The Last Big Job

Chapter Eleven

Henry Christie surveyed himself in the mirror over the washbasin. What he saw could not be described as a pretty sight. Both sides of his head were red, tender and sore as a consequence of Gunk’s initial punches which had felled him. The bridge of his nose, which had been head-butted, was not broken, or so he believed, but the impact of the blow had blackened his left eye and given a certain amount of swelling to his right. Blood caked and crusted around his nostrils.

Henry stood upright and gingerly raised both arms. Blotchy purple and black bruises dotted the right side of his ribcage, each one a result of Gunk’s steel toe-capped shoes. Like his nose, Henry believed his ribs had escaped breakage.

He lowered his arms and looked down at his naked body. Carefully he wrapped his testicles up in the palm of his right hand and massaged them very gently. They were very sore indeed. He winced. The deep pain caused by Gunk’s knee was still lurking in his lower abdomen. He doubted his ability to be able to father children again. Not that he wanted to, but the necessary attributes to do so would have been nice. It was one of those ‘man’ things.

Behind him the bath was almost full of steaming hot water, frothing with bubbles. He bent down to switch the taps off. The act of bending sent a shockwave of agony through him. Four hours in bed since the hammering had only served to make him feel worse.

Before easing his troubled body into the bath, he swallowed another couple of aspirins, then sank slowly into the water, thinking back to what had happened.

Henry thanked the Almighty that Thompson and Gunk Elphick had only been blessed with a peanut for a brain between them. Had they had something more substantial between their ears, he knew that he would probably be floating face down in the ship canal now, brains blown out.

He had been given a good solid beating, been crudely interrogated and denied their allegations — so he must be innocent. Henry knew of some cops who worked along those lines: if someone doesn’t ‘cough’ a job under such circumstances, then how could they possibly have done it? That was the theory. Henry was fully aware that getting a prisoner to admit guilt was a far more subtle process than that. Quite often, physical violence was counter-productive. Good interview technique was far more effective, and neither Thompson nor Elphick had it. They simply relied on intimidation and a sound thrashing. Probably it usually worked. But he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He had to hold out because it was a matter of life and death for him. If he admitted talking to the cops as Frank Jagger, he would have been dead; if he had told them he was an undercover cop, he would have been dead. There was no way he could have admitted either.

After their questioning, they had allowed him to get dressed and cleaned up in a bathroom which adjoined the office. Then, although he wasn’t fit for anything other than a visit to a Casualty Department, they had wanted to talk business with him.

He had difficulty maintaining concentration, but he kept in there, even though he was quickly working his way through a toilet roll in an effort to stem the blood flow from his nose.

‘ I hope you understand why we had to do that, Frank,’ Gary Thompson had said on Henry’s return from the toilet. ‘We can’t be too careful in this game, as you well know, and we don’t have time to arse around asking nicey, nicey questions.’

Henry muttered something from behind the bog roll.

‘ So, nothing personal? No hard feelings?’ Thompson slapped his thighs. ‘Down to business, eh?’

They were all seated on the Chesterfields; Thompson next to Henry on one, Gunk and the mysterious stranger on the other.

Henry sniffed up and a blob of blood shot down his throat. He hacked it up into the tissue and wiped his mouth. He looked round at them.

Gary — ‘Gazzer’ — Thompson, was the one with the majority of the peanut brain. Or at least he talked a good story, and had the less intellectual Gunk under his thumb, although they were obviously a team. He was a cool-looking guy, well-dressed, lots of gold, with furtive eyes and a moustache which gave Henry the creeps. Henry imagined that Gazzer was pretty good with women.

Then there was Edward — ‘Gunk’ — Elphick. Short, squat, powerful, built like a Sherman tank and probably just as intelligent. His nickname had come from his juvenile tearaway days when he spent much of his time with oily hands from stealing engine parts from cars. He wore an array of earrings either side and was dressed rather unoriginally in a black dinner suit and bow tie, though the latter featured Disney characters. He had a smirk on his face as Henry’s eyes momentarily caught his. Henry was very uncomfortable with Gunk. Not just because of his physical power, but because he had a violent sexual deviance streak in his character. His previous convictions detailed two horrific assaults on young boys. Now Henry had the very real perception that Gunk saw him as a potential conquest; he had an unpleasant feeling that Gunk might try to chance his arm. Henry was not a violent man, but he knew that if there ever came a legitimate chance of beating the living shit out of Gunk, he would do it and enjoy it.

Next along was the mystery man. Henry looked at him for an instant, then back to Thompson.

‘ What’s the score now, Gazzer? Now that Jacky’s gone to gangster heaven? I need to know before I do business.’

‘ It was very sad that Jacky got taken out like that. Despite what you might think, Frank, we had nothing to do with it. We both miss him very much. He was a good boss, a fair man.’ Thompson made a valiant effort with his body language to convey grief. Henry covered his mouth with tissue and tried to hide a smile. ‘But the sad fact is, he’s gone. Yes, gone to gangster heaven, I would guess. But the business still has to run. Me and Gunk have stepped into Jacky’s shoes to keep the momentum going. A dirty business, but someone has to do it. So that’s the score, Frank.’

