‘But you will write it up, DC Copeland, you will do that. Every bloody word. You’ll even pull the CCTV from here, I wouldn’t wonder, just to check I am who I say I am. So you run along, and I’ll be in touch as soon as I know any more. And you tell Pepper Wilson that I send my regards. To her and her dad both, like.’
Copeland nodded, and turned away. It was only when he was unlocking the car that he remembered that Farmer had never said how he’d been selected. He looked back, but Farmer was nowhere to be seen. It probably didn’t matter, anyway.
DC Armstrong was on his fourth and final breaker’s yard visit, on the outskirts of Whitehaven. The first three had been wash-outs, in every sense, and he’d spent most of his morning trying to avoid both the puddles, each glistening with a rainbow sheen of petrol, and the sharp-toothed tethered dogs that he encountered before he even reached their monosyllabic owners. But this place was different. There were no dogs, and the big warehouse space was dry. The lad behind the counter got on his walkie-talkie and the owner appeared after a minute or two. He even shook hands with Armstrong, having wiped his hand on his overalls first. It didn’t make them any cleaner, but Armstrong appreciated the thought.
‘What’s this about?’ the owner asked. ‘You’re welcome to walk the yard, if you want.’
That was the last thing that Armstrong wanted.
‘No, I’m enquiring about a Ford Granada. Have you had one in?’
‘Not in about ten years, no. You could have phoned up and asked that, son.’
‘How about other classic cars?’
‘No, that’s not our thing. Just no call for them, see. Cars are just like washing machines to most folk, these days. I’d love to stock bits for the classics myself, but they’d just gather dust for years, I expect.’
‘So you don’t think that someone who is stealing them these days would be doing it for parts?’
‘I didn’t say that. Just that we don’t sell them. But for lots of old cars, calls them old bangers or classics if you like, there’s no call for remanufactured parts, so second-hand is the only way to go.’
‘What kinds of parts?’
‘It depends on the model of car. Usually mechanical parts aren’t that hard to get hold of, but things like interior and exterior trim can be well-nigh impossible to find, even second-hand.’
‘And there’s no way of tracing these parts back to an individual car?’
‘To prove they were nicked, like? No, no way at all. Not when they’re off the donor vehicle, like.’
‘And how do these parts get sold? For these old cars, I mean?’
‘Auto-jumbles used to be favourite, but now I’d say it’s online, mainly. All of these old cars have owners clubs, and they usually have member’s adverts buying and selling parts. And then there’s the online auctions too. We sell loads of our stock on those now, like.’
‘OK, thanks. So if I searched about a bit online, you reckon that I could find out which parts of various cars are the ones that would be most in demand?’
‘Oh, aye, that would be favourite. Just email someone in the owners club, and they’ll tell you soon enough. They’ll be glad to be asked, I expect.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, no offence, Detective Constable, but you lot don’t seem to interested in any car thefts these days. I can’t remember the last time we had a visit, like. So the fact that you’re interested in an old Granny, well, that is a bit of turn up, I must say. Did it belong to the Chief Constable, or something?’
‘You’re not too far out, mate. But it looks as if we’ve got something organised going on locally. A few of these cars have gone missing in the last couple of months, and none of them have turned up again.’
‘Well, I’ve heard nowt, and no-one that I don’t know has offered me anything unusual.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ve been a great help.’
‘Have I? I’m not sure how, like. But one thing I will say. It would take a fair bit of graft, and specialist knowledge, to break cars like that. I’m a bit surprised that someone is doing it, to tell the truth. I thought criminals usually liked the easy life.’
‘I know what you mean. I’ve been thinking about that, too. But I suppose these cars will be easy enough to steal, and it sounds like the offenders will be pretty hard to catch too.’
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something, son.’
And as he drove back to the office DC Armstrong did think of something. If he could find someone locally who was selling parts for most of the cars that had gone missing recently then the chances were that he’d have found his car thief, or at least someone close to him. And since the ACC had already emailed him twice, asking for updates, at least he’d be able to say that he was working on it.
