Читать книгу Greywater - Mr David Dalby - Страница 2

“We have Dean Hudson screaming about how we’re abusing his client’s rights.” Bill Church said. “I have to go see him soon, so I hope you have something good to tell me.” Detective Superintendent Bill Church was the head of the Crime Squad. At thirty fix he was young to be in such a position. He was two years older than Hazel, several centimetres shorter and looked tough and stocky.

They sat in his office, around the conference style table that Church seemed to prefer to a desk. Hazel said, “I have practical things to tell you. I don’t know if you consider them good. If you want my honest opinion.”

“I always want your honest opinion.” Church said. “What do you think?”

“I think we should charge Harry Sanford and be done with this whole pointless idea.” Hazel said.

“Charged with….what?” Church said, “Exactly?”

“We have him for at least accessory to murder. Probably conspiracy as well. That’s for the CPS to decide isn’t it?”

“They have decided.” Church said, “Which is why we have this ‘whole pointless idea’ that you were just complaining about.”

“I think Michelle is wrong to do this.” Hazel said, “and not just with Dean Hudson having a fit in the reception area.” Hudson was a solicitor. His firm wasn’t as large or well known as, say….Ruthven Varney or Hawkins Harker and Morris, but it was well known to the police. Hudson tended to represent a lot of minor criminals. He didn’t do much in the way of legal aid, but, in truth, very few solicitors did these days. Legal aid not being so easy to come by as it once was. “Michelle wants Sanford to be the new supergrass and spill all the secrets of Eddie Symes and his brother. The problem is, when it comes to all he knows, it will take about five minutes. With four and a half of them being Sanford complaining about everything. He doesn’t know anything. Nothing worth telling us anyway. The man’s an idiot.”

“That may well be.” Church said, “But Michelle is convinced he can tell us a lot. Enough to have Eddie Symes put away.”

“She’s deluding herself.” Hazel said, “Eddie wouldn’t tell a halfwit like Harry Sanford the correct time of day unless he absolutely had to,”

“What did you tell Hudson?” Church said, not committing himself to the matter of what Eddie Symes would tell his own employees.

“I told him I just arrest people.” Hazel said, “What happens after that is none of my business.” In the strict sense of the term this was true. Once a suspect was picked up and arrested he (or, increasingly, she,) would be handed over to the charge sergeant who would do the actual work of placing them in a cell and filling out the paperwork. “He asked if it was part of my job to throw his clients into the pavement.” Evidently Hudson had already seen the social media posts that showed Hazel performing a near perfect circle throw on Harry Sanford. Several in slow motion. Hazel wasn’t sure how that effect was carried out. But, then. She had no idea how to upload a video to social media either. “I told him his client ran me down and what happened next was the result of his own stupidity.” She had pointed out that Sanford wasn’t the brightest person she’d ever met. “After that I asked him if Sanford actually was his client.”

Bill Church grinned, “You know, Hazel, that’s a very good point.” He opened printed file and glanced inside, a glance so brief, Hazel suspected it was for effect. He already knew what was there, “Hudson has represented Sanford for some years and his firm have represented Sanford’s family for quite a while.”

“The firm is also representing Eddie Symes.” Hazel said. “Hudson isn’t here for the good of Sanford’s health.”

“We both know that.” Bill Church said, “They want him out so they can hand him over to Victor Monk. Though whether Hudson knows about that I have no idea. He probably does. By now he’ll have known that a couple of Monk’s men were killed, it’s on all the news media. Eddie will have told him the details. If Charlie Harris hasn’t been handed over and killed already Eddie’s people will be looking for him. They want Sanford so he can be handed over to even up the score.”

“Before Monk decides to take two of Eddie’s men at random.” Hazel said, “That’s how it seems to be. If it was anything we’d certainly be aware of it because Eddie, his brother, and his whole gang would be dead by now.”

“Makes you wonder how the rest of Eddie’s people see this deal.” Church said, “It can’t be very reassuring to know your boss not only can’t protect you but isn’t even willing to try. And that he sees you as totally dispensable.”

“When word gets out Eddie is going to have trouble replacing those men.” Hazel said, “Who’s going to want to work for someone like that?”

“I agree. But it doesn’t solve our immediate problem of Dean Hudson.” Church said. “We can’t turn Sanford over. I am interested by the idea of who represents Sanford though.”

“It looks like we do at the moment.” Hazel said.

Church nodded, “Right, well let’s go break the bad news to the man.”

