Marked Men, page 21
‘Where’s the boss?’ Magda called over.
He pointed to the ceiling. ‘Up with the Chief Super. They’ve called in XCalibre.’
The anti-gang unit, thought Sean. Formed in response to the surge in gun crime around south Manchester in the early 2000s it was an outfit with a reputation for getting results.
‘Two victims, right?’ she asked.
‘Correct. But at least they weren’t members of the public. Gary Dace – one of Brown’s right-hand men, if not his main one. And John Potter, who was also a key member of the set up.’
‘And they were shot from a car?’
‘Which will turn up somewhere soon,’ Troughton replied. ‘Totally burned out and of no use whatsoever to forensics.’
‘If this is a turf war, who’s likely to be involved?’ Sean asked as he and Magda followed the office manager to his desk.
‘You know what they say about nature and vacuums,’ Troughton replied. ‘Word must have got out that Brown is in a freezer. We could be looking at another Manchester outfit – or elements from further afield. If anyone can find out who’s behind this, it’ll be XCalibre. Anyway, where are you two at? I heard McGhee is yet another one for the drowned list.’
‘We’re about to make contact with the police in Majorca; we need precise details of his death.’
‘That we most certainly do.’
‘What’s the score with Carl Parker now?’ Magda asked. ‘He’s the last member of that school-boy group still alive. I really think we should—’
‘There’s a car with two officers already outside his house. He’s been told not to go anywhere.’
‘We’re not putting him somewhere safe?’ Sean asked. ‘Even after this shooting?’
‘This shooting isn’t necessarily part of it.’ Troughton plonked himself down heavily in his seat then swivelled to face them. ‘At this stage, it all points to a rival gang. Striking while Brown’s outfit is in disarray. Nothing to do with Jordan Hughes.’
‘Chaos,’ Magda muttered. ‘And still no sighting of him?’
‘Nope. And that’s with every uniform aware of his face and all Covert Intelligence Sources being pumped for information, too.’
Even the snitches don’t have a clue, Sean thought. It had to mean Hughes was working as a lone wolf.
‘What about all the financial stuff Fuller came out with in the interview with Parker?’ Magda asked. ‘Any more on that?’
Troughton cupped a palm over each knee. ‘Parker, it appears, was owned by Brown. Gambling debts, maybe. That car business of his: most of the proceeds were being siphoned off by Brown.’
‘So Brown being murdered suited Parker very nicely?’ Magda asked, arching her eyebrows.
‘Maybe,’ Troughton replied. ‘And now you need to work out how the hell McGhee fits in. What was the state of his photography business? Did it appear to be doing well?’
‘Hard to say,’ Magda replied. ‘He was working out of a crappy old building on the, what did you say, Sean?’
‘Fringes of the Northern Quarter. Just the one employee. A college leaver being trialled as an assistant. But McGhee had Carsons as his main client, hence being on the photo shoot.’
‘I wonder if Brown had his hooks in him, too,’ Troughton mused.
Magda was on her way to their desks. ‘We’ll start digging.’
‘Good. DCI Ransford wants a meeting at eight tomorrow morning.’
Back at their desks, Magda looked at Sean. ‘¿Habla español?’
‘Español? Couldn’t even order a beer.’
‘¿Y francés?’
‘French? No.’
She tutted. ‘Típicos ingleses. Always assuming people will speak English. OK, llamaré la policía de Mallorca.’
‘You’ll ring them?’
‘Yes.’
Sean grinned at her. ‘They’ll probably speak English, anyway. I’d better see how our Super Recognizer’s doing.’
‘Nothing so far,’ Alan answered. He reached for a flask and half filled a bone china tea cup.
‘What’s that?’
‘Green tea,’ he replied. ‘Caffeine does me no favours.’
And in a cup you’ve brought from home, Sean thought. The man was certainly a bit … different. ‘Have you heard about the shooting?’
‘I was aware of a bit more movement beyond this door. Is that what’s happened?’
‘Two fatalities. Both high up in Brown’s empire.’
