KILL ME IF YOU CAN (Dave Cunane Book 8) (27 page)

‘How did you find me?’ I demanded. ‘Where did you leave your car? Are the rest of your merry men on their way?’

‘Questions, questions, let me get my breath.’

‘I need to know.’

‘Hold on. Don’t go into full Cunane panic mode. You’re safe. I took precautions. Invite me in for a cup of coffee.’

He tried to smile but the expression on his whiskery face came out more like a scowl. It must have been a nasty moment when the stone was raised over his head.

I let myself into the kitchen and he followed me. There were signs that Clint had made his own breakfast, a large box of cereal was open on the table, six-pint milk bottle left out. Of the other two there was no trace, not even the characteristic stink of marijuana. I was grateful for that. There were some things I didn’t want to discuss with Bren.

I filled the kettle and set out two coffee cups without saying a word. There was only instant available which was good enough for me and good enough for my visitor. The kettle boiled and I filled the cups.

‘Milk, sugar?’ I asked coldly, I knew well enough what he normally took in coffee.

‘Haven’t you got something stronger to put in it?’ he replied. ‘It isn’t every day I start work by having my head nearly smashed to pieces by a friend.’

Bob’s Glenfiddich was on the side. I could have gone upstairs for the Bell’s whisky I’d anaesthetised myself with last night but I didn’t feel like giving Bren the run of the house.

I poured a stiff slug into both our cups.

‘Malt whisky in coffee, purists would take that as an insult to good whisky, Dave,’ he said picking his mug and taking an appreciative sip.

‘Shall I go and get that rock and bash your head in again?’ I asked. ‘A) How the hell did you find me and B) can I expect a visit from your esteemed colleagues?’

‘The answer to A) is that it was child’s play to someone who knows you as well as I do and to B) is, no, you can’t.’

‘Explain.’

‘A call to Bob Lane’s club told me he’d suddenly gone on holiday with the titillating Ms Tammy Marsden … and how long do you think that’s going to last by the way?’

‘It’ll last a long time if Tammy’s anything to do with it but I’m not sure she’ll ever persuade Bob to dump Clint and if she pushes him to choose between them he might just give her her cards.’

‘Right, anyway, that’s how I found you.’

‘The club gave you this address?’ I said incredulously.

‘No, like I said, I know Bob wouldn’t have suddenly gone off without making arrangements for Clint and who would he make the arrangements with … ’

‘Even so … ’

‘Listen, Dave, there are people down at HQ who think you’re the most heartless crim in Manchester but your few friends like me know what a sentimental jerk you really are. I guessed that if Clint was still around he’d be with you. A call to that farm he works at gave me this number. I got the address from that.’

‘I suppose it’s all round HQ now?’

‘Of course not, what do you take me for?’

‘A senior officer in the counter-terrorist squad.’

‘I am and that’s partly why I’m here. The other reason is the shoot-out at your father’s place. I had to know that you’re all right.’

‘I am.’

‘Clint?’

‘He wasn’t there.’

His eyes widened in surprise.

‘So who do you have helping you? The dogs tracked at least two men across that golf course. I was sure it was you and Clint and that you were looking for another safe house.’

‘Oh, I’d run to Daddy’s house to hide from the bad men?’

‘So what were you doing there, Dave?’

I looked at him in frustration.

He’d trapped me into saying more than I wanted to.

I explained about Paddy’s message.

‘That was a pretty wild stunt even for you, stampeding a herd of cattle, but then you always were a cowboy.’

‘Thanks Bren. I discovered the word MOLOCH and a fat lot of good it’s done me. I’m sure you’ve already heard all about it.’

His genial expression disappeared. He took a deep gulp of his coffee.

‘The old judge’s dying clue, eh? I wondered if it was something like that. I saw Paddy getting a good eyeful. I can tell you that that little word has got everybody in a major panic. COBRA’s in almost permanent session.’

‘Cobra?’

