Bad Blood (19 page)

Savage took a concerned-looking Collier into the corridor and they stood next to a poster appealing for players for a charity football match between the local fire station and Crownhill. Several blank spaces on the team sheet suggested officers were reluctant to sign up to yet another drubbing.

‘
Sternway
. Know what it is?’

‘Long-term drugs op. Organised crime or something. More than that, no.’

Savage told him about Fallon, Redmond, Kemp and the impending pickup. Collier scratched the top of his head, his default reaction when his brain was working overtime.

‘So, Mr Owers and the girl …?’ he said.

‘We’ve no idea at the moment if Owers and Redmond are connected or if Redmond’s killing is in any way related to
Sternway
. I simply wanted to let you know we might be getting into something a little more complicated than comparing supermarket carrier bags.’ Savage smiled at Collier and then continued. ‘Going to be a bit tricky though because of this SOCIT rumour, the “bad apple” stuff.’

‘It’s malicious, unfounded gossip, ma’am.’

‘Undoubtedly. Still, Hardin feels it is best to be on the safe side.’ She gestured through the glass panel in the door to the incident room. ‘That lot in there can’t know what I told you, not yet. Other than simple enquiries into Redmond’s movements and the like, we can’t be going anywhere near Tamar Yachts until Fallon has picked up the drugs.’

‘Oh joy,’ Collier said, scratching his head again, both hands up there now. ‘Can you tell me where in the manual it tells me how to manage an inquiry when the detectives don’t even know what they are bloody investigating?’

Nr Constantine, Falmouth, Cornwall. Saturday 19th January. 2.48 p.m.

Budgeon glanced through the crack in the barn wall. Police. Half a dozen of them swarming like flies over the shit in the farmyard next door. Down at the caravan and in that room above the byre too. A pair of uniforms had been round earlier and the girl had been all smiles, the kid hiding behind her. No, she had told them, she’d seen nothing suspicious, hadn’t even realised anybody had been using the caravan.

They’d asked about her husband and she’d said he was mostly away in London or abroad. She herself was only around about half the time. The officers had understood. They were used to dealing with the rich folk who lived around the Helford River. Most had second homes in France or Spain, holidays several times a year, a yacht to cruise with if the English weather was good. The two men didn’t quite touch their forelocks and mutter ‘G’day, ma’am’, but the deference was there.

She gave her name, the maiden one on her passport, and the men left. Budgeon had come out of the shadows and given her a pat on the bum. Told her she was a good girl.

Now he was watching from the workshop, a little nervous. The stuff with Frankie had been good but he’d not factored the police turning up. Not here. He’d obviously underesti-mated the amount the paedo had been monitored. If Frankie had been going to go away for a few days the authorities would no doubt have checked up. Frankie hadn’t told him that when Budgeon had worked on him as he lay tied to the table in the workshop. But then he’d had other things to squeal about. Couldn’t keep his fat gob shut, all the information about Big K pouring out as if it was really going to make any difference in the end. Perhaps Frankie had kept quiet about the monitoring as some sort of insurance plan in case things went wrong. If that was the case, then so far it hadn’t worked.

Budgeon pulled back from the crack. The plain-clothes officers were leaving now, piling into a couple of cars. He recognised two as detectives from Truro, the others were from further away. A couple of forensic guys remained, but from the look of things they’d be packing up soon. The detectives would be wondering how the girl had got from here to Plymouth, how she’d ended up buried under Frankie’s patio.

‘A little pressie,’ Budgeon had said when he’d turned up at Frankie’s place with the plastic box and a spade in the autumn. ‘Just so I know I can count on you when the time comes. I’ll help you bury her, see she gets a decent spot out the back.’

Frankie had almost fainted from shock, but, hands shaking, he’d taken the box and carried it into the house.

Of course, the police didn’t know any of that and they had no reason to suspect anyone else but Frankie being involved.

Still, it had been a close call.

Budgeon left the workshop and strode back to the house, glancing across at the stone stable block.

Very close.

This time Jackman took the call instead of making it.

‘OK, now you
do
need to be fucking worried,’ the voice said.

Jackman was with two other councillors on a Saturday afternoon tour of the Drake Circus shopping centre, the manager explaining the steps they were taking to increase footfall during the hard times. Jackman nodded an apology and stepped away from the group.

