Low Profile (25 page)

It was obvious they all liked working for Henry. He was a good boss who took time with his staff, mostly. When he'd been a local DI on CID, there had always been a mad scramble to get on his team.

As he moved around, he was pleased by the progress.

Then he went into the office marked ‘Intel Cell' where he found Jerry Tope with his head down at the computer.

‘You got a mo?' Henry asked when Tope finally looked up.

‘Uh – yeah, sure.'

‘In my office, two minutes? Bring two brews.'

Tope nodded, Henry retreated.

A few minutes later Tope backed in through Henry's office door bearing two mugs of instant coffee. He sat and shoved one across the desk. Henry took it with thanks, cleared his throat, had a sip.

‘Thanks,' he said, surveying Tope across the rim of the mug.

Tope returned a cautious look, unsure why he had been summoned, albeit in such a pleasant way.

‘You know how much I like coincidences, don't you?'

‘Er, yeah, sorta … why?'

‘Got a phone call this morning from the FIM, who in turn had just got a message from the police in Gran Canaria, of all places.' Henry let the words permeate into Tope's massive brain.

‘OK,' the DC said.

‘Mm,' Henry said, starting to draw out what he hoped would be a time of mental torture for Tope. The man's Adam's apple rose and fell in his scrawny throat. ‘They have contacted us to say they are investigating a double murder.'

‘Some connection to us?' Tope ventured.

Henry gave a shrug. ‘To us, maybe, not necessarily to this investigation. The police there have asked me to contact the families of the deceased and also give them any background we can about the victims, a man and a woman.'

‘A man and a woman,' Tope echoed.

Henry took a deliberately loud slurp of his coffee, which he thought actually tasted shit. ‘And, like I said, I'm a man who likes coincidences.'

Tope furrowed his brow. ‘So how can I help? I presume I can?'

‘I'm certain you can.'

Tope shifted nervously.

‘I take it you are aware that when a senior officer does an Intel check on any person, the system automatically flags up to the senior officer the names of the last three members of staff who also carried out a check on that person.'

‘I'm aware of that.'

‘OK – so, earlier this morning the FIM received the request from the police in Gran Canaria about a double murder, naming both victims, as you would expect,' Henry said. Tope nodded along. ‘So what I want to know, Jerry, is this: bearing in mind my penchant for coincidences, how is it that you had the foresight to check out the name of one of the victims before that person was even dead?'

‘I check out a lot of people. It's part of my job. Anyway, who are you talking about?'

Henry noted that Tope now looked decidedly unwell.

‘Scott Costain,' Henry revealed like a trump card, although he was pretty sure Tope knew what was coming. ‘You checked out the name of someone who was going to become a murder victim. Now that, to me, is one hell of a coincidence. What are the odds of that?'

‘We have an ongoing investigation into the Costains. You are almost single-handedly smashing their organization, so checking one of them is … is …'

‘Is what, Jerry?' Henry's voice was cold and clinical.

‘A …' Tope hesitated, dreading to say it, ‘… coincidence.'

‘OK,' Henry then said evenly, ‘let me lay one more on you before I actually ask you why you checked Scott Costain. The police in Gran Canaria have a suspect in custody for the double murder.'

Tope's skin actually changed colour at this revelation.

‘So guess who that might be?'

‘I don't know,' Tope said, his lips hardly moving.

‘I'll give you a clue. He's a mate of yours and you've been known to give him sensitive information in the past.'

‘Flynn?' Tope whispered.

‘Right in one! Now what am I supposed to do with this?' Henry asked. ‘Tell me why you checked Scott Costain –' Henry leaned on his desk and pointed at Tope – ‘and if you don't come clean, I promise you we'll do this the hard way and the first thing I'll do is seize your mobile phone and check on all numbers dialled and received and see if I can get the Spanish cops interested in you as an accomplice. How does that sound?'

Tope's eyes dropped and he stared into his coffee.

Henry sighed. ‘Shit, Jerry.'