‘The Cabinet crisis committee, though they’re about as much use as a chocolate fire-guard. This is being dealt with at the highest levels, 10 Downing Street, Brussels and Washington.’

‘So?’ I muttered, refusing to be impressed. ‘What do you think the word means?’

‘Moloch was a Middle Eastern pagan idol …’

‘Yeah, yeah I know all that. Been there, got the T-shirt.’

‘Smart arse! Best opinion is that this gang of fanatics is on the verge of an atrocity involving children. Does the word mean anything special to you? Did Sir Lewis ever talk about it? I believe he was very religious, the house is like a shrine, maybe he thought you’d understand the reference.’

‘Oh yeah, my head’s never out of a Bible. I’ve no more idea than you. The only thing that came to me was that he was trying to write the name Molly Claverhouse and that’s what came out, MOLOCH, I mean.’

‘Oh, that’s good Dave. I’m really glad I came round to you. I thought you might be a wildcard on this job, come up with something original, but that really is off the wall.’

‘Why? M-O-L and a few squiggles … ’

‘It wasn’t like that Dave. I saw it myself. It was MOLOC written in capitals and as plain as the nose on your face.’

‘Oh.’

‘Talking of Molly Claverhouse, she wants to see you.’

‘No way.’

‘Why not? She seems like a perfectly sensible woman. She’s a hell of a lot easier to work with than most of her colleagues.’

‘She almost got me killed with that so-called security van.’

‘That wasn’t her fault. Appleyard insisted on it.’

‘Oh, did he?’

‘Don’t start that Dave. I can see the glint in your eye. Appleyard’s as much in the dark about this Moloch business as the rest of us.’

‘Well, he would want you to think that if he’s behind it, wouldn’t he?’

‘Listen, Dave when things go wrong the first thing these security boys do is check out their own. They’ve put Appleyard through the wringer and he can account for every second of his time for the last few weeks. He’s not your uncle’s villain.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so, so don’t go barking up the wrong tree like you usually do. If anyone’s under suspicion, Claverhouse is the one. She’s been getting some very funny looks. Maybe that’s why she wants to see you.’

‘That’s so typical of you people. She nearly gets killed in three different ways and she comes under suspicion but not her boss who organised the security van.’

‘Nobody organised it, Dave. Use of the van is standard procedure.’

‘OK, standard procedure, so what about the three guys you boys in blue picked up at Sheepfold Lane. Have any of them spilled the beans?’

‘Dave, they were released in the early hours of this morning. They were with the Ministry of Defence security section, a special group recruited mainly from redundant ex-army types to supplement the security service in certain areas.’

‘What, guarding barracks and things?’

‘No there are certain confidential activities …’

‘Like transporting terror suspects overseas for enhanced interrogation?’

‘… certain activities in which it is essential that ministers can honestly deny that MI5 or the SIS has involvement, and Dave, I’m breaking the Official Secrets Act by telling you so much. I’m doing it for Jan’s sake so you won’t try to go up against these people.’

‘But why were they released?’

‘Because they were government employees trying to apprehend a terror suspect who escaped when uniforms turned up. Total embarrassment all round. We apologised to them. Don’t ask me why. It’s above my pay grade as the Yanks say.’

‘Right.’

‘Now, can I use your loo?’

Before I could speak he was out of his chair, through the door and up the stairs. I heard doors being opened while he checked out the rooms. I was glad that I’d concealed Bob’s shooters. Bren will go so far with you but then he turns as awkward as hell. As with most coppers, civilians with guns are the sticking point with him.

‘I see the big guy’s here,’ he said when he came back, ‘but who are those two little creeps sleeping on the sofas?’

‘Friends of Clint’s,’ I improvised. ‘They came to see him last night.’

‘Well, watch yourself, Dave. I’m counting on you to be my wildcard in this game.’

I went to the back door as he left.

The rain had stopped and a pale sun was gleaming through the rain soaked trees.

So Bren had called to make sure that Paddy hadn’t left a more serious clue than the word Moloch and I was warned off from further investigation.

