The Devil's Interval (9 page)

‘And we’ll only know when this car goes mobile, will we? There won’t be any more notice?’

‘Aye, so be ready. From now on, like. It could be as soon as tomorrow, I just don’t know.’

‘And you don’t want anything from us in return? That’s right, is it?’

‘A bit of cash for the information, so me and the family can lay low for a while. That’s all, Pepper. I know your Super can sign off on five grand, like.’

‘Of course you do, Alan. What a well-informed criminal bloody genius you are. But since we’re having this little chat let me tell you how I see this. I don’t think there’s a chance in a thousand that we’ll nab Maxwell, but if we do I reckon it won’t be because you’re trying to drop Dai Young in the shit. Because I think you’re already working for him.’

‘Talk sense, love. Why would he fuck up his own operation, especially with an animal like Maxwell in the mix? And I’m loyal, I am. Always have been.’

‘Bollocks, Alan. Your idea of loyalty is going with the same tart twice. And I don’t know why Young would screw up his own operation, at least not yet, but that doesn’t mean to say it’s not what he’s doing. And I’ll tell you one other thing, mate. If I was in your shoes I’d be thinking very hard about that self same question, if it is Young who’s pulling your strings. We’ll take Maxwell if he’s on offer, of course we will, and we’ll do our best to keep your name out of it, Alan. But if I were you I’d start thinking about taking a long trip on a small plane, and maybe a bit of plastic surgery. Start having your favourite Cumberland sausage shipped to a PO box somewhere, never see your dear old mum again, all that sort of stuff.’

‘It’ll be reet, love, don’t you worry about that. Just don’t miss that bloody car, that’s all. I know what you lot are like. Some of your lads are right lazy bastards. If this goes off on a shift change we’ll be buggered.’

‘No we won’t. If he moves, we’ll nab him. Tonight you can call either of us, we’ll both leave our phones on, and come tomorrow we’ll give you a number to call, anytime. All you say is a name, let’s call you Giles, and then whatever information you’ve got. And check that the call handler has the details right, for Christ’s sake. Make them read what you give them straight back to you, like they should, OK?’

Henry Armstrong had been having a quiet evening. He’d exchanged messages with a couple of university friends, watched a documentary about old British jets on the TV, and almost phoned his dad to talk about it afterwards. But all the time he kept checking his phone, to see if his dad’s car had moved. It hadn’t, not by a foot. And he was still trying to persuade himself to go to bed, even as he was pulling the front door closed behind him.

It wasn’t far to where the car was parked, and the rain was off, at least for a while. But the wind was insistent, so Armstrong walked quickly, and barely glanced at the few people he passed. There weren’t many parked cars in the street where he’d left the MG, but he still couldn’t see it. And he was running hard well before he reached the space where the car should have been. He looked up and down, as if it had might have moved a few yards entirely on its own, but it was gone. He stood in the space, dry where the car had stood, except for a little puddle of oil beneath where the engine had been.

He looked along the gutter, and then he saw it, the bloody tracking device. He rooted about in his coat pocket, found an envelope, and pushed it into that. Then he phoned in the registration number, and asked for an immediate stop on sight. He no longer cared about the bloody ACC, he just wanted his father’s car back in one piece. Next he ran all the way to the station, and hoped that a fingerprint tech was in. But there wasn’t one, so he bagged and tagged the tracker properly, marked the job urgent, and started to walk home. It was too late to phone his dad now, which was a blessing. Henry Armstrong wasn’t afraid of his dad, never had been, but he always found his tight-lipped self-control disconcerting. He wished his dad would just come out and say what he really thought, once in a while. But, more than that, he sincerely wished that he’d never borrowed that bloody car.

He was nearly half way home before he even thought about the CCTV. He’d been too flustered before, but the street he’d chosen to leave the car on did have main roads at both ends, so there had to be a chance. If it was driven away, or loaded onto the back of an uncovered lorry, then maybe he could pick it up. So he went back to the station, and straight to the CCTV monitoring room. He spoke to a civilian volunteer, who said that she’d get an analysis workstation set up for him immediately.

It didn’t take long to find the MG. It had been driven out of the street, then east along the main road. After the M6 junction it had vanished into the backroads, and it hadn’t been seen by any patrols. Armstrong called the traffic control rooms in Northumbria and North Yorkshire, and asked them to stop the car if they saw it. In both cases they seemed extremely surprised that a DC would call, in the middle of the night, about a stolen car.

‘Are the occupants dangerous, then?’

‘Not to my knowledge, no.’

‘How about the contents of the vehicle. Are we talking drugs, weapons, what?’

