by Alex Walters
‘You’re saying that Salter’s running a criminal operation?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. That was what was getting Kerridge so rattled. He knew that Boyle was angling to take over the business, but he hadn’t seen Boyle as a threat. But then Boyle’s moves starting getting cleverer and Kerridge guessed that someone else was involved, though he didn’t know who. He leaked the evidence that we tried to use to put Boyle away, hoping that it might smoke out the other party.’
‘Which, in a way, it did. Jesus.’ She remembered how Salter had shot Kerridge, supposedly in self-defence.
‘Yeah. Salter was too smart for all of us. Killed Kerridge. Got me banged up. Then tried to have me murdered.’
‘I never saw you as the suicidal type,’ she said, for the first time recalling the affection she’d once felt for the old bugger. ‘You reckon that was Salter, too?’
‘No way to prove it,’ Welsby said. ‘But who else? After Kerridge died, Salter thought the business would fall into his and Boyle’s laps. But Mrs K was more resilient than they’d expected.’
‘Until she was taken out, too. Christ.’
‘Salter’s been putting the frighteners on everyone up there. Gradually expanding the business. Helen Kerridge was the biggest and most important competitor. Boyle’s taking over the whole territory.’ Welsby coughed suddenly, and gestured for her to pass him a glass of water from the bedside cabinet. ‘God, I’m not well. They reckon I’m going to stand trial now my condition’s improved, but I don’t know if I’ll make it that far. I’d planned to do my damnedest to take Salter down with me.’ He shook his head. ‘My guess is that he’s starting to get jittery.’
‘Why?’ she said. ‘Sounds like it’s all falling into place for him.’
‘And that’s when it gets dangerous. Pete Boyle’s no Einstein but he’s not completely dumb, either. He won’t be happy playing second fiddle forever. He’ll take on Salter.’
‘I wouldn’t give a lot for his odds, would you?’
‘Maybe not. But Salter’s vulnerable. He’s the bent cop. Spends his life walking on thin ice.’
‘It’s all just guesswork,’ she said. ‘We don’t know what Boyle’s up to.’
‘Lizzie told me about your intruder. Didn’t sound like a pro.’
She frowned. ‘Wouldn’t have said so. All a bit half-cocked.’
‘And why do it at all? Who was behind it?’
‘I’ve been trying to work that out.’
‘And who torched Andy McGrath’s office? Another half-arsed job. None of this sounds like Hughie Salter. Doesn’t sound like the carefully planned campaign of intimidation that’s been going on up there till now.’
‘You’re saying Boyle was behind the recent stuff?’
‘Like you say, it’s guesswork. But my hunch is that things are not hunky-dory between Messrs Salter and Boyle. I think Boyle’s throwing his weight about, looking for a bigger slice of the pie. Probably wasn’t an accident that those incidents both involved you. Sounds like a message to Salter. Which will make Salter twitchy. He knows that Boyle could shaft him if he chose to.’ He stopped, and then said, ‘I heard on the grapevine that Jack Brennan’s been set up.’
In the old days, she had always been astonished by Welsby’s ability to absorb information as if from the ether. If there was something worth knowing, Welsby managed to know it before anyone else. Whatever his medical condition, he clearly hadn’t lost that gift. ‘Apparently,’ she said.
‘Just like he did with me,’ Welsby said, ruefully. ‘Makes sure the spotlight is firmly fixed on someone else.’
‘So why did you want to see me?’ she asked. ‘Old times’ sake?’
‘I want to fuck over Hugh Salter,’ Welsby said. ‘That’s the long and short of it. Like I say, you can think what you like about me. But Salter’s a ruthless, dangerous bastard. He’s not just taking the odd back-hander. He’s in the thick of it. And he’ll do – he has done – whatever it takes to further his ambitions. I want to stop him.’
‘Is this just revenge, Keith?’
