Deep Cover

by Leigh Russell

  ‘You don’t need to know why this is important,’ Ian replied.

  ‘I reckon I can take it,’ Jammie said, with a sudden leer.

  Ian didn’t bother to try and explain himself. The less Jammie knew about his reasons, the better.

  ‘I’ve told you all you need to know,’ Ian said. ‘If you don’t want to play nice, you’ll be behind bars before you know it. In fact, I’ll throw you in a cell right now.’ He took out his phone. ‘One call and this place will be surrounded. What’s it to be, Jammie? You lay off Helena and you walk free, or you refuse to help me and get banged up for your bloody mindedness. Hardly worth it, I’d say. Well? Do we have a deal, or are you an even bigger fool than I thought?’

  ‘Okay, okay, chill,’ Jammie replied. ‘I’ll get off her. She’s nothing to me. Fucking boiler.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘You fuck off and pound her, if that’s what you’re after. Unless you want me to find you a real lulu,’ he added, with a hopeful leer. ‘I can get you any number of bitches.’

  Ian shook his head to hide his disgust. ‘Just guarantee this one will be left alone,’ he said. ‘That’s all you have to do. But I’ll be watching. If anyone touches a hair of her head, you’ll be inside before you know it.’

  ‘You got it real bad,’ Jammie laughed.

  25

  Although Bill was no longer a suspect, he remained a possible link to the killer. It wasn’t much, but so far he was the only lead the police had. It was frustrating knowing Bill had probably seen the killer, face to face, yet despite that they were no closer to finding out the identity of whoever had purchased the van from him. Questioning Bill further, Geraldine confirmed that he had placed an advertisement for his van online, and the buyer had phoned him, impatient to make the purchase straight away. The site advertising the van could not necessarily trace people who looked at any specific item, and in any case there was no guarantee the purchaser had been using a personal computer with a private IP number. There were internet cafés and libraries in York, where anyone could have logged on and scrolled through the site. Unless he was a complete moron, a man looking for a van in which to transport a dead body was unlikely to use a traceable private IP address. Even so, a team set to work checking out the private computers from which the van had been viewed. There were not many of them and they were all followed up, without producing any useful leads.

  Questioning Bill further, Geraldine struggled to discover anything definite about the appearance of the man who had bought the van. Bill thought the man was about the same height as him, somewhere under six foot and he had been wearing a dark jacket, with the hood pulled right forward.

  ‘Did you get the impression he was trying to hide his face?’ Geraldine asked.

  Bill shrugged. ‘Maybe he was. I couldn’t see much of him but, to be honest, I wasn’t really looking at him.’

  Bill could not recall the exact colour of the man’s jacket, only that it might have been navy or black, and he thought the man had been wearing blue jeans.

  ‘What about his shoes?’ Geraldine asked patiently.

  Bill shook his head and his mop of hair flopped from side to side. ‘I mean, I’m sure he was wearing shoes. I’d have noticed if he wasn’t,’ he said, evidently trying to be helpful.

  ‘Was he wearing trainers? Or leather shoes?’ Geraldine prompted him, but he shook his head again.

  ‘Like I said, I didn’t really look at him very closely. I was too focused on watching him count out his money.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I know you’re doing your best,’ Geraldine assured him.

  ‘There’s no need to patronise me, lady.’

  She stifled a sigh. ‘What about his hands when he was giving you the money? You must have noticed if he was black or white.’

  ‘No, you just reminded me, he was wearing gloves.’

  ‘What sort of gloves?’

  ‘Black gloves. I seem to recall they were leather, and they might have been new. There was a scratch on his wrist,’ he added suddenly.

  ‘A scratch?’

  ‘A long scratch on the back of his left – no, his right wrist, as though someone had…’ He broke off as the significance of his words struck him.

  ‘Can you think of anything else?’ Geraldine asked.

  ‘Like a tattoo or a piercing, you mean?’ Bill said. ‘Or a scar?’

  ‘Anything you can remember would help us with our enquiry,’ Geraldine replied steadily.

