they stopped outside a door. The officer unlocked it with a swipe card and held the door open for him. Ambrose stood just inside the doorway for a long moment, taking in the man sitting at the table that was bolted to the floor. Shaved head, goatee, tattoos. As reported. Collins raised his head to meet Ambrose’s eyes with a flat contemptuous stare. ‘What are you looking at?’ Ambrose had experienced that kind of challenge so often in his years on the force that it bounced off without leaving a mark.
He said nothing. He looked around the room, as if sizing up its grey walls, strip lighting and tiled floor for an estate agent’s brochure. The room smelled of stale bodies and farts. It almost made Ambrose nostalgic for the days of cigarette smoke. Two strides took him to the empty chair opposite Collins and the prison officer left them to it, pointing out the button Ambrose should press when he was done.
‘I know what you’re here for,’ Jason said, his voice sullen and heavy. ‘All I know is that he asked me to swap cells last night.’
Ambrose burst out laughing, a deep hearty roar that filled the room. Collins looked startled and afraid. ‘Do me a favour,’ Ambrose said once he’d recovered himself. ‘Cut the crap and tell me what you know.’
‘I don’t know nothing. Look, it was supposed to be a joke. He reckoned he could pass for me, I reckoned he couldn’t. I never thought it would get as far as it did.’ Collins smirked, as if to say, ‘Prove me a liar.’
‘It must have taken a lot of planning, for a joke,’ Ambrose said sarcastically.
Collins shrugged. ‘That wasn’t my worry. He was the one who reckoned he could get away with it. He was the one had to make it work.’ He gave a thumbs-up sign with both hands. ‘Fucking good on him.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Collins shrugged again. ‘Believe what you like. I couldn’t give a shit.’
‘You know your days on this wing are over, right? You’re going back to Cat A. No privileges. No comfy duvet or private bathroom. No touchy-feely therapy sessions. No prospect of a cushy day out of jail. Not till you’re an old man. Unless you’ve got some information that can cut you a break.’
Collins’ mouth curled in a sneer. ‘Better than information. I’ve got cancer, fat man. I’ll be on hospital wings. I’ll be going home to die, just like the Lockerbie bomber. Nothing you can threaten me with comes close to that shit. So you might as well piss off.’
He wasn’t wrong, Ambrose thought as he pushed the chair
back and walked to the door. As it opened to release him from the interview, he turned back and smiled at Collins. ‘I hope the cancer treats you as kindly as Vance treated his victims.’
Collins sneered. ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet, copper. According to Jacko, he’s got plans that’ll make the past look like
Jackanory
.’
In the half-dozen years she’d spent on the MIT in Bradfield, Chris had thought about Shaz almost every working day. They’d worked together when Shaz had first made it into CID and they’d been a good team then. At this level, they’d have been unstoppable. This was the kind of work Shaz had dreamed of doing and she’d have been good at it.
Mixed with Chris’s regret was an inescapable element of guilt. Even though she wasn’t Shaz’s boss by then, she still blamed herself for not paying close enough attention to what Shaz had been doing; if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her
own concerns, she might have provided back-up and kept the young detective safe. But she hadn’t and it was a failing she lived with daily. Ironically, it had made her a better colleague, a stronger team player.
Even now there was no shred of forgiveness in her heart for Jacko Vance. His very name still had the power to provoke a surge of anger in her, an anger she suspected would only ever be stilled by direct physical violence. Now, listening to Carol Jordan’s news, Chris could feel that familiar rage burn inside her again. Pointless to engage in recrimination. What mattered was putting Vance back where he belonged and making sure he stayed there. ‘How’s the hunt being organised?’ she said, ramming the lid down on her anger.
‘I don’t have any information,’ Carol said. ‘Nobody’s bothered to tell me officially what’s going on. I only know because the Home Office asked Tony for a risk assessment. And he thinks all of us who put Vance away need to watch our backs.’
Chris frowned. She understood the gravity of Tony’s opinion. She wasn’t sure she agreed, though. ‘Makes sense. He couldn’t stand being crossed,’ she said slowly. ‘That’s why he killed Shaz. Even though she was no threat to him. Not really. He had all the power. But she had the bottle to go up against him and he couldn’t tolerate that.’
‘Exactly.’
‘All the same … I can see why he thinks you and him might be in the firing line. But the rest of us? I don’t think we made it on to Vance’s radar. We were just the little people, and guys like Vance don’t have to pay attention to the little people. There’s no spectacle in the little people like us.’
Carol gave a dry laugh. ‘Funny, I never think of you as one of the little people, Chris. I appreciate what you’re saying, but I still want to cover the bases. What I need you to do is to track down the other three who worked with us and warn
them that Vance is on the loose and could be a risk to their safety.’
Chris looked up at the corner of the room and cast back into her memory. ‘Leon Jackson, Simon McNeill and Kay … what was Kay’s surname?’
Sam Evans, on his way out of the room, overheard Chris’s last comment and couldn’t help himself. ‘Not like you to forget one of the laydeez, Chris,’ he teased.
‘Some people are just—’ she shrugged. ‘Forgettable, Bill.’
‘Ha, ha,’ he said sarcastically as he let the door swing closed behind him.