‘Not just. But, yeah, in part. Why not? Bastard wrecked my life, and then tried to kill me. One reason I’ve not reapplied for bail and played up my illness is that I’m safer in here with those two screws sitting outside than I am out on the streets, or mixing with Christ knows who in prison. If I get to stand trial, I’ll do everything I can to expose Salter. But I’m a tainted witness, so my credibility’s shot. And I don’t know if I’ll even get that far. I’m not a well man, anyway, and I suspect that, one way or another, being sent back to prison won’t be good for my health.’
‘So you want me to do something?’
‘You’re the only person I’d trust, Marie. You’re not just straight. You’re also bloody good. I need someone on my side.’
He looked like an old man on the way out, she thought. He was a pale, thin shadow of the ebullient Keith Welsby she’d once known. Now he was gaunt, dark-eyed, scarcely able to sit up in bed without assistance. Hugh Salter had done that. She’d never forgive Welsby for what he’d done and been, but she could pity what he’d become.
‘I’ve got some stuff on Salter,’ she said, finally. ‘Not enough. Certainly not enough for a court. Maybe not even enough for Standards, though it might force them to have a hard look at him. But something.’
For a moment, Welsby’s expression again reminded her of the man he’d once been. She’d seen that look once or twice when they’d made a breakthrough on a case. It struck her that, for all Welsby’s failings, at heart he’d always been a real copper. ‘How come you’ve got this stuff?’
‘Just a source,’ she said. ‘Salter has plenty of enemies.’
‘Too right. But you reckon what you’ve got isn’t enough on its own?’
‘I doubt it. If only because Salter’s such a slippery customer. Some of it’s decent stuff, but there’s nothing there he couldn’t talk his way out of.’
‘Even so, it means the net’s starting to close. If enough mud gets thrown at him, some of it’s going to start to stick. There are only so many times he can talk his way out of a corner.’
‘I’m guessing he’s got a few more lives left yet.’
Welsby gazed back at her, and she could feel that he was thinking through what she’d been saying. ‘Well, then,’ he said, finally, ‘seems to me that we ought to be encouraging him to use up one or two of them.’
26
There’d been silence for a day or two, which had surprised him. He’d reported back what he’d seen and deduced – the intruder, the night she’d spent at the policeman’s flat, the visit she’d made on the way back. The way she’d packed her cases and left the house.
He’d expected a quick response, either new instructions or confirmation that the mission was finished. He was feeling increasingly uncomfortable with this assignment. Something had gone wrong somewhere, and he still didn’t quite know what or how. He could feel his careful planning, his professionalism counting for nothing as events slowly drifted out of his control.
The prospect of slipping away, taking a break for a while, was becoming ever more attractive. Grab himself a little sun and warmth before the winter came.
For the first day or so, though, there was no response. That worried him even more. Silence suggested delay, hesitation. Another sign that things weren’t right.
Twenty-four hours later, he finally received new instructions. Head south, back to London, and maintain observation. More to follow.
The mission was moving into unplanned territory. There was no time for him even to carry out his usual research. He would have to wing it. He was good enough to do that, but it was far from ideal. And ‘more to follow’ worried him. This felt like operating on the hoof.
But the instruction was there so, for the moment, he felt obliged to follow it. It would be a big step to abort his involvement so late in the day. He’d been paid for his earlier work, but he’d get the full payoff on completion. Whatever that meant
. The goalposts were shifting all the time now. But it would be expensive to pull out. And not his style. He was a pro. He’d carry on unless he felt that the risks were too great.
So he’d head south. Find a bed and breakfast somewhere in South London. Gather as much intelligence as he could, and try to be prepared for whatever was coming.
More to follow, he thought. But how much more?
Walking up Merton High Street, Marie felt the same gnawing paranoia as she had on the previous evening. It was beginning to rain slightly, and there were few pedestrians out in the early evening. At one point, she stopped and peered into the window of the Cypriot greengrocer, as if contemplating buying one of the more exotic vegetables displayed inside. She looked back along the street. There were a couple of figures, hidden under umbrellas, who might conceivably be suspicious, but no one had paused with her. One of the figures disappeared into an off-licence, shaking his umbrella out into the street. The other continued walking, maintaining a brisk pace.
