The small NCIS team were due in Humberside on Wednesday so I had two days to prepare. I resolved to have a final run through my plans, ensuring I had spotted all the pitfalls, loopholes and threats, while I ate my sandwiches. Then pitfalls, loopholes and threats or not, I would have to act.
*
I had no sooner bitten into my cheese and tomato sandwich than DS Ride again appeared at my office door. The bloke always seemed to be the one to deliver the “bombshells” – and this was his second of the day.
‘Just had Detective Superintendent Kingston on the phone, boss. He asks that you ring him straight away. He sounded rather smug – smugger than bloody normal. Apparently Sean Grantmore is in custody at Central on suspicion of an assault.’
Great. This at least saved me the bother of trying to track him down, and maybe a final chance to get him to grass the north-east gang before the forthcoming review. But Kingston’s interest worried me.
‘Who has he smacked this time? One of his girls?’
‘Nope. Bit more interesting than that. Try again.’
‘Stop pissing about, Sergeant. I’m not in the mood.’
‘Sorry, boss,’ he grinned, not looking the least bit sorry. ‘He’s smacked that bloke Holland… you know, the main suspect for blinding him… one of your rare failures… although no one thinks you tried too hard. Oh, and he’s locked up as well for harassing Grantmore.’
My heart sank as my blood pressure rose.
Although Tony had not been involved in the investigation of the attack on Grantmore, most coppers based in and around Hull had heard the story of his acquittal for the rape, and then the attack on him a few weeks later. The manner of the attack was highly unusual and probably one of the all time top ten Hull black humour stories. General opinion was that Russ Holland must have done it – and should receive the Freedom of the City of Hull for his contribution to community life. Most of the discussions I’d heard, or had reported to me, judged that I had not tried too hard to detect the crime. Suited my ego. If only they knew. I was still bloody anxious that no one else did know, so I rang Kingston immediately after closing my office door.
Without exchange of pleasantries, Kingston explained what had happened at the building site on Hessle Road and how both men had been arrested. He took great delight in explaining how Grantmore was demanding to speak to me – privately – and threatening to go to the press about how I had failed to protect him from the man who had obviously blinded him and was still harassing him. The slimy bastard let me know that he had already briefed the ACC (Ops) about this latest incident due to the high level of media interest in the rape acquittal and subsequent attack on the “innocent” man. He concluded the conversation with a barely disguised threat.
‘I know you manipulated me to get that investigation, Darnley, but I don’t know why… yet. I know for some reason… perhaps your famously twisted sense of justice… you buried it. Well, now it appears to have blown up in your face. I’ve just spoken to Grantmore and he’s desperate to see you. Only you… and on your own. Why? I ask myself. I know your inquiry locked him up last week and he’s on bail. You’re up to something and it stinks. Let me tell you, I won’t hesitate to drop you if I find out you’re bent.’
‘Fuck me, Dave, been speaking to a real criminal? Did you go into them cells all on your own? I’m shitting myself to think you’re on my case. Go back to your office and write a policy or something.’ I hung up.
Despite my bravado, I was now seriously worried. Kingston could hardly detect the smell of shit but was well capable of spreading it – into the nice sweet-smelling ACPO corridor. Not trusting him to have told me a full and accurate story, I rang the custody suite at Central and established that what had started out as a simple assault allegation had developed into Grantmore alleging Holland was stalking and harassing him. The fact that the whole incident had been witnessed by two men who were presently giving statements was concerning.
I gathered my papers, collected my jacket and coat and walked out into the incident room, explaining to Tony that I’d be at Central, and to ring me if anything happened.
‘This anything to do with our job, boss… him asking for you, I mean?’
‘Let’s hope so, mate. Let’s hope so.’
I looked around the room, thinking that perhaps I should take someone with me in case it came to a formal taped interview situation, as with my new resolve to play things straight I was reluctant to get into more “one-on-one/off-the-record” situations with Grantmore. But what might he disclose? Then I saw Pete Granger sitting in the corner, completing some of his actions. He knew my exposed position over Grantmore – and Holland. It made perfect sense for him to accompany me.
‘PC Granger.’ He looked up. ‘Get your jacket. You’re coming with me to Central. Our Mr Grantmore wishes to talk to me.’
The two experienced DCs in the room looked at each other, then at DS Ride, a quizzical expression on their faces. They may as well have said, Why the fuck is he taking the woodentop?
‘Sorry, lads, but it was Pete that got us the photo of Grantmore and now here he is asking to talk to me… urgently. Seems logical… and fair… that he joins me. He knows the source and the detail of the information.’
I was right and they knew it – still pissed off, but accepting of the situation. Showing Granger I trusted him would hopefully further benefit my cause. I equally hoped the fact that Grantmore was in custody and wanting to talk to me would spread around the inquiry team and generate some badly needed enthusiasm.
