Nightmare City

Chapter Twenty-Three

Conroy, Morton and McNamara assembled the morning after — Sunday — at their usual place. The time — 8 a.m. — was pretty un usual.

It was a business breakfast. They were served with eggs, bacon, tomato, mushrooms, toast, orange juice and fresh coffee.

Two of Conroy’s men sat outside the room, having been provided with coffee and bacon sandwiches.

The three men were dressed casually. Conroy and McNamara intended to play nine holes of golf after the meeting, using Conroy’s men as caddies.

‘ How do things stand?’ Conroy enquired.

‘ Christie’s been well and truly done over and he knows there’s no way out for him but to give in,’ Morton said. ‘Having said that, I don’t think we’ll keep him down without a fight. Something’s going on, but I’m not sure what. I’ll follow it up later.’

‘ Expand,’ McNamara said.

Morton shook his head. ‘Just a funny feeling. If there is anything, I’ll let you know.’

‘ If there is anything,’ said Conroy, opening his mouth and dropping a rasher of bacon into it, chomping as he spoke, ‘Henry Christie should be iced. We’ve spent enough time farting around with him and we shouldn’t spend any more. At least if he’s dead he won’t be able to tell tales.’

‘ He might say more dead than alive,’ Morton retorted. ‘If there’s a way of dealing with things which means people don’t get killed, we should do it that way, even if it means a bit of dancing on our feet. Killing’s easy, as we’ve shown already. The repercussions are difficult. That’s why we’re working so damned hard in Blackpool, covering our backs.’

‘ Fair enough — for the time being.’ Conroy took a swig of coffee. ‘But if he gets difficult, don’t hesitate: do him.’

‘ Have you found that prostitute yet?’ McNamara said.

‘ Still looking,’ said Conroy. ‘She’s gone to ground but we’ll find her. I got someone on it. Bit of a loon, like, but reliable. She’s a different problem to Christie. No one’ll miss her and the cops won’t bust a gut to find her killers.’

They ate in silence for a while.

Conroy cleared his plate and covered some toast thickly with butter and Tiptree Lime Marmalade. McNamara pushed his food around, eating little. He wasn’t hungry. Morton ate most of his, but it was coffee he craved. He had drunk three large cups of it so far.

‘ And the other matter?’ asked Morton.

‘ Hamilton meets the buyer’s agent today in Lisbon. He’ll be with us to view the goods tomorrow. He’ll buy, I’m sure of it… then we can arrange payment details and transportation.’ That was McNamara.

Morton: ‘Where will they be displayed? I’ll fix up to get them out of the police store, but where are they going to? I believe Rider was rather obstructive to your offer, Ronnie?’

‘ Well, he had his fucking chance. I’ll have that club in my hands tonight — in a physical sense. Then I’ll exert some more pressure on John and I’m sure he’ll sign everything over to me… and then get convicted.’ He guffawed. ‘Then there’ll be no one in my hair to bug me. Munrow gone for good, Rider gone for life. If you do your job, that is.’

He looked at Morton.

‘ That’s just what Henry Christie is doing for you.’

Rider’s breakfast appeared on a blue plastic plate with a white plastic spoon and red plastic mug of tea. The food was lukewarm, having come all the way down from the canteen. It consisted of congealed beans, a sausage and a rubbery fried egg and one piece of toast which had looked at a grill from about six metres. The tea was hot and sweet, tasted wonderful and he devoured it.

He munched his sausage and took a few measly bites of the toast.

His night’s sleep had been interrupted by the consistent banging of other cell doors and the shouting and bawling of drunks. Being a suspected murderer he was given a cell to himself, for which he was grateful. Had a drunk been thrown in with him, he would have murdered him too.

He was allowed a quick shower and a shave before being banged up again.

A cop pushed a copy of the People through his hatch and Rider thanked him genuinely. Any short escape from boredom was welcome.

He settled down, deciding to read every word.

When the cell door opened a few minutes later he was deep into an article about a show-jumper and a tart.

‘ You’ve got a visitor,’ the gaoler informed Rider.

Breakfast in the Christie household was a chaotic affair. The two girls rushed around as if the house was an obstacle course, both seemingly hyperactive after a good night’s sleep. They were getting ready for riding lessons and moved around in various stages of undress, finally emerging in jodhpurs, boots, whips and hats, ready to go. Kate and Karen volunteered to take them. They went in Donaldson’s Cherokee and the girls were delighted that, at last, they were in a car which complemented their hobby.