DC Rex Copeland was waiting for Pepper when she returned to her office.
‘Can you spare me five minutes?’ he said, intercepting her by the door.
‘Not really, love. I’m having a bit of a day, to tell the truth. How about tomorrow?’
‘It’s about Dai Young.’
‘Really? Then come on in. The water’s lovely, like.’
Copeland summarised his meeting with Farmer. Pepper listened, and didn’t interrupt once.
‘And have you logged the meeting?’
‘Yeah. Did I do right?’
‘And the entire content of the conversation?’
‘Yes, that and all.’
‘Fine, that’s good. Well done, Rex.’
‘So you know this Alan Farmer, I assume?’
‘I certainly do. You’ve had a good look at his file already, I expect?’
‘I have. That’s the bloke I met, all right. And he looks like the real thing. An old-school, working criminal. Doesn’t mind a bit of rough stuff, either. Or didn’t, anyway.’
‘All true. So you noticed that he’s not been inside in a bit?’
‘Better part of ten years, yeah. Not so much as a speeding ticket. And there’s not been a single entry in his intelligence file in over two years. Other cons don’t mention him, he doesn’t turn up on surveillance, nothing.’
‘That’s right. I’d heard that John Porter had him working in one of his straight operations, on a wage, like. A kind of reward for years of banging heads, and doing a fair chunk of time for Porter too, of course.’
‘So why has Porter got him grassing now? Why not use someone less valuable?’
‘Who says it’s Porter who’s behind this?’
‘Farmer does, for a start. Look, Pepper, I know you’ve got Dai Young marked down as some kind of master criminal, whatever his record says to the contrary, but maybe this is just the local boys seeing off the newcomer. The what-do-you-call-it up here?’
‘The offcomer? That’s possible, aye, but who’s to say that this hasn’t all been set up by Dai himself? I wouldn’t put it past him.’
Rex had to make an effort not to roll his eyes, and only partly because he was sure that it made him look a bit too much like a young Lenny Henry.
‘Why would he do that though, Pepper? He’d be grassing on himself then, wouldn’t he? And anyway, is it realistic that Young could be moving prison absconders? It all sounds a bit far fetched to me.’
‘Christ knows, Rex. Did you phone the intelligence unit and ask them?’
‘I did, when I’d completed the informant contact form. They said that it’s not impossible. Apparently it’s not uncommon to keep absconders in remote areas, so an isolated cottage or farmhouse could easily be being used. But as to who it might be, they had no idea. No specific intel, they said. Mind you, it was a civilian volunteer that I talked to, mainly. I ask you, a volunteer in the bloody intelligence unit.’
‘Don’t get me started, Rex. I’ve had a shit day, and the stupidity of having bloody unpaid civilians having access to our most sensitive data, it makes a bloody mockery of the job, doesn’t it?’
‘It makes me feel a bit exposed, I’ll tell you that. Any con worth his salt would hav
e at least one of those people in his pocket, wouldn’t he? There’s nothing he couldn’t find out if he did. But, anyway, you want me to keep in touch with this Alan Farmer, I assume? See where this takes us?’
‘Aye, certainly. You do that. Oh, by the way, did you ask why he just didn’t come straight to me with this? I’ve known Farmer for years. So it seems a bit odd, does that.’
‘No’ said Copeland, holding Pepper’s gaze. ‘I didn’t think to ask why not. Sorry about that.’
Like hell you didn’t ask, thought Pepper, as she drove home. You must think we’re all yokels up here, and we’ll swallow any old shit. She could feel her knuckles tight on the steering wheel, and her neck muscles were tense too. But she wasn’t really angry with Copeland, nor even with Mary Clark, come to that. In fact, a boss had probably even made a good decision for once. She’d certainly wanted to hurt that tosser Lambton, more than she actually had. She’d been getting angrier for months, years probably, and she wasn’t really sure why. All right, she wasn’t particularly happy, but then who was? But was she really in danger of doing something really stupid? Of putting herself right in harm’s way? She thought about Ben for a moment, but she still couldn’t quite answer no. Not for certain, anyway.
