Deadly Waters

by OMJ Ryan

  Jones played it cool. ‘They were recently spotted on the Automatic Number Plate Registration cameras, but the vehicles didn’t match what we had on file.’

  Bahmani appeared intrigued. ‘You can see all that through the cameras, can you?’

  ‘Yes. In some cases we can even see who’s driving,’ Jones said, studying Bahmani’s face for any changes or movements that would indicate guilt or fear. He saw nothing aside from his lop-sided grin.

  ‘I’d better make sure I stick to the speed limits then, hadn’t I?’ Bahmani checked his chunky, glistening gold watch. Jones saw that it was a Rolex. ‘If there’s nothing else, lads, I’ve gotta get on. All them kids to feed. You know how it is.’

  Outside, Jones and Bovalino stood by the squad car and scanned the yard. It looked like any one of the scrap merchant yards littered around the city, but Jones suspected there was lot more going on here that met the eye. They climbed into the car together, shutting out the cold and the noise of the forklift.

  ‘What d’ya reckon, Jonesy?’

  ‘I can see why SCT are interested in him. You can just tell he’s crooked. That watch he was wearing is worth about twenty grand and that’s a hundred-grand Range Rover he’s driving. The scrap metal trade is lucrative, but I doubt the yard makes that kind of cash.’

  ‘Ok. So he’s crooked. But is he a killer?’

  ‘I dunno, Bov. I just don’t know. If he’s into trafficking, as SCT suspect, then maybe the girls’ deaths are linked to that. But how do we prove it?’

  ‘Feels like we’re finding more dead ends than answers on this one.’

  Jones nodded and stared out the window towards the Portakabin. ‘Come on. Let’s get back to the station and update the guys. Let’s hope they’ve had a more successful morning than we have.’

  21

  Phillips sat in her office, looking out at the trees blowing in the wind. Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’ played on the small radio on her desk.

  Little Ajay Webster was on her mind once again. He was lucky enough to have his grandparents to look after him now, and she hoped he would soon adjust to life without his mother – without needing to go into care.

  Jones and Bovalino walking back into the squad room caught her attention, and she called them over. Neither looked happy. ‘How’d you get on?’

  ‘Nothing on the plates, Guv. All three cars were scrapped last week and he has no idea what happened to the plates after that.’

  Phillips dropped her clenched fist on the desk. ‘Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.’

  Just then, Gibbo walked in. ‘So how was the charming Adders Bahmani?’

  Bovalino dropped into one of the chairs opposite Phillips. ‘He’s a proper smarmy bastard, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yep. And I bet he had an answer for everything?’ said Gibson.

  Jones hitched his buttocks onto a small filing cabinet behind him. ‘He’s crooked, that’s for sure, but you can tell he’s good at covering his tracks.’

  Gibson folded her arms, standing tall with her feet wide apart. ‘We’ve been after him for years now. Drugs, prostitution, trafficking, money laundering. You name it, we believe he’s up to his eyeballs in it. Proving it, however; that’s a very different matter.’

  ‘How the hell do these guys manage to keep the trails behind them so clean?’ said Bovalino.

  ‘Well, with Adders, he’s the master of utilising his own culture to keep outsiders out. You never see him with anyone other than his trusted lieutenants or his family. We’ve used all manner of snitches over the years, but none could get near him. It’s a closed shop. And he’s a nasty bastard too. Again, we can’t prove anything, but the one person who did break rank and spoke to us was found dead. Hanged in his garage with his tongue missing. We never did find it.’

  ‘Maybe he fed it to those bloody big dogs of his,’ said Bovalino.

  Gibson chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’

  Entwistle walked into the office holding a pile of papers, and Phillips opened her arms dramatically. ‘Here he is. MCU’s very own Lothario, DC Entwistle.’

  The team laughed along.

  Entwistle blushed. ‘I’m never gonna live this down, am I?’

  Jones patted him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, son. We’ll soon forget. Just give it a couple of years.’

  Phillips grinned. ‘So, lover-boy. What you got for us?’

