In the Red Corner - Volume III of the Operation Jigsaw Trilogy

by Hayden, Mark

  ‘Have you talked to the Chief about this?’

  ‘First thing this morning. I asked him what on earth was happening, and he wouldn’t tell me. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed about it. I had to ring around every station in the West Midlands until I found you lurking here. Now tell me, what’s going on?’

  Tom pointed to his colleague. ‘This is DC Hayes. Kris, could you pack the files away?’ and to his visitor, ‘Please, take a seat.’

  ‘I’m not going to ask again. Tell me what’s going on.’

  Tom took a deep breath and signalled for Hayes to start work clearing away. Then he sat down as calmly as he could and gestured to the plastic chair he’d stolen from the canteen.

  Mrs Andrews kept her fur-trimmed boots firmly planted on the floor. Tom started to count to ten in his head and had got to four before the heating came to his rescue. She had clearly marched straight to their den from the exposed car park and was now in a subtropical office. She either had to walk out or unfasten her coat. She chose the latter and sat down at the same time. Coat and bag were dumped on the floor.

  ‘Can we get you a drink? I’m afraid I’ll have to send Hayes to the canteen.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Fair enough. I’m not going to ask you the name of your friend in HR.’ He paused.

  ‘So?’

  ‘She should be dismissed for what she’s done. I could have your phone records within half an hour, and she would be out of the door by three o’clock.’

  Evelyn Andrews sat back and took a sharp breath. Hayes paused in her tidying up and gripped the file she was holding.

  ‘Now, shall we start again?’ said Tom.

  ‘Just leave that bit out of your report,’ said Evelyn.

  Tom nodded and pointed to the tray of empty mugs. Hayes put the last folder away and slipped out to the canteen.

  ‘Now that you’re here,’ said Tom, ‘you’ve got a choice. You can answer some questions off the record or you can refuse. I’m afraid the rules are different for serving officers – if I talk to them, it has to be official. For you, it’s not. If you’re willing to co-operate informally, all that will ever need to appear on the record is a short witness statement. Unless I need to arrest you, of course.’

  ‘Never, in thirty years’ work, have I had a complaint against me. If you tell me what it’s about, I’ll answer your questions, but I won’t collaborate with you. I’m not a Quisling.’

  Tom had heard them all now – Gauleiter, Quisling, Fifth Columnist, Collaborator. There was an entire field of the English language which hadn’t moved on from the Second World War.

  ‘People have complained about me,’ said Tom. ‘My first sergeant told me that if you don’t get at least a few complaints, you’re not doing your job. Villains will complain about anything if they think they can get some mud to stick. I’ve never had a complaint from an innocent person, that’s for sure. I don’t know if it makes a difference, Mrs Andrews, but this is not about a complaint.’

  Hayes returned with the drinks. She also brought biscuits in an attempt to keep the peace. Tom looked at their visitor properly. She was eight years younger than his mother, but looked older. He guessed that this is what happened when you worked full time for a living. On the other hand, she fizzed with an energy that Valerie only showed when she was plotting a coup on the York Minster Arts Committee. Mrs Andrews was wearing a tailored suit, and sticking out of the top of her bag was a court shoe.

  ‘If it’s not about a complaint, then what’s going on?’ said Mrs Andrews, after finishing a biscuit.

  ‘This is an investigation into serious professional misconduct, almost certainly amounting to criminal activity. Serious criminal activity.’

  Mrs Andrews had noticed the files when she came in and pointed to the boxes. ‘I’m not the only person under investigation, am I?’

  ‘No, you’re not. I can tell you that the chief constable has authorised this enquiry, and I can tell you that we’re only looking for one person. One rotten apple.’

  ‘It’s not me.’

  ‘If it isn’t you, then it would make my life – and the Chief’s – a lot easier if you say nothing about this interview to anyone until the investigation is over.’