‘Who will have done it? This Hughes character?’
‘To be honest, we’re not sure. It might be him; it might be members of a rival organization.’
‘Wow. So a gang war’s now going off?’
‘Maybe.’
‘If they’re from Liverpool, it could be worth me seeing all CCTV from the vicinity. I spent a good amount of time looking over Merseyside police’s most wanted lists while I was over there. Gang members and all sorts.’
‘Something to do in your lunch break?’ Sean joked.
‘Yes,’ Eales replied matter-of-factly.
Sean quickly removed his smile. ‘OK.’
‘If any are currently here, I’ll probably spot them.’
‘I’ll have a word with the officer in charge when he gets back.’ Another thought occurred and Sean gave himself a mental pat on the back. ‘I have a couple of other images for you to compare, if that’s OK. These ones are of a female. I think she might also have been in the vicinity of a couple of the murders.’
‘Fire them over.’
‘Will do. Let me sort some other stuff out first. You OK for everything?’
‘Absolutely.’
Magda was studying something on her screen when he got back to their desks. ‘How goes it?’ he asked, sitting down.
‘Just spoke to a Spanish officer involved in the McGhee case,’ she replied, without looking up. ‘He was a bit concerned when I gave the bigger picture.’
‘I bet. Were you speaking in Spanish?’
She shook her head. ‘Al final, no.’
‘So they spoke English?’
She sighed. ‘Yes. Until now, McGhee’s death wasn’t being treated as suspicious: they’d tested his blood for alcohol and it came back as four times the legal limit. Drunken swim gone wrong was their view. Like that assistant said, it didn’t appear to be a robbery since a load of valuable equipment along with his phone were on the beach, just along from where the body was found.’
‘His phone? That will be worth—’
‘It was ruined. The tide had come in and out during the night. Everything had been submerged.’
‘Damn.’
‘What about the female in that photograph?’
‘They’ve agreed to make enquiries at the hotels near to that beach bar. But when I asked that they re-run the blood samples taken from McGhee and check the body for ketamine …’ She sighed. ‘That’s when they said requests will need to come via the correct channel.’
‘Which is?’
‘I’m looking at the relevant document now. Says I need to work in conjunction with the Consular Division of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Enquiries have to go through them.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘I’m about to find out.’ She picked up her phone. ‘Oh, McGhee’s body was about to be released to the family. The police have agreed to delay that, at least.’
‘His parents are there at the moment?’ Sean couldn’t think of a worse reason for taking a foreign trip.
‘Due to fly out in a couple of days.’
He pointed to his phone. ‘I was wondering about Frankie and Manny.’
Magda frowned at him. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, the fact they saw Lee Goodwin walking off with a female on the night he died. She was blonde. Do you think it could be worth the two of them having a look at the photos on McGhee’s iMac?’
She met his eyes. ‘Because that woman also had blonde hair?’
He nodded.
‘It’s a long shot, Sean. First things first. And that’s following up on Brown and McGhee. We need to chase Sentinel for any more CCTV footage.’ She lifted a finger. ‘And start a trawl of McGhee’s finances.’
Sean floated a look in the direction of the CSW section. Katie was back, but her head was bowed over a stack of print-outs. ‘I could see what help we could get from …’
‘Good luck with that,’ Magda replied. ‘I think Fuller is making his point about shared resources.’
‘Well.’ Sean rose to his feet. He was worried how Katie was holding up and this was a chance to check without it being obvious. ‘I’ll wander over.’
Katie lifted her chin at the mention of her name. Sean’s first thought was that she appeared ill. It was that sickly, strained look that came about through a prolonged period of stress. He nodded to her desk. ‘How’s it going?’
She bit at her lower lip. ‘So-so. There’s just so much coming through. And now with this casino thing …’ She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Non-stop, isn’t it?’
‘At the moment it is. Did you manage to get any food earlier?’
Her attention had returned to the sheets before her. ‘Yes. Thanks.’