‘She was forgettable, though,’ Carol said. ‘I think she did it deliberately. Melting into the background so people would forget she was there and say something they didn’t intend to.’
Chris nodded. ‘She was a good interviewer. Different to Paula, but maybe just as good. But what was her surname?’
‘Hallam. Kay Hallam.’
‘That’s it, now I remember. It’s funny, isn’t it? You’d think after an experience like that, we’d all have stayed in touch. Kept an eye on each other’s careers. But soon as the first court case was over, they all scattered to the four winds. It was like they didn’t want any contact to make it easier to erase the whole thing from the memory banks. Then when we all met up for the appeal and the second trial, it was like a bunch of embarrassed strangers.’
Carol nodded. ‘Like when you run into people at a wedding or a funeral that you were once close to, but it’s been so long it’s too awkward. You can’t recover the way you were but you both know it used to be different and there’s something painful and sad about it.’
It was hard to say who was more surprised by Carol’s comments. They had worked together for long enough for Chris to know just how rare it was to hear Carol Jordan speak so
clearly from the heart. Both women guarded their privacy, deliberately avoiding intimacy. Close as this team was, they didn’t socialise together. Wherever they opened their hearts, it wasn’t in the office.
Carol cleared her throat. ‘Kay sent me Christmas cards for three or four years, but I think that had more to do with wanting to be sure I would give her a good reference than a desire to stay in touch. I’ve no idea where she is now, or even if she’s still a copper.’
Chris tapped the names into her smartphone. ‘I’ll get on to it. Maybe the Federation can help. At least they should be able to tell me if they’re still serving officers.’
‘Will they give out information like that?’ Carol said.
Chris shrugged. ‘They’re supposed to be our union. You’d think they’d want to protect us.’ She gave a wicked grin. ‘Besides, I have my little ways. They might not be as pretty as Paula’s, but they get results.’
Carol threw up her hands in surrender as Chris swung round and started hammering the keys of her computer with the force of someone who had learned her skills on a typewriter. ‘I don’t want to know any more,’ she said. ‘Talk to me and Tony when you’re done. And Chris …?’
Chris looked up from the screen. ‘What?’
‘Don’t get so wrapped up in this that you forget to watch your own back. If Vance has got a list, you’re on it too.’ Carol stood up and made for the door.
‘So, with all due respect, guv, where exactly are you going all on your lonesome?’ Chris called after her.
Carol half-turned, a wry smile crinkling the skin round her eyes. ‘I’m going to Northern Divisional HQ. I think I’ll be safe there.’
‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Chris muttered darkly as the door closed behind Carol.
But today she was stranded. The insurance broker she was supposed to meet for lunch had cancelled at the last minute – some nonsense about his daughter breaking her arm in an accident at school – leaving her in the centre of Manchester with nothing to occupy her until her two o’clock appointment.
She couldn’t be bothered sitting in the pre-booked restaurant alone, so she stopped outside a sandwich bar and picked up a coffee and a filled roll. She remembered passing a car-wash with valet on her way to the restaurant. It was about time the car had a good going over. There was a time when she did that sort of thing herself on the grounds that nobody else would do it as thoroughly, but these days she preferred to pay. Not that it represented any compromise on standards. If they didn’t do it well enough, she simply insisted they do it again.
Vanessa drove into the valeting bay, issued her instructions and settled down in the waiting room, where a TV high on the wall provided a rolling news channel for its customers. Heaven forbid that anyone should be thrown on their own resources, Vanessa thought. She unwrapped her sandwich, aware of being studied by the fifty-something bloke in the off-the-peg suit that hadn’t been pressed this week. She’d already dismissed him as pointless in a single sweep of her eyes when she walked in. She was practised at sizing people up more swiftly than clients often believed possible. It was a knack she’d
always had. And as with all of nature’s gifts, Vanessa had learned to maximise it.
She knew she wasn’t the most beautiful of women. Her nose was too sharp, her face too angular. But she’d always dressed and groomed to make the most of what she had, and it was gratifying that men still gave her the once-over. Not that she was remotely interested in any of them. It had been years since she’d expended any time or energy on anything that went beyond flattery or flirting. Her own company was more than adequate for her.
As she ate, Vanessa kept half an eye on the screen. Lately, the news had felt like a daily retread. Middle East unrest, African unrest, government squabbling and the latest natural disaster. One of her employees had been making everyone laugh round the water cooler the other morning, doing an impression of an overly religious neighbour delivering doom, gloom and the four horsemen of the apocalypse over the dustbins. You could see her point, though.
Now the newsreader seemed to perk up. ‘News just in,’ she said, her eyebrows dancing like drawbridges on fast forward. ‘Convicted murderer Jacko Vance has escaped from Oakworth Prison near Worcester. Vance, who was convicted of the murder of a teenage girl but is believed to have killed many more, disguised himself as a prisoner who was booked on a day’s work experience outside the prison.’
Vanessa harrumphed. What did they expect? Treat prisoners like it’s a hostel and they’ll take advantage. ‘Prison officials have declined to comment at this stage, but it’s understood that former TV presenter and Olympic athlete Vance hijacked a taxi that had been hired to take the other prisoner to his workplace. Over now to local MP, Cathy Cottison.’
