The George Elms Trilogy Box Set

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘That’s disappointing, Andy.’

  ‘I know, I guessed as much. Look, George, you said you could bump this bloke, make it so he had no idea you had spoken to me. I don’t know how that’d play out, I don’t see a way of doing it if I’m honest. I could trust you with it, but this is my job — my life, George. I mean, shit, you’ve got me pulling over at a roadside and using a phone box!’

  ‘I didn’t even know they still did phone boxes, Andy.’ George fired up the car. Andy wouldn’t help him; he would head to Andy’s office himself and drop in on his sergeant. He had no choice. No other options. Andy would never forgive him, of course. George would have time to be sorry for that later.

  ‘Me neither. I know I’m letting you down, but you have to understand that we protect our sources above all else. It’s an absolute basic.’

  George shuffled forward in his car seat, struck by a sudden revelation. ‘So, you stopped to call me from a phone box to tell me you can’t help, is that right?’

  ‘That’s right, George. I stopped to tell you that I can’t tell you about Nicholas Yarney. I can’t go and speak to him on your behalf and I certainly can’t tell you who he is, so you can talk to him yourself. And like I say, the reason for that is because he cannot know that I have spoken to anyone about him. Sorry, George. If I can help in the future, you know I will.’

  The line went dead. George beamed at the car’s display as it confirmed the call had ended. ‘Bless you, Andy.’ He dialled out immediately and the car’s speakers made a ringing sound.

  ‘What the hell do you want now?’

  ‘At 5 a.m. you had the right to be grumpy, Ryker. What’s your excuse now?’

  ‘I just know that you’re about to ask me something that will either get me sacked, my card marked or my fingers burnt. Out with it, George Elms.’

  George could still feel himself grinning. ‘You know me so well, Ryker. What do you know about Nicholas Yarney?’

  ‘Where did that name come from?’

  ‘Do you know it?’

  ‘Is that what you bullied out of our source handler?’

  ‘Not at all, Ryker. I’ve never heard it before. Just call it a hunch. Us coppers are famous for them, right?’

  ‘You have a hunch about someone you’ve never heard of?’

  ‘Some of us are that good. Now, are you going to help me or not?’

  ‘It’s 7 a.m., George. I’m not due in for another hour. I’ll find out what I can when I get there. Do you know anything more about him?’

  ‘You said Andy was originally planning on meeting with him in Dover. I guess that means he’s local to there.’

  ‘So it is a name you’ve bullied. I’ll see what I can find out. You be careful round him though, George. You know all about source information, right?’

  ‘Of course. In an hour?’ George pushed.

  ‘Yes, George. In an hour.’

  ‘Only I’m sat in a car that’s ticking over. I need to catch him going out or coming in. I need it to look like I was just casually asking about something he might know something about.’

  ‘Really? How the hell are you going to make that believable?’

  ‘That’s similar to what Andy said. He trusts me, though.’

  ‘Did you give him a choice?’

  ‘There’s always a choice.’

  ‘Then he’s a fool.’

  ‘Thanks for the support. Can you get in any earlier? I know you could, Ryker, if you wanted to.’

  ‘There are a lot of things I could do if I wanted to, George. I’m pretty much on my way. You’re lucky. Seeing as how I got woken up at fuck-o’clock in the morning to take a call for you, then you made me so angry I couldn’t get back to sleep. I’m up and sorted early. I don’t owe you any favours, though, George, I genuinely have no idea why I am helping you.’

  ‘Don’t think of it as helping me, Ryker. Think of that poor fella up at that farmhouse. You can still pretend you’re not helping out an arsehole.’

  ‘I really don’t like your tactics sometimes, George. You get what you want and to hell with everyone else. You need to be aware of that, of how it comes across to people around you. People who care about you.’

  ‘I get that. I’m sorry, Ryker. You know I care about you, too. I don’t want to upset you. Not ever. But it’s only ever for the right reasons. Our friend Stan quite literally needs putting back together. We’re all a part of that now.’