  She waited, hardly daring to hope that Bill would describe an unusual distinguishing feature he had noticed on the man who had purchased the van. But he merely shook his head once again, and confessed he was unable to recall anything else about a man he had barely seen.

  ‘What about his voice?’ Geraldine asked.

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ Bill replied, seeming to tire of the questions. ‘I’ve told you everything I can remember about him. I don’t have a photographic memory or anything.’

  ‘Can you remember what his voice was like?’ Geraldine repeated.

  ‘He spoke with a normal local accent,’ Bill told her. ‘Like mine. Not like yours. And his voice was – well, he sounded like you’d expect a man to sound.’

  ‘Can you be more specific?’

  ‘His voice was quite deep, not that unusually deep, and – well, that’s it. He didn’t lisp or stammer, or have any kind of speech impediment that I can recall.’ He shrugged. ‘He sneezed a couple of times,’ he added.

  ‘Did he use a tissue or sneeze into his sleeve?’ Geraldine asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember. He just sneezed. I think he used a tissue.’

  Geraldine made a note of everything Bill said, but it wasn’t much to go on. A man who occasionally sneezed hardly narrowed it down.

  ‘When can I have my money back?’ he asked, when they were finished and she stood up to leave. ‘I’ve answered all your questions and done everything I can to help you, and I’d like to take my money and go home now. You said I’m free to go.’

  Geraldine smiled gently. ‘Yes, you can go home. But I’m afraid we need to hold on to the money for now. It’s been sent away for testing.’

  ‘Testing? What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘You can pick it up tomorrow.’

  Geraldine didn’t add that the police would be keeping some of the notes as evidence. Bill would be unhappy when he discovered that until the case was over he was only going to receive back around two hundred and fifty of the three hundred pounds he had handed in. The other hundred had already been spent before the police caught up with him. An unknown man’s DNA had been found on Pansy’s body, mostly concentrated on superficial injuries that had been inflicted post mortem, no doubt when her body had been moved after she died. Traces of the same DNA were found on most of the notes Bill had been paid for his van. If it had matched Bill’s DNA, the case would have been resolved, but there was no sign of Bill’s DNA on Pansy’s body. Nevertheless, they now had confirmation that the killer had handled the notes paid for Bill’s van a day after Pansy’s death.

  ‘It’s one more tiny piece of the puzzle,’ Eileen said sourly.

  ‘It’s very tiny,’ Geraldine agreed, and Eileen glared at her.

  That evening, Geraldine went home as soon as her shift ended, and waited impatiently for her phone to ring. Ian didn’t call. She tried to tell herself she didn’t care, but she couldn’t help worrying that he had met with an accident.

  26

  ‘Beat it,’ Tod snarled at his thickset bodyguard. ‘Archie and me, we got business together.’

  His feet making no sound on the thick carpet, Frank shuffled towards the door, a thin trail of smoke dispersing slowly in his wake. A whiff of smoke caught Ian as Frank passed him, and he suppressed a cough. Being indoors with so many smokers was one of many aspects of his new role that disgusted him, but there was nothing he could do about it.
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br />   Reaching the door, Frank hesitated. ‘Boss–’ he muttered, turning to glare at Ian. ‘Boss, trust me, you got it wrong. I think you should listen to me.’

  ‘Don’t you start bleeding thinking,’ Tod snapped. ‘That’s all I need, opinions from a numpty like you. I got my own philosophy, thank you very much. I just told you to beat it.’ While he was speaking, Tod’s voice rose in pitch.

  His elevated tone could have resulted from anger, but Ian suspected the hike in his tone was due to nerves.

  ‘Archie and me, we got business together. Scram.’

  Frank made one last attempt. ‘If you ask me, Boss–’

  ‘No one’s asking you,’ Tod replied. ‘Now get the hell out of here.’

  Frank left the office, slamming the door behind him. Beneath Ian’s feet, the floorboards quivered at the violence of the impact. He stood gazing at Tod, their eyes locked across the large leather-topped desk. For a moment neither of them spoke. The scar on Tod’s face seemed more prominent than Ian remembered it.