‘An old tool kit and a flat cap, as far as I know’ said Armstrong. ‘Look, just put the alert out, would you? I want to get the bloody thing found.’

It was nearly four in the morning by the time he got home. His only real hope was that whoever had stolen the car had prised the tracking device off with their bare hands, and had left some prints. He’d left the volunteer on the CCTV desk running number plates of cars that could conceivably have dropped off the driver in the twenty minutes or so before the MG was seen driving away, but he knew that it was a long shot. Almost a hundred vehicles had passed both ends of the street during the period, and unless one of them was flagged on the intelligence system then there was no real possibility of finding any likely suspects.

He was cleaning his teeth when it came to him. He called Josie, the civilian volunteer, and asked her to look and see if any of the cars on her list had turned up on CCTV on both of the main roads at either end of Aglionby Street.

‘Both? How could they possibly be on both?’

‘Not at the same time, I mean a few minutes apart. It doesn’t matter which way they travelled either, because what we’re looking for is someone who might have driven along Aglionby Street itself, meaning that they must turn up on cameras on both main roads, assuming they didn’t do a U-turn. In which case I’m totally screwed.’

‘I get you. Right, leave it with me. What do you want to do if I find anything, DC Armstrong? Send you an email?’

‘No, call me, please. I’m going to crash for a couple of hours, but I’ll have my phone on.’

‘All right, if that’s what you want. I’ve only been doing this for a couple of weeks, but if my car went missing, I’d want you to be the one looking for it. You’re like a dog with a bloody bone, aren’t you?’

Tuesday, December 2nd.

6.02am, M6 Services, northbound.

John Porter walked slowly to the passenger door of Dai Young’s Merc and got in. He hadn’t glanced behind him as he walked, because there was no point. If a bullet was coming it wouldn’t miss, but it also wouldn’t be the end of the matter. Because he had ten guys within a hundred yards, including the two in the van parked in line of sight to the Mercedes with a grenade launcher. Young’s car would look like something you see on the TV news, if he tried anything.

But Porter knew that Young would have plenty of his troops around too. So if it all went off it would become the stuff of legend, that was for sure. But that wasn’t going to happen, not today, he was almost certain. Because after Roberts was killed no-one had come for him too, and Young had been cordial enough when he invited him to the meeting. So he wasn’t a spent force yet, Young must know that, and Porter had hopes that the bloke might still see reason. There’d be bodies and blood otherwise.

‘Sorry that this is the only location that we could both agree on,’ said Young, as Porter got in. ‘I was hoping for a civilised breakfast somewhere, but needs must, I suppose.’

‘Your car’s not that bad, for a mass-produced motor, like.’

Young smiled. ‘And I suppose this won’t take long anyway, so I suppose it doesn’t matter. You understand what I’m asking for, and what we’re offering you in return?’

‘Aye, I reckon so. You want all of my business, most of my lads, and in return I get fuck all. I think that just about sums it up.’

‘That’s not quite right, is it, John? I think the financial settlement has been fully explained to you? Our FD tells me that your people have been fully briefed on all the financial aspects, relating to your legitimate business interests.’

‘Aye, but even so, it’s next to nowt, really. If you took over you’d take more than that in a month or two. It’s an insult, is your offer.’

‘But that’s not really the way to look at it, though, is it? Because you’re one of the lucky ones, one of the few in this game who actually gets to retire. You have our absolute assurance of your personal safety, and that of your family, for as long as you remain in our area of influence. So long, that is, as you also stay retired.’

‘Is that it, then? You’ve got me out here at fucking sparrow-fart just to tell me what I already know? Either I give the job up, or you come after me too?’

‘But it’s not me who’d come after you, is it, John? You do know who I represent, don’t you?’

‘Oh, aye, and that don’t scare me. So your firm is a new idea, I’ll grant you that, but eventually all your mad bastards will kill the clever bloody accountants and then fucking eat them. You can see that? Or have they got you too dosed up to think at all? It’ll tear itself apart, will your firm. And I’ve got allies too, you must know that. Powerful friends they are, too.’

‘Our friends across the water? Oh, aye, we know that you’ve been in discussions, and that certain assurances have been given to you.’

‘Exactly. You can’t fucking touch me now, can you?’

‘Oh, no, I’m afraid it’s not quite that easy. Not for you, anyway. Because the assurances that you have received did include some conditions, didn’t they?’

‘Nothing that matters, no. And you’ve got us bugged or something, have you? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘No, not at all. We made contact with them through our usual channels and simply asked the right questions. We do business with them too, you see. But the point is this, and I do want to be very clear. Unless you agree to our proposal, right here and now, a chain of events will be set in motion that will lead to your death, and quite possibly the deaths of a number of people close to you. I’m afraid the matter would be completely out of my hands.’