‘ And who is this personality?’ Henry pointed at Mr Mystery with a gesture of his blood soaked tissues.

‘ A friend, a business partner.’

Henry looked at him. The man’s deep-set eyes returned the stare. Henry though he looked deadly and cold.

‘ Look, Gazzer, I’m not being funny, but I really don’t like doing business with people I don’t know. Commonsense, really. I could be compromised. I need to know who he is, and if I can trust him.’

‘ Fair enough. I’ll introduce you. Frank Jagger — Nikolai Drozdov. Him and us are in business together now. He’s from Europe.’

Drozdov offered his pale hand to Henry, who shook it. It was cool and small, like a woman’s. But there was no time to talk further. There was an urgent knock from the office door. Gunk opened it to a man who tumbled into the room, breathless.

‘ Trouble… down at the door. Some heavies from Moss Side are causing problems. We need you down there to sort it, otherwise it’s going to get out of hand.’

Thompson nodded. ‘Right.’ He turned to Henry. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

Now, as he lay in the bath in his hotel room a few hours later, running these events through his mind, Henry began to marshal his thoughts.

Firstly he needed to get a grip on Rupert Davison, that two-faced bastard of a Detective Superintendent who had lied bare-faced to him and got him beaten up. Secondly he had to do some research on Nikolai Drozdov, who Henry suspected was a fully paid-up member of the Russian Mafia, and to bone up on the Russian Mafia itself; he had heard lots about them and their ever-spreading influence, but had never yet met one face to face, except… Henry had a very disturbing thought: maybe he had come face to face with the Russian Mafia before, not so very long ago, and did not realise it at the time. Maybe the guy who had done the business on Jacky Lee had been one of them and maybe the incomprehensible words he had uttered at Henry were Russian words. And maybe Jacky Lee had been ousted by the Russians so that they could move in and control his little empire, working alongside Thompson and Elphick.

Wow, Henry thought. He settled deep into the bath, the hot water having a soothing effect on his wounds, and tried to remember exactly what the killer had said. Henry had thought it gibberish at the time.

Another person suffering that morning, though not in exactly the same way as Henry Christie, was Danny Furness.

She sat at her desk balancing her forehead on her forefinger, swallowing in an effort to hold back the contents of her stomach which threatened to burst forth at any moment, and wishing she was dead. Being so would end all her suffering. As well as her stomach being bad, her head was no better, being the cranial version of hellfire; and she was also suffering from the acute embarrassment of having a man’s erect penis almost in her mouth and him running out on her because it was all too weird.

Surely that could not have happened to any other woman, anywhere, ever?

Danny took a chance and lifted her head off her finger to look around the office through a pair of eyes which refused to open properly. No doubt about it, she should still be in bed, suffering her physical and mental anguish — alone.

The phone on her desk rang. She let it. It stopped eventually.

She had missed the daily murder briefing at eight, not having landed until well after nine, and that had been a miracle, so she had no idea if there had been any overnight developments.

‘ Oh God.’ Her mouth fell open; her bottom lip sagged heavily. She got to her feet slowly, steadying herself on her desk, and walked, one measured, controlled step at a time, out of the office. She ignored the lift. The very thought of it made her queasy. She went up the stairs to the MIR, one tread at a time, pausing on each one to regain equilibrium.

Eventually she made it to the right floor and shuffled into the Incident Room which was very quiet. Everyone who should be, was out investigating. Everyone but her.

She went across to the Receiver’s desk. The Detective Constable assigned to that role raised his eyes.

‘ Anything doing?’ she enquired.

‘ This has just literally arrived by fax — results of the dental identification on your man.’ He held up a sheet of paper. Danny snatched it from his hand and read with glee. At last, a major step forwards.

Except that her excitement was halted quickly by a loud gurgle from her intestines.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and raced out of the room to the ladies’ toilets, where she burst into a cubicle and sank down to her knees over the toilet bowl. Almost before she had finished vomiting, she was scrambling like mad to drag her skirt up, knickers down, to plonk herself down on the loo and empty her bowels.

‘ Oh my God,’ she moaned again just as a stomach cramp creased her guts.

Just her luck. Insult to injury. On the most important day of the investigation for her, she was sick, had diarrhoea and was about to start her period.

Henry Christie locked his hotel-room door, trotted down the stairs and wandered into Manchester city centre. He went into the Arndale Centre, which still bore the scars from the massive IRA bomb attack which had devastated it several years before, found an empty, working phone booth and made a quick call, after which he strolled to McDonald’s where he ordered coffee and an Egg McMuffin which tasted of cardboard. He wolfed down a couple more Advil for his pains, then, after buying a newspaper from W.H. Smiths he hobbled up to the Sticky Fingers restaurant off Deansgate. Here he had another coffee, far more expensive and far nicer than the one at McDonald’s.

Ten minutes later he became aware of a figure hovering next to him. He looked up slowly and his sore face cracked into a grin. ‘Thanks for coming. It’s good to see you.’

