Low Profile (31 page)

‘Pure speculation,' Woodcock said, shaking his head. ‘There just wasn't evidence to charge him.'

‘But you were intrigued, weren't you? A bit of research on your part, find out he was talking about Archie, who had previously been hit by bogus officials, and as you look through the crime reports – as I did at three this morning – you learn the old guy suffers from Alzheimer's disease and has a memory like a goldfish. Which means, bless him, he's a rubbish witness. And it also means you can waltz in there, flash your ID, spin the poor guy a yarn and then dump him on Pointer Island in Lancaster while your new friend steals his diamonds. How does that sound?'

‘Preposterous.'

‘You know, I like it when suspects move from outright denial to using words like “pure speculation” and “preposterous”.'

‘I bumped into him in town, yeah, I'll have that – but the rest, nonsense.'

‘“Nonsense” – another good word. And yet you didn't bother to tell me you'd seen him earlier when we were both looking at his dead body. Why was that?'

Woodcock shrugged.

‘But you went to his house earlier, didn't you? When I saw your car coming out of Severn Road … bearing in mind that Severn Road is covered by CCTV cameras.' Henry smiled thinly. ‘He was already dead then, wasn't he?'

‘How could you possibly know that?'

‘I went to his post mortem at three thirty this morning. It's the pathologist's best guess that Barclay died sometime between being shot and about two p.m. yesterday. One of the shotgun pellets severed an artery in his leg. He managed to get home and probably died as soon as he got there.'

‘You've been busy.'

‘I still am, Peter. You know I like opening oysters.' Henry made a show of checking his watch. ‘A support unit team with two detectives will be waking up your wife, just about now.'

‘You bastard!' Woodcock lurched forward threateningly.

‘Is she lying there adorned in diamonds?'

‘You leave her out of this.' Woodcock then threw himself across the desk and his outstretched hands went for Henry's throat. Henry rocked sideways, half-expecting the assault. Woodcock missed and slid across the desk, scattering all the paperwork as Henry shot out of his seat, twisted and grabbed the back of Woodcock's jacket and, using his momentum, hauled him over the desk and flattened him on the floor. He dropped onto his back and pinned his head to the floor with his hands.

‘Archie had flashes of clarity, didn't he? Sometimes everything was there for him, wasn't it?' Henry demanded through grinding teeth. ‘He clocked you, didn't he, when you went to see him, because you were the one who dumped and robbed him, weren't you? And all this bollocks about chasing Hawke was just that, wasn't it – bollocks? You made all that up because you couldn't risk me going round to see Archie again and him fingering you, so while we chased fucking shadows around Blackpool, Barclay paid Archie a visit and beat him to death – unfortunately for him, he got shot too.' Henry slavered as he spoke these words whilst holding Woodcock pinned to the ground. ‘I can't believe I called you mate. You're a disgrace, and all I've said is right, isn't it?'

Tears formed in Woodcock's eyes. He crumbled. ‘Yeah, yeah.' This was much to Henry's relief because a lot of it had been conjecture as much as anything, although it was also based on reasonable suspicion and he knew he could justify putting the allegation to Woodcock if necessary. All it needed was wheedling out … prying the oyster open.

Shaking with fury, Henry rose off him, out of breath from the brief but intense moment of exertion. He pulled Woodcock to his feet just as a whole bunch of faces crammed into the office doorway – Jerry Tope, Marion Lang, Karl Donaldson, a detective superintendent from FMIT and the chief superintendent of the division. They had all been waiting nearby and listening to an audio link that had been quickly fitted to Henry's office and piped through to another office.

‘You OK, Henry?' Donaldson asked.

‘Yeah, yeah,' he breathed. ‘Can someone drag this disgrace of a cop over to the cells?' Henry addressed Woodcock. ‘I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Archie Astley-Barnes, also the theft of property from him.' He cautioned him and then said, ‘Will I need to arrest your wife, too?'

Woodcock shook his head. ‘It's all me.'

‘OK.' Two uniformed PCs came in and took Woodcock away.

Henry exhaled a long, stuttering sigh, and perched on the edge of the desk. His eyes searched out Marion, with whom he had – professionally – just spent the night. She smiled shyly at him and he gave her a nod of acknowledgement. She backed away as the others crowded into the office

‘Well done, Henry … always like to weed out the bad apples,' the chief super said and patted him on the shoulder.

‘Cheers, boss.'