  ‘Don’t I know it. I should have something in twenty minutes.’

  ‘I love you, Emily Ryker.’

  ‘It’ll be thirty minutes then.’

  George moved off. He hadn’t finished his coffee at the services. He moved towards where he knew there was a place nearby. He could get a coffee and maybe a hot roll. He had no idea how long he might need to sit waiting on Nicholas Yarney. George also needed to think of some sort of plan — a pretext for speaking to Yarney so that he’d have no idea that Andy had named him as a grass. And bearing in mind that he’d last offered information just a few hours before, Andy had been right to be wary: George wasn’t sure that it was going to be possible at all.

  Chapter 16

  Stanley Wingmore walked towards his house. The drive needed a little TLC. It was mostly compressed shingle and gravel but it was starting to show up a little bare in places. There were some parts that needed repairs, some dips and holes that collected water whenever it rained. They were on his list for jobs in the spring. Janice had nagged him every time they drove on it. He carried a coffee in a thermal travel mug. It was borrowed from where he was staying overnight with his closest neighbour, who had moved in around twenty years before. Since then, they’d become good friends, despite the fact that they were still a fair distance away. Stanley had always liked the fact that no matter where he stood in his house, he couldn’t see any another buildings. Sometimes, on those rare occasions when his own family members were out, it could be nice to pretend that he was the only man left in the world.

  This morning was one of those times. Unfortunately this daydream was quickly ruined as he rounded the natural curve in his drive to be met with a marked patrol car parked across it. There was blue and white tape, too, that stated: POLICE DO NOT CROSS. It wrapped around the wing mirror of the car then ran out until it was tied off on his fence. The car was covered with a layer of moisture as if it had been there all night. The driver’s door pushed open. An officer stood up and pulled his black jacket tighter. He was bleary-eyed and offered a weak smile. He fixed his hat. He looked like he had been there all night too.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Wingmore. Early start today, sir?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ Stan stood still while the officer wrote his details in a white book. He checked his watch; it was just before seven.

  ‘I’m sure you couldn’t. We are expecting the CSI officer back this morning, sir. She’ll be here around eight. I’m supposed to accompany you unt—’

  ‘There’s no need for that, son. I came to be in the barn. I have a kitchen in there at least. I wanted to be nearer to home. It makes me feel closer to my wife. I’m sure you understand, son. The nice CSI lady, she said she didn’t have a problem with me being in there.’ He let his eyes drop to the ground. He could see the officer shuffling from one foot to another.

  ‘Of course. But I’ll come find you around quarter to eight if that’s okay. If CSI get here and I’m still sat in the car I might get myself in trouble. Does that sound reasonable?’

  ‘Sounds reasonable to me, son. I will behave. I promise.’

  The officer chuckled. ‘This whole conversation feels ridiculous! I really don’t like telling you where to go on your own land, sir. We just don’t want anything lost down there that might help us find who did this.’

  ‘I know that. I’ve been told that a lot. I’ll see you in a little while. I can offer you a cup of tea when you come down. You look like you could do with one.’

  ‘I look forward to that!’ the officer called after him.

 
Stan carried on walking towards the house following the track left to his nearest barn and a side entrance to the estate that led off to a country lane. The cowards had driven away down there that night. Another marked car was parked straight ahead in the gravel clearing in front of his home. It, too, had a layer of moisture and he guessed there would be another officer inside. He could see the side of his house, but from a short distance.

