Complete Detective Stephen Greco Box Set

by Helen H. Durrant

  Geegee cleared his throat and nodded. “Got nowt to do with me, any of it.”

  “No one’s been in,” Les said, placing a chunky glass on the counter in front of Geegee.

  “Get me another,” Geegee said, as he downed it in one.

  Geegee shuffled off to a table and sat down. He was in no mood to talk. He was confused about what had happened. He was protecting the lad, but should he? If he gave any hint that he was going back on the deal then he’d have him. He wasn’t going to take the rap for some geeky kid with big ideas. He should get back to his flat. The dog would need sorting and the police were bound to have wrecked the place. “If the lad comes in here, then hang onto him,” he barked at Les as he was leaving.

  “How do I do that?”

  “I don’t care how you do it. Knock the bugger on the head and put him in the cellar if you have to.”

  It wasn’t far from the Spinners to his flat. He could hear his dog barking as he started up the stairs. He’d been right — the place was a mess. They’d rummaged through every drawer and cupboard and had left his stuff all over the place. The laptop was gone. He bit his lip. He could only hope that the kid was right and what they’d done couldn’t be traced.

  He couldn’t be bothered with the tidying up. He went to the fridge and helped himself to a can of beer. Stuff the lot of them. He was going to put his feet up and get stoned. If anyone wanted him they’d have to wait until tomorrow.

  * * *

  “You’re back with us, Mr Gibbs. Sorry for doing that, but a dose of sedative was the most expedient way to keep you quiet.”

  Geegee tried to get out of the chair. He’d been drugged and in his own home too. The little bastard had pumped him full of dope. He couldn’t remember letting him in and he’d no idea how long he’d been out.

  “What’re you doing?” Geegee asked, rubbing his eyes.

  “Tidying up. I have to do something before you crack and tell them everything. It hasn’t gone unnoticed, you know, that the police seem very fond of you just recently.”

  “They’re trying to pin stuff on me. Murder, would you believe.” He tried to laugh but his head hurt.

  “I know what they’re trying to do. But they’ve got it horribly wrong,”

  “I know that too but the new bloke they’ve got won’t let up.”

  “They’ve got Rose now, that’ll be why. I had to let her go; she was starting to pong a bit.”

  Geegee had no idea what he meant.

  “You don’t know who I’m talking about, do you? I’m talking about Rose, your Rose. Surely you must remember her. You used to live together way back when.”

  He bent down close to the man. “But why should you? You haven’t seen her in years. Dropped her like a brick when she took to drinking too much. Shame she had to miss you, though,” he whispered, “it would have been some reunion. The two of you were big mates back in the day, remember? I wanted to keep her for longer, let the pair of you get reacquainted but it just wasn’t practical. When I’d finished she had a bloody big hole in her guts.” He laughed out loud. “I was hoping to drape them from a beam at my place but they kept snapping. In the end most of her bowel ended up dangling on the floor. Quite a mess, you should have seen it.”

  “You’re a bloody nutter.” Geegee sniffed in disgust.

  “I know that, Mr Gibbs. I’ve never been any different. Result of a botched childhood. People think I’m nice, generally they like me, but that’s a big mistake. You made that mistake, Mr Gibbs. You like me . . .” He laughed again. “Well, you trust me. You were more than happy to let me into your life, to venture into the drugs business with me, and that was another big mistake.”

  He strutted proudly over to the man in the armchair. “But you can hardly point the finger and call me nutter, can you? Because I’m exactly as you and that bitch made me.” His face was now only centimetres from Geegee’s.

  “Nutter,” Geegee repeated with venom. “You’re nothing to do with me. Until a few weeks ago I didn’t even know you.”

  “But you did, Mr Gibbs. I was in here.” He tapped his head. “Or I should have been. Look closely. Are you sure that I’m not just the tiniest bit familiar? Have you never looked at me and wondered, just for a moment, if I could be him?”

  “Piss off. You’re a proper head case.”

  “You’ve no idea, have you?” He shook his head. “You’re as clueless as she was. Not very flattering, that. I felt sure that one of you would twig.”

