The town’s layout now opened up considerably. Leaving tight lines of terraced houses behind her, she was surrounded now by a broken mishmash of bigger houses and blocks of flats. She crossed a road and headed up the hill towards where she had seen the green grass. The higher she went, the bigger the houses became. Soon she saw a brown sign that pointed out a footpath. She followed it into a sparse wood, still hearing traffic through the thin layer of vegetation. When the path forked, she headed right up the slope; she needed a break from people.
By the time the wood opened up to wild grass, Jenny had left the traffic far behind her. The worn path led to a gap in a stone wall behind which was the edge of a huge graveyard. She entered cautiously. The grass was shorter, well kept; the atmosphere sombre, of the sort only a graveyard can produce. She moved through a line of tombstones until she made it to a wooden bench beneath the canopy of a mature tree. The bench was dry and, though the rain was much lighter now, she was glad of the shelter. She now had an elevated view of Dover, nestled in the valley below. The green of the lawn ran into the brown of treetops then the grey of the town far below. She felt so much safer now that she was out of the town, looking in.
Jenny checked herself over. She was damp, her clothes had a layer of moisture on the outside and she had a layer of sweat against her skin that was quickly turning cold. She shivered. She had her breath back but she knew she was just about done in. She doubted she could summon another sprint if one was needed. She was exhausted and her legs ached. Her hip and ribs were still sore from the day before. She had banged her shin badly and she had a bump on the top of her head that was tender to touch and the probable cause of her headache. Her left shoulder bled from the collision with the flint wall of the church. She pulled her legs up to hug them and rested her chin on her knees, staring out at the view. For the first time in a long while, she felt a degree of calm, like getting away from the chaos had afforded her an opportunity to think straight and work out her options. She only had one and that meant going back into the town. She could still hear sirens in the distance and see blue flashing lights. She had the impression that they didn’t know what they were chasing. And neither did she.
* * *
George had already released the handbrake when Emily got into the car.
‘This is a rush job then is it?’
‘We need to get him secure.’ George ran his fingers over a black panel, he settled on a button marked 999 and pushed it. The car was unmarked but it had blue lights concealed in the front grille and rear window. They flickered to life. The gate closed behind them and he pressed the horn to start the siren. George accelerated away from Langthorne House towards the town of Maidstone where their potential leak should be waiting for them.
‘There’s another reason I want to rush.’
‘What’s that?’ Emily was battling to do up her seatbelt.
‘Do you know about the other shooting?’
‘Wingmore Farm?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘What sort of an intelligence officer doesn’t know about a murder on her patch?’
‘How much do you know?’
‘Okay, fine, so I don’t know much. This Dover job is everything at the moment. I’ve not really kept up with Wingmore Farm. To be honest, I was told not to worry about it for now. The timing is not ideal.’
‘I thought as much. I’m worried that it’s going to get forgotten about. Already it’s been assigned one CSI and just a few response officers holding the scene. As far as investigators go, there’s me — officially. I managed to steal Paul Bearn, but he’s stuck to our witness and can’t really do much else. They’ve put out for overtime but everything that comes in seems to be sucked up by this other job.’
‘It won’t be forgotten about. It might just have to sit on the back burner for a day or two.’
‘That’s the thing . . . you can’t put something like that on the back burner. Whoever shot that woman is out there right now with a smoking gun, a dirty van and his co-defendants that he can’t guarantee control over. They’re no professionals. They turned up with balaclavas and lumps of wood and ended up with a gun going off. We need to be putting the pressure on, that’s how you force them to make mistakes or flush them out into the open.’
‘Are there no clues?’
‘Nothing. Robbery gone wrong. The victims targeted because they live in an expensive place in the middle of nowhere. They weren’t there to murder anyone. They’ll be panicking, expecting knocks on their doors. We need to keep the pressure up.’
‘Sounds like sense to me. Not sure what you can do, though. This other job has more bodies. It’s all over the news and a likely intended victim is still out there and at risk. You can see why it’s sucked up everything we have.’
‘Can you make a few calls for me? To your source handlers? See if they can get word out to see if anyone is nervous about a job. Someone out there knows who these gang members are. They might have known it was going to happen. They might know it went wrong — or if someone is trying to get rid of a gun or a van. Anything.’
Emily exhaled heavily. ‘You know I’ll try and help, George, but I’m the same as everyone else. I’ve already been in touch with the source handlers. They’ve all been tasked around the Dover shooting. Like I said, it’s all over the news, so everyone’s talking about it. If everyone’s talking about it, that includes the criminal world. I’m expecting a lot back, but it will all be about Dover. I need to be sifting through it and picking out what’s relevant.’
‘I know. I appreciate that. Just don’t forget about me like everyone else will. I met the husband this morning, Ryker. If my victim hadn’t left anyone behind her then maybe I could accept that it’s not the day’s most important job. But you should have seen him. You’re sixty-two years married to someone and then out of the blue you get a knock at the door and a gunshot. He’s lost everything. I can’t give any of it back, but I gave him my word I would find the bastard who took it away from him.’