As Granger and I drove out of Driffield towards Hull, I explained to him my new thinking and how I needed him to convince Morley to give a statement about how, and why, he took the photograph of Grantmore at the Silver Cod. I was reassured when he expressed the view that Morley would do it, as he felt so guilty about not coming forward earlier with the answerphone messages. He was similarly positive that he would be happy not to reveal the Holland photographs. If he thought Morley was happy to sit on those photographs, surely he was too? I felt this brief conversation and this morning’s success with Anne Beedham had, hopefully, considerably reduced the risks I faced.
We then drove in silence. Pitfalls, loopholes and threats. Figuring out my tactics on the move. I now quite literally had a captive audience to deliver my messages to both men, and Granger ready and willing to sort out Morley. However, unlike on the telly, I was unable to just waltz in and have off-the-record conversations with them – PACE did not allow that. Kingston had said that Grantmore had refused to speak to the interviewing officers or anyone else until he had spoken to me. I suspected that he mainly wanted to rant and rave about getting Holland off his back, and why hadn’t I charged him with blinding him? I was not anticipating any form of easy capitulation over grassing up the robbers – although I still hoped – but he would certainly want to discuss further his proposal to set them up. My intention was to speak to him in front of the custody sergeant on videotape and ask him what he wanted me for. I was pretty certain he would say very little while being recorded, and I would tell him that I could only speak to him off the record after he had been formally interviewed for the alleged assault on Holland. This would put my intended conversation with him on a firmer legal footing that NCIS and ACPO would accept.
As regards Holland, I could do nothing until he too had been interviewed and a decision made about whether to charge or release him. However, since Grantmore would definitely want him warning off, I again had a legitimate reason to deliver that warning, as I had been the investigating officer in Grantmore’s injury. I would then be able to report back to Wilde that Holland had been arrested for harassing Grantmore and I had formally warned him off while he was in custody. Admittedly, Wilde and Granger still knew about the Holland photographs but I was beginning to feel a lot less vulnerable. But now there was bloody Kingston nosing around.
However, as I pulled into the rear yard of
Queens Gardens from Dock Street, I dared to think that maybe things were at last going my way.
Twenty-Two
Later That Afternoon
Grantmore was used to passing time in a police cell. Being arrested and banged up was an occupational hazard. He knew whenever the local plod got the faintest whiff of a chance to arrest him, they took it. From that bastard Darnley to the newest recruit out to make their name, they all wanted his scalp on their belts. As long as the bulk of the arrests did not end up with a charge and a court appearance, he was content. His solicitor was on a retainer, paid handsomely for a rapid response to his calls. When arrested, he would always act confident and cocky but say absolutely nothing during interviews – not even “no comment” – that really pissed off the interviewers. His arrest for the rape of Lisa Holland had been a rare exception – his solicitor had told him exactly what to say. This was going to be another occasion when he would speak to his interrogators – to complain loudly that the police had failed to charge Holland for the attack at Nicole’s and now the headcase was stalking him, intent on causing him more harm. He would claim self-defence.
Normally, anger got him through the time sitting alone in a cell. Anger at whoever had complained about him – usually one of his girls, or a weaker business rival. Anger at the arresting officer, who more often than not took the opportunity to handcuff him just a bit too tightly and made sure that plenty of people saw his temporary subjugation and humiliation. Even anger at the system that was never fair; but never anger at himself for getting caught.
This time, it was different. All he felt was fear.
He had demanded to speak to Darnley but the custody sergeant merely contacted the on-call SIO, which happened to be Kingston. When he appeared in the custody suite to ask why he wanted Darnley, Grantmore had recognised him as the bastard who had refused to allow him to be cut from the handcuffs in Nicole’s, thereby prolonging his humiliation. He tried his best to intimidate the officer, who didn’t seem comfortable in the cellblock, but the shame of that recollection just deepened his sense of foreboding.
Once alone in his cell, what bluff and bluster he had managed to summon up to save face rapidly evaporated. Now he was just shit-scared.
He had known all along that the person who had driven the bleach-filled syringe into his eye and then slashed his face must have been his accuser’s father. In Grantmore’s warped mind, Holland should have been able to accept his daughter had lied and that he was innocent – had not the jury declared him so? The circumstances of his initial attack in court showed the man was deranged, and then the planning and ferocity of his attack at Nicole’s underlined his cunning and tenacity. This morning’s events had done exactly what the ex-Para had intended; intimidated him even further by letting him know he hadn’t finished with him.
But then there were the equally chilling, barely veiled threats from Frame. A man who had already murdered – or more accurately – executed, one accomplice.
His usual confidence in beating a potential criminal charge was shattered. He sensed he had no escape from being implicated in the Beverley robbery – a robbery that led to kidnap and murder. Darnley’s persistence, he knew, would result in him informing on the gang to try and get a lighter sentence. His knowledge of the law meant he knew that he wouldn’t face a murder charge but his role as a fixer in a crime with such serious outcomes still meant a lengthy sentence. And in prison, he was as good as dead.
On top of all this, he was now a murderer himself. He’d killed the man with the camera in a state of high passion, with no thought of limiting the evidential possibilities. Were there witnesses? There had been a lot of blood. Forensics? He had moved the body when he’d had time to calm down and was pretty sure no one would ever find it but in truth, he doubted he could escape justice.