  “I’m nothing to do with her,” Geegee sniffed again. “I didn’t even know her.”

  “Now that does surprise me, it really does, particularly as the pair of you was shacked up in that flat of yours at one time.”

  * * *

  He watched Geegee’s face cloud over. Could that booze and drug-addled brain work it out?

  “Come on, try harder,” he urged. “You must remember. You, her, that poky little flat on Link Road, the tart you got pregnant, the kid you had.”

  Now he could see a glimmer of recollection begin to creep over Geegee’s face as the cogs of his memory rolled backwards. “I think you’re getting it at last, Mr Gibbs.”

  “You’re him!” Geegee said incredulously as the penny dropped. “That kid, the lad we had, all grown up.”

  “No thanks to you,” he spat back in his face. “I could have died; no one would have noticed or even bothered.”

  “You look okay to me. You’ve done alright for yourself, anyone can see that.”

  “Looks can deceive,” he retorted. “I’m like you said — a proper nut job, and that’s down to you, you and that tart I butchered.”

  “Not us, we did nothing wrong.”

  “Did you never wonder what happened to me? Did you never search, tell the police that I was missing?”

  Geegee shrugged. “She didn’t seem bothered, and she was the boss.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, not really. Neither of you were ever concerned about me while I was in your tender care.”

  “We did our best.”

  “Your best! I was neglected, half-starved and dirty. Most days you filled me full of dope and hired me out to your paedo friends. How do you think I felt, Mr Gibbs? Me, a small child, unable to defend myself, terrified, having to stand my corner against all those mad perverts? Your idea of ‘care’ was to make as much money you could out of me and to hell with the consequences.”

  “It was her idea!” Geegee was screaming now. “Rose was responsible, not me. It had nothing to do with me. We needed money for the rent. We had to do something to keep a roof over our heads. She was always on at me, she was. She never wanted you. You weren’t right at birth. They wanted to take you away, but I said we could cope.”

  “Why? What was wrong with me?”

  “You had some sort of syndrome. She was on heroin and drank too much, so you were addicted too.”

  * * *

  Geegee felt weird. He wasn’t tied up but he could still barely move. The kid had given him something, but what? “We can talk this through. We’ve already made a start; things are going okay, so we need to stay close. Things will be happening soon. We need to be ready.”

  “Oh, things are moving, Mr Gibbs. The Hussains have been arrested. The coast is now clear for whoever has the balls to take over. Soon there is going to be a new drug baron on this block. A hard bastard who’ll take no shit off anyone — me,” he said jubilantly.

  “And me. We’re partners. We planned this together.”

  “You’re an old has-been. Why would I want anything to do with you?”

  “For old time’s sake.” Geegee’s voice was raspy; his breathing had become laboured and his chest felt tight.

  “It’s the old times that made me like this. My head’s all messed up because of what you both did to me. In the end I had to get rid of Rose,” he said at last. “I couldn’t stand seeing her day after day. She was a mess. She’d no idea who I was. She turned my stomach so I slit her throat.”

 
“You mean you’re a cold-blooded killer?” Geegee’s vision was blurred and he felt sick. This was the stuff of nightmares! He’d have been better off staying at the nick.

  “Yes, I am, and I enjoy it.” The lad smirked, standing over him and for some reason holding a potato peeler in his hand.

  Geegee watched as he raised it above his head, shrieking as he stuck it right in front of his eyes. “Recognise this?” said the lunatic. He shook it in front of his face. “It’s one like yours, like the one I took from your drawer on one of my visits to your flat.” He laughed. “How does it feel, Mr Gibbs, to be played, fitted-up and made to dance to someone else’s tune?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This, the watch and Rose’s phone, they’ve all got your prints on them. The police know; that’s why they dragged you in.”

  Geegee was nervous; the lad was out of control. “What are you going to do with that?”

  “I’m going to take out your eyes, Mr Gibbs.”

  Geegee screamed, but he still couldn’t move — it’d be the drugs.

