Bad Blood (41 page)

‘Who told you that?’

‘Well, do you?’

‘Hang on a moment.’ Calter heard muffled words and then a bang like a door slamming. ‘Be my pleasure, sweetheart. Could be in Plymouth by one-ish.’

‘Not Plymouth. Wouldn’t want my boyfriend finding out. Can I come to you?’

‘Look love …’ Bryant paused, made a huffing sound and then a low whistle. ‘Yeah, I reckon you could. I’m in a hotel in Truro. They’ve got a nice little restaurant and who knows, maybe we can have a drink in my room afterwards.’

‘Sounds great. Text me the address on this number and I’ll see you in a couple of hours.’

Calter ended the call.

‘Brilliant,’ Savage said. ‘When the Chief Constable told me some of SCD were in the area I figured your DCI Bryant might well be along for the ride. Make sure you call me if you get anything. And be careful.’

‘I don’t even want to think about not being careful, ma’am.’

Bryant turned out not to be as bad-looking as Calter feared. Fifty-something, neat grey hair, reasonably trim and wearing an expensive suit, he’d be a catch. If you were fifty-something yourself.

He was sitting in a bay window in the hotel bar, briefcase open on the table, his head turning as she approached. A smile spread across his face as he looked her up and down. No shame when he stared down at her legs again and repeated the process.

‘You’re a bit of a looker, DC Calter.’ Bryant laughed. ‘If you don’t mind me saying. Ever considered undercover work?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ She sat down, crossing her legs. ‘But I am always open to offers. If that’s what that was.’

‘Of a type.’ Bryant winked, closed the briefcase and put it on the floor. ‘If you know what I mean.’

Bryant continued to flirt as they chose and ordered food; Bryant having a steak and chips, Calter plaice with new potatoes. The Met officer went for a pint and Calter followed suit, Bryant raising an eyebrow as if he’d never encountered a woman who drank anything but Babycham. Calter wondered which primeval swamp the DCI had crawled from.

Easy chit-chat followed, Calter letting Bryant take the lead but teasing him every now and then, making sure he knew she was a bit of a feisty character. The chase would excite him and he wouldn’t want her served on a plate. Not that he was going to get her.

After they’d finished the meal, Calter steered the conversation towards Ricky Budgeon. Was that why Bryant was down in Cornwall?

‘That would be telling,’ Bryant said, tapping the side of his nose. ‘Let’s just say you’ll be reading about it in the papers before long.’

‘You know where he is?’

‘Know where he’ll be going. Back inside, where he belongs.’

‘That means you must have some fresh evidence.’

‘We are awaiting developments, alright? What you don’t realise is that this thing is not just about Budgeon. There’s much more to it than that. Some very big fish. Now, why don’t we change the subject? I’ll cut you a deal. No more Budgeon talk if I promise to let you know the minute I’ve got anything. OK?’

‘Look,’ Calter reached across the table and touched Bryant’s hand. ‘You probably know we’ve got an officer missing.’

‘Careless.’

‘We think Budgeon’s got him. Budgeon’s down for three murders in Plymouth already and we—’

‘You’re worried about this officer?’

‘Yes.’

‘Understandable, but it’s under control, so relax. Budgeon is not getting away this time and I promised to tell you didn’t I? Soon as.’

‘Sure, Tom. Thanks.’ Calter smiled, half-pouted, trying hard not to overdo it. ‘That would be good of you.’

‘Right, I need a slash. Another drink? Only I’ll go to the bar on my way back.’

Calter said she’d love another and then watched Bryant weave his way through the dining room to the toilets.

Shit. Bryant wasn’t giving much away. He’d want to get inside her knickers before he gave her anything. And that was definitely not going to happen.

She stretched out her legs, realising all her silly posing had given her cramp, and in doing so kicked something under the table. She looked down. Bryant’s case. Brown, smart, executive. The kind which usually had ‘tosser’ engraved on the nameplate. She bit her lip, turned around. A group of five businessmen stood at the bar. No sign of Bryant.

She reached down and tried one of the latches. It flicked up. Click. The other flicked up too. She laid the case flat and opened the lid. The thing was crammed with documents, dozens of them. Bedtime reading for a cop who couldn’t get his hands on anything more interesting.

Fuck it! She could hardly start to sort through them now. For a second she thought of taking the case and doing a runner, but that would be curtains for her career. Then she saw the
A–Z of Cornwall
, a Post-it sticking out a few pages in. She opened the
A–Z
at the note and saw some pencil lines, an arrow and a circle. The Post-it had an address on it.