‘I didn't actually give him any information. He did phone me, yeah, and asked me to give him anything on Costain, but though I looked I never got the chance to call him back with anything, so I haven't done anything wrong this time.'

Henry laughed starkly. ‘You imbecile … what was it? The same old ruse? “I covered for you when you shagged some bird other than your wife?” That one? Isn't that a bit long in the tooth now?'

‘I didn't pass him any information.'

‘Deal's done, though, innit? As soon as you type in that name and press “enter”. It's all about intent, mate.' Henry shook his head. ‘Jerry, Jerry, Jerry, what am I going to do with you? You've teetered on this precipice before, haven't you?'

Tope nodded dumbly.

‘Right, I want you to make contact with this detective in Gran Canaria and tell him we're on with his request and that you and me will personally go and tell Costain's relatives of his death, and also the girl's if she's local enough.'

‘OK.'

‘Scott Costain? He's not on our radar, is he?'

‘No he isn't. He was brought up in Northern Ireland, where his convictions are.'

‘But it seems his home address is on us?'

‘LKA up on Shoreside with the rest of the clan.'

‘I'll send you a copy of the email from Gran Canaria. You get some Intel together for them, then let's go and break some bad news. If nothing else it'll be an excuse for me to have a look into the wasps' nest … after the press briefing, that is. Oh, and Jerry? Watch your arse, OK? You know what I mean.'

Tope scuttled out of the office red-faced and terrified.

The press briefing took place at Blackpool police station and went well. All sections of the media were present and hungry for this sort of thing, a grisly double murder, one of the victims a well-known local businessman – and a confirmed suspect, a hit man from America no less. The journalists were almost slavering as they recorded Henry's words and were particularly interested in fuelling speculation about Percy's dubious business dealings, although Henry refused to comment on that. It lasted the best part of an hour and Henry fended off questions about Percy's father, stating that at the moment there did not seem to be a link to his son's murder, but he was keeping an open mind on the subject.

After they dispersed, Henry made his way back to the MIR and settled down in his office for five minutes of getting his head together. That was his plan, anyway, but there was a knock on the door and a very sheepish Jerry Tope slithered in, clutching a file of papers, eager to make amends.

Henry regarded him stonily, then gestured for him to take a seat.

‘Fire away.'

‘Scott Costain and his girlfriend, shot to death in their holiday villa. Steve Flynn was found at the scene and arrested and is still in custody. Seems Costain and the girl chartered Flynn's fishing boat and they had a falling out about something, ending up in fisticuffs in Puerto Rico town centre. They were sent on their way by cops, then the morning after the police attended a report from a neighbour and found Steve at the scene.'

‘Steve Flynn shot two people to death?'

‘Well, he was at the scene of the murder.'

‘He is one nasty piece of work,' Henry said.

‘Capable of killing two people in cold blood?'

‘Capable of anything, though I wouldn't have thought daft enough to get caught. Still, not our problem, is it?'

‘Don't you think he deserves some help?' Tope said in disbelief.

‘Nah, not really. We'll just do what's been asked of us and deliver some death messages, shall we?'

‘We?'

‘Yes, you're coming with me, pal.'

‘What about me?'

A large figure had appeared at the office door and, despite the man's size, neither of the two had noticed his approach. Henry looked up quickly; Tope's head swivelled.

‘What the hell are you doing here?' Henry demanded, rising from his chair and smiling.

‘Sounds like you're gonna need a bodyguard. I'm your man,' Karl Donaldson announced.

Donaldson had never intended to travel north, or ‘oop newerth' as he liked to call it now, mimicking a Lancashire accent. He'd thought that getting some information for his friend Henry Christie was just a diversion and as far into the criminal world as he could go, then it would be back to the grindstone of terrorism.

That morning he had risen at six to get ready for work – commuting by train from his local station, into London at seven-ish. He had actually boarded the train and was trying not to imagine gunning down his fellow travellers.

To get his mind off it, he fished out his mobile phone and called Henry Christie's number. Since sending Henry the email the night before concerning Hawke, he'd heard nothing from his northern pal.