  ‘Well, the digital forensics have come back on Roberts’s and Adams’s phones. Webster’s was too damaged.’ Entwistle laid a number of pages out across Phillips’s desk. They were printouts from social media accounts. ‘These were posted on Candice Roberts’s Facebook account a couple of years ago.’

  Bovalino leaned in to get a better look. ‘Seems like any other twenty-something’s social media. Pouting and posing for selfies.’

  ‘Check Bov out, knowing all the lingo,’ said Phillips.

  He smiled at her. ‘What can I say? I’m down with the kids, Guv.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, Bov. So, why are these images important?’

  Entwistle tapped his finger on one of the pictures. It was of Candice Roberts drinking in a bar or club with her arms wrapped round a good-looking blond guy. He looked to be about the same age as her. ‘This fella has been tagged on this picture. You can see his name at the bottom there – Billy Armitage.’

  Phillips took a closer look.

  ‘Billy Armitage is one of the few people she bothered to tag, so I figured he must have been important to her. I ran all the Billy Armitages we had in the system, but none of them look like this guy.’

  Phillips couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  ‘But then I had an idea to run that name through the ANPR database. Guess whose car comes up night after night in the red-light districts – including the night Webster died?’

  ‘Please tell me it’s Billy Armitage?’

  A grin spread across Entwistle’s face, making him look like the cat that had got the cream. ’It is, Guv.’

  Phillips clapped her hands. ‘Entwistle, I could kiss you!’

  ‘Steady on, Guv. You know what he’s like with the ladies,’ joked Bovalino

  Phillips grabbed the printout and studied it for a long moment. ‘So, what about his car? Is it a Mondeo?’

  Entwistle handed over another image. It was a grainy picture of a car taken by one of the ANPR cameras. ‘I’m afraid not. He drives a twenty-year-old Audi A4. Metallic silver.’

  ‘That’s a shame. But he could still have been driving the Mondeo. It’s easy enough to swap cars without being seen in those areas. Ok. What else do we know about him?’

  Entwistle read down the file in front of him. ‘He’s twenty-six. Lives in East Manchester and works as a painter and decorator. He was arrested for assault when he was twenty-one, but the charges were later dropped because of insufficient evidence.’

  ‘Was the assault against a man or a woman?’ said Gibson.

  Entwistle checked the file. ‘Erm, a man. Armitage and another guy got into a fight in a pub after a Man City – Man United derby game.’

  Gibson seemed satisfied with the answer.

  ‘Anything else?’ said Phillips.

  ‘Er, just that he’s single and lives alone, Guv.’

  Jones drummed the side of the filing cabinet with his fingers. ‘When was his car last spotted on the cameras?’

  Entwistle pointed to the picture on the desk in front of Phillips. ‘That image is from last night, but he’s been captured up there every night in the last couple of weeks.’

  Phillips sat to attention. ‘Right, if he is our guy, it looks like he’s searching for his next victim. There’s no time to waste. I want surveillance on him tonight. Whatever you had planned, cancel it.’

  Each of the team agreed.

  ‘We’ll use a relay formation and split into three teams. Gibbo, you take someone from the support team and go first. Jones and Bovalino, you take the second leg. Entwistle, you’re with me on the fin
al leg. Everyone happy with that?’

  It seemed as though Gibbo wasn’t.

  ‘Something on your mind, Gibson?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘If it’s all right with you, could I call in one of the guys from SCT? No offence to the wider team, but if this is our killer, I’d rather have experience in the car when I’m tailing him.’

  ‘Do you have anyone in mind?’

  ‘Don Mountfield. Over twenty years on the job, ten of those in SCT.’

  Phillips thought it over for a moment. ‘It’s a shame not to expose one of the wider team to this kind of operation, but I take your point on experience. I’ll call Atkins and see if we can get Mountfield for the night.’

  Gibson smiled. ‘Thanks, Guv. I’d appreciate it.’

  Phillips clapped her hands together. ‘Right guys. Call home if you need to and make your excuses. Get something to eat and let’s get ready to catch this bastard. We’ll reconvene for the briefing at five.’

