Bad Blood (32 page)

‘And if I told you he might be back in the UK, down here in the West Country?’

‘How did you …?’ Bryant paused, Calter sensing she had wrong-footed him. The moment passed, and any hint that the DCI had been flustered vanished as his voice came back on the line. ‘I’d not be surprised. The intelligence unit informed me that he took some trips across from Spain to Devon a while before we arrested him. Flew into Exeter, according to the immigration data. Didn’t seem to relate to our case so I didn’t waste resources on investigating further.’

‘Nobody thought fit to tell us though?’

‘We like to keep things tight up here, love. Intel is best shared on a need-to-know basis. You country bumpkins don’t … I mean didn’t need to know. However, if he’s turned up on your patch I’d be interested in keeping tabs. Anything comes up then keep me informed. Perhaps I might even need to take a trip down your way. If I do, I’ll buy you a drink, take you out for dinner. Old copper like me, I’d love to teach a young lass like you a few tricks. Get my drift?’

Calter bit her tongue and said she’d be delighted and then asked Bryant if he would send her some more info on the case and on Budgeon too. She’d be very grateful.

Bryant took the bait and said he would, telling Calter not to forget about their date as he hung up. True to his word, twenty minutes later an email pinged in along with several documents attached and links to dozens more.

Calter went to get herself a cup of tea and then began to digest the information. The documents went into more depth about the recent case, but didn’t offer much new. Calter was not happy to discover that in several places they’d been redacted, rows of Xs filling line after line. The missing information obviously referred to the undercover parts of the operation which the Met had decided should not be released beyond SCD7.

Next she went through the links Bryant had sent. Most were to public documents, but several were to items on internal networks and she found she didn’t have the authorisation to access them. So much for Bryant’s help.

The final document Bryant had included was a copy of an email from the Commissioner of the Met to members of the SCD7 team who had been involved in the Colombians/Budgeon operation. Calter couldn’t understand why Bryant had included it until she saw his name mentioned a couple of times. The head of the Met was gushing in his praise for the DCI, saying he was directly responsible for the success of the operation. Crafty bugger, Calter thought. He wanted to show her how good he was, that he was the star of the show, as if it might help him get into her knickers.

Loser.

She was about to close the document when she spotted something near the end. Commiserations about missing out on sending Budgeon down, the Commissioner was saying, but we’ll get him and the South Americans next time. Rumour suggested Budgeon was planning something out west, down in the slimepit he had crawled out of. An ongoing operation to be run by SCD, with the agreement of Devon and Cornwall Police, would ensure that when he did so he and the Colombians would get their comeuppance. Once arrested, the Met would get first dibs. And this time they’d make it stick.

Huh? Calter thought. What was that about? What ongoing operation? If there was one it was nothing she knew about. She wrinkled her nose, thinking there was something odd, something not quite right. She’d have to get back in touch with Bryant and ask him about it, if he’d tell her. A little niggle in her head told her she had missed something else too, an obvious clue. Didn’t Bryant say Budgeon had turned up in London after a long stretch inside up north? She stood up and went over to one of the whiteboards. On one side there was a timeline showing what Franklin Owers had been up to. It spanned twenty-five years, detailing jobs he’d held and places he’d lived. There was a big gap a few years back where Owers had been in prison, the name of the establishment being HMP Full Sutton.

She returned to her computer and spent five minutes putting Budgeon’s name into a couple of searches before she found what she was looking for.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ Calter clapped her hands in front of her. ‘This is it! Yes!’

‘Result by any chance, Jane?’ Denton said from the next desk, tone flat, eyes fixed on his own screen.

‘Full Sutton. Ricky Budgeon was at Full Sutton prison. Same time as Owers.’ Calter grinned. ‘How does Chief Constable Jane Calter sound to you, Carl?’

‘Scary,’ Denton said, shaking his head. ‘Very scary.’

When Savage returned to the station she found Calter and Denton on cloud nine. It was all she could do to bring them down to earth. Calter had printed off a picture of Budgeon and the three of them stared at it as Calter went through the information she had found on the PNC and explained about the connection with Owers.

‘So Owers may well have met Budgeon in prison,’ Savage said. ‘Then Owers comes back here and returns to work for Fallon.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Calter said. ‘It isn’t too far-fetched to think he was told to do so by Budgeon in order to glean information about Fallon’s affairs.’