When she reached the house, she found it silent, empty-feeling. Liam was already in bed in the former dining room, sleeping soundly. There was a note from Sue on the kitchen table saying that he’d seemed very tired so they’d helped him to bed early.
Was this her life from here on? Dull days at work followed by solitary evenings, Liam sleeping in the next room?
She’d stopped on the way back from the hospital to buy another pay-as-you-go mobile. The brief optimism she’d felt on leaving Welsby had melted away during the journey back. Whatever she thought of Welsby, even in his current state he somehow still displayed an enthusiastic pragmatism that remained infectious. There’d been a moment, as she said goodbye to him, when she’d really felt they had a chance of bringing Salter down. Now, the whole idea seemed faintly absurd.
She texted the new number to Brennan and Lizzie and then, wrestling with her willpower for no more than a few seconds, she dug out another bottle of wine from the diminishing store in the kitchen cupboard. She was aware that she was beginning to drink more than was good for her. Just tonight, she thought. Christ knows I’ve deserved it. I’ll pour a glass, run a bath, wash out all the crap of the day.
She’d completed the first part of this task when the new mobile rang. Number withheld. But it had to be one of two people.
‘Hello?’
‘Marie. It’s me, Jack. See you got a new phone.’
‘Hang on a sec,’ she said. As on the previous night, she opened the back door and stepped out into the garden. The rain was still coming down, though little more than a thin mist blurring the street lights beyond the small back yard. She stood in the shelter of the porch. ‘Sorry. Just wanted to get out of the house. I’m paranoid that Salter might have planted some intercept devices in the house.’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘I’d put nothing past that bastard,’ Brennan said. ‘I’m sure my phone’s been bugged. Don’t know about the house. But it’s possible. Jesus.’ She could hear him take a breath, as if he were finding the stress of the situation almost too much. ‘Just wanted to check you’d got the parcel.’
‘Safely received,’ she said. ‘Copied and hidden.’
‘What did you think?’
‘It’s good, Jack. Better than I expected, to be honest. I still don’t think it’s cut and dried by any means, but it’s good start. Where the hell did you get it?’
Another brief silence. ‘You’re not seriously asking me to tell you that? Let’s just say that Salter probably has more enemies than friends.’
‘I don’t doubt that,’ she said. ‘And, no, I’m not asking you to reveal your sources. But if we’re going to make this stick, we have to be confident of its provenance.’
‘I’m confident,’ he said. ‘And there may be more where that came from.’
‘That would be good.’
‘Do you think you can do something with it?’
‘I don’t know, Jack. Like I say, it’s good stuff. But I’m not convinced that Salter wouldn’t still be able to wriggle out of it. Even the taped conversations aren’t definitive. He’s still pretty circumspect on those tapes.’
‘Because he’s a man who’s constantly watching his own back.’
‘I don’t doubt it. But that doesn’t help us. I think our biggest hope with the material as it stands is that it might force Standards into conducting a proper investigation.’
‘But?’ Brennan said.
‘But I don’t even know if that will work. Salter might be getting twitchy but as far as the Agency’s concerned he’s still a rising star. Welsby was a big embarrassment for them. My guess is that they’ll be reluctant to lift up any more stones unless they’re forced into it.’
‘You mean they’d rather turn a blind eye than risk another public humiliation?’
‘Jesus, Jack, I don’t know. But it’s all political, isn’t it? Some politicians have already got the Agency on their hit list because we’re supposedly not cost effective or we’re not delivering the goods or whatever the hell other stick they decide to beat us with. The other Forces don’t like us because we challenge their authority. The powers-that-be won’t be rushing to provide any of those parties with more ammunition.’
‘It’ll be far more embarrassing if Salter gets exposed and they’ve done nothing.’