  22

  It was just before 9.30 p.m. and the three unmarked squad cars were parked up, waiting for the surveillance operation on Billy Armitage to begin. As planned, Gibson would take the first leg of the relay-formation, so she was positioned outside Armitage’s flat on a small council estate in Salford, just west of Manchester city centre. Thanks to DCI Atkins, she had her colleague from SCT, DC Don Mountfield, with her for the operation.

  Phillips and Entwistle had pulled up half a mile from Armitage’s flat. Jones and Bovalino were parked next to them, ready for the off. Once the operation started, each team would follow at a distance. When Gibson had tailed Armitage for about five minutes, she would leave the pursuit at a natural junction and allow Jones and Bovalino to move up behind the target. The same manoeuvre would be repeated with Phillips and Entwistle five minutes after that. If the surveillance continued for a long period of time, then they would rotate through the team for as long as necessary. However, according to Entwistle’s detailed ANPR data, Armitage was a creature of habit, navigating the same route each night before parking up in Cheetham Hill. If he followed his usual routine, they anticipated he would arrive at his destination within fifteen minutes of leaving his home.

  Phillips picked up the radio. ‘Ok guys. We’re hoping for eyes on Armitage any minute now. Is everyone ready?’ She glanced sideways and noted Jones and Bovalino nodding in time with their verbal response.

  ‘Ready and willing, Guv,’ said Jones.

  There was no response from Gibson. Phillips waited a moment before speaking again, ‘Gibson, do you copy?’

  Silence.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Phillips mumbled as she pulled out her mobile phone to call Gibson.

  ‘Sorry, Guv. I’m here.’

  ‘Gibbo! Is everything ok?’

  ‘We’ve got a problem, Guv. It’s Mountfield. He’s really sick.’

  ‘What do you mean “he’s really sick”?’

  ‘He’s just this minute hurled himself out of the car and started projectile vomiting.’

  ‘Vomiting?’

  ‘Yes, Guv. He seemed fine when I picked him up an hour ago.’

  ‘Has anyone seen you? Has your position been compromised?’

  There was a pause at the other end. Gibson finally spoke again. ‘No Guv. I don’t think so.’

  Phillips checked her watch. It was now past 9.30 p.m. and they expected Armitage to make his move any second now. Shit. ‘Do what you have to to contain Mountfield and keep your eyes on Armitage. I’m coming over with Entwistle to replace you. We’ll have to operate with a two-car relay.’

  Gibson sounded embarrassed and harassed. ‘I’m sorry. This doesn’t paint the best picture of SCT.’

  ‘Do you want us to follow you, Guv?’ Jones chimed in.

  Phillips looked over to him and nodded. ‘Armitage’s flat,’ she said to Entwistle. ‘Fast as you can. Go, go, go.’

  Just as the cars moved away, Gibson resurfaced. ‘Guv. I have eyes on Armitage and he’s on the move.’

  ‘Shit. That’s all we need.’ Phillips indicated for Entwistle to stop the car whilst she figured out their next move. Jones and Bovalino passed by a moment later. ‘Can you follow him Gibbo?’

  ‘Mountfield is still being sick.’

  ‘Fuck Mountfield!’ Phillips was struggling to sympathise with the man jeopardising their chance to catch their prime suspect. ‘If he’s not well enough to travel, leave him behind. We’ll send a uniform car for him. Just don’t lose Armitage.’

  ‘Roger, Guv. Mountfield’s a mess. He’s gonna have to stay here.’

  ‘Do you still have eyes on the target?’

  There was another frustrating pause, and Phillips’s heart began to pound.

  Gibson broke the tension a moment later. ‘Armitage is on the move and so am I. We’re heading out of his estate now, turning left onto Seedly Terrace.’ There was silence for a moment. ‘He's indicating left onto Langworthy Road, just by the medical centre.’

  ‘We’ll follow the route as planned, guys,’ Phillips announced, and Entwistle set off, ready for their turn in the relay.

  Radio silence followed for about a minute. Gibson broke the silence. ‘He’s taking a right onto Eccles Old Road and heading down towards Broad Street.’

  ‘He’s following his usual route, Guv,’ said Entwistle as they raced to catch up with Gibson. Jones and Bovalino were about two hundred metres ahead of them.

  ‘Jonesy, do you have eyes on Gibson and the target?’

