by Jeff Gulvin
‘Hello.’
‘Ray, it’s Aden Vanner.’
They met at a pub. Kinane seemed keen that Vanner did not come to the house. His voice had been just a little bit agitated and when Vanner put the phone down he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck. Kinane was waiting for him, two dark pints of Guinness set before him on a rough wooden table in a corner. Vanner recognised him instantly, tall and well built with thick black hair, oiled away from his face. Kinane stood up, not as tall but broader. They shook hands for the first time in twelve years.
Vanner sat down and lit a cigarette. Kinane toyed with a beer mat, tearing off the edges and rotating it in his hand like a spinning wheel. ‘Couldn’t quite believe it when the wife said Aden Vanner had phoned.’ Kinane grinned but there was no merriment in his eyes.
‘How you doing, Ray?’
‘I’m doing fine, Aden. Making money.’
Vanner nodded. ‘You always said you would.’
‘When I left the job.’
‘Made a bit when you were there though eh?’ Vanner drew on his cigarette. ‘All that overtime.’
‘Aye. I did right enough.’
‘You got kids, Ray?’ Vanner asked him¡
Kinane nodded. ‘Two boys. You?’
Vanner shook his head.
‘You were married though yeah?’
‘Once. Not any more.’
Kinane toyed with the beer mat again. ‘Surprised you joined the Met, Aden. I’d’ve thought it would be small fry after what we went through.’
‘Same game, different rules.’ Vanner shook his shoulders. ‘Only thing I knew.’
They looked at one another. ‘This isn’t a social call is it,’ Kinane said.
Vanner shook his head.
‘And you weren’t just in the area?’
‘Drove here just to see you, Ray.’
Kinane narrowed his eyes. ‘Why?’
‘We need to talk.’
‘I haven’t set eyes on you in a dozen years, Aden. Why do we need to talk?’
‘Tim Phelan.’
‘What about him?’
Vanner pushed out his lips. ‘I saw him this weekend. A few weeks back he thought somebody was having a look at him. Somebody from the past, Ray. Bad enough for him to bell the DPOA over the water.’
Kinane frowned. ‘Who was it?’
‘Black-haired woman on her own. Watching him from the park.’
‘Did he know her?’
Vanner shook his head. ‘DPOA took it seriously though. They got a couple of lads from the Anti-Terrorist Branch to drive up and see him.’
‘Anything come of it?’
‘Not so far.’
Kinane looked a little bemused. ‘So what’s the significance?’ He scratched the back of his hand. ‘You’ve lost me, Aden.’
Vanner sipped Guinness. ‘You know Priestley’s dead.’
‘Yeah. Heart attack. That was before I came over here.’
‘What about Quigley?’
‘What about him?’
‘You don’t know then?’
‘Know what?’
‘He was shot in the head at Spelga Dam in July ’94. Close quarters. Tokarev PPW’
Vanner looked in his eyes. ‘They never caught anyone.’
Kinane sat forward, took a long pull at his drink and set down the empty glass.
‘I’ll get some more,’ Vanner said.
He could feel Kinane’s eyes on his back as he waited for the girl to pour the fresh drinks. When he turned with them he was still staring at him. He sat forward as soon as Vanner set the glass before him.
‘You want to tell me something don’t you,’ Vanner said quietly.
Kinane blew out his cheeks, rubbed fingers through his hair and licked his lips. ‘Been driving me crazy. Now I know why.’
‘What has?’
Kinane scanned the drinkers about them, nobody near enough to hear him. ‘Will it go any further?’
‘Depends on what it is.’
‘I need to know.’
‘You know the game, Ray. You played it long enough.’
‘We both played, Aden.’
Vanner held his eye. ‘Different rules now.’
‘Is it?’
‘You know it is.’
‘Aw sod it.’ Kinane clasped his hands together and stared at his fingers. ‘February 12th of this year,’ he said. ‘Sunday night. A woman called Jessica Turner was murdered.’
‘I know,’ Vanner said. ‘Close-range shooting with .62mm Tokarev.’
Kinane nodded.
‘The same gun that killed Quigley, Ray’
Kinane’s eyes balled.