  “I took Rose’s eyes.”

  Geegee couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d carried out this horrific act and he could talk about it so casually? Geegee was terrified, a feeling he was not familiar with. The boy was mad, there was no doubt about that now.

  “Despite everything her eyes are lovely. Look.” The boy held out a little box and opened it.

  Geegee couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He screamed again.

  “So blue, so shiny. Just perfect, in fact. Brenda’s were brown. Oh, you don’t know Brenda, do you? Never mind, I won’t have time to explain about her. I’m after something a little more unusual for next time, perhaps hazel or even green. What colour are your eyes, Mr Gibbs?” he asked the petrified man. “I knew a girl at school who had red hair — she had green eyes — wonder what happened to her . . . ?”

  Geegee watched as he took a sheet from the bed and spread it on the floor. “You should have tried harder, Mr Gibbs, but you are too much like Rose. Neither of you could amuse me for long. You’re like all the rest, a waste of bloody time.”

  “What are you going to do with me?”

  The young man looked at Geegee long and hard and then smiled. The smile seemed like that of a young innocent.

  “I’m going to kill you, Mr Gibbs.”

  Chapter 19

  “Kashif and Arif Hussain were taken to the Central Manchester Station for interview. They have agreed to allow their home to be searched and all IT equipment to be thoroughly scrutinised. It will take time, but if they are involved in terrorism, then we’ll soon know,” DCI Green told Greco later that afternoon. “We couldn’t hold them. The arrests were a gut reaction on the part of Central. There is no evidence to link any of the Hussain family to the bomb scare, other than Tanweer. A description of him and his friend have gone out — they’ve nowhere to hide. It’ll only be a matter of time before they’re picked up.”

  “Darren Hopper, the young man with Tanweer, has been to Gibbs’s flat. When he’s apprehended I’d like the opportunity to speak to him,” Greco said.

  “Okay, I’ll let you know,” the DCI agreed. “Are you saying that Gibbs could be involved too?”

  Greco shook his head. “I doubt it, but they do know each other, watch each other’s backs.”

  “Where is Gibbs now?”

  “I had to release him — not enough evidence,” Greco admitted. “He’s involved somewhere along the line but he’s no longer the prime suspect.”

  “So who is?”

  “Currently we haven’t got one. We’ve followed every lead, weighed up everything we’ve got, but I still can’t see what this is all about.”

  The DCI wasn’t best pleased with the news but it was no good holding back. Things were what they were and Greco wasn’t going to dress it up.

  He needed something, a break. The case had stalled. Back in the incident room the team were hard at it.

  “I’ve looked at the electoral roll for the time the boy was found wandering, sir. There is no Judith Calf on it,” George told him.

  “We don’t know for sure that that particular child belonged to Rose, do we?”

  “Mavis Bailey said that Rose asked about him some years later. Why would she do that? Mavis recalls the original incident vividly. The boy was in a right state. It upset her and she never forgot it. When Rose asked about him, Mavis put the pieces together and realised who he was.”

  “The police records from the time, do they tell us anything?” he asked George.

  “Very sparse — the woman’s name and that of Mavis Bailey, nothing else.”

  Greco wrote the name ‘Judith Calf’ on the board.

  “Sir, that bomb scare at the service station on the M6 involved one of Webb’s coaches. Bit of a coincidence that,” Grace noted.

  Greco stood and thought for a moment. She was right. He wrote ‘Webb’s coaches’ on the board and circled it. What, if anything, was their part in all this? “Rose Donnelley had nothing to do with Webb’s, sir,” Craig Merrick reminded him.

  “Do we know how many people work there, in the workshop?”

  “A handful, that’s all. They have two full-time mechanics, an odd-job man and currently the boss’s son, Nathan, is working there.”

  “Have we spoken to them all, taken statements?”

  “We have, sir. All movements have been accounted for and they work together so it would have been spotted if someone was missing.”

  Greco’s mobile rang. It was Julian Batho.