Hudson was down in the reception area when they walked in through the near riot proof security door. He was a small, neatly dressed man who clearly kept himself in good shape despite being the wrong side of sixty. He wasn’t having a fit or looking red faced or furious. But he did look pretty determined.

“Superintendent Church.” His voice was calm and civil, “I expect you have come to tell me I can see my client.”

Bill Church was equally calm and civil, “I’ve come to tell you that you don’t have a client, Mr Hudson.”

Hazel felt a touch of guilty pleasure as she watched the confident smile on Dean Hudson’s face fade to a confused frown, “Harry Sanford is my client, Superintendent Church.”

“Not today he isn’t.” Church said. “Today, and for the near future, his solicitor will be Jimmy Rangan.” Jimmy, or to give him his real name, Jibrail Rangan, was Michelle Russo’s assistant. Church had picked him as the solicitor because, in all practical matters, Jimmy Rangan would be the one who would be dealing closely with Harry Sanford.

To be fair to Hudson he didn’t react more than the puzzled frown. Which very soon cleared up as he understood the situation. “I see what you mean.” He said, and he did see. He knew who Jimmy was. He knew Jimmy represented the CPS. So he knew if, or when, Harry Sanford came to court he would be arriving as a witness for the prosecution, not a defendant. “I must say, Harry’s poor father will be very disappointed in him.”

“He’s dead.” Hazel said. “He’s been dead….how many years now?”

“I was talking metaphysically, Sergeant Vernon.” Hudson said, “As in spinning in his grave.”

“I thought he was cremated.” Hazel said, being deliberately obtuse. “Six years ago, wasn’t it?”

“That’s not the point.”

“He fell….” Hazel paused deliberately, “…..down stairs following an argument with his son. Died of head injuries at the scene.” Hazel had familiarised herself with the case. Such that it was. The pathologist of the time was Doctor Graeme Land, who had since retired. He’d signed the death certificate. Accidental causes, then the body had been released and cremated. The release order had been signed by Doctor Land and the cremation seemed to have been carried out quite quickly. “You were the family solicitor at the time.” Hazel said.

“Yes, I was.” Hudson said, “You were a detective constable in the vice squad, Sergeant Vernon. Spent all your working hours dressed as a tralk, That was before you were disciplined for unprofessional behaviour.”

Touché. You couldn’t’ accuse Hudson of not doing his homework. He wasn’t kicking up a storm about not being able to represent Harry Sanford either. Hazel had a bad feeling about that. It meant Hudson had expected, or at the very least, considered, this as a possibility. He’d be away very soon, she predicted, now he’d found out that, from Eddie Symes’ view, the worst was about to happen. Now he’d run back to Symes, not only to tell him Sanford had turned informer, but to discover what Harry knew, how damaging it would be, and what was the best way to counter the threat.

Hazel now began to think her little poke about Harry being involved in the death of his father was a very bad move. Hudson could, in theory, use that same theory to discredit Harry Sanford. She decided she should get used to the idea that some old pictures of her dressed as a prostitute would turn up suddenly. If not those illegally snapped pictures of her topless from around that same time.

“Well you have given me a lot to think about, Superintendent Church.” Dean Hudson said, his voice friendly and civil again, “Oh yes, and so have you, Sergeant Vernon. I better not take up any more of your time. I know you’ll both be very busy soon. Goodbye.” He favoured them both with an empty smile and left. While he didn’t exactly go skipping gaily out of the police station he walked with a quick and sure purpose.

“I wouldn’t worry.” Bill Church said, reassuringly, “It was bound to end like this anyway.”

Bernadette McLaren strode into Victors nightclub with the same purposeful determination Dean Hudson had strode out of the main police station.

The club was, of course, closed at this time of day and the cleaning staff, all women, all young, and for the most part, Polish, with a few Hungarians and Czechs thrown into the mix, went about their business as she entered. A few of them looked up. Bernadette didn’t recognise any of them and it must have been very strange for them to see a female vicar, complete with dog collar, enter a club such as this at any time of day.

“Cześć.” Bernadette said pleasantly. The women smiled faintly and said hello back in their own language, mostly Polish. No doubt they not only spoke English perfectly, but knew several other languages and had university degrees in business studies. But here, in England, they cleaned the floors and tables of night club owners.

Bernadette completely ignored the very existence of Blank Frank.

He’d been stationed by the door, no doubt having been told to stand there and allow no one except the cleaning staff in or out. But Blank Frank Addams knew exactly who and what Bernadette McLaren was. When she came through the main doors he quietly, surprisingly quietly for such a huge man, slunk into the corner and stood there, his arms loosely dangling, head looking at his big, metal capped working boots.