It was only a five minute drive to the house, but she wasn’t ready to go home yet. Justin was collecting Ben from the after-school club, and would make start on tea, which was a blessing in every respect. For a start he was a better cook than her, and it would also give her an excuse to open a mid-week bottle of wine. She drove on, a little out of town, and parked on a residential side street. The rain had stopped, but the wind was still buffeting the car. She wound the window down a little, and felt the cold air in her hair. And then she started to cry. She was surprised, going on astonished, because she couldn’t remember the last time that it had happened like this. From nowhere, and for no particular reason. Ben had sung the bloody solo at the school nativity play the previous Christmas, and her eyes had stayed resolutely dry. If Lassie had come home with the baby Jesus in her mouth and the heavenly host singing away behind Pepper still wouldn’t have shed a tear. The world was full of shit people doing shit things to each other for entirely selfish reasons, and sometimes for no reason at all. And so what if she wasn’t happy? She probably didn’t bloody deserve to be.
The rain started again, and she wound up the window and started the car. She thought of Ben, and recognised him as she would in a dream. Just a shape or a glimpse, but he could be no other than her son. ‘Stop bloody snivelling’ she said out loud. And a few minutes later she saw him in person, as he tore himself away from his games console to greet her.
‘We’re having shepherd’s pie, mum. Justin says it’s his singular dish.’
‘His signature dish, love.’
‘Aye, that. What’s yours then, mum? I asked Justin and he said he thought it was probably wine. But he was joking, wasn’t he?’
Pepper was still thinking about it when Justin walked into the hall, holding out a glass.
‘I opened a bottle. I hope you don’t mind. We’ve got something to celebrate.’
‘Have we?’
‘Well, I have, anyway. Tea in ten minutes, Pepper. You’ve got time to, you know….’
She glanced at herself in the hall mirror, and didn’t like what she saw. So much for waterproof bloody mascara.
‘It was pouring down’ she said, and ran past him up the stairs.
Justin served the food, and they both listened patiently to Ben as he talked about his day. He couldn’t see the point in sums. Justin said that he couldn’t either, and Pepper kicked him under the table. ‘So what’s this good news of yours, then?’ she said.
‘You know I told you about our management deal?’
Pepper didn’t remember anything of the kind. Perhaps she just hadn’t been listening. ‘Yes,’ she said, uncertainly.
‘They’ve got us a brilliant support slot on a tour. With a band called…. Well, you won’t have heard of them. Really big shows, anyway. We travel on a bus, sleep on it too, and there’s catering, the whole thing. We’ll be away for six weeks.’
‘When do you go?’
‘Next week. The band they had booked as support has a problem, the singer got sick or something. And the best bit is that they contacted our management and asked us to step in. One of the band just loves our stuff, apparently.’
Pepper tried to look pleased, but she was already rethinking her childcare options.
‘That’s fantastic, Justin.’ She raised her glass and he reached out and clinked, then did the same with Ben, who solemnly held up his glass of juice.
‘I can’t believe it in a way, Pepper. I’ve been on with this for nearly twenty years, and we’ve never had a break like this. But I knew those new songs were strong, and I’ve never had a better band.’
‘You’ll have to change the band’s name now though, won’t you? To The Idle Rich, maybe.’
‘Not yet, Pepper. We won’t get fat on one support slot, but everyone has to start somewhere. I told you that something was happening for me at last, didn’t I? Well it has, it really has.’
She looked across the table at him, and smiled. He grinned right back, on high beam. They were the same age, almost to the month, but he could have passed for five years younger, maybe more. She wondered how, and when, that had happened.
‘Sorry that I won’t see you for a little while, Ben’ said Justin, after he’d cleared away the pudding bowls. Pepper was watching the boy more closely than any suspect. He was disappointed all right, and he was trying not to show it.