  The barn was another on his list of repair jobs. It had once been the hub of a working farm, sheltering livestock, young and old. It had been a grain store, a garage for farm machinery and, more recently, a tack store when the stable block had been rented out. When his wife had insisted on changing the kitchen units in the house, he had recycled them and put them in here. It had been an easy fit; the units ran down the right side of the barn as he walked in. The kitchen area was separated from the rest of the building by a plywood wall. There was still some hay stored at the back; it was bundled up and starting to rot. Next to it were three bundles of wire that he used to make fences. He let other farmers use the barn for storage now and there were two modern-looking tractors that didn’t belong to him backed against the far wall. In the top left corner was Stan’s first ever tractor, the one he could never scrap despite its decrepit state and leaking pipes. It had been all he had used when he first started out in farming. He’d built his whole world around it. Now it was broken down in the corner, looking small, vulnerable and out of place against its modern counterparts. Stan suddenly felt as if he and his tractor had a lot in common.

  He moved to the right side of the barn, through the door and into the kitchen. He abandoned his flask and filled the kettle. The plumbing was noisy. It thumped into action and knocked continuously as the water flowed. He had been here late last night to put some milk in the fridge. Some food too. He hadn’t touched it then and he didn’t feel like touching it now. He opted to remove the milk only. He put it on the side while the kettle boiled. At the same time as he’d installed the kitchen, he’d also fitted some cheap, wooden framed windows. He pushed one of them open, upsetting a spider that shook frenetically in its web. He could see across to the marked police car, to the police tape that circled his home and to the side door where his wife had been removed in a black body bag. He turned away. The kettle clicked off but he stepped out of the kitchen and made his way across the barn. The aged suspension of his old tractor creaked and hissed as he stepped up into the cracked seat. He rested his hands on the oversized steering wheel. The rock-solid seat, the spindly steering wheel in his grasp, the smell of hay, mud and dust . . . he was transported back fifty years to a time when he was young and strong, with his whole life in front of him and his wife beside him.

  For just a second he closed his eyes and he wasn’t a widowed old man in a big empty barn.

  Chapter 17

  Jenny pushed her face into the warm water and let it run over her skin, through her hair and down her body. Her eyes were shut and the sound of the rushing water blocked her hearing. In the all-encompassing warmth of the shower she could almost forget that she was being held captive by a man with a gun. He had insisted she kept the door open, but she had been able to pull the curtain across. The bathroom had been stripped bare of their belongings. Everything that had been in there had been grouped together and dumped under the desk in the bedroom. She guessed this was to stop her using anything against him, though she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with a toothbrush or a bar of soap. Forming an escape plan was a long way from her mind. If this man was of the same mind-set as the people she had been running from in the course of the previous forty-eight hours, he would have killed her the second she stepped through that door. She couldn’t say she wasn’t scared — quite the opposite — but standing under the warm shower and with the option of putting her own clothes back on, she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. Not here anyway.

  Jenny didn’t know how long she had been under the shower when he called to say she’d had long enough. She stopped the taps and reached for the solitary small towel that hung on a lukewarm radiator. It wasn’t going to cover much of her.

  ‘Are there any more towels?’ she called out. She stood still for the reply. Her hair and body still ran with water.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I need to dry my hair.’

  ‘You understand this isn’t a holiday, right? You need to get dry and you need to get dressed. You have a towel and some clothes.’

  ‘Are you going to watch me?’ she called through the shower curtain. The bathroom didn’t have any windows; even in the daylight the overhead light was on. She heard someone step into the bathroom and wrapped the towel tightly around herself. She could see him as a shadow on the curtain.

  ‘Do you want me to?’

  ‘No,’ she snapped.

  ‘You need to speed up. We’ve already been here too long. We leave in ten minutes.’

  ‘Can I use my hairdryer?’

  ‘FUCK, JENNY!’ The fury came from nowhere and filled the bathroom, startling her. ‘I’m not taking the piss. Do not mistake me for someone with any patience at all. Now GET moving!’

  The shadow moved away. Jenny snatched at the towel and rubbed her body. She couldn’t reach the bundle of her clothes she had picked out. She leaned out, enough to be able to see through the open door. The man stared back at her. She moved back behind the curtain to fix the towel back over her body and stepped onto the damp floor.

  ‘Can you at least turn away?’

  ‘You do as I say. That’s how this goes.’

