To Kill For (20 page)

We were fencing with each other again, and I was tired of it all. They'd shown they knew a lot of stuff about Marriot and Paget, and me, and it was more than I wanted them to know. Now I was going to have to do a bit of figuring myself. I said, ‘Anything you got on Cole or Beckett or Marriot, Hayward must've learned from Paget. You know shit, which means Hayward wasn't with Paget that long or wasn't close enough to him.'

I looked at Hayward.

‘Right?'

Hayward looked at Compton who frowned.

‘Some of what you say is true. Del here picked up some of it from Glazer, yes. The rest we've pieced together. But it's true, Hayward was with Glazer and only recently hooked up with Paget, probably when Paget was in trouble. So, Hayward was connected to Glazer, and he's—'

And then I had it, and I felt a fool not to have seen it before. It all fell into place, it clicked.

‘He's a fucking copper,' I said.

It was like I'd pulled my gun. They went still, not breathing, not looking at each other. Bradley's cigarette was halfway to his mouth. Hayward had gone rigid. Nobody said anything.

I was right.

‘Glazer's one of you.'

Compton had recovered enough to say, in a bored voice, ‘What makes you say that?'

‘If you're not bent, it's the only thing that makes sense.'

‘We're not fucking bent,' Hayward said. ‘Can't you get that in your thick head?'

‘Then Glazer's a copper.'

‘I say again,' said Compton, ‘what makes you say that?'

‘A Detective Super and two DIs after one man? Bollocks. Unless that man's bad for your lot. He must have clout too. That's why you can't trust the local law. That's why Hayward had no panic button, which he would've done if you thought I might come for him. It's why you put Hayward in a hospital in Cambridge. You must have called on some favour from someone you knew there, but you couldn't tell them the truth, which is why their coppers there weren't armed.'

Compton chewed his lower lip.

‘You're guessing.'

‘You want facts?' I pointed to Hayward. ‘He was a copper at Barnet. A DC. He had an affair that went sour, got a transfer to a vice squad south of the river, made Detective Sergeant a couple of years after that, then Inspector.'

I looked at Hayward. He stared at me, his lips tight. When he glanced at Compton he looked like he was seeking help.

‘Okay,' Bradley said, blowing smoke out, ‘so you know a bit about Del's background. So what?'

‘I know more than that. Elena was a special operation, a vice unit targeting immigration crime. I remember it. Was Glazer involved in that? He must have been.'

I was guessing now, but from the stony looks on their faces I knew I was right. Now things were fitting into place. I thought about it, about how it might've worked. I said, ‘Glazer was bent. He got in with Paget and Marriot, probably taking pay-offs. The Elena thing was years ago. You lot can't be part of that still, so you must be investigating it.'

There was no reaction there, and I thought maybe I had it wrong after all. Unless…

‘Unless you weren't investigating the running of operation Elena specifically. Unless you were investigating Glazer right from the start.'

And then I saw how it fit. I had to be right. I said, ‘You pulled Hayward from his vice unit and placed him with Glazer's squad to try and get something on him for the Elena investigation. That makes sense. If Glazer was bent, he'd be savvy about men joining his team. You used Hayward because he was already a vice cop. It was natural for him to go to another vice unit. How am I doing?'

Bradley stared at me through cigarette smoke. Hayward looked at the floor miserably. Compton, though, seemed to be enjoying himself. He was leaning back in his seat with his left ankle on his right knee. He brushed his moustache with his fingers.

‘Or maybe you recruited Hayward after he'd already been posted to Glazer,' I said. ‘It doesn't matter.'

Compton smiled, but this time it was a grim smile, his eyes were hooded, a muscle twitched in his jaw.

‘We really did underestimate you. How did you reach these conclusions?'

‘It doesn't matter.'

‘It matters a hell of a lot if other people know.'

‘They don't.'

‘So you worked it out? All by yourself.'

‘Like you said, when I see a person, I think they've got an angle, they're double-crossing. You lot are no different.'

‘You think we're double-crossing you?'

‘I might as well.'

‘Your lack of faith in the police force of this country is disappointing.'