The man slid into the seat opposite, shook hands across the table. ‘Good to see you, too, Henry — but I have to say, you look like shite.’

Henry guffawed. ‘Thanks a bunch. Let me order more coffee.’ He folded the newspaper and beckoned a waitress. The coffee arrived quickly.

‘ OK, nice coffee,’ the man said after taking a sip and wiping his top lip with his finger and thumb. ‘What’s this all about, H?’

Henry adjusted his backside, winced and glanced shiftily round the cafe. It was almost empty, being so early. ‘Beast of Burden’ played over the sound system, one of Henry’s favourite Stones tracks. ‘I believe you are the deputy SIO on the investigation into the death of Jacky Lee — and before that you were on the enquiry into the death of a guy that Lee himself was supposed to have iced?’

The man nodded.

‘ Were you, or are you, aware that an undercover officer had been assigned to Jacky Lee before he was killed and that the same U/C officer is now assigned to Gary Thompson and Gunk Elphick in the hope of getting evidence of their involvement in Lee’s demise?’

‘ No,’ the man said. His eyebrows knitted together, wondering where this was going.

‘ Well, now you do,’ declared Henry.

A key turned in the lock. The handle revolved and the door opened. Loz stood there looking as grubby and dishevelled as ever. Colin Hodge was sitting on the edge of the bed, not having slept during the night and since his abduction. Loz beckoned to him. ‘Come on.’

He stood up and followed laggardly. His feet were like lumps of lead.

Without speaking, Loz took him down a wide hallway, a sweeping flight of steps to the ground floor, through a set of wide French windows and on to a terracotta terrace beyond which was the garden. A table and chairs were set up on the terrace, protected by a large umbrella. The sun was already hot in the clear sky.

Loz pointed with his bandaged hand to a mobile servery. ‘Help yourself.’

Nervous, but trying to give the impression of confidence, Hodge picked up a plate and examined a selection of breakfast dishes on the hot and cold plates. He chose scrambled eggs and sausage, a large glass of orange and black filtered coffee.

Loz lounged back against the villa wall and watched him, a sneer of contempt quivering on his lips underneath his rather pathetic moustache.

Whilst walking back to the table, Hodge caught sight of two men sitting on the grass by the outer garden wall, a good 100 metres away. They had rifles propped across their knees. Hodge sat down heavily, frightened.

‘ What’s going on? Why am I here?’ Hodge demanded.

Loz shrugged uncaringly. ‘Eat your breakfast. You’ll find out soon enough.’

Hodge poked at his food, pushing it aimlessly around the plate, wishing he was back home, had never thought up this fucking scheme, and was back earning six quid an hour.

He heard voices from inside the villa. Don Smith and Billy Crane appeared from within, looking relaxed and cool.

‘ Colin!’ Smith said loudly. He strode to Hodge and held out his hand to be shaken.

Hodge recoiled. ‘No chance! I want to know what’s going on. I want to know where I am, what I’m doing here and then I want you to take me back to the airport because I’m going home. This whole deal is off. No one treats me like this,’ he snarled, slashing the air with the edge of his hand. ‘No fucker.’

‘ Sit down, Colin,’ Smith said with a patient smile.

‘ Do not screw me around. I want out of here, out of this, now.’

‘ Sit down, Mr Hodge,’ Crane said from behind Smith. ‘Let me explain a few things to you.’

‘ No, you set of twats. Let me explain a few things to you.’ Hodge gestured angrily at them both. ‘This is my show, my deal. I run it, not you couple of wankers. Get me into a car and get me home, because it’s off. Understand? Off!’

‘ No, no, no, no, no, no,’ Crane said patronisingly. ‘You have started a ball rolling. It’s not going to stop until it reaches the bottom of the hill now, Mr Hodge. So sit down and pin your lug-holes back. I have started talking to people, arranging things, promising things — and these people are not like me and my friend here: patient and friendly. They are ruthless and would not hesitate to kill should they be disappointed in you. The fact of the matter is, you are involved now and you cannot pull out. And why would you want to, anyway? All that lovely money…’

It was all lies about the people, but Hodge did not have to know this. He stared from one villain to the other, shaking with rage. Smith nodded reassuringly at him. He was trapped. He sank slowly back into his chair.

‘ Good man,’ Crane said, patting him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll get myself some breakfast, then we’ll have a chat.’

‘ Me too,’ said Smith.

They walked to the servery and began to select food and drink.

‘ Butter him up again,’ Crane whispered to Smith. Then he turned to Loz, still lounging, and said, ‘Get lost.’

Like an unwanted, unloved dog, Loz slunk away.

‘ Now then Colin,’ Smith said smoothly, sitting down, ‘you’ve got to understand a few facts here.’ Crane sat down opposite and began to eat, not saying a word. ‘You’re right, OK, this is still your show. That will not be taken away from you. We have no wish to make it any different. You’re the guy with all the gen and we are relying on you. You call the shots. You are the man. But by the same token, we’re providing all the tools to do the job and because of the nature of who we are and who else is going to be involved — because make no mistake, Colin, this is going to be a big job and a lot of people will be involved — we have to have a degree of protection. That’s what this is about. Protection from outsiders. OK, you know who I am. I accept that, but there is no need to know anything about this man here, other than he is the organiser of all the resources. We have a lot to lose if the cops, for example, get hold of you, and you start blabbing.’ Smith forked some scrambled egg into his mouth. ‘See where I’m coming from? It’s to protect you and us.’

