Complete Detective Stephen Greco Box Set

by Helen H. Durrant

  “You the ‘kid?’”

  The voice was deep, thick and foreign. Mickey felt a chill in his bones. The call had come through from Slicer’s mobile. “Who wants to know?”

  “Meet me, we need to talk. Things are different now. Slicer is dead. Plans have to change.”

  Mickey smiled to himself. He’d worried for nothing. This was his way back in. “Where?”

  “Know the old mill on Cotton Street, at the back of the DIY store?”

  “When?”

  “Now. I’ll give you ten minutes. Ground floor. I’ll be waiting.”

  Mickey put his blade in the inside pocket of his hoodie. Despite his relief at the contact, he was walking into the unknown. He’d no idea who this stranger was, but it was likely he was the foreign bloke Slicer had been talking to at the club.

  Leaving Atlas House, he walked across the square, and headed for a path leading to the rendezvous. Cotton Street was only a five minute walk away. Problem was, nothing happened there anymore. When the mill had been active it had bustled with workers. Even when cotton was long gone the mill had been divided up into units, each housing a small business. Now it was lying empty and derelict, yet another red-brick hulk on the skyline.

  Mickey crept inside a gap in the ramshackle double doors and shouted into the gloom. “Hello!”

  “Quiet, kid! I’m over here.”

  He walked towards the voice. The man stood behind a pile of old wooden pallets. He was tall, thickset, with a shaved head and heavily tattooed arms. Mickey shuddered. He’d have to watch his step. Anger this one and he’d end up worst off.

  “Slicer bought it last night. Some scrote put a bullet in his chest. Problem is, he had information that I need if I’m to carry on the good work.” The man smiled, showing a mouthful of gold fillings. “That is where you come in, kid. You worked with Slicer. I want to know everything he told you.”

  Mickey shrugged and backed off a few feet. “He told me nowt. I did the job, took my money, end of story. I didn’t even know why the poor bastards had to die.”

  “You’re lying.” Mickey could see the anger on his face. “I don’t have time for this. Slicer or that driver of his must have spoken to you. Tanner had a slack mouth.” He stared at Mickey through dark slits of eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you, kid, but I will if you won’t talk to me.”

  Mickey was ready to run. The adrenaline was pumping. This one was dangerous. “Told you, can’t help.” He turned and made for the door as fast as his legs would take him. The stranger was heavy, he’d not catch him. Mickey could outrun the best.

  His arm was extended ready to push what was left of the door out of the way. A searing pain in his back floored him. He hit the concrete with a crash. The bastard had thrown something heavy and it had caught him between the shoulder blades. Turning his head, Mickey saw a thick metal bar lying at his side. He could do nothing to help himself, the breath had been knocked from his body.

  Grabbing him by the legs, Cezar Todoran dragged Mickey back to the pallets. Mickey was frantic. He kicked out wildly, hitting the man on the shin with the toe of his shoe. Todoran snarled with rage. Hauling him up onto a pallet, he laid Mickey down on his back. “You will talk to me, you thin streak of piss, or you will die.”

  Mickey was shaking. He had to think, and fast. He had to get away before this headcase did him some real damage. “Slicer never told me anything!” he yelled. Sweat was pouring off him.

  “Then you will suffer.”

  Todoran began strapping him down with a length of rope. Mickey tried to struggle free but he was no match for the big man. He screamed into the empty mill in the vain hope that someone would hear. The man had hold of his wrist, pressing his hand down flat so that his fingers were splayed against the wooden slats of the pallet.

  “Speak to me now. You are running out of time.”

  “Slicer didn’t trust me. He never talked about what was going on. I hadn’t known him that long.”

  “You are not trying hard enough.”

  “No!”

  Mickey had seen what was in the man’s hand. Seconds later the lump hammer hit, crushing the knuckle of his middle finger.

  “Speak!” Todoran ordered. “The doctor, what is his name?”

  Mickey groaned. He was going to pass out. “I . . . I don’t know any doctor.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “I have little patience and even less time. You must know something.” Todoran raised the hammer again and brought it crashing down, this time on the other hand.