But he didn’t say anything about finding Fothergill, did he? That was what I intended to next anyway.

29

Thursday: morning and afternoon

Even before Bren reached the end of the garden path I felt my spirits lifting. The sun shone in through the kitchen windows and I felt my appetite returning. Maybe there was light at the end of this particularly murky tunnel. At least I wasn’t on my own. If I couldn’t find a solution surely all those brain-boxes on the COBRA committee could. Possibly my mood was lightened by Bren’s assurance that I was safe in Ridley Close, not that I intended to stay.

Clint emerged from his room. He was dressed in his farm overalls.

His expression showed that he wasn’t pleased with the world.

‘You didn’t take me with you last night,’ he accused.

‘That’s right, Clint. I didn’t think you’d want to come.’

‘I thought you were my friend, Dave.’

‘I am but being friends doesn’t mean you have to go everywhere with me.’

‘It does if you’re in danger and I heard No-Nose telling Lee that he didn’t think he was going to make it until you popped up over the wall and started blazing away like James Bond on speed.’

‘Clint, I’ve known you a lot longer than I’ve known Tony and Lee and believe me, you are my closest and dearest friend.’

The sulky expression relaxed a little but didn’t entirely leave the big man’s gaunt face.

‘Can we go back to the Pimpernel office? I liked it there.’

‘No, it’s not safe.’

‘Is it those bastards who want to get you? I could help. I’m not frightened of them.’

‘Clint, you were wonderful at dealing with them but …’

‘But I’m too stupid to help.’

‘I didn’t say that. Things are a bit different now, that’s all.’

There was a long silence before he spoke again.

I busied myself by sorting through Bob’s mail. I went into the kitchen and Clint followed me.

‘I need to go to work, Dave,’ he announced.

‘Really?’

‘Yes,
really
, Dave,’ he insisted. ‘If you don’t need me I’m better off at work.’

‘You poor old thing,’ I said.

‘No, I’m not poor. I’ve got money,’ he said, taking me literally.

‘No, I meant that you have to go to work. We can’t have you being bored.’

He was on his way in twenty minutes, promising to return about seven, having been fed by the farm. He insisted on giving me the number of his mobile so I wrote it down on a slip of paper and put it in my pocket.

Loyalty to Jan made me feel too guilty for another robust fry-up. Actually I’d used up all the sausage and bacon yesterday. I reached for the muesli. After swallowing as much of the high fibre pap as I could stomach I advanced on the kitchen sink. There were any number of pans and utensils with ingrained grease from yesterday’s cholesterol extravaganza. I set to work, whistling to myself. Why I find happiness and mental repose while scraping the embedded remains of a fry up off a metal grill I don’t know but I do.

I thought about Molly Claverhouse. What could she want? I thought long and hard and decided that if I never saw her again it would be too soon. I wasn’t going to get in touch with her. At the back of my mind there was a hope that if I kept my head down the powerful forces in combat would neutralise each other and then Dave Cunane could emerge into the sunlight again like an early mammalian ancestor peeping out after a battle between dinosaurs.

And what was the battle about?

My conclusion was that someone close to the centre of power was scheming to seize power on the back of a fake terrorist atrocity going by the name of MOLOCH. Others were trying to prevent this by minimising the talk of ‘Islamic terrorism’.

If only I knew that wire puller’s name.

If only I’d let Lew tell me.

If only … I could be out there now stalking the bastard.

Three quarters of an hour later Tony ambled in when I was stepping back to admire the glittering array of utensils. He was rubbing sleep out of his eyes but he didn’t look as if he’d banged himself up with cannabis. There was a hint of purpose in his pale blue eyes that suggested the reconditioned brain was firing on all cylinders.

‘Morning, Boss,’ he muttered.

‘Dave,’ I corrected.

‘Actually, Dave, I’m more comfortable with Boss,’ he said sharply. ‘All this “call me Dave” stuff is great if it was just you and me, but it gives Lee the wrong idea. He thinks you’re a mate that I’m just tagging along with because I’ve nothing better to do.’