  ‘I can keep my mouth shut if I have to. I do it all the time. For example, I haven’t referred to the fact that Kristal Hayes is in here. I read all the case papers, you know. I think you were very badly done by, DC Hayes. I hope it doesn’t make you bitter towards MCPS or the Chief.’

  ‘I want to be a police officer, not a martyr,’ said Hayes.

  ‘And there’s something not in those files,’ added Tom. ‘Her name is Kris.’

  Andrews nodded.

  Tom took one of the three Griffin folders from his drawer. ‘Can you tell me how your husband’s business is doing?’

  She immediately bristled. ‘He’s got nothing to do with the police. His firm is squeaky-clean in all respects. They have to be.’

  ‘But they were involved with the police. When the factory burned down. It was arson.’

  ‘Yes, it was. And a bunch of kids were arrested for it. That fire was not an inside job.’

  ‘At the time of the fire, your husband was chief engineer on the production line. When the new factory was opened, he became operations manager.’

  ‘So? He’s good at his job.’

  ‘I see that one of the investigation team was Detective Sergeant Griffin. He even wrote the final report for the DCI to sign.’

  Mrs Andrews said nothing. Either he was hitting a nerve or she was very good under pressure.

  ‘The thing is,’ said Tom, ‘insurance companies don’t always pay out, even when it’s arson. They wait for the police report. An inconclusive report means that the victim of the fire has to sue for the money. In a civil court, the burden of proof is on the balance of probability, as I’m sure you’re aware. In this case, the police report exonerated Earlsbury Plastics completely. They were up and running again in no time.’

  ‘Are you accusing me – or my husband – of bribing a police officer?’

  ‘It’s a coincidence, that’s all. It might be something, it might be nothing. It depends on what happened the at the budget strategy meeting in the Victoria Hotel.’

  She rolled the idea round in her head. ‘It was all strategic. Nothing specific. I can’t see how there would be scope to be unprofessional, let alone criminal, in that meeting. Incompetent, yes. Unhelpful, certainly. But not unprofessional.’

  Her answer put her in the clear. He had seen enough of Evelyn Andrews to realise that she was a sharp woman who could probably hold her own in a game of poker, but she wasn’t an actress. If she had made that phone call to Griffin, it would have been the first thing she thought of when he mentioned the Victoria Hotel. She would have given herself away immediately by jumping to what happened after the meeting instead of during it.

  Tom relaxed a fraction in his chair and caught his arm on the desk. ‘Ow! Sorry. Would you mind if DC Hayes made a note of your answers from now on? They’ll form the basis of your statement. You can read her notes at the end.’

  ‘If it makes things quicker.’

  Hayes’ notebook was already open. She picked up a pen.

  Tom tried not to rub the dressing over his skin graft. ‘Could you think carefully, Mrs Andrews? I want you to take your time and describe everything you can remember, from the moment the Chief wrapped things up to the moment you left the premises.’

  She opened her mouth to ask a question, but changed her mind and thought for a moment. ‘It was about five to eight when we stopped. The exact time is in the minutes; I always look at my watch and jot it down.’

  That was good to know. It might be crucial.

  ‘I put my notepad away and stood up. Everyone did. We’d been sitting down so long that we were all numb. The finance director started packing things away, and when I’d cleared the plates off the table, I gave her a hand.’

  ‘What was everyo
ne else doing at that point?’

  ‘Turning on their blessed mobile phones. I know they’re all senior officers, but the world doesn’t stop turning if they’re in a meeting. If there had been an emergency, we’d have heard about it in seconds. The control room has the Chief’s number, and he never turns his phone off. Even on holiday.’

  ‘Can you remember any of their reactions?’

  ‘No. I was too busy clearing up. I do remember that no one actually made a call from the meeting room. They just checked their messages and their voicemails.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘We – that’s the finance director and me – left the room together. We could only just manage the crates and flip charts between us, but we didn’t want to make two trips. Oh yes … the Chief asked if I wanted him to lock up. I told him that wasn’t necessary, but could he drop the key off because my hands were full?’