She glanced up. Bryant was at the bar, paying for the drinks. A couple of pints and a chaser, Bryant struggling to pick up and hold the three glasses.

Calter peeled the Post-it away from the map, closed the lid of the case and flicked the catches down. One catch wouldn’t stay shut. She pushed it down again. Click. Yes!

‘Alright?’ Bryant put the drinks down on the table, head cocked.

Calter slid the Post-it into her shoe and then ran her hand up her leg as she straightened. She let her fingers spread out as they reached her thigh and touched the hem of her skirt, moving it a little higher.

‘Fine. Just a bit of an ache. Need a massage.’

‘Lovely.’ Bryant grinned and leered down at Calter’s legs. ‘Got a meet later, but I reckon I could spare an hour right now if you are up for it. Big comfy bed in my room.’

‘Yes, OK.’ Calter said, watching Bryant’s mouth drop open. ‘Finish your drink while I go and freshen up.’

Bryant started to say something, asking if she was serious, but Calter was already away and moving across the room. She walked straight past the toilets and through the hotel lobby, stopping for a moment at the entrance to wait for the young man who had been sitting alone at the bar.

Bloody hell,’ DC Denton said as he caught up with Calter. ‘What the hell were you doing with his case? Talk about a close-run thing.’

‘Tell me about it.’ She smiled at Denton, feeling a surge of adrenaline rising within her. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

Riley awoke with a fresh set of bruises, not remembering much more than Ricky Budgeon glaring out of the Porsche. Seconds later Chaffe and the Colombian had turned up with the dogs and given him a good hiding, and the memories of what had happened afterwards had gone.

Kemp.

Riley remembered him at least. The man passing over the photo of his daughter, next the screams, finally the gunshot. They’d executed Kemp in cold blood and it didn’t take much working out who was going to be next.

Riley pushed himself up from the straw into a sitting position and rubbed himself. Chaffe had landed a couple of blows on the already fractured shoulder and Riley had slipped into unconsciousness as the pale face had grinned down at him, Budgeon’s words of ‘easy, Stuey, easy’ the last thing he’d heard before the black closed in.

‘Sweet dreams, Darius?’ The same voice now, gruff and low.

Riley swivelled round towards the sound, flinching in pain as he did so. Budgeon sat in one corner of the stable atop an upturned beer crate, his shotgun cradled in his lap.

‘You know, Riley,’ Budgeon said, ‘I’d call you a thick black cunt except as you’ll be aware some of my associates are black and I quite like cunt. Just thick will have to do.’

‘Ricky.’

‘Yeah, Ricky. Now I wish I could say I’ve been having sweet dreams too.’ Budgeon stood and pointed the gun at Riley. ‘But ever since that fuck-me-around up in London I’ve had a bit of a headache. Tends to keep me awake at night, thinking on things. Like, how I could be so stupid as to get shafted by somebody I thought was a mate.’

‘It’s just a job,’ Riley said. ‘You’re a crook and I am a cop. Nothing personal.’

‘Nothing personal? So what do you call screwing Ana Maria Lozada behind my back? My girl.’

‘I was trying to get information, Ricky. That’s what UC officers do, isn’t it?’

‘Tell me, Darius, do undercover cops usually carry condoms as part of their kit?’

‘Hey?’ Riley blinked, swallowed and shook his head, not understanding what Budgeon was on about. The gun twitched in Budgeon’s hand, a tremble visible on the trigger finger. ‘Sorry, I don’t—’

‘You fucking joker. The kid. He’s not mine, is he? He’s bloody well yours!’

‘What?’ Riley took a sharp intake of breath as he saw Budgeon’s whole frame shake. ‘You’re crazy.’

‘He’s too dark. Even with a South American as his mother he shouldn’t look like that. Coal-black, plain chocolate, not like his mum at all. I didn’t want to believe it, but it all makes sense. You’re pumping her every bloody chance you get, not surprising she gets pregnant, is it?’

‘No, Ricky, you’re mistaken. The timing’s all wrong. He can’t be mine.’