The men sighed and stretched out.

‘ Great kids,’ commented Donaldson.

‘ Sell ‘em to you,’ Henry offered. ‘Nahh, they’re brilliant. Not long for you now?’

A smile of satisfaction spread slowly across the American’s face. Fatherhood beckoned and he was a willing participant.

Henry drank the last of his tea and the two men finalised their plans for the day ahead with an agreement to meet or contact each other at 6 p.m.

They shook hands before parting.

‘ Watch your ass,’ Donaldson said. ‘Don’t trust any of the fuckers an inch.’

‘ I won’t.’

They weren’t allowed to touch one another. It was a closed visit. Rider sat on one side of the room with a wall and glass panel in front of him. Isa sat on the other side. A speaker in one corner of the glass allowed them to communicate.

She looked forlorn and helpless and he had a need to reach out and hold her very tightly.

‘ Jacko told me,’ she said in answer to his question.

Rider nodded. ‘I told him not to tell anyone.’

‘ He thought I should know.’

‘ I don’t deserve you,’ Rider said simply.

Her eyes misted over. She tilted her head back but could not prevent a tear rolling down her cheek. ‘I love you, John. I can’t stop loving you because of what you’ve done. I just want you to know that I’m here for you and I’ll wait. Corny, but true. You’re all I’ve wanted for years and I’m not going to let you go.’

He looked away from her quickly. His eyes were unable to level with hers.

‘ I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he babbled. ‘I really screwed up, didn’t I?’

She forced the glimmer of a smile. ‘Yeah, so what’s new?’ she said, but not unkindly. ‘What’s going to happen, John?’

‘ They’re trying to fit me up, but there’s no evidence. I should walk, but you were right. I don’t think Munrow did light that fire.’

‘ Who did?’

‘ Conroy. I was conned by Ron the Con. Munrow didn’t do it; it wasn’t his style. I should’ve realised that. He would have met me face to face. I should’ve listened to you, then maybe we’d still be in bed, reading the Sunday papers… naked.’

‘ Don’t, John,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t want to think about it. All I want to do now is help you. How can I do that? How?’

‘ Just do what you said you would. Be there for me. That’s all I need. You’ll pull me through that way.’

Henry walked past Isa as she was leaving the custody office, not knowing who she was, of course. Siobhan was waiting for him, reading through Rider’s custody record.

‘ Ready?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. I’ve got the Duty Inspector to authorise a search of Rider’s flat. We’ll see if we can find the gun there and some authentic evidence. Maybe then there won’t be a need for this charade.’

Siobhan had already booked out a set of sealed tapes.

‘ Interview first,’ she said.

The morning custody officer walked into the office. ‘The duty solicitor rang in about ten minutes ago to say she would be delayed about an hour.’

‘ Thanks, Jim.’

‘ In that case, we might as well have a brew together, Henry,’ Siobhan suggested.

‘ I think not,’ he replied.

Henry took the opportunity to approach the Patrol Sergeant who, amazingly, rustled up four bobbies to help him search Rider’s flat. Henry knew it would be a waste of time, because if Rider did have a gun, or a ski mask, or bloodstained clothing, it would be gone by now. Rider was no fool. But the motions had to be gone through.

Prior to setting off, Henry went to his desk and found his extendable baton which he fixed on his belt in its plastic, quick-draw pouch. Just in case there was any resistance at the Rider household.

The little team set off in a personnel carrier, with Henry sat in the back together with two of the Constables. The other two were upfront, one driving.

Siobhan ran out of the back door of the station to see the van drawing away. She shouted something which Henry could not hear, but his lip reading skills were advanced enough to know that she was questioning his parentage. He gave her a little wave.

They were at the basement flat within minutes and went en masse to the door at the front of the steps. Henry knocked. He was looking forward to breaking the door down, just to vent some of his suppressed anger.

There were footsteps inside.

The door opened.

Henry immediately recognised the woman as being the one he’d walked past in the custody office not many minutes before.

‘ Yes?’ she said suspiciously.

Henry dangled an A5-size form in front of her eyes. ‘I’m DS Christie from Blackpool police station. This is an authority to search these premises — by force if necessary.’

She peered closely at the form, then closed the door.

Henry was about to exclaim, ‘Yes!’ in anticipation, and reach for his baton — which he had yet to use — when the chain slid back and the door opened fully.

‘ Come in,’ she said wearily. ‘You won’t find anything.’