  Tod finally broke the silence, as Ian had hoped he would. ‘So you got to your slanger, like you wanted?’ he asked, lowering his eyes to study his long fingers with an affectation of nonchalance. ‘And that’s all thanks to my kind nature.’

  Ian was only slightly reassured to know that Tod was nervous in his presence. Every step of the way, Ian had to work hard to ensure he remained in control of the uneasy relationship they had established. Whatever happened, he couldn’t afford to let his guard down, even for an instant. The slightest slip and Tod would turn on him, like a shark scenting blood. But if Ian played it right, he could continue his pretence of working for Tod, and Jack would be none the wiser. The problem was that Tod’s moods were volatile, and he was not to be trusted. Frank was no doubt standing just outside the door, waiting for a signal to come in.

  ‘Step away from the desk,’ Ian commanded.

  ‘I know, I know, no need to tell me again, your people got your back,’ Tod said. ‘You don’t need to keep banging on about it. Like I’m gonna plug you and land myself knee-deep with the filth. Like I’m not screwed enough as it is.’

  Still grumbling, he came around the desk and perched on one of the upright chairs.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘I done what you wanted. So what’s your beef now? Not got the grit to take the slanger out after all? Not as hard as you make out?’ He threw his head back and laughed very loudly, without taking his sharp black eyes from Ian’s face. ‘You bottled it, didn’t you?’ he asked, leaning forward, suddenly serious. ‘So what’s the deal? You in need of someone to clean up for you? Thing is, buster, I found this slanger for you, like we agreed. And now I’m done with this. Done with you.’ He stood up. ‘Spill it to Frank to get his arse back in here on your way out and don’t bother coming back.’

  ‘Sit down,’ Ian growled.

  For a long moment, Ian was afraid Tod wouldn’t comply, but at last he sat down again.

  ‘The thing is,’ Ian spoke very slowly, ‘I want in.’ He didn’t take his eyes off Tod for a second.

  Tod frowned and shook his head, looking perplexed. But he was interested.

  ‘Just listen to me for a minute,’ Ian went on, doing his best to hide his trepidation. ‘I can be useful to you. Very useful. I want–’ He paused. ‘The thing is, I need more money if I’m going to impress Tallulah. The chief sent me to sweet talk her, as a way to get to you. But…’

  He gave what he hoped was a helpless shrug. With a flash of inspiration, he thought about Geraldine.

  ‘You got the hots for the bitch all right,’ Tod said, leering at Ian. ‘You got it bad. I guess your chief never meant for that to happen.’

  He rubbed his long fingers together and laughed quietly, while Ian studied him covertly. There was nothing to indicate Tod doubted what Ian had said.

  ‘The bitch is hot,’ Tod went on, nodding his head. ‘So you get smitten. And that makes you my boy now.’

  Ian nodded, with a show of reluctance. ‘Like I said, I can be useful to you. But my services don’t come for free,’ he added quickly, aware that it would be a mistake to appear too eager. ‘If you don’t play fair and square with me, I’ll leave and I’ll take Tallulah with me.’ He gave what he hoped was a fierce frown. ‘I’m not leaving without her.’ That much, at least, had some element of truth to it.

  ‘Fair and square?’ Tod replied, with a snigger. ‘What a thoroughly decent chap you are, to be sure,’ he added, mimicking an upper-class accent.

  ‘I want you to double my wages,’ Ian said, before he lost the advantage he had gained from taking the initiative. ‘And make sure no one gets fresh with Tallulah.’

  ‘That’s for you, innit,’ Tod replied. ‘I see what you cop out of this. You get the dough and the honey, solid. But what’s in it for me?’

  ‘Information,’ Ian replied promptly. ‘The police won’t come near you. I can protect you and, if they ever do start sniffing around, you’ll know about it straight away. You’ll be safe. Invincible.’

  Tod clenched his fists. ‘No one touches me,’ he growled.

  ‘Not yet they haven’t,’ Ian said, aware that he was playing with danger.

