Читать книгу Silent As The Grave - Paul Gitsham - Страница 21

Chapter 10

Warren received a less than rapturous welcome when he returned to the station.

“My office, now.”

The roasting from Grayson was pretty much what he’d been expecting; the man had been unable to decide which of Warren’s misdemeanours should be addressed first and in the end had simply settled on a chronological listing: getting in a car with a potential killer, removing his earpiece so he could no longer receive instructions, leaving a contained area with a suspect, circumventing surveillance and ignoring procedures for the collection of a witness statement.

However, Grayson had reserved most of his vitriol for Warren’s apparent agreement to help his predecessor fight the charges against his name. Sheehy had said nothing about it where they could be overheard, but Grayson wasn’t a fool. It was obvious that was what Sheehy was after.

“It’s not your job to help some bent copper fight Professional Standards. The Federation and his lawyers can do that. You’ve got enough on your plate solving this murder; besides, we can do without the negative publicity. We’re going to have enough shit flying at us when this comes to court next month without the press getting wind of your escapades.”

Warren stood and took the flak, mostly allowing the shouting to wash over him. It was to be expected and he was too emotionally tired to care about a bollocking that would ultimately lead nowhere. Regardless, he was struck by two remarks all-but buried within the verbiage; the first a cynical observation that Grayson had never concerned himself before with the amount of work piled on Warren’s “plate”—he usually loaded it as gleefully as a glutton at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Secondly, it was the first time that Warren could recall the man referring to Middlesbury as “we” or “us”.

After the obligatory threat that he was contemplating suspending Warren, Grayson finally asked what Sheehy had to offer.

“That’s it?” he responded when Warren had finished. “This Reggie Williamson offered a gun to Sheehy back in the 1980s, which Sheehy then planted at the scene of a crime to frame him and now this Vinny Delmarno character wants his revenge? Sheehy really is a dirty bastard. It sounds like it’s all coming back to bite him on the arse.”

“Well, it’s not as if Delmarno is an innocent in all of this,” Warren found himself defending Sheehy—a position he was not exactly comfortable with.

Grayson was dismissive. “Who gives a shit about Delmarno? He got what he deserved. Besides, it’s clear that Sheehy has form when it comes to corruption.” He sighed. “Regardless, it’s something. See where it takes you. Is there anything else?”

“No, sir.” The lie came more smoothly than Warren was comfortable with.

“Well let’s hope this leads us somewhere. This afternoon’s little jaunt cost us an arm and a leg.”

The dismissal was clear and Warren wasted no time turning for the door.

“Oh and Warren, take that bloody stab vest off or everybody will see through this carefully cultivated, cuddly facade.”

* * *

Warren’s first stop on leaving Grayson’s office was DS Peter Kent’s desk. The veteran detective looked up.

“You survived, I see. Those vests are worth every penny.”

Warren smiled tightly. “Apparently coming out of the Super’s office wearing one ruins his cuddly image.”

Kent snorted in amusement. “His bark’s worse than his bite. Although he can certainly bark loud enough.”

Warren winced. Kent was at the far end of the room from Grayson’s office. “You heard that then?”

He smiled. “Why do you think half the office has gone for a coffee break?” Kent’s smile faded. “How was he?”

No need to ask who “he” was.

Warren shrugged, replying cagily, “I never met him before today, so I can’t say if he was any different to when he worked here.”

Kent said nothing, waiting.

“But unless he was unkempt and a daytime drinker when you knew him, he’s probably not doing as well as you hope.”

Warren’s sympathy for his predecessor was close to non-existent; however, he had been a much-loved boss and people like Pete Kent had known him for years. Warren would have to be careful not to be too dismissive of their feelings.

“What can I do for you anyhow, Chief?”

Although all officers in CID could use HOLMES 2, the service-wide computer database that was used to store records and reports on major incidents, Warren had a feeling he’d need specialist help.

“I need details on a cold case from the eighties. Will they be available electronically?”

DS Kent looked at him warily. “They might be. The original HOLMES went live in 1986 for major incidents, but it’s a bit patchy. It hasn’t got half the functionality of HOLMES 2 and some forces still did a lot of their record keeping manually, scanning them in after the fact. The cross-referencing can be pretty poor. What do you need?”

“I need the records for a joint Hertfordshire – West Midlands Police operation concluded in 1988. I don’t have an operation name, but it resulted in the conviction of a Vinny Delmarno. If you could get me his records as well, that would be great.” Warren glanced at the clock above Kent’s head; the man’s shift finished in half an hour. “Actually, get Gary on it when he returns from his break.”

“I’ll do it, Chief. I’m not in a rush. Gary’s finishing himself in a few hours then he and Karen are off on that dirty get-away they think nobody knows about. I’ll only end up reinventing the wheel if he starts the job and then hands it over.”

Warren thanked the man and turned to head back to his office, before another idea struck him. “Could you also get onto Revenue and Customs and check the tax and National Insurance returns for Reggie Williamson during the same time period? I’d like to know what he was doing and who he was working for back then.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the older man promised, “but it may take a while. HMRC deal with most requests during office hours.”

“Well do what you can. I’ll be in my office. Print it out when you’re done.”

One last thought occurred to him, he glanced over at Grayson’s office before leaning in to Kent. “Do me a favour and keep this between us for the time being.”

Kent glanced over at Grayson’s office and smirked slightly, as Warren had known he would. “Of course.”

* * *

Tony Sutton was a lot politer than Detective Superintendent Grayson. Nevertheless he made it quite clear how reckless he thought his DCI had been; and was similarly disapproving of Warren’s tacit agreement to help clear Sheehy’s name as a reward for more information.

Warren had wrestled with the revelations that Sheehy had made all the way back to CID. He’d been standing in front of Grayson, absorbing the man’s anger before he’d eventually decided that he wasn’t ready to share everything Sheehy had revealed to him or broach the subject of his father’s death with the man.

The wound that Sheehy had so brutally reopened on Middlesbury Common was gaping wide and Warren was confused and bewildered; however, his instincts were telling him that he couldn’t trust the man until he knew more.

To somebody of Warren’s age, those events in the mid eighties seemed a lifetime ago, but he was uncomfortably aware that officers such as Gavin Sheehy and John Grayson had started their careers back then and were still in the force today, working in positions of influence and responsibility.

Sheehy’s account had almost made it sound as if he and MacNamara had planned the whole stitch-up single-handedly, but even back in the eighties the police didn’t work that way. The two officers would have been part of a much larger team and it was almost inconceivable that they worked alone or were even the masterminds of the subterfuge. Until Warren read the report on the case, he wasn’t sharing the contents of the manila folder, sandwiched between his stab vest and shirt, with anybody.