‘Uh-huh.'

‘Well, we could go on like this all night. What you know, what we know, if this, if that. What I'd like to talk about is you, Joe, and us. Or, more specifically, what you can do to help us.'

‘What do you need me for?'

‘Well, now that DI Hayward is otherwise incapacitated – thanks, I might mention, to you – we've lost contact with Glazer and Paget. Maybe you can help us there?'

‘If I knew where they were, I wouldn't have gone to Hayward's.'

‘That makes sense. Still, you might know something, or you might learn something.'

‘You want me to work for you?'

‘We want you to cooperate.'

‘How?'

‘Tell us what you know.'

‘I don't know anything.'

Bradley said, ‘We've made guesses about your involvement with Marriot and Paget and Cole and all that, but I happen to think we're not far off the mark and some of the people we know would be very interested to hear what we've come up with.'

‘You'd have the serious squad coming out of your arse,' Hayward said.

‘I don't care about Glazer. You can have him. I want Paget.'

‘You know that we're police officers,' Compton said, ‘and that legally we cannot be a party to the commission of a crime, or to the conspiracy to commit thereof, et cetera. You know all that, right?'

‘Sure.'

Bradley sucked some smoke down and blew it at the ceiling.

‘He only wants to talk to Paget, don't you Joe?'

‘Sure.'

‘Well, that's alright, then,' Compton said. ‘As long as we understand each other.'

‘Sure.'

‘Good.'

‘Tell me about Glazer.'

‘We can't tell you too much, you must accept that.'

‘Go on.'

‘He's smart. And dangerous. What else do you want to know?'

‘What's his rank?'

‘Detective Super.'

‘Vice?'

‘Yes.'

‘You know he's bent, but he's still there. That means you got no evidence.'

‘Right.'

‘But even without evidence, suspicion would be enough to get rid of him. So he must have friends high up. Who are they?'

‘You don't expect me to answer that?'

‘Fine. He's got connections, though. He must have if you don't trust the local law.'

‘All we know is he may have connections. He has a lot of friends in Manchester, we don't know about here.'

‘Manchester?'

‘That's where he's from. Why?'

I thought about what King had told me. I said, ‘I asked someone to do some digging about. He doesn't scare easily, this man, but he got frightened off by someone who knew about his kids, his wife. The bloke who warned him off had a Manc accent.'

‘This someone you asked to do the digging – he has form?'

‘No.'

‘But he's known to the police? Been suspected of something?'

‘Yes.'

‘What? Heavy stuff?'

‘Armed robbery.'

‘That's Glazer, then. He's got access to all sorts of intel at the touch of a button or at the end of a phone.'

It made sense. I got King to ask around about Glazer. He'd called Bowker who must've called Glazer, not Paget. Glazer got scared, suddenly finding that some hard case criminal is asking about him. He hits some buttons, gets details on King and King's family and makes the call. What I didn't understand at the time was why he would bother to do that. Paget knew that Cole and I were after him, and if Glazer was working with Paget, he'd know too. Why, then, would he have been bothered about King asking questions? He would want to keep his connection with Paget quiet. But, in that case, why would he have turned up at Ponders End that night? Why would he involve Hayward? Unless…

‘Maybe they're not working together,' I said.

‘Who?'

‘Paget and Glazer.'

‘Sure they are. We've been over this. We know they are.'

‘No. You told me they were tied together. It's not the same thing. Paget would've known that my friend's inquiries weren't important, not with Cole already on their tails. Paget would've known that I was probably behind the enquiry. If Glazer was working with him, he would know it too. But maybe Glazer didn't know.'

I thought back to Ponders End when I'd been waiting with my rifle, waiting for Paget to show. Paget must've suspected a set-up, or Bowker grassed it up to him. That was why he didn't turn up. But why send Glazer, then? Unless he just had nobody else. That didn't sit right. Paget wouldn't have worried about using someone else to get rid of one of his problems, though. I looked at Compton.

‘I don't think Glazer knew what Paget got him into.'

Compton looked at Hayward.

‘Del, is that possible?' he said.

