The End

by Dave Lacey

  “The phone is in fucking Alphonse’s name!”

  Jack ran a hand over his face and sat heavily in his desk chair. What a disappointment.

  “What are the odds? Who is this kid, who doesn’t even have his own phone in this day and age?”

  “I know. Tosser,” Smithy offered.

  Jack thought quickly through the next available options.

  “What about triangulating, should we give that a go next?”

  “Knowing our friend the way I feel I am starting to, I am not convinced he will have the phone switched on. If he doesn’t have his own phone, he doesn’t want a phone. If he doesn’t want a phone, he won’t bother to charge it or use it now that probably the only person to have called him on it is dead.”

  “Shit!”

  “Yes, shit indeed. We’ll try it anyway, it won’t do any harm.”

  ***

  It was frustrating for Jack that this person Paul was able to evade them with such consummate ease. He was certain the guy was not purposefully trying to frustrate them. In fact, he was pretty confident of the fact that the kid was most likely terrified at everything that was happening. Okay, he didn’t know him and didn’t know what he was thinking or feeling, but a person who appears shy to an apparently sharp club owner, a woman who deals with hundreds of people on a daily basis, who doesn’t own a mobile phone, who has avoided any contact with his boyfriend’s family and friends? No, he didn’t know him, but he was pretty certain he was right.

  They were going to have to do this the hard way, using good old fashioned police work. Jack now wondered if there was a link between the rent boy investigation and this Paul character. Could it, after all, lead them back in that direction? He made a mental note to set aside the next two working days so he could read through the material they had on that case in an effort to make headway on this one. He would read through the files, and he would make arrangements to go and visit some of the guilty parties and apply a little pressure. For the moment, there was nothing further they could do. It was Saturday afternoon, and the people they would need to talk to next weren’t at work.

  “Right, I’m going to head home, Smithster. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Aye, I’m gonna head off to Walkabout to watch the rugby. Should be interesting.”

  “Okay, have a good weekend, and let’s be ready to do the legwork next week.”

  “Farewell, my friend. And don’t call Selena.” He gave Jack a searching look.

  “Why would you say that? I have no intention of calling her.” He wasn’t a very good liar; he could feel himself reddening even now.

  “Fine, whatever. See you Monday.” Smithy walked off into the rain.

  Jack climbed into the Jag and threw his sodden jacket onto the back seat. At times like these, and they seemed to be prevalent these days, he wondered why he had bought a convertible. It seemed to have been raining for years, although realistically it had actually been raining for two weeks without pause. He connected via Bluetooth to his car phone, slipped the J gate into drive, and slowly made his way toward the outer edge of the city. Then he called Selena.

  “Hi Jack.” There was little emotion in her voice.

  “Hi, you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Why are you calling?”

  “C’mon, don’t be like that. I just thought I’d give you a call and see how you were both doing.”

  “As I said, fine. Jack Jr is fine too, if a little hyper.”

  “Want me to take him off your hands for a few hours?”

  “Tempting as that is, you’ll undoubtedly be called back to work later. It will just ruin all of our routines.”

  “Selena, why do you always look on the dark side of things? You weren’t always like this. You used to be bubbly.” He regretted this as soon as he said it. Not so much the ‘bubbly’ bit, though that was bad enough, but more the overall sentiment. She didn’t react well.

  “Jack, don’t call on the pretext of wanting to see how we are, when what you really want to do is make me feel bad. I don’t need you to do that.”

  “I didn’t. I’m sorry. I really didn’t call to do that. Selena, if I’m honest, I still miss you. There are so many times I want to call, but don’t, because I know you want me to leave you alone. I miss you.” He could feel it welling up inside him. He vaguely wondered if he would be able to stop it this time. He heard a sniffle on the other end of the line.

  “Why do you do this, Jack? Sometimes I wish you did call just to make me feel bad. Then I could hate you.”

  “Does that mean you don’t hate me?” Jack wheedled.

  “Of course I don’t hate you, you idiot.”

  “Well, that’s a start.”

  “No it isn’t. It isn’t anything. Can we just get to the point?”

  “There isn’t a point. I really did just call because I miss you. I miss you both.” He could feel things getting out of control. Why did these situations hardly ever go according to plan? Selena was quiet for a little while, then she spoke.

  “I need to go, I’m going out later.” Jack felt the uncomfortable squirming feeling in the pit of his stomach that signalled jealousy.

  “Oh, okay, anybody I know?” He posed the question lightly, but cringed as soon as it was out of his mouth.

  “No it isn’t... I mean it isn’t like that. God, I’m not ready to do that…” She tailed off. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation, Jack.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable Lena. I was just trying to be okay about it.”

  “You didn’t, and I know you were. You always try to do the right thing in the end, Jack. Look, why don’t you call me Monday after work. We can talk then.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that. Have a good night. Speak to you Monday.” He rushed off the phone before he said anything that would make matters worse.