‘You should be careful what you promise, George. I know how you get fixated on keeping promises. I seem to remember a few very-near-death experiences linked to your word.’
‘Still here though, aren’t I?’
‘You are.’
‘Ouch, Ryker.’
‘Jesus! Sorry, George. I didn’t mean it quite like—’
‘Yeah, you did. It’s okay. You’re right.’
Emily didn’t speak again straight away. ‘Sixty-two years . . .’ she said, eventually.
‘I know, that’s almost two lifetimes.’
‘Did you even manage sixty-two days, George?’
George laughed. He didn’t feel like it but it took him over. ‘Kick George while he’s down day, is it? You’d better get me some sort of a result now, Ryker!’
Emily was laughing herself but she had at least pulled her phone from her pocket. She would use the rest of the car journey to make her calls back to the source team.
By the time they arrived at their destination, Emily had finished on the phone. It hadn’t sounded positive. George knew what he was up against. You couldn’t task too much out; you had to stick to one job at a time when you were dealing with grasses. It sounded like the Dover job was still taking precedence, but the source team had agreed that if they were offered any information they would send it back up the line. George had taken that as the best Emily was going to get. He did wonder, though, if the conversation might have ended differently if it had been him making the call.
George could see Jane Adams out and waiting in what looked like a bike shed in the Force Headquarters car park. She’d been sucking on a cigarette and now pushed it into the top of a metal post. George had worked closely with Jane in a previous life; it had been rare for a day to pass where his team didn’t need copies of 999 calls. They were often used as part of the evidence: they could be very effective in identifying cries for help in the background or capturing the panic and intensity in a victim’s voice when they l
ater denied being a victim at all. Jane bustled over and stood by George’s door before he had finished parking. She was a handsome woman, almost as tall as George in her heels. She had short hair brushed over to one side and black-rimmed glasses.
‘Adrian Minter,’ she said to George, straight off. ‘He’s still working at his desk. I spoke with the chief inspector and we thought that was best.’
George climbed out of the car. ‘You told me you’d quit, Jane.’ George gestured at the post from which blue-tinged smoke still spiralled.
‘First one in four months. I guess that’s what happens when you suddenly find one of your team is a murder suspect.’
‘I don’t think we can call him that quite yet, Jane. More likely he’s been a bit silly. But we shall see. Does he have his phone?’
‘No. They all have to put them in a locker before they go out onto the floor. They all have their own lockers. I’ve pulled phone records so you can see that he made the outbound call. It was within thirty seconds of the other operator hanging up. He’s got some explaining to do, George.’
‘That he does. Do you know Emily Ryker?’ Emily held out her hand. Jane took it up and they exchanged pleasantries.
‘Ryker, here, is an intel officer through and through. No doubt she’ll want the personnel file before we leave.’
‘It’s all ready for you.’
‘Of course it is! Let’s see what he has to say then, shall we?’
On looking over his file, George discovered that Adrian Minter was in his mid-twenties and had previously worked as a phone-based sales agent for an insurance company. He had no police record of course, having been vetted as part of the force application process. His home address was a one-bed flat in Maidstone. He looked nervous. He wore black trousers and a short-sleeved shirt tucked into a belt with an oversized buckle. He had a slim build and an awkward posture. He dropped straight away into the chair George had positioned deliberately, so it that was obviously intended for him.
‘I always find it respectful to ask permission to sit when you’re meeting with senior officers.’
Minter flushed red, redder even than when he came in. He fidgeted, glancing to where Jane was perched on the edge of a desk in the background. Jane had checked with George that it was okay for her to sit in before she had gone to fetch Minter. George had positively encouraged it. He wanted to build the pressure, to put Minter on the back foot. The chair was part of that too. He had asked Emily to sit next to him. He deliberately didn’t introduce her so that Minter wouldn’t know who she was. This was his chance to get the information he needed. Once someone was arrested they became part of a slow, methodical process where the offender had time to reflect. Then a solicitor could get in their ear and the opportunity for a genuine, panicked reaction was much harder to prompt.
‘S-sorry.’ Minter fidgeted as if contemplating standing up again. Then he changed his mind and shuffled straighter in his seat.
‘Do you know who I am?’ George said.
Adrian looked back over at Jane. ‘Jane . . . she said you’re an inspector. She said you need to talk to me.’ He turned back to George, then to Emily.
‘A woman died, Adrian. Because of the phone call you made. So you need to know from the off that this is serious. Conspiracy to murder, Adrian . . . are you aware of that offence? Fifteen years in prison — minimum.’
‘Consp . . . murder? What are you talking about?’
‘Take your time. Get your thoughts in order and then you need to tell me how you came to make a phone call that led to a woman’s death.’
‘I didn’t. I don’t know what you mean. What call?’
‘How many outbound calls have you made today?’
The red in Arian’s face had run out completely, his face was suddenly whiter than looked possible. ‘A few, I think. I don’t know. I’ve been busy.’