‘Let me know how it goes … in the meantime I'll bring the chief up to speed and contact the IPCC.' He then left.

The other detective superintendent, by the name of Alan Mercer, one of Henry's FMIT colleagues, said, ‘I'll take it from here, H.' He slapped Henry on the shoulder and left. It would be his job to see this through and Henry knew him well enough to trust he would do a brilliant job.

‘Tough one,' Donaldson said.

‘Bit of a tester,' Henry agreed.

Jerry Tope had also been up all night, having been roused by Henry at an ungodly hour to assist with the research. He looked curiously at Henry.

‘What?'

‘Severn Road doesn't have CCTV.'

‘I know that, but he doesn't have to know, does he?'

Tope shrugged unsurely.

‘There are other cameras in the area that will have picked up his car about the time I saw it … it's sortable if it becomes an issue, which it won't.' He smiled tiredly, then said, ‘I'd better get across to the nick and book him in, then give Al everything I've got.'

Flynn was also up early wanting to catch Eduardo down at Puerto Base; he had said he would be having breakfast at a café on the waterfront. He had told Flynn to see him there early because he had to take a fishing party out at eight and would not be back until six.

Flynn found him dunking churros into thick hot chocolate, sitting at a table outside a tiny café, so small that it was easy to miss. Flynn ordered the same and sat next to the old guy and began dunking and consuming what could only be described as an awesome breakfast.

After his first mouthful, Flynn said, ‘La información?'

Henry returned to the MIR two hours later and sat at his desk, after putting back everything that had gone flying when Woodcock had lunged at him. He was thankful that he had a skeleton because his whole body wanted to drain away and it was only his bones keeping him from becoming a gooey liquid.

‘You might want this, boss.' Marion Lang came through the door, bearing a steaming mug of coffee and a sandwich crammed with crispy bacon.

‘Wow. I am very grateful.' He sipped the coffee.

‘Sorry to have ruined your night,' she said meekly.

‘Yeah – don't do it again,' he joked. Then, ‘Look, well done. Following your instinct is usually a good thing and it took guts. Hey, you should come to the Tawny Owl one night soon, have a proper night there – on the house. Bring your boyfriend, or whoever.'

‘Really?'

‘Absolutely. I'll fix it up.' He glanced past her shoulder. ‘And the queue begins.'

Tope and Donaldson were at the door, Tope armed with a manila folder, his weapon of choice.

Marion gave Henry a nice smile and left, the two men coming in and closing the door. Tope laid the file reverently on Henry's desk.

‘William – Liam – Costain,' he announced.

‘Hit me,' Henry said.

Tope and Donaldson took seats. Tope began. ‘Ex-IRA enforcer, suspected of many killings in the bad old days of the Provos. Moved into organized crime when the peace treaties were signed and the IRA crumbled like the Berlin Wall. Now into protection rackets, prostitution. Suspected of people trafficking and drug smuggling. The Northern Ireland police were hot on his wheels, so to speak –' Tope grinned at his joke – ‘which may be why he's shifted over here. He has US connections from way back when various factions and people over there supplied the Republicans with money and weapons.'

‘Nice fella. Presumably all directed from a wheelchair?'

‘For the last fifteen years, yes. Took a bullet in the spine after a big falling out between gangs, and was paralysed from the waist down.'

‘So, too much heat over there, comes over here and, what? Starts to direct Costain family operations?'

‘Could be,' Tope said.

‘And marries Cherry? She'd kill him if she mounted him, if there is anything to mount.'

‘Anyway, that's him in a nutshell and maybe that doesn't help anything as such, but this might. As you know I've been checking on Percy's recent trips abroad, to the Canaries and Florida.'

‘And we know that in Florida Percy spent time on a fishing boat belonging to Giancarlo Fioretti, who I've also been researching further,' Donaldson said.

‘Go on,' Henry urged him.

‘His history is linked to gun running for the IRA and money laundering, but many years ago. He's suspected of being Costain's main US connection back then, a relationship that probably survives to this day,
and
Fioretti is suspected of people trafficking. And Jason Hawke, of course, is one of his enforcers, has been for over ten years.'

Tope and Donaldson exchanged glances. Henry said, ‘There's more?'

‘Like I said,' Tope explained, ‘I've been looking into Percy's travel arrangements. As regards the Canaries I couldn't get much, except that he stayed in Puerto Rico at one of the big, posh hotels. Florida, though … I unearthed Percy's and Lottie's travel visas and also looked at the passenger manifest for the flights they took. A Virgin flight from Manchester direct to Miami. On the visa application they were required to state where they were staying and they gave the address of a villa in Key West.' Tope looked at Donaldson.