He’d been expecting to hear something –
wanted
to hear something – ever since the news had broken. The newsreader said gang violence, the paper claimed vigilantes. Either would have been preferable to the truth.

‘Bloody disaster,’ he said, walking towards the Cornwall Street exit where a sudden rain shower had begun to streak the huge glass panels. ‘Do you think …?’

‘I don’t think, I know.’ The voice sounded breathless, panicked. ‘Got it wrong with Owers, I thought … but now Redmond? Can’t be a coincidence, can it? Anyway, I got something in the post. A message.’

‘What did it say?’

‘
Hands off
.’

‘Is that a joke?’ Jackman slowed as he reached the exit. Couldn’t help but turn and check nobody was following him. ‘Because if it is, I’m not laughing.’

‘No joke, Alec. He’s back and he ain’t going to rest until we’re well and truly porked.’

Jackman stood to one side of the doors, watching through the glass as people popped umbrellas or ran for cover as the rain came down harder. He struggled to think of something to say and realised that, despite the draught from the doors, beads of sweat were breaking out on his forehead.

‘Can we get out of this? Or do we carry on? I mean, all this heat is drawing undue attention to Tamar. Not to mention that Gavin was my brother-in-law for God’s sake. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more than just a Family Liaison Officer knocking at my door before long.’

‘You ever watch the
Terminator
movies, Alec? Well, it’s like that, isn’t it? Only worse. But we play this right and we can stay around for the sequel.’

Jackman was only half-listening. He moved forward to the glass, let his head touch the cool material, and shut his eyes. This was always going to happen. Eventually. If you knocked someone down and pissed on them, you bloody well better make sure they didn’t get up again. But back then pure logic had won him over. He’d been younger, braver, had less to lose. Things always came around though, didn’t they? Full circle. Just like Arnie. To bite you on the arse.

‘Do you play cards, Alec? Bridge?’ The voice was lower, almost a whisper. ‘Complicated game, bridge, but some of my golfing pals persuaded me to learn. Took a while, but I got my head around the rules eventually. You see, when you are defending, your opponent tries to finesse your cards out, tease away at any advantage. But right when he thinks he knows how the cards lie, you know what you do?’

Jackman muttered that he didn’t, let his head slide down the glass a little, felt like slumping to the floor, instead waited for the punchline.

‘You trump the bastard.’ The voice louder, much louder. ‘Make that bloody call, Alec, understand? Get the bitch cop Savage onside and we’re home and fucking dry.’

Hardin uttered the second ‘bloody’ in as many minutes and Rob Anshore, the PR guy, winced, stepped forward and concluded the press conference.

‘Thank you ladies and gentlemen. Releases are in a pile at the door, please see me if you need any additional information.’

Savage, Hardin and Garrett sat at a table in front of a blue curtain, the force’s shield and crest in the centre.

‘Walking a tightrope there, weren’t we?’ Hardin said as the media scrum headed for the exit. ‘But I thought we did rather well. Considering what the gutter rat scum were asking. What say you Rob?’

Anshore winced again and reached forward and switched the microphones off.

‘A little defensive on the question about Simza’s parents, sir. You do know the
Mirror
has signed them? The reporter was just trying to wind you up.’

‘Succeeded, the little shit,’ Hardin said. ‘To suggest we would have handled anything differently had Simza—’

‘Not the point, sir. Remember, the message is the thing.’ Anshore pointed to the shield and crest on the curtain. ‘
In Auxilium Omnium
.’

‘To the assistance of everybody,’ Hardin said. ‘Don’t we bloody know it, hey?’

‘It’s an operational thing, the more people are on our side, the more help we get. Media is a tool, not an end in itself.’

‘I realise that, but sometimes I wonder whose side these bloody journalists are on.’ Hardin huffed and reached up to loosen his tie. ‘Come on, Charlotte, let’s get out of here, take a walk. I want a word with you and I’m burning up under these lights.’

In the car park a BBC crew were loading their gear into a car, Dan Phillips present, chatting to the presenter. He raised a hand and waved at Savage and Hardin.

‘Nice show,’ he shouted across, grinning. ‘Entertaining. Especially the bit at the end.’

‘Bollocks to that,’ Hardin said. ‘Come on.’