Hodge breathed in deeply. ‘Yeah, but I’ve been treated like shit and I don’t like it.’

‘ That’s very much down to the way you were brought here, and we can only apologise for the manner in which our associate interpreted our instructions to him. He will be reprimanded.’

Hodge began to soften. The rhetoric, coupled with his own greed, was having a calming effect. He gave a minor shrug. ‘You going to tell me where I am?’

‘ At a house somewhere on Gomera. That’s all you need to know.’

‘ And what am I supposed to call you if you won’t tell me your name?’ he asked of Crane.

Crane considered this. ‘You can call me Matt — Matt Brinks.’

He smiled for the first time.

John Connor was a Detective Chief Inspector in the Greater Manchester Police. Henry had known him for many years, having attended a few national detective training courses with him. It could not be said they were great buddies, but they got along.

Connor leaned on the table. ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Henry.’

Henry said sarcastically, ‘You would say that.’

‘ Say what?’ Connor was very confused. ‘I don’t know what the hell you mean.’

Henry peered into Connor’s eyes. ‘He’s briefed you, hasn’t he? To say nothing to me, hasn’t he?’

‘ Henry, are you off your tree? I’ve come here in all good faith as the result of a very mysterious phone call and you lay something on me I just do not understand. Tell me what you’re on about, or else I’m off.’

‘ What has Rupert Davison told you about me?’

‘ Nothing.’

‘ Have you seen and used a statement by a guy called Frank Jagger in your investigation into Jacky Lee’s murder? In particular when interviewing Gary Thompson and Gunk Elphick?’

Connor shook his head.

‘ Did you know an undercover operation was going on regarding Jacky Lee?’

‘ No.’

Henry closed his eyes in deep despair and dropped his head.

‘ Henry, what the hell are you talking about here?’

Malcolm Fitch. Date of birth 16.11.1940, Blackburn, Lancashire. Two convictions, 1982, 1984. Both for conspiracy to rob. OIC in both cases Detective Inspector Barney Gillrow, a Lancashire officer seconded to the Regional Crime Squad, based in Bolton. File held at that office.

Having purged her body of everything that was making her unwell, Danny now felt much better. Her head still throbbed unrelentingly, but the stomach pains and cramps had disappeared. She was half human again, but obviously still half dead.

She read the PNC printout again and highlighted the salient points with a pen, thrilled that at last she was looking at the identity of the third dead body from the vehicle inspection pit. She had been on to the Fingerprint Bureau to ask them to double-check the details and they promised a result by the end of the day.

There was no current address for Fitch and it would appear he had not come to police attention since his last conviction fourteen years ago. What she needed to do was start pulling together some up-to-date information on him ASAP. Her gaze settled on the name of the officer who had dealt with Fitch. Perhaps he would be a good starting point. She wondered if she knew Gillrow, but the name didn’t ring any bells with her. The fact that he was a Detective Inspector in 1984 suggested he might not even be in the job now. Could be retired. Might even be dead.

First port of call was the HR department at Headquarters to find the current status of Gillrow.

Five minutes later, her fears were confirmed. Gillrow had retired in 1990 and was now living in Tenerife.

Danny gave her temple a knock with the base of her hand and tried to concentrate, devise a way ahead. She looked at the details of the dead man again and those of the former DJ. HR had provided Danny with an overseas phone number for Gillrow and she thought that starting with him would be as good a place as any. She picked up the phone and dialled the number. It connected remarkably quickly and rang out clearly. No one answered. She hung up after two dozen rings, intending to try later.

Her next avenue was to the Field Intelligence Officer (FIO) at Blackburn, a detective she knew well from her days in the town many years before. This time, even though she was calling internally, the line was nowhere near as clear as the overseas one had appeared to be.

‘ Danny Furness! A rave from the grave! How are you, gal? Haven’t seen you in ages.’

‘ Doing great,’ she said, holding the phone away from her ear. ‘And you?’

They exchanged the requisite pleasantries before Danny posed the question about Fitch, deceased, of that parish.

The FIO interrogated Lancashire Constabulary’s own computerised intelligence system first — but it came up with nothing about Fitch. ‘Doesn’t mean to say we don’t have anything on him. I’ll check the manual files. Hang on…’ The phone was placed on a desk. Danny heard cabinet drawers sliding open, some background chatter, the tapping of a computer keyboard. Eventually the FIO came back on the line. ‘Nothing in the active files, Danny, but there is a file in the “dead section”. An old one… dum de dah… let’s have a looksee

… no, nowt since the mid-eighties. I take it he’s reappeared on the scene?’

‘ In a manner of speaking. Being in the dead section is remarkably apt — he’s the third body in the job over here. Just identified him this morning.’