‘One.’ George held a sheet of paper in his hands, he gestured with it. ‘One call all day. Your job is to take emergency calls. Jane here tells me you’re good at it. No problems at all. It’s mostly inbound but there can be a need for you to make outbound calls, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So the one outbound call you made today . . . why was that? And give me a little credit for a second, Adrian, and pretend that I already know.’
Adrian looked at everyone again. They all stared back. He must have realised there was no one there to bat his corner for him. ‘I-I didn’t want to.’
‘Didn’t want to what?’ George sat back. He wanted Adrian to know that this was his time to speak. Adrian peered back at Jane. She still stood behind him leaning on a table, her arms crossed.
‘Someone called me. They said they knew where I worked. They said they needed some information, nothing that would cause any trouble. They just needed to know if someone called in and a few details of that person. That was all.’
‘How much?’
‘How much what? Information?’
‘Money, Adrian. How much did they offer you?’
‘Jesus, they made it sound like it was nothing. Like no one would care.’
‘How much?’
‘It was five hundred quid. They dropped it through my letterbox some time yesterday. I don’t know when. I got in from work and it was there. They’re supposed to do the same thing today, now I’ve done what they asked.’
‘A grand. A thousand pounds, Adrian. Think about that. That’s not a small amount of money is it? What information did they want?’
‘There’s a job running — the shooting in the south of the county yesterday. You know all about it right?’
‘Assume I don’t.’
‘Okay, well there’s a girl missing. She ran away from it all. We’ve appealed for her to get in touch. There’s a set protocol when she does. I was told I just needed to text a number when she got in touch.’
‘That’s all?’
‘That’s all.’
‘Just text a number to say she had got in touch with the police. Nothing more?’
‘No, that was it.’
‘For a thousand pounds?’ George sat straighter and then leaned forward into Adrian’s face. ‘Do you think I’m an idiot?’
‘No. No, sir.’
‘After that call came in, you phoned the informant straight back. You had to get some information, what information?’
‘Fine. Look, fine! But this is it . . . they said they wanted to know where she was. Failing that, where she was going and how. I called her back so I would know what car she was in. I reckoned this was the best I could do. As soon as I made the call, I knew it was a mistake. I know every call here is monitored, but these people dropped the money through my door. They know where I live. I made the call, made an excuse to get off the floor and then I sent the text. I was praying that would be the end of it. I didn’t expect them to drop any more money but I didn’t care. I was almost hoping they didn’t. I don’t want nothing more to do with them.’
‘And you don’t know who them is?’
‘I don’t know. I have no idea, you have to believe me.’
‘What did you think they were going to use that information for? I mean, it’s obvious to me, but what were you thinking?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I could have worked out that they were looking to find her before she got to us. But I didn’t know that, they never told me that.’
‘And a woman died.’
Adrian slumped forward. His mouth hung open, he snorted a sudden intake of breath. It all looked very staged. ‘Am I going to prison?’
‘Well, right now you’re helping me. That’s the right thing to do at least. What number did they contact you on?’
‘My phone, it’s in the locker. It wasn’t hidden or anything. It will be the last number I sent a text to. I can go get it if you want?’
‘We already have your phone, Adrian.’
Adrian hung his head again. ‘Okay.’
‘And you don’t know anything more about who contacted you?’
>
‘No.’
George nodded at Jane. She moved to the door and tugged it open. Two uniform officers were standing on the other side. They paced in, Adrian immediately looked up.
‘Adrian Minter, you are under arrest for conspiracy to murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Do you understand?’
Adrian snorted again. This time his anguish seemed more genuine. He looked straight at George. ‘I thought I was helping you! You just said!’
George stood up. ‘You were helping yourself, Adrian. A thousand pounds wasn’t it? I hope it was worth it.’
George left the room as the handcuffs were being applied. Jane followed him out. Emily split off to make a phone call. She had Adrian’s file open in her hand.
‘Such a shame,’ Jane said.
‘He made his choice. I wouldn’t worry about him.’
‘No, I meant I literally just typed up his three-month assessment. I needn’t have bothered!’
George broke into a smile. ‘I hope it wasn’t glowing.’
‘It was actually. You’ll stay for a cup of tea, George?’
‘I would love to, Jane, but I have to get back to Area. It’s manic down there. I don’t think Mr Whittaker would appreciate me taking a break right now.’
‘You work too hard, George, I’ve always said that.’
‘I think I’ve always agreed with you too. I meant what I said . . . I owe you one. When everything’s a bit calmer you can make me tea. I’ll bring a cream cake up or something. I know you look after me, Jane.’
‘It’s my pleasure, George. Anytime.’ She smiled and her cheeks flushed a little. George had always thought she was naturally flirty but he was beginning to think that maybe she saved a little extra for him. He smiled back, now reconsidering if he should stay for tea. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to see Whittaker’s name on the screen. It made up his mind.
‘Boss.’ George waved a cheery goodbye to Jane as he made for the exit. When he turned sideways to push the door open, Jane was still watching.
The George Elms Trilogy Box Set Page 32
