by Rob Ashman
‘Shut the fuck up, Jade.’ I yank on the door handle and step from my car, tugging my collar around my ears. It feels strange being back on my old stomping ground and not in a good way.
The buildings cut a very different silhouette against the skyline to what I remember. It would appear a team of architects have had a field day creating structures that look more like works of art rather than places to live and work. I try to block out the memories of the last time I was here – it’s not working.
I stomp across the car park, avoiding the puddles, and enter The Mailbox. A fabulous building filled with shops, restaurants and bars. Something for everyone. It’s a country mile from the time when it served as the Royal Mail sorting office. And another country mile away from the building I last saw when I got in my car and drove north all those years ago.
Two sets of escalators carry me to the second floor and I spot Caffé Nero on the right. I check my watch, I’m early. My heart is thumping in my chest. I’m out of practice.
I clock him, walking up the steps at the far end, heading towards me. He hasn’t changed a bit. A little greyer around the temples and thicker around the waist, but other than that he looks the same. He still walks with the aid of a stick, the product of falling from a roof which shattered one of his knees. His eyes are bright and alive, raking the faces of the people milling about. He sees me and looks away. I weave my way between the shoppers to the café. He gets there first and joins the queue at the counter. I walk past to find a table at the back, picking up a newspaper as I go.
I pretend to read the headlines, all the while checking out the customers around me. After five minutes he pushes a black coffee across the table and slides into the seat next to me, both of us facing the door – old habits die hard.
‘Hey, Rick,’ I say, reaching for the cup.
‘Hello, Billy. Are you wearing the same coat?’ he replies, removing his own.
‘Cheeky bastard.’ I fold the paper and place it onto the empty table next to us.
‘Good to see you.’
‘You too.’ Our eyes lock and it’s like it all happened yesterday. The years melt away and a shiver runs through me, I feel the onset of tears stinging my eyes.
‘This is not a good idea,’ he says.
‘Since when did that ever stop us.’
‘Ha, yeah, you’re right there. How have you been?’
‘I have more good days than bad. How did you get on?’ I waste no time.
‘Christ, is that the end of the pleasantries?’
‘You and I were never pleasant.’
‘Right again.’
‘So?’
‘You got to understand I’ve been out of the game for five years now, it’s not that easy.’
‘Don’t give me that bollocks. You can pull in more favours than a ten quid hooker. What have you got?’ I ignore his preliminary excuses.
‘It’s not them.’
‘Go on.’
‘The Critchley firm is non-existent. The younger brother is serving out his time in Wakefield prison and the elder brother is dead. He developed cancer and when he died the whole enterprise fell apart. The clubs have either been taken over by new owners or flattened to make way for developers. The foot soldiers have dispersed into other gangs or disappeared altogether. They’ve not done any serious business for years.’
‘Shit,’ I say under my breath. ‘Are you sure?’ My companion looks at me with his very best fuck off face. It was a stupid question.
‘It’s my turn,’ he asks.
‘Okay.’
‘How do you know it’s him? My sources tell me the body hasn’t been identified.’
‘I just know. It made the local news and was picked up by the nationals, as soon as I saw the report… I knew.’
‘Does that mean you’ve been in touch?’ he asks, which is my cue to give him my very best fuck off face. ‘Jesus Christ, Billy, what were you thinking?’
‘I was thinking I’d given up enough and didn’t want to go through the rest of my life not seeing him. We were careful.’
‘How did it work?’
‘I would book a couple of seats at the cinema for a specific date and time and mail him a ticket. If he couldn’t make it he’d send it back, if he didn’t we would meet and chat for a couple of hours, then he’d go home.’
‘Did anyone else know?’
‘No.’
‘How did you–’
‘He didn’t carry anything with his name on it and no phone. Cash only, public transport, you know the drill.’
‘Well someone knew he was there.’
‘That’s why I thought of them.’
‘What was the last thing I said to you?’
‘I remember it well, but it was easy to say, difficult to do. And besides, that was a lifetime ago.’
‘I didn’t say it would be easy, I said it was the right thing to do.’
I stare at him. I’d seen that look in his eyes before. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Spit it out. I’ve known you too long.’
‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’
‘Thank you for your concern… now what is it?’
‘The Critchleys are gone but not all the foot soldiers disappeared. Do you remember they had a cocky shit working for them? Really fancied himself as an old-style gangster.’
I crook my head to one side. ‘Where are you going with this?’
‘He fell off the grid and resurfaced a few years back. He’s now the enforcer for another gang.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘He’s turned up in Blackpool.’ The comment stops me in my tracks. My face must have said it all.
‘Where?’
‘Billy, you need to be careful.’
‘Where do I find him?’
‘It won’t be him.’
‘Where do I find him?’
‘You know I can’t–’
‘You owe me.’ I lean in close and spit the words into his ear.
‘I can’t say.’ He drains his mug and folds his coat over his arm. ‘I told you once before and I’m telling you again – don’t.’
He shakes my hand and when I pull away he’s deposited a square of folded paper in my palm. I wait until he leaves and unwrap it.