  ‘Yes, Guv. They’ve stopped at traffic lights so we’re staying a safe distance back. But it’s a clear road, so we can see them.’

  Phillips’s heart rate began to settle, and she relaxed as far as her nerves would allow on a surveillance operation. With so many unknown variables, she was alert and acutely aware of everything that might cause an issue.

  She then remembered Mountfield and the fact he needed picking up. Now the operation was back on track, she felt a pang of guilt for the way she had reacted earlier. She called it in and arranged for a uniformed team to pick him up, then returned her full focus to the operation.

  ‘I’m stepping down. Jones, do you have the target in sight?’ asked Gibson, coming to the end of her leg of the surveillance.

  ‘Target is in sight,’ Jones responded. ‘You’re green for go, Gibbo. We are now taking the lead.’

  ‘Roger that, Jones. I’m looping round and back behind the Guv,’ said Gibson.

  The next five minutes passed without incident, and then it was Phillips and Entwistle’s turn to take the lead when Jones and Bovalino pulled off the road at the junction of Great Cheetham Street East and Bury New Road.

  ‘We have eyes on Armitage,’ said Phillips as they moved in behind his car. ‘If he sticks to his normal routine, we can expect him to pull up in the next few minutes. Stay close but stay back. We don’t want to spook him.’

  As expected, Armitage followed the road round to the right as it became Elizabeth Street, before merging left onto Queens Road, then heading up to Cheetham Hill, where he began to slow but continued moving.

  ‘Ok, guys, looks like he’s slowing down. We’ll stay with him. Jones and Bovalino, I want you guys to switch places with Gibbo. If he moves off, you take the lead and Entwistle and I will follow you. Gibbo, you park up out of sight and wait in case we need you again. I’d rather not put you at risk on your own, but I don’t want to lose this guy either. Everybody clear?’

  ‘Yes Guv,’ said Jones.

  ‘Received and understood. I’m standing by, Guv,’ added Gibson.

  Phillips closed the link to the radio and took a deep breath for a moment. She let it out before returning to the radio. ‘Right, guys. Stay sharp. I want Armitage in custody tonight.’

  23

  There’s nothing random about who I pick up and where I find them. It’s all part of my well-crafted plan. Each one has been selected to meet God in the next life so they can answer for their sins from this life. Estelle Henderson is where she always stands. She’s wearing a
cheap fake fur coat over a micro mini skirt. Her long, pale, blotchy white legs run into prerequisite street-walker footwear: almost vertical high heels with platform soles. Her greasy home-dyed hair has changed colour again. It’s bright red now.

  I pull the car up and roll down the window, the universal signal that I’m ‘looking for business.’

  ‘Twenty quid for oral and thirty for full sex,’ she says, chewing gum. I can’t be sure if she thinks it’s sexy or whether she’s just ignorant. Looking at her up close, and hearing her speak, I presume it’s both.

  I tell her I want full oral and open the door for her. She jumps in beside me and the interior light casts a warm glow across her face. For a split second I forget where I am and what I’m here to do. She almost looks human.

  ‘I know a nice quiet little place.’ I tell her as she closes the door and darkness returns to the car.

  Armitage’s car crawled to a stop about two hundred meters ahead of Phillips and Entwistle, who reacted and pulled to the side of the road to remain undetected. Phillips radioed through to Jones and Bovalino, who followed suit and parked up in the shadows, awaiting further instructions.

  Up ahead, a young girl stood on the pavement to the left of Armitage. The glow of the street light accentuated the angles of her face. She moved towards the car and bent down to speak through the open window. The conversation lasted no more than a minute before she opened the passenger door and got in. The interior of the car illuminated as she did so, but soon faded away.

  Phillips’s heart raced as her adrenaline spiked. ‘She’s in the car, guys. Jones and Bovalino, standby.’

  ‘Roger that, Guv. Standing by,’ said Jones.

  The first few minutes after I pick up a girl are without doubt the most nerve-wracking. When I stop to agree the price, I always try to keep one eye on my surroundings, but it’s very difficult on the dark streets in this part of town. It’s in these fleeting moments while the car is stationary that the police can adopt radio-silence and sneak up on you.