‘Maybe told at first, then later blackmailed.’

‘Ma’am?’

‘Simza Ellis. John Layton says the forensics point to her being in Stuart Chaffe’s van. Chaffe and Budgeon were mates years ago before they were busted and we know the man who instructed Peter Serling, the builder, to dig up the patio at Owers’ old residence was short and stocky with little or no hair and Serling’s e-fit is a ringer for Budgeon. He somehow knew the girl was buried there and he used that knowledge to blackmail Owers into cooperating. From Owers, Budgeon gained all the details he needed about Fallon’s business and the amount of money washing through Tamar. When he was done with Owers he killed him to tidy things up. To scare Fallon too probably.’

‘So Chaffe and Budgeon had something to do with Simza’s disappearance?’

‘Maybe. Maybe they simply lent Owers the van. As to the stuff up in London …’

‘It all makes sense, ma’am. Sounds as if Budgeon was into some major deals up there. Perhaps he got wind of Fallon and what was going on in Devon. He renewed his contact with Owers and learnt of the delivery Fallon had planned, decided he wanted to grab it for himself. DCI Bryant told me Budgeon had moved permanently to Spain, but I think SCD know more than they’re telling. I wouldn’t mind betting they have a pretty good idea where Budgeon is and it’s not lying on a sunlounger on the Costa del Crime.’

‘So have you checked the Spanish angle?’

‘I managed to speak to an officer in Malaga, but his English was crap and my Spanish worse. As far as I can gather Budgeon owned a little holiday villa complex in Torremolinos. It was sold for way below market value around the time Budgeon was arrested up in London. It sounds to me as if he did that to avoid sequestration of his assets. The officer said Budgeon used to live between Torremolinos and London, flitting in and out. The police over there were well aware of him and kept an eye on his movements and those of his wife.’

‘
Wife
?’

‘South American. The woman who was to give evidence at the trial I reckon. Anyway, Budgeon no longer owns anything out in Spain and according to the Border Agency’s records he’s in the UK. Bryant was pulling a fast one when he told me Budgeon was abroad. He’s here, and Bryant knows it.’

‘Good work, Jane,’ Savage said. ‘Now we just have to decide how to use the information and how to persuade SCD to help us.’

Calter started to protest. There weren’t any decisions to make. They needed to go to Hardin with what they had and he could then press SCD, maybe involving the Chief Constable too. SCD couldn’t plead ignorance then, could they? There was also the supposed ongoing operation with Devon and Cornwall Police.

‘Last time I looked, ma’am,’ Calter said, ‘we
were
Devon and Cornwall Police, so we need to ask DSupt Hardin what the fuck is going on?’

Savage held up her hand. Calter’s overriding virtue was also her main vice: she said it as it was. Right now Savage needed a little subtlety, if only because it was the only approach which might save her skin. She began to explain that a cautious approach would be best, only to be interrupted by the trilling of her mobile.

‘Charlotte? I’ve got a job for you.’ The tone was gruff and low, barely audible against the noise in the incident room, but Savage recognised the voice at once.

Fallon.

She stepped away from Calter and Denton and pushed through the double doors into the corridor.

‘Jesus! Are you crazy?’

‘Many people have said so, Charlotte. But Uncle Kenny always has the last laugh. It’s the other folks who end up raving and chewing on chair legs, not me.’

‘Calling me when I’m at the station, it—’

‘I’m a concerned citizen, simply alerting you to the possibility that there might be a drugs shipment coming in tomorrow night. I want you to prepare for a surveillance operation. You’ll need your marine boys on standby as well. You’ll get a text message with the location tomorrow.’

‘If you think I’m going to be your puppet you’re mistaken.’

‘Blackmail may be Alec Jackman’s way, but it’s a last resort for me, Charlotte. I find people respond better with some sort of inducement.’

‘You can forget it. I’m not taking your money and—’

‘Who said anything about money? I hear on the grapevine that you have an officer missing. If you show willing I’ll see what I can do my end.’

‘I still can’t—’

‘Yes you can. Remember the video. Goodbye.’

The line went dead as Calter came out of the Crime Suite.

‘Bad news, ma’am?’ Calter said. ‘Your face sort of gives it away.’