‘Which belongs to Fioretti, who, as you know, also owns
Silverfin
, the sportfishing boat.'

‘Brilliant,' Henry said.

‘There's more,' Tope said. ‘The passenger lists – which, incidentally, I
haven't
seen, if you get my drift.'

‘You hacked into Virgin Atlantic's website?'

‘Merely paid it a flying visit. Anyway, flight out, flight back.' He took two sheets of paper from the manila file and slid them over to Henry, who spun them round. They were simple lists, about two hundred and fifty names on each in alphabetical order, with the flight numbers at the top.

Two names were highlighted quite close to the top of each list: Astley-Barnes, Percival Aldous and Bowers, Charlotte. Henry nodded. ‘And?'

‘Start reading,' Tope encouraged him.

‘These are two very long lists,' Henry whined.

‘I had to read them,' Tope muttered. ‘Anyway, you don't have to read too far.'

And he didn't.

Running his finger down the first list, the flight out, he stopped abruptly under the letter ‘C'. Quickly looking at the return flight, he also stopped at ‘C'.

‘Costain, William Sean.' He raised his head. ‘Our Liam?'

Tope nodded. ‘I also cross-checked to the passports, which are scanned on departure and arrival. It's him. I found his visa application, too.'

‘Where, exactly,' Henry said, ‘did you find these documents?'

‘Erm …' Tope hesitated and glanced guiltily at the FBI employee sitting alongside him. ‘Probably best not to know at this stage – but don't worry, I covered my tracks as ever.'

Henry scowled and Tope went on quickly, ‘The address on Costain's visa application was the same one that Percy and Lottie stayed at, in Key West. Fioretti's.'

Henry held up a finger. ‘Let me get this straight – Percy and Lottie go to and from Florida on the same flight as Costain. They stay at the same address, which is owned by a Florida gangster, and now they're both dead, killed by a hit man working for that gangster. On top of that, Liam Costain has bought diamond jewellery from Percy's shops?'

‘So it would seem.'

‘And then, Percy and Lottie also visited Gran Canaria, where Scott Costain came to a sticky end – although they were both here, and dead, when that happened.'

Tope nodded.

‘And Steve Flynn gets locked up for that murder and his ex-partner Jack Hoyle is also tied in somehow, because he's in one of Lottie's photographs.'

‘Except that I know Flynn has been released without charge. He texted me,' Tope said.

Henry took this in and said, ‘Whatever. But for some reason Percy had got himself involved with some very scary people. Looks like he got the heebie-jeebies, maybe chickened out, then got whacked.' Then something struck him. ‘Hang on,' he said. He snatched up Lottie's digital camera and found the photograph with Jack Hoyle in the background. There had been something in the bottom corner of the picture that Henry could not quite work out before – but now he knew what he was looking at. He zoomed in on that section where he had seen something that had resembled part of a bicycle wheel.

He turned the camera outwards to Tope and Donaldson. They leaned to peer at it and the expression on both their faces changed at exactly the same time.

‘Part of the wheel of a wheelchair,' Henry said. ‘I know it's not proof of anything but I think it's time to visit our ex-IRA man and wheel him in for a long chat and if he won't talk, I baggsie leaving him on the beach at low tide.'

‘L
et's just keep it as low key as we can,' Henry said. They were in Donaldson's Jeep making towards Shoreside, the American at the wheel, Henry alongside and Tope in the back seat. Henry was half-turned, speaking to Tope over his shoulder. They had left the major incident suite, but instead of threading through the streets Henry directed Donaldson on to Yeadon Way and they were travelling out of the resort on the two mile stretch of road that linked the centre of Blackpool directly to the M55 motorway. Built on the former Blackpool to Kirkham railway line, it is a tight stretch of road, funnelling in motorway traffic on to a single carriageway road, one lane either way. For much of its length there is no way for vehicles to escape or swerve sideways because of the concrete walls on each side of the road. Henry thought that it would be just as quick to get to Shoreside by nipping down Yeadon Way and coming off at the first motorway junction – Marton Circle – getting on to the estate from there. ‘There's a section van on standby at Tesco,' Henry went on, ‘so when we're ready, I'll call it in and we can lift Costain into the back and whizz him down to the nick.'