  Tod grunted and shouted for Frank who burst into the room so promptly Ian wondered if he had been listening from the corridor outside. One of Frank’s brawny fists was raised, clenched, but Ian was more concerned about the thug’s other hand, which was out of sight in the bulging pocket of his jeans. Ian guessed he was holding a gun.

  ‘Yes, Boss,’ Frank said gruffly.

  Tod walked around his desk and took his seat behind it, leaning back and watching Ian and Frank.

  As his gaze came to rest on Ian, Frank licked his lips, like a man eyeing a tasty morsel of food. Tensed for a blow, Ian forced himself to stand his ground and keep his expression impassive.

  27

  Thomas was physically shaking as he walked along the street towards the path of waste ground beside the railway. It wasn’t only the cold that was making him shiver. An old khaki rucksack slung over his shoulder held just over five hundred pounds, withdrawn from his personal account. It was all he had been able to get hold of at such short notice. He had already paid out four hundred for the old van. With this new withdrawal, he was dangerously close to his overdraft limit. He had bought the rucksack that morning from a charity shop, and had been careful to wear his leather gloves while handling it. Whatever happened, he intended to leave no evidence of his dealings with his blackmailer. It was to be a quick handover with minimal contact.

  The street was deserted that early on a freezing Saturday morning, but he remained vigilant. He kept his hood up as he scurried across the road as quickly as the icy ground allowed, casting furtive glances around to make sure no one was watching him. The only sign of life he encountered was a fat pigeon that hopped on to the pavement in front of him and immediately took off again. Thomas was so jumpy he nearly cried out as the bird flapped away.

  Despite his agitation, he was almost excited to be finally meeting his blackmailer. The waiting had been driving him crazy. Desperately hoping this would somehow signal the end of their dealings, he was afraid his blackmailer would not let him off so easily. Even if he managed to stump up the remaining four and a half thousand pounds the blackmailer had demanded, it would probably not be over. Still, he had no choice but to go along with the payment as far as he could. Cursing the stupid whore who had got him into this mess in the first place, he glanced over his shoulder before turning into the patch of waste ground. The surface was uneven and more slippery than on the road, and he had to advance carefully.

  Reaching the tall, overgrown shrubs and trees at the side of the winding path, he went to the tallest tree, which the blackmailer had specified as the drop-off point, and slipped his bag off his shoulder. Having lowered it to the ground, he took a few steps back. Without really thinking about what he was d
oing, he manoeuvred his way into the bushes behind the tree and stood there, shivering and watching the path to make sure the bag was collected. A muffled hum of traffic barely impinged on the silence which encompassed him like a shroud as he waited concealed behind a thick tree trunk.

  After a few moments, he thought he heard someone shuffling across the frozen ground towards him. The footsteps were so quiet he wasn’t sure whether he was imagining the noise. It could have been a whisper of a breeze in the branches above his head. As he stood trembling behind the tree, a figure came cautiously into view. Without moving from behind the tree, it was impossible for Thomas to see the blackmailer’s face. All he could see was one side of a long hooded coat. From the stranger’s build, Thomas judged it to be a woman, but the figure could have been a small man. The stranger halted near the tree and glanced around without seeing Thomas, who remained hidden from view behind the tree, scarcely daring to breathe in case he exhaled a puff of mist to alert the blackmailer to his presence. Unaware that Thomas was watching, the blackmailer leaned forward to grab the bag of cash, pausing to unzip it and take a peek at the contents.

  Anger welled up inside Thomas as he saw his enemy take hold of the bag, sling the strap over their head before turning to walk away with the bag clutched against their chest. That was Thomas’s five hundred pounds, and he was about to lose it, just because a drunken tart had happened to knock her brains out inside his house. On a sudden impulse, he lunged forward and seized the bag, only dimly aware that he was being stupid. The strap tightened around the blackmailer’s throat, dragging them backwards, choking, before Thomas managed to pull it free. Caught off guard, the blackmailer lost their footing and fell, hitting their head on the trunk of the tree. The impact made such a loud thwack, Thomas was sure it would be heard from the street and people would come running. Seizing the bag in a panic he fled, slipping several times as he ran and nearly falling over, while his blackmailer lay on the ground, dazed by the blow.