Unlike the rest of the staff, when they were here, Blank Frank didn’t wear the smart suits, the coloured shirts and fancy ties. He was in very baggy, loose fitting jeans and a T shirt under a denim jacket. It was probably a surprise that clothing came in his size, never mind the fact that the jeans were even capable of being baggy on someone as big as he was.

Blank Frank didn’t speak. He never spoke. You only had to look at him to know why. At some time in the past, and it must have been a very long time in the past judging by the healed scars, someone had taken a razor to his face. There were scars on the big meaty hammers that he had for fists. Scars as old as the facial ones. White and faded but still very clear. No one knew who had swung the razor so viciously and so many times but the story was that it was one wild, desperate, and ultimately failed, attempt, to prevent to stop Blank Frank from strangling the poor sod to death with his own, big meaty, and bleeding hands.

Blank Frank was huge, ugly, brutal and stupid. Anyone who had any common sense would be afraid of him.

As Bernadette McLaren passed by, the huge, scarred, misshapen head (it was also rumoured he suffered some kind of trauma at birth), was turned down but the heavy lidden, dull, dark eyes watched her and showed, if anyone were foolish enough to get that close, an emotion that approximated to fear.

Bernadette pushed her way through the door marked Private, Strictly No Entrance, behind the empty bar, and walked down to the office at the end of the narrow corridor.

She entered without knocking.

“Do you mind?” said Camilla Ruthven. She was sitting on the desk talking to a tall man in a smart dark suit and a goatee. His name was Martyn Westland and he was Victor Monk’s head of PR.

“Get out.” Bernadette said without looking in his direction. Then she continued to talk as if she imagined Westland would obey without question.

“I want to know what is happening with Eddie Symes.” She said as the door closed behind her. Westland had left without either questioning the order or saying anything.

“You heard about that did you.” Camilla Ruthven said. The women were oddly similar and strangely different. They were both red heads. Though Camilla’s red came out of a bottle while Bernadette’s was a fiery natural from North of the border. Her Scottish accent was only slightly noticeable. They both were deceptively expensive clothes. Though Camilla’s skirt was bordering on indecently short. Bernadette’s black designer jeans would have set a family on low income back about a month’s wage.

She glared at Camilla with intensely green eyes. She knew full well that red hair and green eyes, in centuries past, were considered a sign of a witch.

“Everyone has heard about it, or don’t you watch a programme called The News?” Bernadette said, “It’s on the internet. It’s national news. If the entire world wanted to find out about what happened they could.”

“I’ve seen the news.” Camilla said, “It shows your friend, Sergeant Vernon, using Harry Sanford as a football. Now, what can I do for you?” Camilla wasn’t as intimidated by Bernadette as she probably should have been.

“These men, Sanford, and Harris.” Bernadette said, “Where are they?”

“Harry is in police custody.” Camilla said, “I expect Sergeant Vernon is kicking his kidneys to bits even as we speak.”

“No she isn’t.” Bernadette said, “How about Harris?”

“That I don’t know.”

“Camilla……” Bernadette’s voice became harsher.

“I don’t know.” Camilla said very slowly. “We’re not looking for him. We don’t need to look for him.” Which was, of course, true. Eddie Symes has to find both men. Or monk would simply take two at random. Then she nodded, “You want us to look the other way as he slips quietly out of town.”

“Two men are already dead.” Bernadette said, “There’s no need for any more.”

“Unlike you, Victor Monk isn’t under any obligation to love his enemies, forgive their trespasses or even show mercy for their wicked ways. He lost two men. Therefore Eddie Symes must lose two men. The two men who committed the murders, Bernadette. A pair of killers.”

“We know who did the killings.” Bernadette said, “And it wasn’t Sanford or Harris.”

“We know no such thing.”

“No, you can prove no such thing, but you know. You know full well those men are innocent.”

“Don’t try and tell me what I know. Also, if I wanted to describe those two men the word innocent wouldn’t be one I’d use so freely. You do know Harry Sanford probably killed his own father by pushing him down the stairs? His friend, Charlie Harris probably helped cover that up. Have you come for any other reasons, because I am very busy at the moment.” She continued and relax on the edge of the desk and look as unbusy as anyone could without actually laying down.

“I want this to stop.” Bernadette said.

“It will stop.” Camilla Ruthven said, “As soon as we deal with these two men it will all stop.”