‘ Oh, interesting… which possibly means he’s been bang at it and we didn’t know. He’s obviously upset someone.’

‘ Upset is a little mild. Really upset, I’d say.’

‘ There is a marker on the file. Any interest to you?’

‘ Go on.’

‘ It’s an RCS reference, now NCS of course. Bolton office. Got a pen? I’ll read it out.’

Danny noted it down, asked the FIO to copy the file and send it immediately to her.

Next she opened the Police Almanac and found the number for the NCS office at Bolton and made a similar request to the one she’d initially made of the FIO. The woman she spoke to took details and promised to ring back within ten minutes, which she did.

‘ I can confirm that we do have a file in that name. Can’t give you any details over the phone, though.’

‘ Why not?’

‘ Policy.’

‘ Can you send me a copy by fax?’

‘ Only if you have the necessary authority.’

‘ Does it make any difference if I tell you the guy is dead and I’m investigating his murder?’

‘ Not to me.’

Bitch, Danny thought uncharitably. ‘I’ll get back to you.’ She hung up her phone with exaggerated softness, speculating as to why the woman would not give out the details. Maybe Fitch was more than just a target. An informant, possibly. She sniffed up, then dialled the overseas number again, but got no reply.

‘ So you are telling me that you have no idea about the statements made by me and Terry regarding Jacky Lee’s murder?’ Henry’s voice was incredulous.

‘ Swear it.’ Connor crossed his heart.

‘ And you didn’t know there was an undercover operation up and running against Lee and subsequently against Gunk and Gary?’

‘ Hope to die.’

‘ Shit.’ Henry shook his head in major disbelief ‘What the hell is Davison playing at? He said he would tell you, his deputy, about me, Terry and the statements.’

‘ I have picked up on some odd goings-on with him, I have to admit. For instance he actually interviewed Thompson and Elphick himself, which is pretty damn unusual. Came out from both interviews saying neither had made any admission — which we knew, because they’d already been spoken to by interview teams anyway. He justified himself doing the interviews by saying that someone had to have a real good stab at them as none of the interviewing team seemed to be getting anywhere.’

‘ Presumably the interviews were taped?’

Connor nodded.

‘ Have you listened to them?’

‘ No. Davison kept hold of the copy tapes. The master copies are sealed and stored in the system by now.’

‘ That’s obviously when he let it slip, intentionally or otherwise, to Gunk and Gazzer about mine and Terry’s statements,’ Henry concluded. ‘The stupid man! I’m just… speechless — and angry. Just what the hell does he think he’s playing at?’

‘ I have an idea on that score,’ Connor said.

Henry waited.

‘ He’s got six unsolved murders on his plate at the moment, not including Jacky Lee. I don’t think the murders are connected in any way or anything like that, except that none of the offenders have been arrested and charged yet. There’s a feeling going round the Force that if they’d all been better managed from the top, there would have been results by now. For what it’s worth, I think Davison is getting twitchy and he’s panicking. This could be a last-ditch effort to get a good result by whatever means possible.’ Connor shrugged. ‘But it’s only a theory.’

‘ And a bloody good one. He got me hammered. I could just as easily be dead now,’ Henry whined bitterly. ‘He’s always been a loose cannon, ever since being a PC.’

‘ What are you going to do about it?’

Henry thought for a moment. ‘No idea just yet. Instinct tells me I should try to take him down. I usually follow my instinct, even if it lands me in deep pooh.’

‘ You’d probably have a justified grievance against him, but until you hear what’s on those tapes, you might be struggling for evidence. Tell you what, I’ll try and get authorisation — on the QT — to break the seal on the master tapes, have a listen and then get back to you.’

‘ That sounds brilliant. Thanks,’ Henry said genuinely.

‘ Let me buy you another coffee, then you can tell me what your plans are regarding Gunk and Gazzer.’ Connor signalled to a waitress. ‘I need to think about what to do with Davison, too. As an SIO I know he can do what the hell he likes, but running an undercover operation without letting me know is just a bit on the naughty side, not to say downright irresponsible. He’ll have to have some bloody good reasons for it. I think the guy’s in the shit, don’t you, H?’

Before he could answer, his mobile rang on his belt. ‘Frank Jagger,’ he said, straight back into role without thinking about it.

‘ Frankie baby, how you feeling?’ came Gary Thompson’s voice brightly.

‘ Unbelievable as it might seem, I feel like fuck,’ he responded and held a cautionary finger up to Connor to keep him quiet.

‘ Aw, you soft git. Still interested in business? I know we were rudely interrupted last night.’

‘ Suppose so.’

‘ Where are you?’

‘ City centre — mooching around.’

‘ Get your arse back to your hotel and we’ll pick you up and go for a drive.’

Henry did not like the sound of that. Sometimes people who went for drives found themselves on mystery tours, deposited in canals with their heads blown off

‘ I haven’t got a lot of time, Gazzer,’ Henry said, deciding to exert some authority. It was important that things progressed on his terms as much as possible from now on. ‘I’11 be in the coffee-house at the hotel and we can talk there.’ Henry had no intention of doing anything further with them in private or without back-up.