Henry stood by to let the PCs pass him and commence the search.

‘ You his wife or something?’

‘ Some hope,’ Isa said. ‘Do you want a brew? I’ve just boiled the kettle.’

Surprised by the hospitality, Henry said yes. House searches were usually met with resistance, not acquiescence. They were often battles and quite good sport.

She led him into the kitchen and flicked the kettle switch again.

‘ And you are?’ he asked.

‘ Why?’

‘ I need to make a record of people present during the search.’ It was true, he did.

‘ Isa Hart.’

He scribbled her name down on a piece of paper.

She turned to the worktop and began the tea-making process, facing away from Henry. She was leaning on the surface with both hands taking her weight. Henry thought she was watching the kettle boil. Then he saw that her shoulders were shaking. Her head dropped, chin onto chest, and she sobbed.

‘ You all right?’ he asked.

She tried to pull herself together, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse and tilting her head back as though to get the tears to roll back into her eyes. They would not stop coming.

Henry reached for the kitchen stool and placed it to one side of her.

‘ Hey, sit down before you fall down. C’mon,’ he said gently.

She lowered herself onto the stool and blinked despairingly up at him. Her eyes were pools of clear water and streams of tears ran down her cheeks. She wiped them irritably away. ‘I’m sorry. This isn’t getting the tea made.’

‘ That’s OK,’ he said, not bothered about tea. He was more aware that quite often, valuable information, sometimes good evidence, could be gained from emotional friends, relatives, lovers. His pleasant bedside manner was a bit of a con trick really. ‘D’you want to talk? I may be able to help, you never know.’

‘ No, no, it’s all right.’ She heaved a huge sigh. ‘It’s just… Oh God, he promised…’ She shook her head. ‘I’m lying, he didn’t promise a damned thing, but he said he loved me and suddenly we had a future, then in the next breath it’s gone.’

‘ Why did he do it?’ Henry asked.

Isa was worldly enough not to get taken in by that one, even in her turmoil. ‘I didn’t say he did it… but I know that he’s been set up and now he’s told me you lot are going to make certain he gets sent down. He doesn’t have a chance. We don’t have a chance. Oh God, I don’t know who I feel more sorry for, him or me.’

‘ You said he was set up?’ Henry’s ears (at least the unbitten one) had picked up gold dust from the emotional dross.

‘ Bastard Conroy!’ she wailed. ‘And now you’re working for him, aren’t you? Just like all the other cops on his payroll.’ The expression on her face taunted him. ‘I hope you’re proud of yourself. Guilty or not, you’re going to get him, aren’t you?’

She buried her face in her hands. ‘He’ll be an old man when he comes out, if he comes out, and I’ll have had a completely wasted life.’ Suddenly she flared up without warning, anger bubbling over. She propelled herself at Henry and attacked him, pounding her fists into his chest.

He grabbed her hands and bent them roughly back. She screamed. He tossed her away from him. She skittered across the floor and landed in a heap next to the washer where she continued to cry.

Henry rubbed his chest. Too many people were hitting it.

‘ Y’allreet, Sarge?’ A couple of the PCs had abandoned the search on hearing the commotion in the kitchen.

Henry nodded. ‘One of you make sure she’s OK and the other one take me back to the nick. Then come back and finish the search.’

Before leaving, Henry wrote his home number down on a scrap of paper and left it on a work surface. ‘If you feel like talking,’ he told Isa, ‘bell me.’

Henry ensured he was dropped off at the front of the station. Siobhan, if she was waiting, would probably expect him to come back via the rear yard, one floor below. He wanted to avoid her at all costs. He dashed in through the public enquiry area and was buzzed into the building. He dropped down a flight of steps into the custody office.

No sign of Siobhan. Good.

‘ Duty solicitor arrived yet?’ he asked the Custody Sergeant, who was dealing with a couple of juveniles.

‘ Nope.’

‘ I want to speak to Rider, about a matter not concerned with his arrest, not a criminal matter.’ Not strictly true, Henry had to admit to himself, but probably the only way he’d get to see Rider alone now.

Two minutes later they were face to face again.

‘ I won’t speak to you without a solicitor present.’

‘ I think you will. I’ve been to search your flat.’

‘ You won’t find anything unless you put it there.’

‘ I found a woman called Isa. She told me something very interesting.’

Rider sniffed indifference.

‘ You’re being well and truly shafted here, aren’t you?’