‘OK.’ He wondered whether to mention the camera footage from Brown’s residence that Sentinel were due to send. It didn’t seem fair – and, besides, they now had Alan Eales. In fact, Sean realized, the bloke could act as a conduit for all CCTV recordings that came in. DCI Ransford had signed off on the expense, after all. ‘Have you had a chance to meet the Super Recognizer yet? I think we can use him to reduce your workload.’
Katie’s head shook.
‘Would you like to? He’s over there.’ He gestured to the far side of the Operations Room. ‘What the bloke does is something—’
‘Maybe some other time, Sean.’ Her smile was brief and cold. ‘Now, can I get on with this?’
The sharpness of her tone shocked him and he took a step back. He found himself staring at the top of her head. The CSW on the next desk was reaching for a file, her eyes firmly on its spine. As if she hadn’t heard a thing. Sean could feel the heat in his face. ‘No problem.’
He turned round and made his way back to his own desk.
‘You two.’ Troughton had his coat on and was pressing a finger against the face of his watch as he passed their desk. ‘You might want to consider going home and sleeping at some point. Ransford’s called that briefing with XCalibre for tomorrow at eight, remember?’
Sean’s glance swept the room. Three-quarters empty. Alan Eales had called it a day just before seven. Fuller’s desk was deserted. Same as Katie May’s.
‘He’s right,’ Magda said, stretching her arms above her head. ‘This late, we can’t achieve much more.’
‘What did the person at the FCO say?’
‘He would try and get the Spanish police to prioritize the blood tests. He’ll know first thing tomorrow.’
Sean checked the time. 10.18 p.m. Sentinel Watch had supplied the footage from Brown’s security cameras two hours earlier. Sean had gone through most of it at times-four speed, but had only seen a badger passing before the main gates. Fairfield Sailing Club had also sent what the camera at the front of their building had captured on the night of Brown’s death. Sean considered the attachment: sod it, he’d put it in the folder for Alan Eales. Let him go through it in the morning.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Halfway home, he remembered about Frankie and Manny. The dashboard clock now read 10.31 p.m. Street Eats, if he recalled correctly, swung by Castlefield to drop food off at about quarter to eleven. I can make that, he thought, relishing how quiet the roads were.
His car’s tyres rumbled as he drove slowly down the cobbled side road towards the arches. The lights at the perimeter of the apartment block’s car park spilled across the patch of wasteland. Sean immediately spotted the charity’s white van parked up near the railway arch. Dark figures floated in the shadows on its far side.
After locking his vehicle Sean ambled across. The temperature was noticeably colder. He could see Sheila Marshall beside a fold-out table on which were several piles of rolls and pastries. A light shifted in the van’s interior and her husband, Colin, held a hand out from the open doors. ‘Here we go. Rich Tea biscuits. I knew we had some.’
A hunched form stepped forward. ‘Grand, that is. Thanks.’
Sean checked the other people and immediately picked out Manny’s towering silhouette. High above them all, a tram slid across the top of the arches, windows bright yellow against the dark sky.
Careful not to look at Manny, Sean approached the van. ‘Evening. I recently came to see you …’
‘Hi, yes.’ Sheila smiled. ‘Sean, isn’t it?’
Relief she hadn’t revealed him to be a police officer. ‘That’s right.’
‘We have some ten kilo sacks of Basmati back at the lock-up,’ Colin called from inside the van. ‘Just thought I’d mention it in case you wanted to do a bit more stacking.’
Sheila tutted. ‘Don’t listen to him. Is everything all right? Cup of tea?’
Sean was tempted, but he shook his head. ‘I’m ready for my bed, actually. I just hoped to leave a couple of photos with you. Perhaps you could show them to anyone you think might be able to help …’ He glanced casually towards the figures nearby, knowing his words were being listened to.
Sheila nodded knowingly. ‘Of course.’
He handed the clearest images he had of the blonde-haired woman. ‘If anyone thinks they might have seen her in the last few days, it would be really helpful to know.’