‘ You’re too suspicious, Frank,’ Thompson chided.

‘ Yeah, right, and I really can trust you.’

‘ Be there in fifteen.’

The call ended. Henry looked across at Connor who was eager to know its contents. Henry told him nothing because it was better and safer that way. ‘Got to go. We’ll talk soon.’ He pushed himself up with a groan of pain. ‘Oh, there is one thing, John. Thought you’d like to know, if you don’t already.’

‘ What’s that?’

‘ The Russians are coming.’

Henry did not have time to get wired up before the meet with Gary Thompson in the hotel coffee-shop. He wasn’t too concerned about missing any evidence because he saw this rendezvous as the prelude to several others he would be engineering in the near future, but he did have time to make a quick call to Terry Briggs.

During the walk back to the hotel, Henry made the decision to stick with the operation for the time being, even though he was fuming with Davison. He had considered pulling out, but his professionalism as a cop — someone who hated to see the guilty go unpunished — made him want to be instrumental in putting Thompson, Elphick and hopefully Jacky Lee’s actual killer away for a long time. He had no doubt in his mind that the terrible duo had set Lee up and it was now down to his skill as an undercover cop to get them to admit that to him, on tape, in the not too distant future.

Yes, he would stay where he was and see the job through to its natural conclusion, whatever that might be.

Then he would dedicate his life to shafting Rupert Davison good and proper.

Twenty minutes after leaving Sticky Fingers he was sitting by one of the windows in the hotel coffee-shop, overlooking Piccadilly Gardens, having ordered his umpteenth dose of caffeine.

Thompson’s BMW pulled up outside the hotel a few minutes later. Thompson stepped out from the rear seat and the car drew away. Henry got a brief glimpse of Elphick at the wheel and the shape of a man in the front passenger seat. Henry assumed it was Drozdov.

Gazzer was smartly dressed, looked the part. Slicked-back hair, the ubiquitous earring, mobile phone in one hand, he trotted in, nodding at the doorman, very cool, collected and sharp. A million miles from the individual Henry had seen scuttling away moments before the murder of his boss. He had obviously grown into the vacuum created by Lee’s death. And yet, although Gazzer had the majority of the peanut brain he and Gunk shared between them, Henry doubted if he really had the nous to take on Lee’s mantle, run his businesses and make them a success.

Gazzer flashed a winning smile, said, ‘Morning, Frank,’ sat down.

‘ Gazzer,’ Henry nodded.

He pointed at Henry, clicking his thumb like the hammer of a gun. ‘Not Gazzer from now on. Gary, please. More in keeping with the position in life, credibility being an issue and all that.’

‘ Sure, fine. Gary it is.’

Thompson peered closely at Henry’s battered face. ‘Mm, we did make a bit of a mess of you, didn’t we?’ he admitted.

‘ I won’t disagree with that.’

‘ Not that I’m apologising for it. I think it was totally necessary — and anyway, we needed to put on a little bit of a show for Nikolai.’

‘ What?’ Henry demanded. ‘Couldn’t you have chosen some other poor sod?’ he complained. ‘Anyway, who is this Nikolai bloke?’

‘ Just a new business partner.’

‘ Sounds like a Russian name to me.’

‘ He is Russian… the way of the world now that Communism’s collapsed. They have a lot to offer people like me, people who want to expand.’

‘ I take it you’re talking about the Russian Mafia as opposed to legitimate Russian businessmen?’

‘ Is there such an animal?’

Henry decided to have a stab at the jugular, just to test the water. ‘Did he kill Jacky for you? And if he did, what does he want in exchange? Ten, twenty per cent of your business?’ He knew he had hit a nerve when Thompson shifted uncomfortably for a milli-second and then regained self-control.

‘ Fuck all to do with you, mate.’

‘ It does have something to do with me. I was there when Jacky got slotted, remember, and then I’ve been beaten up as a showcase of your serious intent. I’m a businessman, Gary, not a gangster or a violent sod. I make brass for myself and others, just like Jacky did. Live and let live, that’s my motto.’

‘ You make Jacky sound like an angel — which he is now, of course.’ Gary leaned forwards. ‘He was an out-and-out violent bastard — he’d put a lump of lead into anybody’s skull if he thought they’d stitched him up.’

Henry — Frank — tried to look shocked.

‘ Yeah, it’s true, Frank. All you saw was him being Mr Nice,’

Gary whispered, half-closing his eyes, giving the indication he had imparted a tremendous, earth-shattering secret… and right on cue, Henry’s mobile phone rang.

‘ Just give me a second,’ he said to Thompson, knowing it was Terry Briggs at the other end. ‘Frank Jagger. Hi… yeah… sure..’ He looked quickly up at Thompson and said, ‘Yes, I can talk.’

He listened for a few moments, then: ‘Where do you want it?’ he asked. He listened to the response, then said, ‘How much?… Twenty? I’m not sure about that…’ He gave the impression of cutting himself off in mid-sentence, again looking at Thompson, who was seriously trying to earwig the conversation. Henry took the phone away from his ear and pressed the ‘secret’ button. ‘Look, sorry, Gary.’ He began to get to his feet. ‘Can you spare me a minute? Delicate business.’

