Читать книгу Greywater - Mr David Dalby - Страница 3

Harry Sanford complained all the way to Dransfield.

The distance between the two towns wasn’t great, a matter of some fifteen klix or so but Harry made it his business to complain. He wasn’t happy in the back on the van. Why was he wearing cuffs?

“I’m not a prisoner, you know. Am I? Bloody hell, I’m helping you. I said I would help you.” He waved his cuffed hands in the air, “What do I need these things for when I’m helping you?” He smiled. It was a big toothy smile that just didn’t look real. “We’re on the same side. Right? I’m not a prisoner. I’m not.”

His whining was starting to get on Hazel’s nerves. She didn’t really enjoy being in the back of the transit either. She and Harry were travelling with three constables, a sergeant and a driver. She didn’t know any of the other officers very well and would much preferred to follow in her car,

“Harry, if I had my way you’d be charged with murder by now.”

“I didn’t do anything. You know that.”

“I don’t bloody well know anything of the sort, Harry.” Hazel stopped talking. Took a breath and some time to calm down. “Accessory to murder.” She said, “If it was up to me that is what we would charge you with and none of this would be happening right now.”

“But I didn’t do anything.” He continued to wave his manacles at her. The other police officers kept quiet and minded their own business. This was a pleasant run in the country so far. A trip out. None of them wanted to spoil it. “I told you, that was Tony Symes.”

“No.” Hazel said, “You didn’t tell me.” She took out her notebook very slowly and wrote down his words. “You said you wasn’t going to tell me anything.”

“I told that Scottish bird.”

“Ms Russo.” Hazel said. Michelle had spent a while with Harry getting him to agree to testify against the Symes brothers. Hazel still considered that a big joke. She didn’t think he knew anything worth hearing. But he might put Tony Symes behind bars for a while.

“Yeah, The Scottish bird like I said. She had a very unusual name. Russo isn’t Scottish is it?”

“Stop trying to sound clever, Harry. It doesn’t suit you. I’m not your friend.”

“No, I know you’re not. Bloody pain in the arse you are.” He lowered his voice at the end. “Stupid bitch.”

“Play nice, laddie.” Said the sergeant, who also had a Scottish accent.

“Yeah, and I suppose your name’s bleeding Pavarotti.” Harry said, just loud enough to be heard.

“No, laddie, it’s Nowak.” The sergeant said, “My grandad was a Polish immigrant. He bloody loved it in Glasgow.”

“Should have bloody stayed there then, shouldn’t he.”

“He did, laddie.” Sergeant Nowak said quietly.

Hazel sighed, “Harry, this may be difficult for you to believe, God knows I’m having trouble with the concept myself, but we here, all of us, have been told we have to protect you. It’s not the best idea to annoy us. OK?” Outside the van she could see the town looming up.

Harry Sanford gave a more expressive shrug than he should, “Yeah, all right.”

“We not going through town?” Hazel said as the van driver took the second exit rather than the first on the roundabout.

“No, we have to go straight to the safe house. The inspector is going there ahead of us.”

Hazel didn’t know exactly who the inspector was. She wasn’t familiar with the Dransfield police and no one had bothered to enlighten her. Apparently these things were on a need to know basis . It was also clear that, as a detective sergeant, she didn’t have any need to know right at this moment.

“Safe house?” Sanford said, he sounded a bit nervous.

“Don’t read too much into that, Harry.” Hazel said, more relaxed about it, “It’s a fancy name for a farmhouse that we rented.” She did know a bit about the safe house, or farm house, as she insisted she did have a pressing need for details concerning security. Even if she did feel this whole exercise was a waste of time. “It’s usually used as a holiday cottage.” She looked out of the window. Dransfield was close enough to Caneston to share its miserable climate. It was often difficult for Hazel to understand why so many people, Americans and mainland Europeans, would want to holiday in an area where it did little else but rain. There were the museums and historic monuments. But when she went on holiday she wanted to get some sun. Also to be as far away from this dreary place as possible. “So it’ll be pleasant at least.” She had no idea what it would be like. Except that it wouldn’t be a working farm.