‘That’s a big if at the moment.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
She was silent for a moment, wondering how much more to say. ‘I went to visit Keith Welsby today,’ she said, finally.
‘Welsby?’ Brennan said. ‘That must have been interesting.’
‘You might say that. Not as painful as I’d feared in the end.’
‘How is he?’
‘Improving, but not great. He’s expecting to stand trial, but he reckons he won’t last that long. One way or another.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Whatever happens, he wants to make sure Salter goes down with him.’
‘Everybody’s gunning for Salter, then.’
‘So it seems. And according to Welsby there might be one more.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘He reckons Pete Boyle might be after him, too.’
‘I thought Salter was on Boyle’s team.’
‘More like the other way round, according to Welsby. But he thinks that all might not be well between them. Salter’s getting rattled, doesn’t trust Boyle entirely. And Boyle’s tired of playing second fiddle.’
‘Well, it’s a theory,’ Brennan said. ‘Does Welsby have anything to back this up?’
‘Not much, as far as I can tell. Just the old Welsby intuition. Mind you, the old Welsby intuition was a powerful beast in its day.’
‘Probably was, when he was being tipped off by Jeff Kerridge. But presumably that’s not the case now, unless Welsby’s already secured his hotline to heaven.’
‘More likely the other place, I’d have thought. But, yes, fair point.’
‘So what do we do then? Are you going to take the disc to Standards?’
‘I think we need leverage on this. With the best will in the world, I’m not convinced that evidence will cut much ice on its own. Just like I’m not convinced that it’ll do much good if Welsby stands up in court and denounces Salter. Salter’s as slippery as they come and Welsby’s hardly a credible witness.’
‘So what then?’ She could sense the disappointment in Brennan’s voice. It was familiar to her – the sense that you’d almost pinned Salter down, and then he was off and running again.
‘Look, Jack,’ she said, ‘I’m not letting go of this. This is the closest we’ve come to nailing Salter. We can’t afford for it to go off half-cocked. If we don’t get him this time, we’ll never get another chance.’
‘So what then?’ Brennan repeated, his voice more insistent.
‘I think we need Welsby,’ she said. ‘He’s got nothing to lose. He’s got a grudge against Salter the size of Manchester. And, from what I saw today, he’s just about desperate and determined enough
to make sure we get a result.’
27
She ended the call to Brennan and stood for a moment in the steady drizzle. It was only now she realised quite how cold she was. Even in the shelter of the porch, she’d been dampened by the drifting misty rain, her hair clinging to her face. And, for the first time since she’d returned home, she was beginning to feel scared.
Up there, out in the field, she’d expected to feel threatened, anxious. It wasn’t just because you might have to face something like her mysterious intruder. It was because, day in, day out, you were operating on alien territory, working out the rules, pretending to be something you weren’t.
Coming back here, even with all the problems she was having to face, she’d initially felt comforted. Whatever she might have to deal with, she was at least home. She’d felt safe.
But that sense of security had melted away. She was afraid the house had already been invaded, infiltrated. She had no idea whether Salter really had placed surveillance equipment here. Maybe it was a far-fetched idea. Liam had been in the house since his return from hospital, and Sue and the other carers had been coming and going. But maybe Salter had taken advantage of Liam’s absence, or maybe, even after his return, Liam hadn’t been in a state to recognise that someone was in the house. She knew full well how skilled the technical support team could be. They could be in and out in the blink of an eye and, short of tearing the place apart to find whatever they might have concealed, there was no sure way to confirm whether they’d ever been.
More than that, though, she was afraid of Salter. She’d seen how ruthlessly he’d treated Brennan. And, if Welsby was even half right, that was only a fraction of what he was capable of. She hadn’t believed it before, not entirely. Even when he’d killed Jeff Kerridge, she’d half-accepted his claim of self-defence. For all her suspicions, she still hadn’t fully believed he’d gunned down Kerridge in cold blood, just to further his own ambitions. At worst, she’d thought, it must have just been Salter’s usual mixture of opportunism and blind luck.