Vanner leaned close to him. ‘The shootist who killed Turner—was a woman. Long black hairs were found at the crime scene.’ He paused. ‘You were the lover weren’t you?’
‘What?’
‘AMIP. Hendon Murder Squad. They’re looking for whoever was with Jessica that weekend. It was you wasn’t it, Ray.’
Kinane looked at the floor, sighed once and nodded.
Vanner sat back, lifting his knee so it rested against the table and lit another cigarette. ‘Why didn’t you come forward when they made their appeals?’
Kinane opened his hands. ‘Over the side, Aden. Wife. Two kids. I had a lot to lose.’
Vanner looked away from him. ‘And she was dead already.’ He pushed out a cheek with his tongue.
‘What would you’ve done?’
Vanner shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Ray.’
The silence opened between them then. Vanner pursed his lips and sipped at his Guinness.
Kinane took one of his cigarettes and lit it. ‘What’re you going to do?’
Vanner squinted at him. ‘I don’t know yet.’
Ellie felt strange, lying in the bath in Vanner’s house listening to the sound of the silence. She had been here alone before, many times in fact, but tonight, she did not know why, she felt odd. The bathroom door was open. Why had she done that? Left it open. She never did that. She shook her head, told herself not to be so stupid and lathered her legs with soap from the dispenser.
Across the road in the car the woman sat very still. Rain fell in harsh lines across the windscreen. A couple left the Greek restaurant on the corner and ducked into the pub. Scaffolding poles rose like mechanical arms to embrace the building opposite his house. She was parked between two yellow rubbish skips, piles of rubble protruding from the one directly in front of her. Beside her on the seat was a holdall. Inside the holdall, a black automatic pistol.
Ellie got out of the bath and towelled herself dry. Vanner’s shaving things stood on the windowsill by the sink. His toothbrush beside hers in the glass. The glass needed cleaning. She ought to take it down to the kitchen and bring up a fresh one. She moved, naked still, from the bathroom to the bedroom and passed before the window.
In the car outside the woman looked up at the lights, saw someone cross the glass, and curled her fingers into fists. She sat a moment longer, then pulled the hat closer down against the back of her neck and stepped out into the rain.
Ellie put on her dressing gown and sat down to brush her hair. Again the strange sensation overtook her. She looked to the open bedroom door as if she half-expected somebody to walk through it. The rain whipped against naked glass. She got up to pull the curtain. A figure stood in the rain beneath the scaffolding poles across the road and stared up at her. Ellie jumped back, hand to her mouth. For a moment she stood there, fear beginning to grip her. Then she moved to the window again. The figure was no longer there, but she peered and thought she could make out somebody in the car between the skips. Smoke flared from the exhaust pipe and the car lurched out into the road. Ellie stepped back, then looked again. The car disappeared round the corner.
Vanner got in late, slept for four hours and left again. He drove to Campbell Row and sat brooding at his desk. The past becoming the present. Wasn’t that what his father once said to him. The past becoming the present or someth
ing like it. He could not remember. But he sat there now, thinking hard with ghosts rising that he thought had been banished forever. He heard somebody outside and Sammy poked his head round the door.
‘You’re early, Guv.’
‘Thinking, Sam. Couldn’t do it at home.’
‘Sorry about your father.’
‘So am I.’ Vanner looked at the wall. Now he could really do with him, to talk, the non-judgemental wisdom of an old man. He had gone though and there was still so much to be said. He had always known there would be.
When Sammy had gone he picked up the phone and dialled Ray Kinane’s home number.
‘Kinane.’
‘Ray, it’s Vanner. We have to talk.’
‘I know. I’ve thought about it. What d’you want me to do?’
‘Just make yourself available. The Murder Squad will want to talk to you.’
‘Can we do it at work?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about the family?’
Vanner thought for a moment. ‘I’ll do what I can, Ray. But I don’t have many brownie points round here.’
‘Okay. Whatever. If she’s going to find out just make sure somebody lets me know so I can tell her myself.’
‘Sure. Somebody from AMIP’ll contact you.’