  Chapter 13

  On Monday morning, Jack and Smithy arrived at the office at the same time and got straight to work. They each took a half of the workload; Jack took civil servants, Smithy celebrities, and started to flesh out each individual’s background and current status. The case had been big news twelve months ago: a dozen men arrested on charges of having sex with a prostitute, and there were even allegations of some of them having been involved with underage girls. What made matters worse in the eyes of the media was the fact that the prostitutes had all been male and the men involved all had high profiles. The man accused of running the prostitution ring had been Alphonse Ngwenye.

  There were claims at the time that he had set up his ‘friends’ in order to hold greater sway over their own spheres of influence. Marriages ended, children became estranged, and jobs were lost. The senior civil servants all lost their jobs, and were outraged at what they perceived as a miscarriage of justice. There were many claims of falsified evidence at the beginning, until something was said that encouraged these detractors to retract their argument. There was speculation at the time that Ngwenye had video evidence. In an already difficult case, this made life very tough for the defence.

  The celebrity element of the circus involved two premiership footballers, two TV presenters and a radio presenter. None of those were currently in the same jobs they had held at the time; in fact, two of the five were still currently unemployed. Bad as it had been for all involved, none of them had gone to prison. They had all received suspended sentences, which created a public outcry.

  At the time, and now, it seemed amazing that none of the accused had been sentenced. It was suggested that all of the accused had, at some time in the past, ‘partied’ with the judge who presided over the case. If that were true, it would most definitely explain why proceedings had ended the way they had.

  Again, although heavily implicated in the organisation of events and personnel throughout, Alphonse Ngwenye’s case had been dismissed. The judge cited insubstantial evidence against Ngwenye. Supporting this was the fact that none of the boys involved had corroborated any evidence that Alphonse had been involve
d

  Reading through the documentation and doing his own research on the web, Jack was narrowing down his interest to two of the civil servants. Charles Moorcroft had been the Leader of Manchester City Council at the time of the investigation, and had been a powerful civil servant. Nigel Kingsmith had been the Lord Mayor of Manchester.

  Between the two, they had held the city in their combined sweaty grip. From information gathered at the time by the police force, the extent of their corruption far outweighed anything that might have been reported in the press. But the evidence was mostly circumstantial. Snippets of articles, press releases and tittle tattle suggested that both men were heavily involved with the more sinister departments of Manchester criminal elements.

  One such element was Joe Roach. In comparison to Roach, Alphonse was no one.

  Roach was the mover and shaker on the Manchester scene, and, corny as it was, he was the big fish in a stagnant pond. Although Moorcroft and Kingsmith no longer held official positions, their spheres of influence were still far reaching, making them very useful to Roach. As such, they were employed on a ‘consultative’ basis, assisting in Roach’s legal business dealings. The ultimate irony was that he was using two convicted sex offenders to lend an air of legitimacy to his empire. And yet it worked.

  People soon forgot such matters when it came to money, and Roach and his two consultant’s generated money for lots of people. Jack felt sick just reading about it – the fact that people could put aside almost any morals or values if it meant they made money or gained power and influence. Greed and corruption: the two greatest curses of the modern age. Actually, scrap that, they were the foremost curses of any age. Personal feelings aside, he was starting to get the impression that these three men would not think twice about ridding themselves of a nuisance, should one present itself. Which then begged the question, had Alphonse been considered a big enough nuisance for them to have him removed? Could it just be good old fashioned revenge?

  He sat pondering this potential scenario, until Smithy interrupted his thoughts.

  “I don’t think the celebs had anything to do with this.”

  “No?” Jack asked, his reverie broken.

  “No. They’re pretty much finished in terms of career, which may have given them motive. But I seriously can’t see any of them having the bottle or the resources to pull it off.”

  “Well, I think we may have something to go on with these goons. Our two most senior politicians now do some consultancy work for Joe Roach. I’m certain that revenge and conflict of interest must have been discussed at some point during their collaboration.”

  “You mean conflict of interest between Alphonse and Roach?”

  “Yup. They weren’t best of friends, and it wouldn’t have taken much for Kingsmith and Moorcroft to convince Roach it was in his best interests to eliminate Ngwenye. They’re clearly very persuasive, else they wouldn’t have reached the dizzying political heights they did. We know what Alphonse was into, and I think we can safely assume it would have at some time or other encroached upon Roach’s dealings.”

  “When you start to put it like that, it seems pretty convincing.”

  “Yeah. Convincing enough to dig a little deeper?”

  “Why not, we’ve little else to go on. Besides, it would be nice to be able to pin something on all three of them.”

  “Okay, but before we do we need to get a few things cleared up.”

  “Such as?”

  “Like a confirmed cause of death for Alphonse. Seeing if there is any CCTV coverage in the area around our murder scene that picks up the BMW. The cigarettes. And our friend Paul.”

  “Okay, I’ll go over and see the coroner. You take CCTV and the fags.”

  “Why not.” They got up, grabbed their coats and headed for the door. Neither of them knowing, or even considering the possibility, that somebody had been listening into their conversation.