  “Inspector, the laptop we retrieved from Mr Gibbs’s flat,” he began. “Our IT people have managed to retrieve some of the data. They have reported that it was used to send both of the recent bomb scare warnings that originated in Oldston.”

  “Are they sure?” Greco was shocked. If they found anything he’d expected it to be about drug dealing or guns; never once had he considered terrorism.

  “They are quite sure, Inspector. It isn’t much, just snippets of the emails sent from that laptop. Something was planned via that machine. It will be passed on to the counterterrorism unit and they will work on it further. I will keep you posted.” There was silence for a few seconds. “I have told you, Inspector because it relates to the case but I have been advised that, for the time being this is privileged information. It might be wise to keep this detail to yourself. I’m sure your superintendent will pass over this information when he’s ready.”

  “In that case, shouldn’t you keep quiet too?”

  “No, I think you need to know. The case you’re working on is difficult enough, without not having all the facts. It’s how I work. I am a forensic scientist. I use science to get answers, not to enable others to keep secrets.”

  Keeping this quiet could be difficult because it meant that somehow the bomb scares were linked to the murders. However Gibbs still didn’t fit the bill as a likely suspect. He was a drug-dealing thug not a terrorist. Then again, he was a known associate of Darren Hopper’s, who was complicit in planting the device.

  “We’re going out, Constable,” he decided once he’d finished with Batho and thought about the implications of their conversation. “We’ll go and visit Mr Gibbs again. He either speaks to us candidly this time or we’ll hand him over to Central,” he told Craig. Thankfully Craig Merrick didn’t ask questions. He simply grabbed a set of keys and made for the car park.

  This was getting tedious. Again they were hammering on Gibbs’s door and again he wasn’t answering. They could hear the dog whimpering behind it.

  “That’s not right, sir,” Craig told him. “The animal’s a brute. He doesn’t normally make noises like that.”

  “Break it down, Craig,” Greco decided wearily. “There should be something in the boot of the car.”

  Craig Merrick was a strong young man and with the aid of a crowbar he soon had the flimsy front door open. The flat was more or less as the CSI team had left it. Gibbs was obviously not house-proud. The
sheer disorder of the place bothered Greco. He could never understand how people could live like this. He went into the bedroom, which was off the main hallway, while Craig went into the lounge. Greco had expected the man to be comatose in his bed but he wasn’t.

  “Sir!” Merrick shouted out. “He’s in here.”

  What now? Merrick sounded unhappy.

  “He’s had it, sir. We’re too late.”

  Grady Gibbs was lying slumped back in an old frayed armchair. His throat had been cut and his eyes were missing. This was the work of their killer — but why Gibbs?

  * * *

  “The method is the same as with Rose Donnelly,” Natasha Barrington confirmed. “Although there are no wounds, other than the throat and the eyes. No attempt at torture this time.” He watched her shiver. “I’ll do the PM. The report will be on the system later this evening.” She smiled at Greco. “I’m working late. Not my usual practice but I need to catch up.” She looked at him, the smile still hovering on her lips. “Unless I get a better offer,” she suggested. “What d’you say? Fancy that drink yet, Stephen?”

  Greco took her arm and led her into the hallway, he didn’t like this on-the-job flirtation. “Perhaps I should have said something,” he whispered. “My wife is back. Nothing is settled but it wouldn’t do to take out another woman, not while there’s still a chance.”

  “Your loss.” She tapped his arm. “But the best of luck anyway. Divorce isn’t pretty; I know that from my own experience.”

  “You’re divorced too, then?” The question was out before he could stop it. He didn’t usually ask such personal questions of relative strangers.

  “Yes, a couple of years now. I was married to a fellow doctor. There were lots of reasons why it didn’t work. Work was a huge factor, that and too many pretty nurses.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “Pry away, Stephen, I really don’t mind,” she said lightly. “I prefer things to be open from the start. Still, if there’s a chance you can put things right with your ex then you should go for it. If things go wrong, you can always take me up on that offer of a drink. People like to gossip,” she gave him a knowing look. “There are rumours; folk around here have you down as the male equivalent of the ice queen.”