Vanner put the phone down and was about to pick it up again when Jimmy Crack came in. ‘Picked up the tapes from the wash house last night, Guv.’
‘And?’
‘Pretty Boy carrying a bag and Ginger Bill coming out just after.’
‘No main man?’
‘Nope.’
‘What about Rafter’s woman?’
‘She didn’t show. Still in Kingston.’
Vanner made a face. ‘You want to give the wash house a spin?’
Jimmy shook his head. ‘Not yet. I want to wait for Eilish.’
‘She given us a time and a place yet?’
‘No.’
‘Remind her what she’s looking at.’
Jimmy Crack closed the door and left him alone. Vanner picked up the phone and dialled.
Ryan answered.
‘Vanner, Sid.’
‘Hello, Guv.’
‘You in a briefing?’
‘About to start.’
‘SO13 be there?’
‘Not this morning.’
‘Who’s giving it — Morrison?’
‘Frank Weir. Morrison’s tied up today.’
Vanner nodded. ‘Tell Weir I want to talk to him. I’ll see you in a minute.’
Ryan and Weir were waiting for him when Vanner got down to the Hendon incident room. Ryan stood up from his desk and glanced through Weir’s open door as Vanner came into the room.
Vanner went straight into Weir’s office. Weir sat behind the desk and looked up at him. Ryan came in behind him and closed the door. Weir nodded to a chair and Vanner sat down.
‘You got information on my inquiry, Vanner?’
‘I’ve found your missing lover.’
Weir looked at Ryan, then behind them both to the hubbub of the outer office. ‘Forgive me for looking confused,’ he said.
‘It’s a long story.’ Vanner glanced at Ryan. ‘His name’s Ray Kinane,’ he said. ‘He works as an operational consultant for CableTech Security.’
‘Paul Johnson,’ Ryan said.
Weir looked at him.
‘Jessica Turner’s contact at CableTech.’
‘Not her only one obviously,’ Weir said. ‘What do you know, Vanner — and how come you know it?’
‘I’ll tell you what I know. How I know it — I’ll tell to somebody else.’
Weir’s eyes smarted.
‘Kinane’s ex RUC, Frank.’
Vanner was back in his office when Morrison telephoned him. ‘I’ve just spoken to Frank Weir, Vanner. He told me what happened.’
‘And?’
‘And I want to know what’s going on.’
Vanner chewed his lip. ‘Who’s your liaison with the Anti-Terrorist Branch?’
‘What?’
‘I want to know who at the Yard you’re dealing with.’
‘Vanner, I’m your Divisional Superintendent. Anything you want to say you can say to me.’
Vanner was silent. ‘I’d rather talk directly to SO13.’
Morrison stifled a shout. Vanner could feel it reverberate down the phone.
‘I want you in Hendon now, Vanner.’
Vanner put the phone down and sat for a moment. Darkness swamped the window. Rush-hour traffic building up on the High Road outside. He sat forward and picked up the telephone once more.
‘New Scotland Yard,’ the voice on the other end informed him.
‘This is Detective Inspector Vanner of 2 Area Drug Squad,’ he said. ‘I want to talk Sergeant George Webb of SO13 Reserve.’
He sat back again and waited for the phone to ring. He would have paged Webb himself if he could find the number that Ryan had given him. He waited. Jimmy Crack knocked on the door and put his head around. ‘I’m off for a couple of days, Guv. Leave owing. Wanted to let you know.’
Vanner looked up at him. ‘Anything I need to know?’
‘All’s quiet.’
‘How long d’you figure before Eilish gets word that the crack wasn’t crack?’
‘Depends on the Daddy, Guv.’
Vanner nodded. ‘I might be a little busy myself, Jim. Can you make sure Sammy’s fully briefed?’
Jimmy nodded and closed the door. The phone rang on the desk before him and Vanner picked it up.
‘George Webb, Guv’nor.’
‘George. Thanks for calling me back.’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘Your Ealing close quarter. I’ve got some information for you. Secret and delicate, George. You understand?’
‘Who d’you want to talk to?’
‘Superintendent, I guess.’
‘Okay. I’ll sort it and call you back.’