‘Timing? Stuff the timing. You fucked my woman and she’s had your kid. You say it’s nothing personal? I’d call that personal. If it hadn’t been for her I might have let things lie. But disrespect like that?
¿El ladron que roba a otro ladron tiene cien años de perdon?
No, not for you. In my book you broke the rules. I spent a dozen years inside thanks to Fallon. Then I get out and work hard up in London. Do some deals, make a little money. I begin to think about making my comeback down here, put all the plans in place and everything, and you come along. Of course, I think you are kosher at the time because you’re in with us doing lines, shifting the gear and sniffing pussy. In the end
my
pussy. I didn’t realise you were Brad fucking Pitt blacked up until way too late and you are ramming your bloody Oscar up my arse. All the time on remand I’m thinking how I’m going to find you. Until I spot your face in the paper. The nice cop helping out with a group of kids. I didn’t even need to go looking for you, did I?’

‘We’re on to you, Ricky. It’s a set-up.’

‘Rubbish.’ Budgeon shook his head. ‘You’re so far behind the times I’m surprised you haven’t got a history degree. Your lot don’t have a clue.’

‘We’ve got all the intel. There’s a whole operation dealing with you and your kind. We’re about to close the entire Plymouth drug supply network down for good.’

‘
Sternway
?’ Budgeon laughed. ‘Do me a fucking favour! Redmond told me nearly everything, Kemp the remainder, so the only place
Sternway
is going is backwards. Fast. Backwards, geddit?’

‘You won’t get away with this. Get out while you can.’

‘Thanks for the advice, mate.’ Budgeon stood up and moved to the door. ‘I’m bricking myself, can’t you tell? Now I’ll give you some advice in return. If you let people get away with pulling stunts like the one you pulled up in London you’ll be taken for a fool every time you step out your front door. You have to make them pay, leave a message, something people will remember for a long time. A very long time.’

Budgeon rapped on the door with the butt of his gun. The door opened and Budgeon stepped through.

‘Just so you know,’ Budgeon paused and looked back, the thin man and the Colombian appearing behind him. ‘It’s nothing personal, hey? Now, Stuey’s got some more questions for you.’

Saltash, Plymouth. Sunday 27th January. 4.13 p.m.

Davies struck up a match and it flared in the fast descending gloom. The light cast dancing shadows around the car’s interior before he put the flame to the tip of a cigarette, inhaled, and then flicked the match through the gap at the top of the window.

‘That’s against regulations,’ Savage said. ‘I’ll have to sue you for forcing me to breath your second-hand smoke.’

‘The price of fags these days, you’re lucky I don’t bill you for your share.’

The cigarette was Davies’ third in the last hour and Savage had noticed he had a couple of packs of twenty stuffed in the glove compartment. She had a bottle of coke, a jumbo bag of nachos and three Snickers. In the health department she didn’t know which were worse.

They were parked a way farther on from the entrance to Fallon’s place, pulled into a gateway where a break in the hedgerow gave them a view down to the house

‘Bloody hell. How much longer?’ Davies said.

‘Patience. You told him, he’ll either phone me or more likely move without us.’

‘I don’t know. Fallon’s losing it. Not sure if he has the bottle any more.’

‘Well, you know him better than I do.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Come on, you’re on Fallon’s payroll. You have been for years. You must know him as well as anyone.’

‘You wouldn’t understand, it’s not as simple as it seems, never has been.’

‘Yeah, right!’ Savage shook her head and then reached for the bag of nachos. She ripped them open and took a couple. ‘Anyway, ignoring all that, let’s hope Fallon
has
got the bottle. Else we’re stuffed.’

‘I sent a message to Fallon, told him about your thoughts re: Towner’s satnav and that she knows where Budgeon is. I don’t see how it helps, there’s not much he can do to her.’

‘Not to her. She’s not going to give anything away,’ Savage replied. ‘But I think she stashed the satnav somewhere for safe keeping. The search teams came up empty on her property, on Dowdney’s too. Her children denied all knowledge when questioned, but that was a given. What Fallon can do is find the satnav. If the children have it, he’ll get it. Remember, Towner’s offspring have kids themselves. Fallon sends his thugs round and they say “give us the satnav or else …”’

‘Bloody hell, I thought you had children? You really are an uncaring b—’

‘Fallon doesn’t do that type of violence. He’s old-school, like you. He’ll use threats, but they’ll be enough.’

‘I hope you are right, because I
am
old-school. I’d hate to think any kiddies might get hurt. Or women for that matter.’

Savage smiled and offered the bag of nachos to Davies. ‘You weren’t thinking that earlier.’