He sat in his cell, filled with an overwhelming sense of doom.
When he was taken from his cell to see Darnley, he was almost relieved. Keen to start to negotiate a way out of this nightmare. When the slippery bastard pretended to be ignorant of why he needed to talk to him and insist he talk on videotape, his fears multiplied. After only minutes, he was back in his cell. Told he could not talk to Darnley until after his formal interview for the alleged assault upon Holland.
After what seemed like hours alone, he had eventually been interviewed and answered the questions put to him, claiming he had acted in self-defence, as this was the man he knew had blinded him and he was afraid of a second attack. Despite this, he had been charged with assault occasioning actual bodily harm and kept in custody to appear at court the next day. His solicitor had explained that Russ Holland had refused to make a written complaint about the injuries he’d suffered, but the police were using the evidence given by the two builders to prove the assault, as they were convinced that official action was needed to try and prevent what appeared to be some form of ongoing vendetta getting out of hand. However, his solicitor was of the opinion that as he, Grantmore, had no injuries and was painted by the two witnesses as the aggressor, Holland was likely to be released without charge.
As the warder returned him to his cell to await his meeting with Darnley, Grantmore could not stop shaking. For the first time in his adult life, he had no plan and no idea what he even wanted to happen next.
*
Waiting in interview room three at Queens Gardens Police Station with Pete Granger for the warder to bring in Grantmore, I was expecting his usual arrogance. I was amazed when he walked in. He looked smaller, bowed and beaten. Maybe, just maybe, this was the time to get him talking?
He took the only vacant chair, which was bolted to the floor on the opposite side of the bolted-down table and made no attempt at his usual defiance. He didn’t speak and neither did I. I had already told Granger to keep quiet.
After about thirty seconds, I pointedly looked at my watch, and he released a torrent of abuse about how I had deliberately allowed Holland to walk away from the attack that blinded him. I let him have his say and waited until he had run out of steam.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, Sean. So what do you want?’ I asked in a sarcastic and bored manner.
‘Who the fuck is this?’ he asked, nodding at Granger. ‘I’m saying nothing in front of any witnesses. This is between me and you.’
I had anticipated this response when I had asked Granger to accompany me, and had told him what to do. He got to his feet and moved towards the door and opened it. Grantmore sat back in his chair and for the first time since he entered the room, he began to look more like his cocky self. That was until I also stood and walked after my young colleague. I stopped in the open doorway.
‘Before I go, I should just tell you that there is no deal on the table. That photograph of you and your mate from the north-east is going in the newspaper and on TV. It’s all I’ve got and I’ve got to use it. We both know what it means. You are a dead man.’
Mentally crossing my fingers, I said to Granger, ‘Get the warder, PC Granger. He doesn’t want to speak, so it’s back to the cells.’
I closed the door and waited outside in the corridor, hoping.
I was not disappointed.
‘Darnley… you bastard. Come back.’
He was beaten.
Together we walked back in and resumed our seats. Grantmore was slumped forward, his head in his hands. Beaten.
‘So who is the man in the photo?’
He sat up straight and back in his chair, clearly having reached a decision. He looked me straight in the eyes and let out a long sigh.
‘Okay. I helped set up the robberies at Brid and Beverley. I put Emmerson in touch with the gang… as a driver and to supply the local knowledge. I took no part in either job and I had nothing to do with his murder. I was nowhere near. If I give you names, what happens to me?’
This was the first time he had made any unequivocal admissions about his role in these crimes, and PACE dema
nds I should have cautioned him and arrested him for this offence, marched him back before the custody sergeant and then only proceed to ask further questions under tape-recording conditions with a solicitor present if he requested one. Grantmore knew all this as well as I did. I knew we both intended to ignore the law.
‘That depends on what else you give me. The man in the photo, is he the main man? His name’s a good start.’
He tilted back his head and looked at the wall above our heads, chewing on his lip, his damaged eye socket twitching like mad.
‘Yeah. That’s him.’
I glanced at Granger and was amazed that he was showing no reaction – at his length of service I’d have been punching the air.
‘He wants me to set up another job and find him a driver. He’s reckoning on doing it next week. I can give you the where and the when and you catch him on the job. He gets life and I’m safe… if I’m not in prison. You can deal on that surely… I’ve not killed anyone for fuck’s sake.’
‘So who is he and where is this job going to take place?’ I was giving nothing until I heard more details.
‘Kirkella or Swanland… somewhere west Hull way. I’ve already sussed out some targets. I’ve got a driver in mind and he’ll pass me the details, as soon as it’s planned… if I pay him enough. He’s only the driver, so you can let him escape. If I’ve got you the gang… caught on the job… then I walk away?’
The more he explained his idea, the more excited he got and the more his empty eye socket twitched.
I laughed out loud. ‘Bloody hell, Grantmore, this isn’t the telly. This is real life. I can’t trust you or some daft bastard like Emmerson to provide me accurate enough information to allow me to assemble a firearms operation to catch these bastards on the job. Dream on.’
‘Come on, Darnley. It could work.’ Desperation was in his plea.
A Duty of Revenge Page 19