‘ You should know.’

‘ You’d be surprised how little I know. The name Conroy was mentioned.’

Rider bit the inside of his mouth with a squelch.

‘ Get to the point, Sergeant.’

‘ I may be able to help you, but in return you have to help me first.’

‘ Look — you’re out to get me, come hell or high water, and probably at Conroy’s bidding, so why should I help you? I mean, this whole thing’ Rider waved his hands at the room — ‘could be a set-up, just to get me to admit something. How do I know there isn’t a hidden mike somewhere?’

‘ You have my word.’

Rider nearly fell off his seat. ‘The word of a man who has already verballed me up? What’s that worth in real terms?’

Henry pushed himself to his feet. He walked to a corner of the small room and lounged there.

‘ I need a fag,’ Rider complained.

‘ Sorry, no smoking. Force policy.’

‘ Fuck force policy!’ Rider leaned his forearms on the table and intertwined his fingers. He twiddled his thumbs, rotating them against each other.

‘ You’ve got something together with Isa, haven’t you?’

‘ Did have.’

‘ She’s devastated, you being in here. Really fucked up.’

‘ Did have, I said.’

‘ You still could have, John — if you’d trust me. At the very least, what you’ll get out of this is a fair and honest investigation. If there is evidence of murder against you, you’ll get charged. If not, you’ll be released. But I promise there will be no evidence fabricated against you.’

‘ Sounds fucking great,’ he said cynically. ‘The devil and the deep blue sea.’

‘ It’s better than what you’ve got at the moment,’ Henry said pragmatically.

‘ What’s going on, Sergeant?’ Rider looked across at Henry with eyebrows raised. Henry strode back and sat down opposite Rider again.

His voice was earnest. ‘Isa says she believes you’ve been set up for this murder by a man called Conroy. Is that what you think?’

‘ You, him — and others, probably.’ Rider spoke guardedly, not wanting to say anything which might go against him.

Henry saw the look. ‘I’ll tell you why you can trust me.’

‘ Go on, astound me.’

‘ Do you think I’m doing this shite willingly? Well, I’ll tell you, I’m not. I’m doing it because if I don’t, I lose my job, my wife, my pension, my reputation, everything — and may even end up in prison. Yeah, it’s true. I’ve been set up too. In a different way, for a different reason — or maybe the same reason, I dunno. Maybe there’s some connection between us two. But there’s something I do know. If I convict you on false evidence I’ll be trapped for ever and I’ll be a bent copper for ever, unless I do something about it… and you’ll be in prison for the rest of your life. We could be the key to saving each other.’

Henry had been leaning forwards, becoming more and more intense as the words torrented out. ‘But if you’re not interested, let’s go down the road to hell together.’

The next official interview was over fairly quickly, much to Siobhan’s disgust. They presented Rider back to the custody officer and he was returned to the cells.

‘ Speaks,’ Siobhan demanded.

They adjourned to the interview room and closed the door.

‘ That was a poor performance, Henry. You didn’t seem to be trying very hard.’

‘ Just feeling my way, getting used to the situation.’

‘ Find anything useful at the flat?’

‘ Don’t know yet. Going to go back and check. Then we’ll move onto his club and do that.’

‘ Leave the club!’ Siobhan said sharply.

‘ Why?’

‘ Just leave it, that’s all. It’s an order. We’re not interested in the club.’

‘ Sure, fine,’ he said. ‘Who am I to argue?’

‘ Exactly. Who are you?’

Henry left her in the custody office, telling her he was going for a dump, which might take some time.

Instead of going into the station, he turned right out of the custody office, after checking Siobhan didn’t see him, and sprinted down the rear yard to get into a CID Metro for which he had the keys in his pocket. He gunned the small car out of the garage and into Blackpool town centre where he whizzed up and down a few streets, including going the wrong way down a one-way street. He wanted to know if he was being followed and was fairly satisfied he wasn’t.

He pointed the car in the direction of Lytham.

Behind him, Jim Tattersall tapped Tony Morton’s mobile number into his own, hardly able to suppress a laugh at Henry’s anti-surveillance tactics.

Morton told Tattersall to stick with him.

Morton ended the call and placed his mobile on the desk. He drummed his fingers agitatedly and asked himself what the significance could be of Henry’s departure from the police station without Siobhan, his chaperone.

The internal phone rang.

‘ Morton.’