‘Ring my mobile. I’ve got a meeting with Superintendent Morrison and AMIP in Hendon.’ Vanner gave him the number. He rang his house and got no reply so he rang the nurses’ station at the hospital. Ellie answered.
‘Me, love. Listen, I’m going to be late tonight.’
‘Again?’
‘Yes, again. I’m sorry. I’ve got a meeting at Hendon, then I have to go to The Yard.’
‘Aden, there’s something I wanted to tell you — about last night. It might be nothing but …’
‘Can it wait, Elle? I’m in a hurry now.’
She was quiet.
‘Ellie?’
‘Yes, it can wait.’
‘Good girl. I’ll speak to you later.’ Vanner collected his coat and went out to his car.
It took him half an hour to get from Wembley to Divisional Headquarters at Hendon. Morrison was in his office, waiting for him with Weir. Vanner had a touch of déjà vu as he pushed open the door. Last year, the Denny drugs inquiry when an informant got killed and Morrison wanted Weir to be his investigating officer. Vanner had won that round. He knew he would win this one as well.
Morrison’s face was the colour of white stone. Weir stood with his hands in his suit pockets, chewing gum.
‘Sit down, Vanner.’
Vanner glanced at Weir and sat.
‘Now,’ Morrison said, clasping his hands together. ‘What’s going on?’
Vanner looked him full in the eye. ‘I told Frank here that I’ve spoken to Raymond Kinane. Ex RUC now working in security for CableTech.’
‘What’s he got to do with you?’
‘Not important, Sir.’
Morrison slapped his palm on the desk, making papers jump. ‘I’ll decide what’s important, Vanner. This is my inquiry. If you have information you give it up. Do you understand?’
Vanner flared his nostrils, aware of the beginnings of a pulse at his temple. ‘With respect, Sir, it’s also an SO13 inquiry. What I have to say I will say to them and them alone.’
Morrison cocked an eyebr
ow at him and sat back. He traced the line of his lips with his tongue. ‘Their Super’s been on the phone, Vanner.’
‘Then you know I’m going to see him.’
‘We’re going to see him.’
‘Fine. Do you want to drive or shall I?’
Weir drove, Morrison in the passenger seat, Vanner hunched up in the back. Weir had the driver’s seat pushed right back so Vanner had no room for his legs. Morrison leaned over the back as they cut their way through the traffic towards Victoria.
‘This is all to do with the past isn’t it, Vanner.’
Vanner stared out of the window.
‘Isn’t it?’ Morrison’s eyes pierced and Vanner turned to look at him.
‘Secret and delicate, Sir. My prerogative to talk only to the security services.’
‘I’ll bet.’ Morrison shook his head. ‘If this is what I think it is.’
Vanner looked away again.
George Webb met them in the foyer at the Yard and took them up to the fifteenth floor.
‘Operation just gone live,’ he explained. ‘Floor should be sealed.’
‘Somebody active are they?’ Vanner asked him.
‘Something like that.’
Webb led the way along the corridor to the senior officers’ rooms. The Commander’s was empty. Westbrook was coming out of the DCI’s room with a folder under his arm.
‘Vanner. What’re you doing here?’
‘Westy. How’re you?’
Westbrook glanced at Weir and Morrison, lifted his eyebrows and shifted the folder to his other arm.
‘Here to see Robbo’, Guv’nor,’ Webb explained.
Westbrook nodded. ‘He’s in the squad room. I’ll let him know you’re here.’
Webb showed them into Superintendent Robertson’s office and gestured to vacant chairs. Vanner moved behind the desk and looked out over the lights of London. Webb went to fetch coffee.
They waited ten minutes and then Robertson came in with Westbrook. Robertson had grey hair cut very close to his scalp. His tie was undone and his sleeves pressed against his elbows. He looked directly at Vanner.
‘You’re DI Vanner?’
‘Yes.’
Robertson glanced at the others. ‘This is to do with the Ealing close-quarter shooting am I right?’
Vanner nodded.
‘Sorry to have kept you waiting but all hell’s breaking loose round here.’ He placed a stack of papers in his top drawer, locked it and pocketed the key. Then he placed both hands palm down on the desk.