  Mickey shrieked and fainted, but a bucket of cold water thrown over him brought him back to consciousness. He screamed again. He couldn’t feel his hands.

  “I think the doctor was called Horton. He works at a clinic in Chorlton. He was at that club Slicer owns. They talked a lot. I looked him up. I don’t know anything else,” he panted. He could feel his heart racing. “I’ve told you all I can. Let me go, please. I won’t say anything.”

  “That is right, you won’t.” Todoran patted his arm and smiled down at him. “You should have told me what you knew at the start. I could have made this easier for you.”

  “Please . . . let me go.”

  Todoran shook his head. “Sorry, you are out of luck.”

  He fitted a silencer onto a pistol, and held it to Mickey’s temple.

  “Bye, kid,” he said, and pressed the trigger.

  * * *

  Todoran stepped back from the blood pooling on the floor by his feet. The kid had had to die. He could identify him. Now he would find this doctor and make him pay the money Shaw owed him. Todoran was angry. Shaw had been tight-lipped about the operation. Never used names, and never discussed plans. Just issued orders and handed over what was owed. He looked at the lad. He’d been good with a knife according to Slicer. Shame. If he’d been forthcoming a bit sooner, Todoran could have used him.

  Todoran had found Shaw’s body last night only minutes after he’d been shot. He’d searched it and taken the mobile phone. Not that it had been much use. The only number on it had belonged to the kid.

  He’d left his vehicle at a service station nearby. Time to retrieve it and find this clinic. If the good doctor valued his life, he would cooperate. He’d pay over the money Todoran was owed. He’d also tell him what he was to do with the two dozen or so refugees he had hidden inside his truck.

  Chapter 21

  It had been raining since daybreak, a fine drizzle. The wet, grey mist hanging over the estate made it look even bleaker than usual. DI Leah Wells parked up and made for the Grapes pub. It was nearly lunchtime, so Roman would be in his usual seat. She hoped he could help. The Duggan had contacted Greco earlier. The bullet that killed Slicer had been fired from the same gun that had shot his driver, Tanner. Leah had left the team discussing what that might mean. Speedy had taken it as proof that Costello was clearing the decks, but Leah couldn’t see it. Why would he? His operation in this part of Manchester was working like a dream.

  As she entered the pub, Leah was greeted by a chorus of wolf whistles from the men stood around the bar. It didn’t matter, none of them knew her.

  “Leave the girl alone!” Roman McLaughlin shouted to them. “Sit over here, doll, I’ll get you a drink.”

  “Coke will do, Roman.” She smiled at him.

  “Want something to eat?”

  Leah shook her head. There was no way she was eating anything prepared in this place.

  Roman sat down opposite her. “Slicer? Heard this morning. Bad business. It’s got Costello’s people shook up.”

  “One of my colleagues did wonder, like you said last time, if the big man wanted rid.”

  “Could be, but last night wasn’t down to Costello, not with his daughter on the premises. There is a whisper that Vinny is not so good. Word has it that he’s spending a fortune on private healthcare. For the time being at least, he’ll want things to remain stable.”

  That could be the reason Sadie was seeing Horton. She wanted tre
atment for her father. “Do you think this is someone new? Someone who knows the score with Vinny and is looking to take over?”

  “Could be, pretty lady, but no one is talking.”

  “Are you sure, Roman? Not even a whisper? Anything, no matter how small it is. We really need to break this before it escalates.”

  He nodded. “One piece of info I can give you is that Slicer had a visitor last night. A Romanian bloke called Todoran. He is on the run from the police down south. Nothing he couldn’t wriggle out of, but he chose not to hang around. A source told me he was at Slicer’s club last night. He could be who you’re looking for.”

  Leah knew it could not have been him. The gun was the one used to kill Tanner, and as far as they knew Todoran wasn’t around when Tanner had been shot.

  “We don’t think he was the killer.”