‘Bollocks. You touch me and the Irish lads will fucking have you.’

‘But who said it would me, or any of my associates, that you’d have to be worried about, John? I’ve told you that you’ll die, but not who would do it, or even why they’d do it.’

Porter reached for the door handle. ‘You’re full of shit, mate.’ Then he let go of the handle, and turned back to Young. ‘But why don’t you listen to me for minute, eh?’

‘Take all the time you need. I’ll listen to whatever you’ve got to say.’

‘Just this, Dai. I understand how you operate, and I know about you, too. We’ve got our sources too, marrer. We know about the bent doctor who keeps you and the rest of your animals medicated, and that when the time comes they just take you all off the drugs and stand back, like. And that’s all very well, and I don’t doubt that you’ve got a screw or two loose yourself, like. You wouldn’t be sitting here giving me all this old bollocks if you were thinking straight. But when push comes to shove your bosses are sane, and they’re businessmen, just like me. So they won’t let you off the fucking leash this time, even if you beg them. Which means that it’ll be me coming for you, Dai. And I don’t care what kind of a raving nutter you are when your blood’s up like, because a sniper can still take the back of your skull clean off. You mark my words.’

‘I don’t take any medication, John. Those are all just rumours, and stories. I wouldn’t take any notice of that sort of talk.’

‘If you say so. And one other thing before I go. There’ll be retribution for Pete Roberts, and it won’t be long. Tell Massie from me that he’s a dead man. I know it was him who got Pete killed. And I want Alan Farmer back too, alive, mind.’

‘He was released an hour ago. He’s a loyal man, is Farmer, I’ll give him that. Foolish, but loyal.’

‘Bollocks. He’s just made the right decision, that’s all. He would have been mad to sign up with you, anyway. And just so we’re clear. No more meeting, no more talk. From now on, if I see you, or any of your boys, then they’re in play.’

‘In play? You mean that you’ll kill us?’ Young looked genuinely amused. ‘What, yourself, like? With your own hands? I’m shaking with fear, John, I really am. You couldn’t kill a kitten. But I’m content that I’ve given you an honest chance to do the sensible thing, no-one can say I haven’t. And you’ll have a hell of a lot worse than me to deal with now, I’ll tell you that.’

This time Porter did open the door, and got out. Then he leaned back into the car for a moment.

‘You do me a favour, Dai. Keep taking the fucking tablets, there’s a good lad.’

DC Henry Armstrong was back in at work by eight am, and drank his coffee at his desk. It didn’t make him feel any better, but the email from Josie on the CCTV team did. At least a bit. Because there were only three cars that had appeared on both main roads during the relevant time period. Armstrong ran the names and addresses of the registered keepers through the PNC. It didn’t take long, because the first one was exactly what he was looking for. ‘Got you, you bastard,’ he said, and noted a name and address in his notebook. The husband of the registered keeper of a blue Toyota, a Colin Arthur Sparrow, had five convictions for receiving and two for online fraud. All right, there was nothing directly car-related, but he was still the one. Had to be.

Henry almost bumped into Pepper on his way down the stairs, and just shouted back a greeting from the landing below. She shook her head and carried on. Twenty minutes later he was parking outside a run-down farmhouse on the outskirts of Longtown. It looked to have some old barns round the back too, perfect for storing cars. He was tempted to go and have a quick look first, before he knocked. But he followed the rules, and just banged on the door.

‘Aye?’, said a middle-aged man, answering the door, and glancing at Armstrong. ‘You the law?’

‘Is it that obvious?’ asked Armstrong, producing his Warrant Card. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Not a chance, mate. What do you want, like?’

‘You’re Colin Sparrow?’

‘I am, aye. What’s this about? I need to get to work.’

‘And what is it you do?’

‘You’ve not come out here to ask me that. So get on with it, or get on your way, mate.’

‘All right. Where were you last night?’

‘At home, all evening. The wife will vouch for me, but she’s out at the moment. Come back in an hour or two, and she might be back.’

‘I’ll send someone round to take a statement from both of you later on. Can you be in at six?’

‘Aye, that’ll be all right.’

‘But just one quick question for now. Can you explain what your car was doing in Carlisle last night, at about ten pm, if you were both at home?’

‘Oh, aye, I forgot. The wife nipped in to pick up a carry out.’

‘Where from?’

‘The Chinese place, just off Cecil Street.’

‘What time was this?’

‘About half ten. Does that tie up with your CCTV or whatever, like?’ Sparrow was smiling slyly as he spoke.

‘You’ve got a receipt, anything like that?’

‘No. I don’t think it’s tax deductible, or owt like that.’