The call went straight to voicemail and Donaldson left a short message.

Then he checked the time and wondered if Henry had even set off for work yet, so he called the landline number of the Tawny Owl, knowing his friend was virtually part of the furniture there now.

This time it rang out for a long time. This was fairly unusual because Donaldson knew Alison was a stickler for answering the phone quickly as part of her business. ‘You don't get a second chance to make a first impression,' she had quoted continually, ‘especially in the hospitality trade.' She was particularly keen on an almost corporate approach to answering professionally, so he let it ring, knowing it would get answered, which it was.

A gruff, deep, northern, yokel voice said, ‘Th'Owl.'

Donaldson said, ‘Excuse me?'

‘I sid, th'Owl.'

‘Do you mean “The Tawny Owl”?'

‘What I sid, int it?'

‘Who am I talking to, please?'

‘Ahm Jack Singleton … who're yew?'

Donaldson grinned, able to visualize who he was talking to. Since Henry had become resident up there, Donaldson and his wife had also stayed a few times as guests of Henry and Alison. On those visits he had got to know some of the locals quite well, Jack Singleton being one of them. In fact Donaldson and Singleton had been on rough shoots on Singleton's land a few times.

‘Jack, it's me, Karl Donaldson.'

‘Ooo?'

‘Karl Donaldson, the Yank, the FBI man – you remember?'

‘Oh aye, big, good lookin' guy … fit wife.'

‘The perfect description.' Donaldson smiled. He staggered slightly as the train jerked. ‘Is Henry there?'

‘No, gone t'work.'

‘How come you're answering the phone?'

‘'Cos we're all 'ere, protectin' Mizz Marsh.' Singleton's voice dropped to a confidential hush. ‘Mafia hit man's been here and could be comin' back, but he won't get through the Wild Geese.'

Donaldson leapt off the train at the next stop, legged it over the bridge at the station and managed to catch a train going in the opposite direction. Twenty minutes later he was reversing his Jeep out of his tiny garage and speeding to the M4.

He had made the unilateral decision to put terrorism on the back burner for a day or two.

‘The cops down there scanned Costain's travel documents and emailed them to me,' Tope said, opening the file on his knee and extracting a thin sheaf of papers, handing them over to Henry, who sifted through them. There were two e-tickets and printed-off boarding cards for flights from Manchester to Gran Canaria, copies of Scott Costain's and Patricia Mason's passports and a booking confirmation for a villa. ‘None of the documents actually has an address on, but oddly enough he's put an emergency contact name and address in the passport, something I know I've never done.' Tope gave this scanned document to Henry.

‘Nor me.'

He and Tope were in the back of Donaldson's Jeep; at the American's insistence, he was going to be driving Henry about for the foreseeable future. Henry had given him the address and directions.

Henry had a good look at Scott's photo on the passport but was fairly sure he hadn't come across him before, despite his dealings with the family. One thing Henry had learned was that the Costain family tree was like a monkey puzzle and relatives were always popping up unexpectedly. There were many of them and although they had been firmly rooted in Blackpool for almost thirty years now, they did have connections across the Irish Sea and, more tenuously, to Romanian gypsies.

Henry took it all with a pinch of salt.

To him they were simply a big bad family, the male members of which didn't know how to fit condoms, and who were deeply involved in criminal activity that over time had become more organized. One of the things that Henry wanted to achieve prior to retirement was to bring the criminal side of the Costain family to its knees because they had been such a nuisance over the years and no one had ever grasped the nettle and throttled them. This was why he was taking just a teeny chunk of time out from his murder inquiry. Not because he thought, or even imagined, there was any link here to Percy's murder, but because an excuse to step over the Costain threshold should always be grabbed.

Donaldson drove on to the Shoreside estate. This was the largest council estate in the resort and also one of the poorest and most crime-ridden in the whole of the UK. Its unemployment rate was ninety-seven per cent, it was a wild and dangerous place for the unwary and the Costains had ruled it by intimidation, theft, burglary and drug dealing for too many years.