Fucking hell.
I head back to Blackpool with Rick’s words ringing in my ears.
Chapter 5
DCI Dan Bagley had been parachuted into Lancashire’s CID unit from GMP to assist with a murder case. Though Kray preferred to substitute the word ‘assist’ with the phrase ‘almost fuck up’.
He wasn’t a Detective Chief Inspector when he arrived but with the help of his buddy Assistant Chief Constable Mary Quade he quickly gained promotion. A promotion which should have gone to Kray. She didn’t bear grudges but on this occasion she made an exception.
Bagley’s relationship with Kray had descended into open hostility, ever since she had decided not to heed his advice and move to another department. It made for a fractious existence which Kray was willing to suffer, because she knew that every day she came to work it pissed him off.
Bagley checked his watch, impatient to start the meeting, but Kray was late. She was in her office with Tavener who looked like he’d been awarded a D for his homework.
‘Lying!’ Tavener screwed up his face.
‘Oh, come on, Duncan, what’s wrong with your radar today?’
‘I didn’t think anything was wrong with it. Why do you think she’s lying?’
‘We are being asked to believe that her husband has a ton of friends and yet he goes to football games on his jack. I mean, when you go to the pub with your mates what do you talk about?’
‘Erm, I don’t know, it depends.’
‘I bet you talk about women and football.’
‘Excuse me, but isn’t that a little stereotypical? We talk about the state of the economy and discuss our feelings, if you must know.’
‘Okay, okay, let’s
not use you as an example in case you report me to HR. Hypothetically speaking, a typical bloke will say, “I’m off to the footie, does anyone fancy it?” and if he doesn’t offer, one of them will say, “I’ll come along”.’
‘I suppose they might.’
‘And when I asked her what her husband might be doing in Blackpool she answered “I’ve never been to Blackpool” and then went on a rant, hoping I would drop that line of questioning.’
‘That’s right, she did.’
‘Have we got our hands on the CCTV from the areas surrounding North Beach train station?’
‘Not yet. I’ve put in the request and we should have it later today.’
‘Let’s revisit the enquiries we made with the yacht and boating clubs when we first found the body on the beach. Whoever turfed him overboard had an ocean-going vessel. We have a mugshot of the victim now and a better timeline, it might jog someone’s memory.’
‘Okay, I’ll pull the files.’
‘What the hell was he doing here?’
‘And what has Miriam Ellwood got to hide?’
‘I don’t know but I’m going to find out. I have to go to this bloody meeting with Bagley. See what you can dig up.’
Kray pushed open the door to Bagley’s office and took her seat. This was a gathering of his direct reports, where they discussed their current caseload. For Bagley, it was his way of maintaining a command and control management style while creaming off the good news to feed into the ear of ACC Quade.
He opened the meeting with, ‘Nice of you to join us, Roz.’ Kray ignored the dig. ‘Okay, let’s go around the table, starting with you, Colin.’
Kray hated Bagley’s office, not solely because it contained Bagley, but his desk was always a mess. Papers, pens and pencils littered the surface. She had to steel herself from stacking the papers into neat piles while gathering the pens on one side of the desk and the pencils on the other.
Everyone knows you don’t mix them together.
She tried to avoid looking at the clutter of boxes and files in the corner, but her eyes were drawn to it as if it were a car crash. Sitting in Bagley’s office sent her OCD off the scale.
DI Colin Brownlow was not so much coasting to retirement, rather he was approaching it with all the vigour of an injured snail. These meetings were a challenge for him because he had to make the equivalent of three days’ work sound like a packed to-do list.
Brownlow plodded through his report; the drone of his voice caused Kray’s concentration to drift. She pictured herself walking along the promenade in the sunshine. A gurgling bundle of joy was cooing at her with a shock of dark hair that stood straight up, Gary Rhodes style. Chris had one arm around her waist and the other pushing the pram. He was smiling, she was smiling…
‘Thanks, Colin. Judith, what have you got this week?’ Bagley always called Kray last, yet another subliminal dig.
Kray snapped back to the present and found she was unconsciously rubbing her belly under the desk. The next two people gave succinct accounts of what they were working on while Kray fixated over the muddled position of the pens and pencils.
‘Right, Roz, what do you have?’
‘We’re wrapping up the last of the loose ends with the Alex Jarrod case.’ The mention of the name made Bagley wince. It was the last big case the department had handled and it had not gone well.
‘Can’t we make short work of that? It’s been going on for months,’ he said.
Yes, with good fucking reason. If you’d listened to me in the first place, instead of having us chase our arses, we might have…
‘Yes, sir, we are on the final stretch now.’ Kray refused to rise to the bait. ‘We also have a development with the unidentified body that washed up on the beach. His name is Michael Ellwood, he comes from Manchester and his wife identified his body this morning–’
‘Wasn’t he the guy who’d been tortured and shot in the head?’ Bagley asked.
‘Yes, that’s him. He came up on GMP’s missing person list and they joined the dots.’
‘What did the wife have to say?’
‘She said her husband was supposed to be at a football match on the day he disappeared, but for some reason which she cannot explain, he winds up taking a train to Blackpool.’