  That tallied exactly with the Chief’s account. The next two questions would either solve the case or put them back to square one. ‘Think carefully. Did you see anyone go to the toilets? Was there anyone left in the room when you walked out?’

  She gave the questions serious consideration. ‘We’d had a toilet break at half past seven. I think everyone went straight out at the end, but I couldn’t swear to that. Someone might have still been in the loo. Because we weren’t locking up, I didn’t need to check them.’

  It was disappointing, but only to be expected.

  ‘What did you see outside?’

  ‘Very little. It was quite busy in the car park, with people leaving and arriving for dinner. Oh yes. It had just started to rain, so we dashed to the car to stop the priceless budget strategy getting wet. I dumped stuff in the FD’s boot and got in my car. It was next but one to hers. I never looked back.’

  Ah well, it was too much to expect that she could solve the case for them. It would have been nice, though.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Andrews. I know you’ll be discreet, but if you could keep the questions about the Victoria Hotel to yourself, it would much appreciated.’

  She was on her feet and picking up her coat before Tom had finished speaking. ‘I know when to keep my mouth shut, Chief Inspector.’

  With no farewell, she was gone.

  Hayes breathed a sigh of relief. ‘She should be on the force,’ she said. ‘I’d confess to anything if she was asking the questions.’

  ‘Me too. What do you reckon, Kris?’

  ‘It’s not her.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘She was too vague about the meeting. If she was hiding something, she’d have added lots of details. Not only that, I can’t imagine DS Griffin doing anything that a woman told him to do.’

  It was a good point. He and Hayes had come to the same answer from different directions.

  ‘Who’s next?’ asked Hayes.

  ‘I think we’ll look at Niall Brewer.’

  ‘Why’s that? I’m only asking so that I can learn.’

  ‘He’s not a copper. We can do things to him that we can’t do to ACC Khan or DCC Nechells.’

  ‘Fair enough. Pick off the weak ones first.’

  ‘You could say that. I’d say that Mrs Andrews was anything but weak.’

  The day after Evelyn Andrews came to see them, Tom decided that it was going to be a good day. The breakfast at Earlsbury Park seemed to have improved on this visit, and the Black Country had escaped the worst of the weather overnight. There had been significant snow falls in Yorkshire; his grandfather had been getting noticeably more frail recently, and Tom hoped that he wouldn’t go out trying to rescue any sheep. Today, he was sure, they would find something to help them get leverage on Niall Brewer.

  A couple of the waiting staff seemed to be looking at him as he finished his meal: perhaps word had spread among them that he had arrested the Golf Club steward. When he dropped off his key at reception, the girl behind the desk (who knew exactly who he was and didn’t care) said, ‘Good luck.’

  Tom said nothing, but he was half looking over his shoulder as he went out of the front door and didn’t notice the camera crew until the microphone was thrust under his nose and a woman journalist started to introduce herself as coming from the local BBC News.

  ‘It’s Detective Inspector Morton, isn’t it?’

  ‘Chief Inspector, but yes it is.’

  ‘Chief Inspector Morton, I understand that you are from the Professional Standards Team in London. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes. You’ll appreciate that all police work is sensitive, and ours can be very sensitive. If you contact the press office in Lambeth, they may be of more help than me.’

  During his comment, Tom had started to edge towards his car. The journalist and camera crew moved with him and obstructed his path. They didn’t block it, exactly, but he couldn’t walk past them without crossing the line of the camera in what would be a very unflattering shot. The journalist pressed on. ‘I understand you were recently involved in the Blackpool bombing. Are you now conducting an investigation that’s linked to the bombing?’

  It wasn’t good journalism that had brought them here: someone had been talking. Someone had leaked this story – someone who thought that publicity would be to their advantage. Tom would have to stonewall. He couldn’t just walk away from this.

  ‘I am conducting an investigation at Midland Counties Police Service. My Inspectorate conducts enquiries all the time. These have to be confidential, but they are always fully reported at the end. On our website and via the press office. I’m afraid that I can’t comment further until then.’