  ‘I have to get dressed with you watching me?’

  ‘Eight minutes,’ he said.

  Jenny arranged the bundle of clothes so that her knickers were on top. Still clutching the towel to herself, she picked them up and stepped into them with one leg.

  ‘With the towel off,’ the man said.

  Jenny stopped and removed the leg from her knickers. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know what I mean, Jenny. You get dressed with the towel off.’

  ‘I thought you were just here to take me with you? You’re not supposed to be getting off on it.’

  ‘I’m here to make sure you’ve got nothing on you that might cause me problems down the line. You either drop the towel and get dressed in front of me or I search you when you are dressed. And if you feel violated with me watching you, you should ponder my likely search methods.’

  Jenny’s latent anger flashed suddenly. ‘You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?’

  ‘I can be. I promise you that, Jenny. Drop the towel.’

  Jenny dropped the towel. She didn’t put her knickers on straight away. She straightened up and stared at the man stood in the doorway.

  ‘You happy now?’

  ‘Get dressed. One item at a time. Don’t rush. Pull the pockets out on your jeans when you put them on.’

  ‘You enjoying this?’

  ‘Not really. Naked women aren’t my thing, actually. What really turns me on is extreme violence. Seven minutes.’

  Chapter 18

  George got back to the car with his food. A brown cardboard bag hung from his mouth, the coffee bubbled up through the lid as he concentrated on keeping it straight while he searched his pocket for the keys. He cursed through his teeth. Why was it always times like this when the phone rang? He balanced the cup on the roof of the car and grabbed his phone. It was Emily Ryker.

  ‘Ryker?’

  ‘I have some details. Not much, admittedly, but all I can get my hands on. Are you ready?’

  ‘Yeah. Just give me a minute.’ George found his keys. He tugged the door open and threw the phone on the passenger seat. He moved in his drink and started the car. The phone connected to the system and he could hear Emily humming impatiently down the phone.

  ‘Sorry, Ryker, I’m getting there. Just let me get my book out.’

  ‘What the hell are you up to? I thought you wanted this information, like, pronto.’

  ‘I’m trying to do more than
one thing at once here, Ryker. Just let me get a pen.’

  ‘That’s not generally an ability that you men are born with, is it?’

  ‘It doesn’t come natural, Ryker. We have to really work at it.’ George was finally sorted. He flicked open his pocket book. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘There’s not much. Nicholas Yarney is a bottom feeder, a class-A addict it would seem. His choice, if you’re asking, is heroin. He seems to pop up on the fringes of the Dover scene a lot. He was staying in a sort of house-share situation and the house got raided a couple of times in a short space of time. He was there each time. I guess that makes sense — knowing he’s a CHIS.’

  ‘It would, yeah. He’s been squealing on his mates. Where’s he living?’

  ‘Not there. He’s moved out. He now has a place all to himself. I guess that might have been his reward for telling tales. He’s in a basement flat. Number thirty-seven Larendon Place, Dover. I don’t know it, but I’ve been on Google Maps and it would appear to make sense.’

  George knew what Ryker meant by appears to make sense. She meant that, even as a 2D image on a computer screen, it still looked like a shit hole. ‘So he’s there alone?’

  ‘The intelligence says that he lives there alone, but he has the typical lifestyle. Who knows who else will be crashed out there? You can almost always guarantee someone, right?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a fair assumption.’

  ‘I’ll send you a picture over. It’s his last custody photo. He’s known to us for a bit of shoplifting, possession of class A and B — they were separate incidents. He’s been nicked for supply, too, but it’s never stuck. Apart from that, he’s got some historic driving stuff. He’s never had a licence but it appears that didn’t stop him from driving when he was younger.’

  ‘Any violence?’

  ‘Nothing we know about. There are some intelligence reports from last summer that he was dealing for a Liverpudlian gang in Dover and he was carrying a knife as part of that. He was never found in possession of one. From his picture, I’d say he looks like a soppy twat.’