‘What do you think?’
‘She’s hiding something. The way she answered our questions–’
‘It will be drugs.’
‘What? There was something not right, sir, but I’m not sure–’
‘Mark my words. Whoever did it subjected him to the carbonated chilli treatment, which is a copybook technique. She’ll be covering for his involvement in drugs.’
‘I’m not sure about that…’
‘What did he do for a living?’
‘He ran a small garage.’
‘Perfect for laundering money. I’m telling you, get the Drug Squad up to speed.’
‘But sir, I’m going to interview her again shortly and she may throw new light on why he was here.’
‘That’s fine, have your interview, then get drugs involved. That’s our best course of action.’
‘I think we should–’
‘Is there anything else from anyone?’ Bagley scanned the faces around the table, avoiding eye contact with Kray. ‘Okay. Let’s have a good week.’
The others rose from the table. Kray remained seated and stared at her notebook while Bagley gathered his things and left.
Kray met Tavener on his way to the interview room.
‘How did you get on?’ he asked.
‘Not good. Bagley is convinced there is a drug connection. I understand why he would jump to that conclusion but Miriam doesn’t fit. What did you find out?’
‘Not much more than we already know. Michael Ellwood has been running his garage for twelve years. It makes a modest profit. He’s got two teenage kids that live at home, both are in college and Miriam works in an admin job at the local primary school.’
‘GMP said he was clean, did you find anything to suggest he was up to no good?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Social media?’
‘Again, nothing out of the ordinary. Sorry, Roz.’
They entered the interview room to find Miriam Ellwood sitting in the same seat they had left her in earlier.
‘Did you grab a bite to eat?’ asked Kray.
‘I did thanks, I think I needed it,’ replied Ellwood. ‘Am I… am I under arrest?’
‘No, Miriam, you’re helping us with our enquiries into your husband’s death.’
‘I’ve told you everything I know.’
‘Can you start from the beginning. I hate to be a pain but I want to get it straight.’
Ellwood let out a sigh and repeated what she had said about the football game and how she had no idea why her husband should have ended up in Blackpool, even less why someone would want to kill him. Kray leaned back in her chair when she had finished.
‘Thank you for going through that again, Miriam. I wonder if you could help me further?’
‘I’m not sure there’s anything more I can add.’
‘You see, I have three big unanswered questions: Why was your husband killed in a manner that looked like a drug cartel execution? And what was he doing in Blackpool?’
Ellwood looked at Kray and swallowed hard. ‘As I said before, I have no idea.’ She paused, then said, ‘That’s only two.’
‘The third one is… what are you not telling us?’
‘What! I’ve told you everything.’
‘So you said, Miriam, but I think you’re holding out. I think you know more than you’re letting on.’
‘This is absurd.’
‘I think you know why your husband was in Blackpool. You know because this wasn’t the first time he made the trip, was it, Miriam?’
‘How dare you! I’ve told you all I know and you are calling me a liar – on the day I identified the body of my dead husband.’ Ellwood jumped to her feet.
&nb
sp; ‘I’m sorry, Miriam, this must be difficult. But surely you want to help us catch the people who killed him?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Then tell us what Michael was doing in Blackpool.’
Ellwood picked her coat off the back of her chair and leaned over the desk.
‘I… don’t… fucking… know.’ She marched out of the room and clip-clopped her way down the hallway.
Tavener and Kray watched through the window as she crossed the concourse to her waiting car.
‘You’re right,’ said Tavener.
‘About what?’
‘She’s lying through her back teeth.’ Tavener’s phone rang. ‘DC Tavener… Oh yes, thanks for calling back… that would be fine… thank you, we’ll see you then.’
‘Something good?’
‘Get your coat, we’re off to see a Commodore.’ He gathered up his things and hurried out of the interview room.
‘Off to see the Commodores?’
Chapter 6
I graduated from the care system and, after a series of downbeat jobs, joined the army at the age of eighteen. They didn’t care that I had more personalities than a jobbing stage actor. It hurt to leave my brother but he had got himself a handful of qualifications and wound up with an apprenticeship to become a motor mechanic. He was settled – I wasn’t. The army was like a breath of fresh air. It felt weird to meet people who welcomed me with open arms.
Signing up heralded the only period in my life where I didn’t feel the need to blend in to protect myself. They didn’t give a shit who I was and keeping myself safe was easy – they gave me guns to play with.
Who knew I had a talent for weaponry? From handguns to assault rifles, grenade launchers to mortars, if it went bang – I was good at it. Then one day our commanding officer summoned everyone together and declared that Operation Granby had kicked off in response to Saddam Hussein invading Iraq. From that moment I became one of the fifty-three thousand British troops shipped off to liberate Kuwait City.
I was dispatched to Saudi Arabia to live in a Portakabin just outside Jubail to acclimatise, and was later flown into Iraq. I loved it. After all, getting up in the morning into an environment where people wanted to do me harm was what I was used to. Even the fear of someone shouting, ‘Gas… gas… gas!’ I took in my stride.