‘Right, Mr Nolan. Am I allowed to call you Tony?’

‘Oh, don’t take it wrong. I’m just being practical. I want Lee to know he’s working for you, that’s all.’

He was talking sense but after Clint’s little tantrum here was another rebellion. I had to have some come back.

‘So, being practical, do you both want contracts of employment? There are some in my desk at the Pimpernel office. Bring a couple back.’

He shuddered at this idea.

‘No, we’re sound as it is, Boss. I can’t be messing with all that kind of shit, tax codes and stuff.’

‘Especially as you’re drawing benefit while I’m paying you cash,’ I added, for the sake of argument.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ he snapped angrily, his face colouring ‘I didn’t ask them to give me the money. Shoving it at me they were, job seeker’s allowance and this and that. One of these wringing wet social workers wanted to put me on a disability allowance because of the meningitis and the so
-called brain damage. Hah! It’s the brain damage that’s given me another chance in life.’

‘OK, Tony,’ I said putting my hands up in surrender, ‘let’s not get political.’

He sounded bitter and he continued grumbling and complaining as if he was addressing a public meeting of the self employed, which in a way I suppose he was.

Anyway, I ignored him and put the kettle on to boil and made us both a cup of tea. He was quoting Friedrich Hayek when I pushed the cup into his hand.

‘Who’s this Hayek then?’ I asked. ‘Does he play for Manchester City?’

‘He was an Austrian economist, as if you don’t know, Boss. He warned of the dangers of the welfare state when it was being set up.’

I smiled benignly.

Tony’s transformation into an all-knowing fount of knowledge was surprising but his ‘devil take the hindmost’ attitude was one I’d come across before in professional criminals. Bob Lane has a touch of it, moderated only by the care he shows for Clint.

‘OK, Tony, I give in. You keep whatever’s coming to you but don’t forget that the main business at Pimpernel Investigations these days is uncovering benefit fraud.’

‘As if I’d sit in the office casually chin-wagging with ex-cops about how I make my bread.’

‘Speaking of the office, if you get yourself to Altrincham in the next ten minutes you can take a taxi and still open Pimpernel by nine a.m.’

‘Slave driver!’

‘That’s when we open for business, nine a.m. on the dot, and I want that name from Greg Loveland. There’s enough cash in the safe to give him a bung but don’t go crazy.’

‘Oh yeah, we’re still on that stuff aren’t we?’

‘Since my Dad’s clue turned out to be totally useless finding the notebook that Fothergill stole is my only way out of this mess.’

‘I’m with you but do you want to know something, Dave? I’m not all that sure I want to be out of this mess. I like working at Pimpernel, the suit, the phone calls, the computer and everything. It’s the best job I’ve ever had and I think I could really maximise your turnover.’

‘Tony, Pimpernel Investigations having a healthy balance sheet isn’t going to do me a scrap of good if someone puts a bullet in my head, is it?’

He looked glum, so I sweetened the pill for him.

‘If we find Fothergill and sort out who killed Sir Lew I might need a permanent manager at Pimpernel. I’ll have Sir Lew’s estate to deal with.’

‘I’m on my way,’ he said, gulping down his tea.

I’d never seen him move so fast. Talk about incentivised! He was off down the Close in a moment, well turned out in his new suit with his hair gelled and neatly parted.

‘Finding Fothergill’
, it sounded like the title of a film starring Michael Caine.

I had difficulty rousing Lee before nine o’clock. The air turned blue with curses but eventually he emerged into daylight. I quickly looked away when he came into the kitchen and I saw the words, ‘What the f**k are you looking at?’ forming on his thin lips.

Thwarted, he confined himself to a grunt.

Lacking confrontation, the provocative little hooligan subsided onto a chair and allowed himself to be offered toast and coffee and to be briefed on what he was required to do. He was to continue canvassing the ‘mugging community’ with the photograph of the genuine April Fothergill.