‘ Siobhan, boss. Just seen the custody record. Henry’s had an unscheduled conversation with Rider before I got here. It says on the record it was in connection with a matter unrelated to the investigation.’

‘ Do you know where he is now?’

‘ Having a shit.’

‘ Wrong, you stupid bitch! He’s in a car and he’s heading out of town, for fuck’s sake. I thought you were supposed to be keeping an eye on him?’

Morton slammed the phone down.

Morton had ordered a two-car tail on Donaldson. And Mr Donaldson, FBI employee, didn’t spot it until quite late because they were good. By the time he saw them, he and Karen had visited the other two witnesses and taken statements.

He swore when he realised, but there was nothing more to be done about it — other than to lose them for the fun of it.

But by then, both addresses were on a piece of paper in front of Tony Morton.

Morton asked Siobhan to check the voters’ register to put names to them. He was beginning to feel very uncomfortable; also that he had been too generous with Henry Christie by allowing him to live. The challenge of corrupting an incorruptible officer was proving to be a headache of epic proportions.

It would have been far easier to have had him whacked straight away.

Henry drove quickly, pushing the Metro hard through the mid-morning traffic which, due to the season and the weather, was fairly light.

He picked up the coast road and was soon in Lytham. He had a vague idea of where he was going because a few years ago he had delivered a message there, about what he could not recall. He did not know the town well, but it was only a small place and he trusted his memory and sense of direction.

He found the road in about ten minutes. Thirty seconds later he stopped outside the house, a large, bow-windowed semi.

He looked at the building for a while just to make sure he wasn’t mistaken.

Yep. It was the right one.

He got out of the Metro and went through the garden gate, failing to see the car which had drawn up two hundred metres behind him.

Tattersall was quickly on the blower.

‘ Boss… we could have problems here.’

Morton paced his temporary office. Siobhan was sitting watching him with a fearful expression.

He had four names and addresses on his desk which still meant nothing to him.

And Henry Christie had spoken to Rider alone for about twenty minutes. And now he was at an address which sent goose bumps down his spine.

‘ I don’t like this one little bit.’ He rubbed his chin.

‘ He’s wriggling,’ Siobhan said. ‘That’s all.’

‘ He should’ve been killed like the two others. I regret not having him done now. I protected him and he could well be causing me problems.’

Gallagher came in bearing the statements which had been amongst Luton’s other paperwork in the plastic bag.

‘ Got the statements back,’ he said triumphantly.

He handed them to Morton who glanced at the top one and tossed them onto his desk. Then his neck craned down as he saw the name on the top one. He fanned all four out, his face turning ashen.

‘ These are the people that Donaldson guy has just been to see. He’s been visiting the witnesses again on Henry’s behalf.’

‘ What?’ asked Gallagher, who had not been privy to these developments. He’d been making a show of running the murder enquiry.

‘ Some guy called Donaldson and a woman have been visiting our witnesses again. Where have you been for the last twenty-four hours, numb-nuts?’

‘ Somebody has to make it look like we do policework occasionally,’ he griped.

‘ Yeah, yeah.’

‘ Did you say Donaldson?’

‘ Yeah, why?’

‘ Name rings a bell.’ Gallagher was thoughtful for a moment whilst he wracked his brains, the tip of his tongue resting on his lower lip. ‘Got it! FBI agent linked to that big trial Christie was involved in about eighteen months, two years ago. The mafia guy, remember? Yeah, I’m sure Donaldson was the name of the FBI agent who was a major witness.’

‘ So an FBI agent and a female who we don’t know are going round visiting witnesses?’ Siobhan wanted this to be cleared up.

‘ Probably his wife. She’s a policewoman, ex-Lancashire now in the Met. Works at Bramshill these days, I think.’

‘ I know her,’ Morton declared. ‘She was one of my course tutors on the senior command course.’

Morton looked at the statements again. His mouth sagged as something else dawned on him. ‘These are photocopies of photocopies.’

Gallagher’s brow creased.

‘ Luton screwed his copies up when I caught him. These should be creased, for God’s sake! Look, look at them. You can see that the ones they’ve been copied from were creased. I am surrounded by imbeciles.’

‘ Let me look.’ Gallagher took them from his boss. It was true. They were photocopies of creased statements. Gallagher’s despair showed on his face. ‘So they’ve still got the copies Luton made?’

‘ It fucking well looks that way, doesn’t it?’ screamed Morton. He took in a deep breath. ‘Seems we’ll have to sort Henry Christie out properly this time.’