  ‘We understand that the subject of your enquiry may be linked to the bombing,’ she persisted. ‘In which case, isn’t there a conflict of interest? You are not only a witness to the bombing, but aren’t you also a victim?’

  Shit. Not only had his mission been leaked to the BBC, the argument had been made for them. He would have to say something and hope that it didn’t come back to bite him on the bum. ‘I can categorically state that none of the subjects of my enquiry are suspected of the Blackpool bombing or of having arranged it. More than that, I cannot say.’ He wanted to take a step towards the woman, but that would look very bad on TV, so he put down his briefcase and thrust his hands in his pockets. ‘Most enquiries are ruled no case to answer. Those officers are innocent and deserve privacy. If I were the subject of an enquiry, I wouldn’t want a trial by television. Would you?’

  The journalist pulled a face and backed off. She formally thanked him for the camera, and he picked up his case. He left them outside the hotel filming reaction shots and got into his car. Oh dear, he thought. This is going to be very tricky.

  Chapter 9

  Earlsbury – Fylde – In Prison

  Wednesday to Monday

  1-6 December

  Tom had a situation that needed careful handling. He had never been on TV before and didn’t think he would relish watching his performance tonight. He told Hayes about it on the way to BCSS, and she was as appalled as him.

  ‘Is it really a set-up?’ she asked.

  ‘Got to be. One of those three people has leaked this story and put a spin on it that could undermine everything we do. I’ve committed myself on TV that we’re not looking for a link to Blackpool. If we get so much as a sniff of that now, I’ll have to hand over the case straight away.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  They were getting out of the car. Tom said, ‘Ring Lambeth and tell them to expect a call from the BBC, if they haven’t already had one. Then ring Leonie. You know what to do.’

  ‘Yeah, get two teas.’

  The facilities manager had finally installed their extension yesterday, and he used it call the CIPPS press office and then Leonie’s mobile. They had told him she was out on a case.

  ‘Hello, Tom. You’ll have to keep this quick. My phone’s running out of charge.’

  ‘Is there a landline number I can call you on?’

  ‘Hah! That would b
e good. There’s no landline, no power, no water. I’m in a nice little B&B in Sussex that’s been completely cut off from the outside world. According to the radio, it could take days to dig us out. I’ve never seen snow like it in England. I hope you’ve got some good news for me. Things are pretty pear-shaped here.’

  He took a deep breath and made her day worse. She swore a lot.

  ‘We’ve got no option,’ she said after venting her anger. ‘You’re going to have to proceed as lead officer until I can get out of here. Just don’t talk to the media again. Under any circumstances. Can you hack it? Would you like Sam Cohen to take some of the flak?’

  That was the trouble with Leonie. She was so political that you couldn’t work her out. Was she offering Samuel’s help out of concern for Tom, or because she might be able to dump responsibility for the case on to someone else, now that it was looking shaky?

  ‘Thanks for the offer. It’s much appreciated, but I’d rather press on than have to brief someone else.’

  ‘Fine. Good luck. I wasn’t joking about the phone, either. It may be a smartphone, but the battery’s not very clever. I’ll turn it off to save power. Text me if there are any serious developments, and I’ll pick it up later. That’s if the mast hasn’t gone down.’

  Outside their office, Tom had noticed that Hayes was standing guard. When he put the receiver down, she opened the door to admit Nicole Rodgers, the deputy media relations manager.

  Rodgers was her usual impeccable self. A black shift dress was pinched in at the waist and her boots had polished steel spike heels. He offered her a seat, and she took out an iPad.

  ‘I’ve just had a call from the chief constable,’ she said. The expression on her face implied that this wasn’t a daily occurrence. ‘He knew I was in BCSS and asked me to handle any follow-up from your ambush by the BBC this morning.’ She crossed her legs and smiled. ‘In fact, he asked me to continue with this as long as necessary, for some reason.’