Hayward looked at me, considering what I'd said. Compton watched him, and waited. Bradley held his burning cigarette.

‘Yes,' Hayward said. ‘Yes. It's possible.'

‘Tell me about your role in this,' I said.

He looked at Compton.

‘Tell him,' Compton said.

‘I was with Glazer,' Hayward said to me. ‘You're right, I was working vice with him, his second in command—'

‘Never mind that.'

‘Right. Well, a couple of weeks ago, Glazer gets spooked. I mean, one minute he's fine, then he goes out and when he comes back he's not the same, he's panicky, sweating. I knew then this could be what we were after, hard evidence, a link. We spent months on my cover and I spent months more worming my way in till he thought I was as bent as him. So, anyway, he tells me he has to do something, help an old friend, off the books, and he needs help, someone to watch his back. I didn't see much of him then for a while, but one night he calls me up and asks me to drive him to see someone. That was when I met Paget. I knew of him, of course, and knew he'd worked for Marriot, and I knew this was to do with Elena, had to be.'

‘You met him in Loughton? At this Tina's place?'

‘Yeah. Paget was hiding out there.'

‘Go on.'

‘So, Paget tells Glazer that he's in trouble, tells him that Marriot got some money from a job on Cole's casino and that Cole's now after him.'

‘The rest, we put together,' said Bradley.

‘So that's why Glazer panicked when he found out your friend was making enquiries about him,' Compton said to me. ‘A known blagger starts asking questions, and Glazer thinks Cole's going to think he was involved in the robbery.'

‘Could be,' I said.

They weren't even pretending now that they knew about my involvement. They could smell blood – Glazer's, Paget's – but not mine.

‘Did Paget say anything about drugs to Glazer?' I asked Hayward.

‘What drugs?'

‘Never mind. Go on.'

‘The next time I saw Glazer was when you shot me.'

‘Did Glazer say anything about that? About going there?'

‘No. He just tells me he needs a driver, tells me to take him to Ponders End. To the car park. We get there and he's looking around—'

‘Was he armed?'

‘Was he? Fuck, yes. He had a fucking magnum in a shoulder holster and a pocketful of shells and an ankle piece. And he was sweating.'

My mouth had gone dry. They looked at each other.

‘Are you alright?' Compton said.

Bradley was leaning forward now. Hayward stared at me.

I felt it in my gut, a sickening, empty hole.

Brenda, I thought. It all went back, back.

Compton was half standing. Bradley looked at me like I'd gone mad.

‘Joe,' Compton said. ‘Joe, what is it? What's wrong?'

‘What does it mean?' Bradley said. ‘What the fuck's wrong?'

I felt it in my head, the blood draining away.

‘Tell me about Elena,' I said, my mouth dry, my voice cracking.

‘Elena,' Bradley said to Compton. ‘Fucking Elena.'

I felt it in my balls, tightening in fear.

‘Has to be,' Compton said. ‘You know something, Joe. What? What is it?'

I felt it in the cold sweat seeping from my body and in the hair on the back of my neck.

‘Tell me about Elena,' I said.

‘You said they were tied together,' Compton said. ‘Is that it? Do you know why?'

I felt it in my lousy fucking heart, what was left of it, hammering away, pumping that black blood. I spoke, and when I did the words crept out of some dark place.

‘Tell me.'

They stared at me. Hayward edged away.

‘Take it easy, alright?' I heard him say

Compton's eyes were wide. He wet his lips. He breathed heavily.

‘What do you want to know?'

‘Just talk.'

He nodded to himself.

‘Alright. Well, you were right about us investigating it.'

‘Start from the beginning.'

‘Fine. Yes. Operation Elena. A good name, to be sure. About the only good thing about the whole mess. Elena was the name of a girl the Met picked up once, a long time ago, seven, eight years. She was a Latvian, worked in King's Cross for some Russians. She was fourteen. She wandered into a station in Stoke Newington. She'd been beaten, and she was thin, but she had guts. Yes, she did. They got her to testify and some pretty hard cases went down. They rehomed her, sent her up to Northampton, gave her a new name. A year later they found her body in a skip.'