‘That’s all right. Everyone has to work, don’t they?’
‘They do, Ben. That’s right. And I’ll be back in no time.’
‘You promise?’
‘Aye, of course I promise. When did I ever let you down?’
‘Come on, Ben, upstairs for your bath,’ said Pepper. She didn’t want the boy to dwell on that question for too long.
Dai Young looked relaxed, because he was. There was real movement at last, and he was on the offensive. It was the only way to be. Get put on the back foot, at a time like this, and you were as good as dead. The restaurant was closed, had been for an hour, and the table he was sitting at was right at the back. He sat on one side, while Alan Farmer was at the end nearest the door to kitchen. He, on the other hand, looked tense.
‘Relax, Alan. This will be fine. Trust me.’
‘It’s not your neck on the block though, is it, Dai? They’ll know who it is who’s gone over to you now, won’t they?’
‘They already do, actually.’
‘What?’
‘I needed Porter to know before they got here. He’ll have got the bad news about ten minutes ago.’
‘Why the fuck did you do that? I can’t go back now. And how will you get your information from inside his operation now that he knows about me? Shit, Dai. Shit.’
‘Don’t you worry about that. And did you ever really think that you were my only source? I needed to be sure that I could trust you, Alan. No disrespect, mate, but dishonesty is our business, isn’t it? And this way our two guests will have no leverage now, see? If they decide not to take us up on our offer, then they’ll not be able to tell Porter anything that he doesn’t already know.’
‘You could have warned me, Dai. I thought we were mates.’
‘I could have, I suppose, but I didn’t. And we need to get one thing straight, Alan. I’m not your mate, I’m your boss. I’ll tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it. And that’s all you’ll ever know. It’s a simple job, is this, when you know the score. You see to stay on top you don’t need to be handier than the next bloke, with a blade or a gun or whatever, because there’ll always be someone faster, someone stronger. It’s knowledge, information, that matters. It’s all that matters. It’s what keeps us alive. Because one day someone is going to walk through that door, and they’re going to be able to take me. But I won’t die that day. They will,
and so will anyone and everyone who helped them reach me. Because I’ll have known they’re coming all along, see, and so I’ll be ready. I’m looking forward to it happening, in fact.’
‘Eh?’
‘Oh, aye. The sooner the better. Because it’ll prove to the troops that I’m the boy to back, whenever there’s a potential challenge. So I already know everything that I need to know about John Porter’s operation, and I know all about Massie and Roberts. So you just relax, Alan, because you’ve already picked the winner, and you did it early doors. So all you have to do now is exactly what I tell you to do, exactly when I tell you to do it. It’s not that hard, is it?’
‘No, Dai. I get you.’
Young’s guests came in through the kitchen entrance. Two middle aged men in suits, looking like late-night revellers celebrating someone’s ‘significant birthday.’ They both tried not to look surprised when they saw Farmer, and they both failed. Porter obviously hadn’t reached them yet. Young stood up, and shook hands.
‘You both know Alan, of course,’ he said. Massie, the smaller and older of the two men, tried to smile, but Roberts didn’t. ‘Sit down, both of you, and let’s just have a chat, shall we? And don’t feel that you have to rush off straight away, because your boss knows all about Alan here. So there’s absolutely nothing disloyal about listening to what I’ve got to say, OK? Think of it as an intelligence gathering exercise, if you like.’
‘Get on with it,’ said Roberts.
‘Can I offer you a coffee? Something stronger, maybe?’ Both men shook their heads. ‘All right, so this is how it is. I’m in a position to offer you two gentlemen executive positions in the organisation that I represent, as territorial managers. You, Mr. Massie, would run all of our operations in the Carlisle area, and you, Mr. Roberts, would manage the rest of the county. There’s a generous base salary, a substantial profit share, and a golden hello.’
The Devil's Interval Page 4