  “Believe me, he’s your best bet. What type of gun was used?”

  Leah thought for moment before replying. She was reluctant to give out information. But if she said nothing, she’d get nothing back.

  “A Glock,” she told him.

  “In that case, I do have something. Within the last few days someone sold a Glock to a youngster from the Lansdowne.”

  “Who sold the gun, Roman?”

  He smiled. “You know better than to ask that. And he didn’t get the kid’s name either.”

  “Did this kid say anything to the seller?”

  “No, but the seller was surprised. He reckoned the kid’s weapon of choice was a blade.”

  Leah turned this over. Could this be their knifeman? She saw the look on Roman’s face.

  “You work it out.”

  “We will, eventually, but why the change of weapon?”

  “You have to get close to knife someone. If you want keep a little distance, then a gun is your best bet.”

  The two sets of killings were very different. Two lads, running away from God knows what, and two local villains. If this was down to the same killer, it was possible that this was a deliberate ploy to throw the police off the scent.

  “He did tell me something that might help you. The kid has a twin sister. She’s not like him. She’s legit and working.”

  “Any word on Rouse?”

  Roman considered this then shook his head. “Gone to ground, and who can blame him? Costello will have got wind by now. The poor sod will be a target.”

  * * *

  Grace had had enough. She looked at Joel. “I need a break from this. That factory in Openshaw, let’s give that a whirl instead.”

  Joel Hough looked doubtful. “Sure the boss will go for it? He wants these faces looking at urgently.”

  “It’s a waste of time. There won’t be one we recognise. He did ask you to go back and speak to the manager again. I’ll have a word.” Grace left Joel and went to find Greco. He was in his office, files in hand.

  She smiled at him. “Me and Joel are going to take an hour. We’ll check out that factory. See what we can turn up. We’ve been through most of the CCTV from the club last night but no one sticks out. To be honest, I’m going face blind. They are all unknowns, mostly twenty-somethings from the posh part of town. There’s no one that looks remotely dodgy.”

  “Neither does Sadie Costello, and look who her father is. Okay, but don’t go getting into bother,” he warned.

  Grace beckoned to Joel, grabbed her stuff and they were off. “You can drive. I’ve no idea where the place is.”

  “It’s near those old buildings they’re pulling down by the canal.”

  “What are they still doing there? Everything in that area was condemned months ago.”

  “Not this one, apparently. Hussain Textiles has been there for over a year. They’ll know their days are numbered. When the axe falls, they’ll soon pack up and move somewhere else.”

  “The building can’t be safe. Most of the properties are old warehouses. Very few of them have their roofs still intact.”

  “They’re cheap and that’s all that counts. These outfits cut costs to the bone. Profit is everything.”

  They drove down Ashton Old Road, across the railway, and turned right into a backstreet. Joel drove for about half a mile past row upon row of red-brick terraced houses, punctuated by corner shops and the odd pub. When the road ended at the canal, they saw the large, crumbling building.

  “Keep your eyes open. They aren’t expecting us. We don’t have a warrant so we’ll have to keep it low-key,” Grace told Joel.

  They walked into the building. The single desk in the reception area was covered in paperwork and dirty mugs. Stacks of used cardboard boxes and packaging littered the floor.

  Most of the boxes were empty. Grace moved a couple out of the way to get to the desk. “Health and Safety would have a field day in here.”

  “What d’you reckon? Anyone working, or what?”

  “There’ll be poor souls working alright. Round the clock, if the rumours are right,” Grace replied. Off the reception was a long, narrow corridor with yet more boxes blocking the passage. “Let’s find out.”

  They were a couple of metres in when a man clad in an overall appeared from behind a door at the end. He waved his arms at them.

  “Mr Hussain is out. Come back later.”

  Not much of a welcome, but Grace smiled nonetheless. “Is there someone else we can speak to?” They waited while he wrestled with this. Had he even understood them?

  “I’m DC Harper and this is DC Hough. We were hoping Mr Hussain could help us with a case we’re investigating.”