  ***

  Jack had been to the police building on Walker Street to check out the CCTV coverage for their crime scene and its environs. In keeping with the luck they had experienced so far in the case, they drew a blank. Or at least it looked that way, until the very last segment he observed. There was one camera working in the area, and it covered a single corner at a T-junction.

  It was fifty yards from the phone box where someone had made the call to Alphonse’s mobile phone. Forty-eight seconds after the call had terminated, the dark 7 Series BMW cruised through the camera’s field of vision. The angle of the camera, and its coverage, meant that Jack couldn’t see its number plate. But at least he could consider one thing with a degree of certainty: the watcher, or watchers, had made the call to the deceased from the payphone two streets away.

  The darkened glass of the car precluded the possibility of identifying the occupants. Jack came to the conclusion that either they were a very careful, skilled hit squad, or that they were immensely lucky. He liked the latter possibility more, as the former indicated that their reach and influence far exceeded that of ordinary criminals.

  Considering the coverage immediately surrounding the area, it didn’t seem possible that the car could have escaped the area without being picked up again. Frustrated at the lack of helpful footage, and the dearth of detail in the footage he did have, Jack decided to leave Walker Street and head back to the office. The previous week, he had asked one of the administrators to check out those outlets that sold Gauloises. Sifting through the results, it looked like there were just four outlets that sold the French cigarettes in the whole of Greater Manchester area. That should make life much easier, he thought.

  They were all in the city centre, so they could be visited easily if required. In the short term, he decided to call them to ask what he needed. Fifteen minutes later he had finished the four calls. He came to the conclusion that it was not going to be as easy as he had at first thought. Each outlet sold between two hundred and five hundred packs of Gauloises each week.

  In most cases, they were sold in single packs. This meant that fifty to a hundred people drifted in and bought them every week. Of these, the purveyors estimated an even split between English- and French-speaking buyers. In all honesty, this information was nigh on useless. He had only just put the desk phone down when Smithy called his mobile.

  “Y’ello?”

  “Hi. I’ve just seen the coroner; she’s confirmed that Alphonse Ngwenye’s death was not via misadventure. He was definitely murdered.”

  “Okay. Well that just confirms our thinking then. I, on the other hand, have discovered nothing. Safe to say, it looks like the telephone call to Alphonse’s mobile originated with one of the occupants of a dark coloured 7 Series BMW.”

  “Really? Well that’s something at least. You didn’t pick it up anywhere else then?”

  “No, amazingly it doesn’t appear in any other coverage.”

  “Right I’m gonna leave here now and make my way back to the office. See you in twenty.” Smithy rang off.

  ***

  The police colleague who had listened in to Jack and Smithy’s conversation at HQ had the good sense not to make his call from the office and instead headed off out for lunch. Cautiously, he walked for ten minutes before using a payphone. His call was answered after three rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Yeah, it’s Clarke here.”

  “Clarke who?”

  “Detective Clarke?”

  “Oh, right, what do you want?”

  “I’ve some information you may be interested in?”

  “Which is?”

  “Well, first off I wondered how much–”

  “Please, don’t annoy me by talking about money, especially over the phone!”

  “Sorry, I just thought–”

  “Clearly, Sunshine, you didn’t think. Now, what the fuck do you have to tell me?”

  “Two people I work with have linked you up with two former employees of the city.”

  “Why are you talking in riddles?”

 
; “I’m trying to be careful, Joe,” the caller stressed.

  “It’s Mr Roach to you, you fucking insect.”

  “I’m really sorry I called now. Maybe I should go?”

  “Don’t threaten me, boy. I’ll make you sorry your mother ever opened her legs for your father. Whichever pox ridden arsehole he turned out to be. Now, tell me, what do you want?”

  “Two detectives have made a connection between you, Kingsmith, Moorcroft and Alphonse Ngwenye. His death that is.” The line went very quiet.

  “How far have they taken this?” Suddenly, Roach was all business.

  “They’ve only just talked about it.” Clarke felt quite smug now, considering himself to be in control of the situation. “But it’ll only be a matter of time before they take it to the chief.” He felt he was entitled to twist the knife a little, considering the way Roach had spoken to him.

  “Christ, this is bullshit. I don’t even know how they’ve come to this.”

  “Of course, yes, I see.” Clarke didn’t believe him for a minute, and did nothing to hide his scepticism.

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know what this is about.”

  “Yeah. Listen, I’m on a lunch break, so I‘ll need to go pretty soon.” He really felt in control now.

  “Who are the officers involved?”

  Clarke laughed. “Now you know I can’t tell you that. Our agreement doesn’t cover that type of thing.” He was glad to be paying Roach back now for his attitude. But it paled compared to the regret he felt at ever having become involved with him in the first place.

  “Listen to me, boy, you’ve done well out of me in the past. If your information is good you’ll do very well out of me in the near future. Now, who are the officers involved?”

  Phil Clarke paused before replying. It wasn’t a question of money or fear that caused the doubts, rather it was principle. He didn’t mind passing on information that resulted in beatings or failed court proceedings, but this was a little grittier than he liked it to be.

  “No, I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Phillip, don’t imagine for a moment that you have any choice in this matter–”