They skirted the town quickly and soon arrived at the farm house, or safe house, which was a smallish, very rural looking building surrounded by about half a dozen even more rural looking buildings. It was all very picturesque but the out buildings looked a bit too close to the main house for Hazel’s liking and at least two of them looked reasonably solidly built. Even before they pulled into the driveway Hazel could see at least two ways a small group of armed men could make their way, unseen, almost to the front door.

Several cars were parked, rather haphazardly, in the drive, and the van pulled up behind them.

“I’ll turn it round while you’re inside.” The driver said, “I suppose we’ll all be going back together.”

“Except Harry here.” Said the sergeant.

Hazel wasn’t planning on going back in the van but said nothing. She, Sanford, and the other police officers climbed out. There were two Dransfield constables waiting. But Hazel said to the sergeant, “Make sure they show you their warrant cards.”

“Too bloody right. The sods will want to see ours.”

Hazel left them to the process of mutual identification while she went to look in the nearest outbuilding.

It was empty of course. She didn’t know exactly what it had been used for when this was an active farm. She sniffed. Probably some kind of animal.

It was dusty grey breeze blocks inside with what might have been some kind of plain wooden fencing. That suggested, strongly, some kind of animal enclosure. She was a city girl but she did know you don’t paint wooden fences that enclose animals. The concrete floor had nothing on it, though there were a number of weeds starting to grow through it.

She didn’t like the look of the rear entrance. It was a wooden stable type door and didn’t strike her as overly secure.

Ok, so it was an unsafe house as far as safe houses went. Hazel shrugged and went back to join her colleagues. They had established that everyone was exactly who they claimed to be.

For good measure Hazel showed her identification and she took Sanford inside. The other Caneston police remained outside.

That was another problem with this so-called safe house. Right now at least eight people, including herself, knew about this place and who was here. Overall there were at least a dozen people, perhaps fifteen. It was far too many.

Hazel’s misgivings about the operation were rising too rapidly for comfort.

She said, “Stay alert.” To the Sergeant, who nodded.

She was let in to the house, she could no longer call it a safe house, by a tallish, rather thin, scruffy looking man in his twenties. The scruffiness didn’t look contrived either. The double denim and a dark T shirt seemed to be his natural state. His trainers were cheap and he looked as if he’d not bothered to shave this morning.

He was about as tall as Hazel and gave her a grin behind a vaping machine.

“Who are you?” Hazel said. She’d never met the young man before and she didn’t fancy smiling at someone she didn’t know.

“Jerry Price.” He stuck out a hand, as if his name meant something.

Hazel looked at the hand. It told her he was as young as he looked, and that he’d decided not to wash this morning. He was, also, not a manual worker.

“You’re not a solicitor.” Hazel said, “They wouldn’t let you out dressed like that.” She continued to ignore the hand until he shrugged with remarkable indifference, and put it down. “I hope you’re not supposed to be a police officer.”

He continued to smile at her, “Temporary Detective Constable Jerry Price.” He said brightly, “Price with an I.”

Hazel really didn’t care and Harry Sanford shook his head. “You lot aren’t taking this seriously, are you?”

Hazel tended to agree, but told him to shut up. “Where is everyone?” She said.

“Here, I’ll take you through.”

“No, just point us to the right door.”

“This way.” Price said, ignoring her. “Mind your head, people were a lot shorter when they built this place. Eighteen century….seventeenth….Some long time ago anyway. Who cares?” The house interior looked clean and cosy. Hazel found the country scenes on the wall a bit twee. She wasn’t an art expert but was willing to wager that they were rubbish. She guessed, correctly as it turned out, that they were photographic prints that had been through some kind of computer software to make them look like water colour paintings. Which it did. Sadly the actual images themselves were not all that good.

Hazel ducked through a small door into a room that an estate agent might describe as cosy with a rustic appeal. She thought it slightly cramped and uncomfortable.

Looking uncomfortable in a room that was never designed for electric lights and non-drip soft blue matt paint was Michelle Russo with Jibrail Rangan. He was a young, newly minted solicitor. Fresh out of university and learning on the job. Hazel had always found the young man capable and friendly. If he had any objections to his colleagues Anglicising his name to “Jimmy” he never mentioned them. They both looked very professional but out of place in dark business suits.

The third person there was a police inspector she didn’t know. The modern police uniform didn’t fit the décor either. He was tall, as police officers often are, and clean shaven. He was hatless and had short dark hair. Everyone seemed pleased to see Hazel. She doubted they were pleased to see Harry Sanford or even TDC Price.