‘Did you phone the order in, then?’

‘No, she just rocked up, like. Listen, mate, what’s all this about? Give us a bloody clue.’

‘A stolen MGB GT. Driven away from Aglionby Street at about the time you say your wife was in the Chinese just round the corner.’

For the first time Armstrong caught an expression other than amusement on Sparrow’s thin, lined face. It was surprise. Real surprise.

‘Sorry, mate’ he said, ‘but you’ve driven all the way out here looking for some crappy old car? No offence, but that makes no sense.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because the last time you lot sent a DC out on enquiries about a missing MG was in about 1967. And only then if it belonged to Twiggy, or owt like that. There’s something else going on here. So what was in it, then? Something tasty, I’ll bet.’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘Bollocks. What is it, drugs? In the boot, like? Or hidden inside body panels, maybe?’

Armstrong was losing control of the situation, and he knew it. But he couldn’t think of a single credible reason for his interest, other than the truth. ‘No, I told you, there was nothing illegal in it. It’s my dad’s car, if you must know.’

Sparrow looked interested now. ‘Really? You dad’s? Had it for years, I expect? A bit of a treasured possession?’

‘Aye, exactly. So do you think you could help me get it back in one piece, like?’

‘Is there a reward?’

‘Aye, not going to jail.’

Sparrow opened the door a little wider, and stepped outside. He looked up and down the road. ‘You can do better than that, mate.’

‘I bloody can’t.’

‘Then I can’t help you.’

‘Good. I’m really glad you said that. Because I’m going to get a Warrant to search these premises, and then we’ll see what we find.’

‘You and whose army, mate?’

‘Just you wait and see. You see the thing is this, Mr. Sparrow. An old Granada that got nicked a couple of weeks back, you may even have it one of your sheds, that belongs to our ACC’s father. And I believe that the same people who stole that also nicked my old fella’s car. So if I need a Warrant, I will get one, believe me.’

‘All right, keep your hair on. Let me put a few feelers out, OK?’

‘No. I’m going to make a call, and get that Warrant. I’ll be parked just over there. Then I’ll search your outbuildings.’

‘Have it your own way, mate. I’m off to work, but when you’ve got your Warrant you come back. Bring as many of your lads as you like, but you’ll find nowt. It’s rule one of the robbing job, is that. Don’t shit where you sleep, like. Not that I’ve got any bent gear, of course.’

‘So why don’t we just take a walk round now, then? Save the taxpayer a few quid.’

‘Why don’t you just fuck off?’

Armstrong turned and walked back to his car without another word. He was parked on the public highway, with a good view of the yard. He called the ACC’s office, and left a message. Half an hour later he was still waiting, and Sparrow was long gone, waving as he walked away. Armstrong was just about to leave when his phone rang. It was the ACC’s PA.

‘The ACC received your message, DC Armstrong. He says that you’re to continue with your enquiries, but that a Warrant can’t be granted, in view of the significant resource requirements associated with making a search, and the lack of supporting evidence.’

‘But I could do it myself, with just one other officer. I’m not asking for a full search team with forensic support. Nothing like that, honestly. It’s old cars I’m after, and they’re easy to spot.’

‘I’m sorry, but the ACC was very clear. To tell you the truth I’m a little surprised that you’ve even come to him with this, DC Armstrong. I’m sure that your own line manager would have said the same. Really, you ought to know better.’

‘But I know it’s here. I just know it…’ But Armstrong didn’t go on to explain why, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was now only talking to himself.

When he got back to the office he told Rex Copeland what had happened.

‘So was it there or not, your old man’s car?’

‘I told you, the bloody ACC wouldn’t grant a Warrant.’

‘I know that, but you took a look anyway, didn’t you?’

‘Of course I didn’t. Did you actually pay any attention at all when you were at Hendon?’

‘But the bloke went out, you said so yourself.’

‘All right, maybe I should have had a quick look. The question is, what should I do now?’

‘Get back out there?’

‘No point going back. They probably moved the cars five minutes after I’d gone. I’m absolutely buggered here, Rex. I need to tell my dad about what’s happened.’

‘No, not yet. Listen, the fact that you came knocking at that bloke’s door means that they’re going to want to get rid of the car, sharpish, aren’t they?’

‘Aye, probably.’

‘So what would you do, if you were in their shoes?’

Armstrong thought about it for a moment. ‘Oh no. Shit. You don’t mean what I think you mean? They wouldn’t get it crushed. It’s worth thousands, that MG.’

‘All they need to say is that it’s riddled with rust and has failed its MOT and no-one would ask any questions. In ten minutes it could be a solid little block of scrap. Talk about disposing of the body, Henry. It’s perfect, that plan.’