Hardin led Savage out of the station and round to the left where a local road crossed on a flyover, the busy A386 beneath. Halfway across, he stopped and leaned on the railing. Six lanes of traffic rushed by below.

‘Can’t be too careful these days. No chance of being overheard here.’

‘What is this, sir?’ Savage said. ‘Tinker, tailor?’

‘Soldier, policeman. At least it looks that way, with Redmond dead. Unless his death really is unrelated to
Sternway
, we’ve got a leak. A mole. Clever too. Make the murder appear similar to that of the paedo and steer everybody in the wrong direction.’

‘You mean the Owers and Redmond killings are not related after all?’

‘Works for me. Redmond is already lined up for the off when Owers is butchered. Hearing the news gives Redmond’s killer an idea of how to throw us off the scent.’

‘But …’ Savage thought about the black and white markings, details of which had not been released. ‘You’re not suggesting … who on the
Sternway
team knew about Redmond?’

‘Myself, the Chief Constable, a facilitator at Exeter and Kemp. Plus DI Davies. Considering the risks, it was need-to-know only. Kemp didn’t even think Riley needed to know our source was to be Redmond, not at this stage.’

‘Davies?’ Savage said. ‘He didn’t appear to recognise Redmond at the scene.’

‘Part of the act,’ Hardin said. ‘He wouldn’t be aware that you knew. And you didn’t, did you? See what I mean?’

‘Yes.’ Savage understood what Hardin was getting at. If Davies knew about Redmond he wouldn’t want to reveal the fact to her. The DI was good at games and would have enjoyed pulling the wool over her eyes. ‘So why Davies?’

‘No reflection on you or Garrett. Quite the opposite in fact. Davies swims with the turds, his nose is down in the muck, always sniffing for information. By having him in on the secret we made sure Mr Kemp didn’t go too far wrong. Davies provided intel on Fallon’s network and filled us in on every other piece of human crap the guy associated with. We also needed someone outside of SOCIT. Just to be sure.’

‘And you think Davies can be trusted?’

‘I don’t know what to think, but if you have any evidence pointing to a different conclusion, you need to tell me. Now.’ Hardin stuck his tongue out over his bottom lip for a moment. ‘Well, do you, Charlotte?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Right then.’ Hardin turned and looked back at the traffic again. A squad car on blues and twos joined the main road and headed north, dodged several vehicles and disappeared over the crest of a hill. ‘Kemp says he is coming back down Monday, Tuesday at the latest. He’ll see if he can keep the deal spinning, but he told me that there’s one small piece of hope remaining. Goes by the name of Vanessa Liston.’

‘Who’s she, sir?’

‘Redmond’s flesh and blood. His daughter. She’s seventeen, lives with the mother we think. Redmond split from the mother a long while ago because she acquired a drug problem. Couldn’t make it up, could you?’

‘And you think she can help? The girl?’

‘Lately, Vanessa has been spending some quality time with her dad. Learning a few things off the old man. She’s been seen with him at Tamar Yachts and with Fallon and some of his cronies too.’

‘But she’s only seventeen.’

‘That’s a problem, you’re right. Legally she is sod all use to us. She’ll need all that “appropriate adult” bollocks. Doesn’t mean we can’t have a quiet word with her though.’

‘And say what?’

‘Remind the girl her daddy was going the right way about things in helping us. Tell her she should follow his example.’

‘You mean get her to become our snitch in Redmond’s place? I don’t like the idea, sir. I mean, what does she know? And there will be trouble down the line if anyone finds out. Speaking to us wouldn’t be in her best interest.’

‘We’re in trouble now, aren’t we?
Sternway
is going to go down the tubes unless we can re-establish some sort of connection. As to what information she has, Kemp reckons little Vanessa knows a lot. Apparently she’s been shagging someone connected with Fallon, if not Fallon himself. Seems Redmond wasn’t best pleased about that, part of the reason he wanted out. Look, I want you to talk to her. The interview can be under the auspices of the
Corulus
investigation so there will be no problem there. You can see if you can bring her around to the idea of helping us. I wouldn’t stand a chance with the girl and neither would Garrett or Davies, but you might. Softly softly mind you. We can’t risk anything getting back to Fallon. If it works we might still be able to get him. Once he’s in custody we can see about upping the charges to murder.’