Thompson nodded understandingly.

Henry moved stiffly away from the table and walked out of the coffee-house into the reception foyer. ‘Yeah, he’s all ears, Terry. I’ll feed him a few lines… Catch you later.’

He re-entered the coffee shop and slipped in opposite Thompson who was fumbling through his Filofax.

‘ Wankers,’ hissed Henry angrily. He glared at his mobile phone.

‘ Problem?’

‘ No — well, nothing really.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Just a load of gear I need to get shifted PDQ. It’s sticking in a warehouse down South.’ He curled his lips bitterly. ‘Deal just fell through.’

‘ Anything I might be able to help with?’

Oh, come to me, my melancholy baby, Henry wanted to sing. Come to Daddy. He had started to put together a little scam so that even if murder charges could not be pinned on Gary and Gunk, they would have a few handling or conspiracy charges on them at the very least. If Drozdov could be roped in too, what a bonus that would be.

‘ Don’t know if it’s in your field, Gary. Some electronic gear — faxes, phones, about fifty Toshiba laptops… that kind of stuff.’

Thompson considered it. ‘You never know, could be of interest.’ He scratched his nose.

‘ I’d be happy to exchange if you felt you had anything worthwhile,’ Henry suggested.

‘ Let me think about it… but for now, let’s get down to our original business, shall we? Whisky, I think.’

Henry glanced out of the window across Piccadilly. He was not sure whether he covered the shock he felt inside as his throat constricted and his heart fluttered. Detective Superintendent Rupert Davison was crossing the road and heading towards the hotel.

Henry turned quickly back to Thompson, who said, ‘Christ, that coffee’s gone straight through me. I need to piss. Be back shortly.’

‘ Don’t call me shortly,’ Henry laughed — slightly hysterically. He watched Thompson walk across the cafe and down the toilet corridor. Then he spun round to see Davison trotting up the hotel steps, about to blow Henry’s cover as wide open as the legs of a Manchester tart.

The three men were sitting at a table in the garden, under some trees. It was getting hotter by the minute on La Gomera, but the shade from the foliage kept the men cool, as did their long, iced juice drinks.

Hodge had calmed down considerably since his earlier outburst, having been coaxed and soothed by Smith in particular.

‘ What we need to do now, Colin,’ Smith explained, ‘is start to ask you questions so that we can put a plan together. There’s lots of things we need to know about this money run. Routes, personnel — such as, who are the guys you usually do it with? What are their capabilities, their strengths, their weaknesses? Then there’s the technical side of things. What sort of vehicle do you use? What kind of boxes is the money carried in? Will they present any problems to us? How do we get them open? Do they spray dye? All those sorts of things. What do you wear? We’ll probably need to know the exact details of your uniform, headgear. What protection do you carry? How is your journey monitored? What is usual and what is unusual? Can you get away with stopping en route? How lax, or tight, are your procedures? Are the cops informed of your journey? What is your emergency drill?’ Smith shook his head. ‘Lots and lots of things… literally anything we can think of which will help pull this job off with the minimum of fuss and force. And, of course, anything you can tell us that we’ve missed. That’s what today is about — chatting to you. Getting to know you and you getting to know us. When we’ve done all that, found out everything we need, we’ll get back to Los Cristianos and you can have some more fun at our expense while we plan the job.’

‘ I think I should be involved in that.’

‘ You’re right, Colin, we will consult you, but in the end it has to be a plan we are happy with because we are the ones who need to get away — and the getaway is obviously part of it. So, yeah, you’re dead right… but let me and Matt get our heads together first and then we’ll run it past you for your approval. How does that sound?’

Hodge nodded, believing his control was reappearing.

‘ Just remember, Colin,’ Smith said, ‘you’ll be walking away with twenty-five million in your hands.’

A smile crept over Hodge’s greedy little face.

Smith and Crane stood up. Smith said, ‘We’ll be back in five minutes with a tape-recorder. We don’t want to miss anything.’

They left Hodge at the table.

Once out of earshot, Crane growled, ‘He gets nothing ‘cept for a bullet in the head.’

Henry slithered down in his chair, squirming with acute indecision, wishing that hell would open up beneath him and drag him down into a fiery dungeon. Should he try to hide himself by turning his back on Davison and hope he did not get spotted, or should he go and meet the guy and drag him across the foyer and into the restaurant opposite and risk drawing unwelcome attention to the situation?

All it needed was for Thompson to have someone sitting in the cafe who Henry did not know, surveilling him, and he was knackered.

He groaned inwardly. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the gung-ho Superintendent walking boldly towards him. Henry half-expected the idiot to call out his name.

Then his eyes flickered to the toilet corridor. Gary Thompson emerged from the men’s cloakroom, hitching up the last inch of his flies and adjusting his tackle.

The two men were on a collision course, Henry at the apex of it.