When he left I listened to local radio news for reports of cattle rustling. There wasn’t even a whisper about Sheepfold Lane but on TV there were several items of interest on BBC 24 hour news. The Government had raised the terrorist threat level to ‘severe’ indicating that the Joint Terrorist Analysis Centre within MI5 felt that a terrorist attack on the UK was highly likely. Announcing it, the Home Secretary stated that she had no specific threat in mind but that the step was being taken in light of recent information received in the United States. She denied that the change had anything to do with the murder of Sir Lewis Greene which she said the police were regarding as an
‘individual event’
whatever that was. She must have been deliberately lying because to my knowledge MI5 had a video showing at least four men breaking into Lew’s house. Whatever that horrific event was, Islamic beheading or robbery gone wrong, it wasn’t an
‘individual event’
.

Secondly, it was announced that a ‘World of Sport’ event involving twenty thousand children at the O2 Arena in London had been cancelled without notice due to ‘unforeseen events’. The announcer made no connection with the Home Secretary’s statement, leaving it to the public to join up the dots.

I did join up the dots and felt very uncomfortable. The information suggested that things were warming up and that I should be out there doing something. A plan to tour ‘student digs land’; Withington, Fallowfield, Whalley Range, West Didsbury and see if I could spot Fothergill formed in my mind. She had to eat.

If I could just get the black leather notebook off her I’d have the name of the head of the conspiracy and this whole case could be wound up.

I was torn.

The odds were that heavily armed plotters were still looking for me. If they could go to the length of arranging an ambush at Sheepfold Cottage then they were very likely to have some way of tapping into the all-seeing CCTV system covering every man, woman and child moving on the streets in Central Manchester.

In the end I continued to skulk in Ridley Close. I decided to give it one more day and then maybe the heat would be off me. I texted Jan that I was well and urged her to be patient and not to reply.

‘Yes, Lord and Master,’ was the reply I received.

For want of something to do I washed the clothes from last night then went into Bob’s subterranean gym and ran five miles on his treadmill. After that I took a long soak in his Jacuzzi hoping that some brilliant insight would strike me.

It didn’t. Battle of the Dinosaurs and ‘don’t get crushed’ were still the best ideas I could come up with.

Ridley Close was quieter than Southern Cemetery. I sat by the window and watched the elderly neighbours come to life. An old lady delicately pruned her ornamental shrubs, snipping a twig here and a twig there and carrying them to her green bin. A frail couple clutching each other like survivors of a disaster at sea tottered round the corner, went to the end of the Close and back. They were in their late eighties, if not older. A youth delivered an ad mag to every house. A young woman steering a pushchair also tried to control a small girl on a scooter. The postman came and went. Delivery vans arrived and departed. The old lady started on the bushes again. It was infuriating.

I was going insane, not slowly but quickly. I needed action.

Then in the haphazard way things happen they began happening very fast.

I was about to scramble some eggs for my lunch when I heard a faint noise from above. I dashed upstairs. Marvin Desailles phone was buzzing where I’d left it to charge by my bedside.

I snatched it up.

‘Hey, Dave my lucky mon,’ he said. ‘I bin callin’ you all morning. You must be the hardest mon in de whole world for a poor lawyer to give good news to.’

‘What good news?’ I said grumpily.

‘It’s all going ahead mon, that’s what. There’ll be no challenges. Your wonderful godfather picked real nice executors for his estate. You know there is this period of time dey call probate while de lucky bwoy like you has to wait until the inheritance is legally cleared, taxes paid and everyt’ing signed, sealed and delivered?’

‘Yes, yes, Marvin, I think you told me all that before.’

‘No, I dint Dave. You dint give me no time to.’

‘Sorry Marvin.’

‘Well, the executors are perfectly happy for you to take possession of the estate, live in de houses, use de cars, dig up de lawns, ride de horses etc, etc just as long as you don’t try to sell anything off until the probate process is concluded which they don’t anticipate will be very long.’