  “He knows nothing. He’s out. There is no one here who can help you.”

  Grace was about to argue the point with him when a teenage lad stuck his head around the door. There was a heated exchange in a language neither detective understood, then the lad disappeared again.

  “One of your staff?” Grace asked, peering after him. The boy looked grimy. His clothes had seen better days. He was thin, and his dark hair badly needed cutting

  “No, he’s on placement from a local school,” the man explained.

  Grace gave him a doubtful look. In her opinion, there was no way that lad had come from any school, local or not.

  “Could we have a word with him, please?”

  “Why? He’s just a boy. What use can he be to you?”

  “A quick word, that’s all,” Grace insisted.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. He muttered something unintelligible and disappeared into the corridor. Moments later he reappeared with a different youth, who was definitely not the lad Grace and Joel had just seen. This one was far tidier, and wore a shirt and tie and smart pants.

  Grace folded her arms. “That isn’t him. The boy who was just in here was small, poorly dressed and very young. Too young to be working here full-time.”

  “He is not working. I told you. He is here on work experience, from his school.”

  “Can I have the details? His name, the school and any work records you have for him.”

  “Everything is in the office. It is locked. Only Mr Hussain has the key and he is not here. You will have to come back much later.” He opened the main door. “You must leave now.”

  “Is there anyone here who speaks reasonable English? We simply want to clear a few things up,” Grace said.

  “Speak to Mr Hussain later. No one here can help.” He closed the main entrance door behind them, and Grace heard the key turn in the lock.

  “What d’you make of that?” she asked Joel.

  “Something to hide, obviously. What do we do now?”

  “Back to the nick. I’ll speak to Greco, see what we can do. But one thing’s for certain, we will be coming back.”

  * * *

  “Crompton’s laptop is being looked at by the IT boys at the Duggan,” Speedy told Greco. “They’ll make it quick and get back.”

  Greco was studying the notes Leah Wells had given him about her meeting with Roman McLaughlin. “The Knifeman has a twin sister. That must narrow things down, surely? How ma
ny twins are there on the Lansdowne?”

  “Are we even sure that’s where he’s from? And if he is, does his twin live there too?” Speedy shrugged. “Not sure that little snippet helps on its own.”

  Greco left his office and walked to the incident board, where he transferred the notes for the benefit of the team.

  Speedy nodded at the photo of Grace’s weirdo. “Who’s that?”

  “He was at the club last night. Spent some time talking to Grace. She reckons it was deliberate, and that his real purpose was keeping an eye on Slicer.”

  “I know him.”

  Greco wasn’t surprised. Speedy knew a lot of people around here. “So is he a weirdo, like Grace seems to think?”

  “I don’t know him exactly but I know who he is. Michelle, my girlfriend, he’s her brother. She moved into mine recently and she brought along a photo of them both.”

  Greco stared at his sergeant for a moment. “Are they twins?”

  Speedy brushed his hair back from his face. “I’m not sure, but I’ll soon find out.”

  He went out into the corridor, where he spent the next few minutes on his mobile.

  “They are twins, sir. He’s Michael Dent, commonly known as Mickey. He lives in one of the tower blocks, Atlas House.”

  Greco tapped the board. “This information has come from a good source, Leah’s informant. This, coupled with Grace’s gut feeling, could mean we’ve finally got something. We’ll go and have a chat.”

  “Michelle says he’s a layabout, doesn’t work. So he should be in.”

  * * *

  They made their way down to the car park, where Greco handed Speedy the keys. It took less than ten minutes to reach the estate. Mickey Dent lived on the fifth floor and the two detectives took the stairs.

  “It’s okay for you. You’re a fitness freak,” Speedy puffed, struggling to keep up with Greco.

  Greco smiled. “Not recently. Simply not had the time.”

  “You’re still in better shape than me.”

  “You know what to do. When this is over, come running with me.”

  “Running? You’re having a laugh! I’m not that keen.”

  They walked along the fifth floor deck to number twelve. The flat, like so many others in this godforsaken place, looked unlived in.