Thompson stopped unexpectedly in the corridor and extracted his mobile phone from his jacket pocket, put it to his ear and turned round, sticking a finger in the other ear.

Henry saw his chance. He shot out of his seat and walked swiftly towards Davison, almost colliding with him. Out of the corner of his mouth Henry whispered urgently, ‘Follow me, don’t speak.’

Davison’s face dropped the beaming smile it had been displaying. He slotted in behind Henry just as Thompson turned and ended his phone call.

Henry moved quickly across the wide foyer and hit the stairs by the reception desk. He bounded up on to the first-floor landing, decided not to stop there and went up the next flight on to the second floor. Davison appeared a second or two later.

‘ You have almost compromised me,’ Henry spat venomously into Davison’s surprised face. He forced his room key into the man’s clammy hand. ‘Go to my room and stay put until I get there.’ He sneered with disbelief at the Superintendent, heaved his way past him and headed back down the steps.

Thompson was sitting at the table, looking slightly agitated and annoyed.

Henry sat. ‘Sorry — forgot my diary.’ He smiled at Gary and breathed out as he thought, Just what the hell am I doing this for?

Henry spent a very productive hour with Thompson doing business. They parted amicably, Henry a little bit more impressed with Gary than he had been previously. He seemed to have a fairly cool, logical head on his shoulders and bargained hard without a trace of embarrassment. Henry played the game with him even though he knew he could have given the whisky away for free. What was important was that Thompson believed he was buying stolen goods and that he was starting to trust Frank Jagger. The ability to build trust was an integral part of an undercover officer’s skills. It is always the first step in a relationship and once the trust is built, then it’s very easy to set someone up for a fall.

They settled on?3.50 a bottle because Henry gave the impression he wanted rid of the stuff as soon as possible. A deposit was to be paid in a couple of days’ time — in cash — prior to the delivery of the first part of the goods. Henry negotiated this short time delay because he wanted to ensure that from this moment on, each stage of the process of luring Thompson into a trap was properly documented and recorded for future evidential purposes. That also meant proper back-up for Henry and the technology to go with it.

‘ Speak to you soon,’ Thompson smiled, shaking Henry’s hand. The big BMW pulled up outside the hotel on the double yellows, having responded to a phone call from Thompson a few minutes earlier. Henry wondered what Gunk and Drozdov had been doing to pass the time; if they had been cruising around they could easily have spotted Davison’s arrival. Henry prayed they hadn’t.

He accompanied Thompson to the hotel steps, but did not wave him off — that would have seemed too normal for a crim; however, he did make sure Gary got in the car and it moved away into the traffic. Henry twirled round, forgetting the pain in his body, and headed purposefully back into the hotel, building himself up for the coming encounter with Davison.

Halfway across the foyer, his mobile chirped its idiotic, irritating ring in his pocket. He kept striding and answered it. ‘Jagger.’

‘ Connor.’ It was the DCI from Greater Manchester.

Henry halted mid-stride. ‘Go on.’

‘ Just to say I went looking for the sealed master tapes. Neither one is in the tape library — or at least if they are, they’re not where they’re supposed to be. Can’t find them, in other words.’

‘ You’re saying he’s got the masters, as well as the working copies?’

‘ I’m saying the masters are not where they should be. You make your own assumptions.’

Henry thumbed the call-end button. A feeling of savage anger gushed through him. Two minutes later he was outside his hotel room door, rapping with his knuckles. ‘Come on, open up, it’s me.’

‘ You’ve taken your time,’ Davison bitched on opening the door.

Henry burst in, taking the man completely by surprise. In a flash he overpowered Davison and spread him across the double bed, one forearm crushing his windpipe, his free hand bunched into a fist which hovered only inches away from Davison’s face.

‘ Not only have you nearly just blown my cover sky high, but you nearly got me killed last night, you prick! You lied to me by saying you hadn’t mentioned my statement to Thompson and Elphick, didn’t you?’

‘ No, Henry,’ his victim spluttered with difficulty. ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re on about, but if you don’t let go of me now you can wave goodbye to your job and your pension.’

‘ Bollocks!’ Henry rasped, spittle coming out with the word. He applied more pressure to Davison’s windpipe and re-bunched his fist for effect. Davison’s eyes squinted in anticipation of the punch. He struggled, attempting to break free, but Henry’s heavier bulk kept him pinned there. Henry moved his face even closer to Davison’s. They were nose to nose. Davison picked up every nuance of Henry’s sheer anger.

‘ I know what you’re about, you bastard,’ Henry uttered through clenched teeth. ‘You’re trying to save your career at the expense of every other fucker around you. You’re a dangerous bastard and someone should have put you out of this job years ago; but I’ll tell you something…’ Henry’s voice lowered into a growl… ‘you’re mixing it with someone who’ll take you on, because when I’ve finished with Gunk and Gary, I’m coming for you and I’m going to take you down — and out. Got that? You are dead meat as far as the police service goes.’

Henry eased off with a glare of disdain, leaving the higher ranking officer sprawled across the bed, massaging his throat, looking angrily at Henry’s back as he left the room.