As he crossed the wooden floor of his new apartment, the hollow thud of his footsteps accentuated its emptiness. He paused to kick off his shoes and throw his jacket over the back of the sofa. This place needs rugs, he thought. Having found the key to the balcony doors in the cutlery drawer, he slid them back and stepped out onto the balcony. He listened to the city, trying to gauge its mood by the sounds drifting up.
The drone of traffic moving along Great Ancoats Street away to his left. A single distant siren. Laughter and snatches of music carrying from the bars that thronged the Northern Quarter. His mind went back to the people that had been drinking in that funny little beer garden. He pictured placing a drink on the table and taking a seat beside them. Not in his work clothes: jeans and a T-shirt. What would he say to them? What would he talk about? All he really knew was police work. That, and looking after his mum. He had so little in common with ordinary people. Anyone his own age. Unless they’d also lost their childhood to caring for a family member.
Sometimes he felt prematurely old. Sometimes he wondered if he should ever have become a policeman. It had only been because that’s what Janet had done for a living. And now she was dead.
He closed his eyes and pictured her face. Her endless energy for getting jobs done. He tried to think how she’d approach this investigation. How she’d play it. Don’t overcomplicate things. That was her mantra. The number of times she’d said to him that criminals were stupid. That’s why they ended up as criminals. They didn’t think things through before committing a crime. They didn’t factor in how not to leave evidence during the act. They didn’t reflect on how best to avoid detection afterwards. So don’t overcomplicate things when you’re trying to catch one.
But this investigation seemed different. So many things suggested a great deal of planning had taken place. He sensed that the person responsible – if it was just one person – was far from stupid. Could it really be Jordan Hughes? The voicemail on Lee Goodwin’s phone echoed in his head. Dan’s back.
It didn’t make sense.
He suppressed a yawn, aware his mum would keep going, keep pushing forward, knowing the sheer pressure would lead to some kind of revelation, eventually. The old doubts started nudging their way into his mind. You’ll never be as good as her. You’re not a natural like her. You don’t see things in the same clear way as her. You only got the position in the SCU because she called in a massive favour.
He dipped his head, wishing she was still alive. Just a few words of advice. A bit of encouragement. You’re doing fine, Sean. Don’t worry.
Directly below, the shimmer of light on the old canal wharfs caught his eye. Scraps of brilliance stuck to their oily surfaces. Water. It had played a part in so many of the murders. He tipped his head back as if the movement might sift his thoughts, rearrange them so an answer showed through.
Nothing.
Turning his back on the city, he went inside. As soon as the screen of his iMac came to life, he moved the cursor towards the Snowdonia Wolf Sanctuary icon. Not bothering to even check the pack’s sleeping area, he went directly to the camera that overlooked the enclosure’s pool. There she was, seated at its edge, head angled down as she pondered the shining surface before her.
His phone started to ring. The fact it was so late sparked a familiar flare of unease. It’s not Janet, he told himself. She’s not at home needing your help. She’s dead. And the house you grew up in will soon be gone.
When he retrieved the handset from his jacket it was Sheila Marshall’s name on the screen. ‘Evening, Sheila.’
‘I am sorry; I hope it isn’t too late?’
‘Not at all.’
‘That’s a relief. I had visions of you being fast asleep. Only I managed to corner Manny – show him the photos you left? At the time, he said nothing, but then he whispered something to me as I was packing the van.’
‘What?’
‘“Tell him it looks just like her.” That’s all.’
Sean sat back. On the iMac’s screen, Kaska seemed to scent something. Muzzle lifted high, she rose to her feet and padded from sight.
‘That’s great, Sheila. Tell Manny I said thanks.’
THIRTY-NINE
Detectives were bustling about a table in the centre of the Operations Room where Ransford was giving an impromptu update. During the night, the DCI announced, a tip-off had been passed to an XCalibre Intelligence Officer: the remains of what was once a red Nissan could be found behind a unit at the edge of a semi-derelict industrial park near Carrington. The officer beside Ransford immediately pointed out that, from there, it was just a short drive to the M62 which led west towards Liverpool.