“Good to see you found the place.” Michelle said. “Inspector Fenner, this is Detective Sergeant Vernon.”

“Can you take these things off me?” Sanford said. Holding up his handcuffed wrists.

“Stan Fenner.” The inspector held out a hand. Hazel found that surprisingly familiar for an inspector from a different city. “Good to meet you.”

“Hey.” Sanford said, “You can shake hands later, can’t you?”

Fenner glanced indifferently at Sanford, as he, briefly, shook Hazel’s hand. “So this is our man, is it?”

“Less of the it.” Sanford said, “I’m supposed to be helping you.” He rattled his cuffs at Fenner, “You want to help me out a bit?”

Fenner said, “I think it’s safe to let him free, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.” Hazel said, but first she said, “Could we close the curtains first, please?”

“It’ll make this room seem even smaller.” Michelle said.

“I know, but anyone with a high powered rifle could pick him off with no trouble.” That was just the first of Hazel’s objections.

“Charming.” Sanford said. “Hey, Sergeant, the bracelets.” He turned them to Hazel, “These aren’t fashion accessories you know.”

Hazel dug out her keys as Jimmy Rangan, who was closest to the window, closed the curtains. For a moment they were in a darkened room and then Price flicked on the lights.

“That’s better.” Sanford rubbed his wrists and looked around, “So this is it? It’s going to be pretty crowded with you lot here.”

“We’ll be leaving.” Fenner said, “Mr Rangan here will be taking any information you have to tell us. Ms Russo will evaluate it later.”

“How about some food?” Sanford said, “What wonderful dishes have the state laid on for me?”

“Please don’t try to be amusing, Harry.” Hazel said, “I’m not in the mood today. It’ll be a step above prison food.” Hazel didn’t know, but she was willing to bet none of the people in the room right now, herself included, would be inclined to cook any kind of decent tasty or nutritious meal for Harry Sanford. Whatever he was served as food would come in a plastic tray and be ready when the microwave went ‘ding.’

He shook his head and picked out what he presumed to be the most comfortable seat in the room. “You’re asking a lot for your money.”

Hazel didn’t think they’d get their money’s worth. Whatever this operation was costing it wasn’t going to show any kind of information profit. “Well if it’s all right with you I better get back to Caneston. I’m sure there’s some real police work that needs doing.” She raised her voice slightly and looked at Sanford. He ignored her completely.

Inspector Fenner said, “Yes, I’d like a word with you about that, Sergeant Vernon.”

Hazel. Very suddenly, had a sinking feeling. She was starting to understand things and hoped, desperately, that she was wrong.

She wasn’t wrong.

“Temporary Detective Constable Price,” Fenner said, speaking the words Hazel had feared, “will be leaving with you.”

Price looked happy and hopeful, like a puppy in the animal shelter.

“I don’t think….”

“I know this is a Caneston operation, Sergeant.” Fenner said pleasantly. Hazel thought of it was Michelle’s operation, but kept that to herself. “But this is my patch here and I am supplying both the protection and housing for our friend here.”

“Cheap housing.” Harry Sanford said, his eyes closed. He sat back with a big smile of his face. “How come there’s no tv set here?”

“In return,” Fenner said, leaving Harry to work out for himself why a holiday cottage wouldn’t have a tv set, “I want one of my men to act as a liaison with you.”

They all looked at Price.

“Why?” Hazel couldn’t stop herself asking, “Sorry, Sir.”

“No, it’s a valid question.” Fenner said, “It’s a case of needing to be informed of what is happening. TDC Price is….” He faltered a bit when it came to establishing exactly what Price was, “…..in need of experience.” That sounded ominous. Fenner smiled at Hazel, “I’m sure he will benefit from your experience, Sergeant.”

Hazel’s inner confidence sank lower. She desperately sought a bright side to this stupid situation. She supposed it would be over soon enough. It wouldn’t take long for Jimmy, or more likely, Michelle, to conclude Harry Sanford had nothing of any practical use to give them. Then Price could go back to Dransfield, put on his uniform and do whatever it was the police did here. Set up speed traps and pick up drunks, she presumed.

She put a very obviously false smile on her face.

“I’m sure he will.” She said through gritted teeth.