‘Personal, Jane,’ Savage said, trying to compose herself. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Sure? I mean if I can help in any way …’

Savage moved to re-enter the incident room, but paused at the entrance. For a second she considered unburdening herself of everything. It would be a relief to confide in someone about Harrison and the way she had left him to die, about Jackman and the video, about the way she was becoming embroiled with Fallon. The young detective flicked her fringe with one hand and smiled across the corridor. Savage knew she was genuine, that she would listen, maybe even break the rules to help.

‘Thanks for the offer.’ Savage held the door open for Calter. ‘But I’ll be OK.’

Nr Bovisand, Plymouth. Friday 25th January. 4.35 a.m.

Savage was floating in a warm blue sea next to an ice-white beach fringed with palms somewhere in the Pacific. A small yacht lay anchored in the lagoon. Somehow, impossibly, she had managed to sail from Plymouth to Micronesia non-stop and now was enjoying the feeling of freedom from all responsibility which came from being thousands of miles from anywhere. Then the phone rang and Pete was moaning about the time and she was trying to find the handset as Enders’ voice crackled down the line.

‘Bloody hell, Patrick. Couldn’t it wait?’

‘Tamar Yachts is on fire.’

‘Shit!’ Tamar Yachts. Gavin Redmond’s business. ‘Where are you?’

‘Er, outside your place, ma’am. Hardin told me to come over and get you.’

‘Why didn’t you ring to warn me?’ Savage groaned and began to clamber from the bed. ‘Sit tight, I’ll be out in a few minutes.’

A few minutes didn’t give much time to do anything much except get dressed, brush her teeth to wake herself up, and grab a banana from the fruit bowl in the kitchen. As she opened the door to Enders’ car he eyed the banana.

‘Oh, bloody hell, have the thing then.’ She got in and handed him the piece of fruit. ‘You look like a moping dog and you know I don’t like dogs at the best of times.’

‘Thanks, ma’am.’ Enders peeled the banana and stuffed it in his mouth, handing Savage back the skin when he had finished. ‘Lovely! These little Caribbean bananas are so much nicer than the bland South American ones. You know I always make a point of buying—’

‘Well? I hope you didn’t wake me up so we can sit in the car and discuss the merits of banana growing regimes. Get a bloody move on!’

Enders started the car and drove off, navigating the little roads through the countryside back to Plymouth. At a little after five a.m. the streets were deserted and Enders ran red light after red light without encountering anything. Soon they were through the centre of town and arriving at the Stonehouse Bridge Roundabout, with Princess Yachts’ main office on their left. They drove on to the bridge and into a chaotic scene lit by the blue strobing lights of fire appliances, police cars and ambulances and the inferno of the Tamar Yachts’ building. From their vantage point on the bridge they could see million pound motor yachts floating free in Stonehouse Pool, the shiny white hulls reflecting the orange glow from the fire. Several ribs were darting in and out amongst the yachts, trying to attach lines, while further out the fireboat nosed past several loose day boats and came into the bottom reaches of the pool, giving a blast of a siren for good measure. Over on the Princess Yachts side things seemed more organised and boats were being moved down river under their own power by staff.

Richmond Walk, the road where Tamar Yachts was, had been cordoned off, so Enders pulled the car onto the pavement on the bridge and they got out and walked. She asked an officer on the perimeter as to the whereabouts of Hardin and he pointed down to a fire engine. Hardin stood alongside DI Davies, the two of them deep in conversation with a fire officer. Every now and then Hardin turned to glance at the scene of devastation behind him and shook his head.

Davies, Savage thought, what sort of stake did he have in all of this? If he was still deep in with Fallon then he’d be doing his own brand of firefighting. He’d be trying to cover up anything which might lead the
Sternway
team in Fallon’s direction. And he’d probably know about the video too.

Savage and Enders went across. An intense heat from the burning buildings warmed Savage’s face as they approached Hardin, his own face incandescent; whether from heat radiation or anger, Savage didn’t know. An inner cordon had been set up and no one but fire officers were being let through. Presumably that was what Hardin was arguing about. The cordon appeared to be a sensible move on the part of the fire brigade since huge flames were licking their way out of the roof of the building and every minute or so a popping noise echoed out as some canister or other exploded inside.