‘No. But I think you might know who has.’
He raised one eyebrow high. ‘Are you going to give me a clue?’
‘You spoke yesterday about Flint.’
Brett’s skin blanched. His Adam’s apple bobbed noticeably as he swallowed hard.
‘Look, what Flint does is his business. We haven’t had contact since he left the YOI.’
‘You said he’d helped you settle when you moved from the secure home to the YOI, and in return you helped him with writing. A lot of favours are carried out in prison, once you owe someone, they will expect payback. What did he expect from you?’
‘As I said, the payback was that I helped him with in-cell work. That’s it.’ He sat upright, crossing his arms and legs. He was closing off.
‘Can you remember anything about what he said, things he asked you to write, that could explain why he might be targeting me?’
‘You’re not getting me to grass, Connie, that’s not cool.’
She sat back hard in her chair, running her hands roughly through her hair. It was prison code, you didn’t grass on fellow inmates – that was the worst offence a prisoner could commit.
‘You aren’t in prison any more, Brett – you’re in the real world now. And you have to get on in this world. If you’re not careful, you are going to be implicated in this.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘No, I’m not threatening you. I’m trying to help you. There’s a murder investigation going on and I have a suspicion that Flint is involved, and maybe, by association, you. Anything you can say that’ll help figure this all out, then the better all round for everyone.’
‘Who was murdered?’
‘Eric Hargreaves. A prisoner from Baymead.’
‘Shit.’ Brett stood up and walked to the window. ‘Look, I’ll tell you what I know but it’s just what I picked up here and there, from months of listening. He didn’t tell me a lot – I think he wanted to keep me in the dark a bit, make me think he was doing this for me rather than for his own reasons.’
‘Doing what for you?’
‘Just let me tell it my way, please.’
Connie took a deep breath, motioning for him to carry on. She’d have to be patient.
‘I knew Flint had this score he wanted to settle, for his dad – it went way back, like twenty years or more – something about his cousin, Jonny, who was shot dead in Salford. It wasn’t gang-related stuff to start with, but gang members got involved. The kiddy had been used as a heavy for a dodgy deal by a bent businessman who wanted his shipment to come through with no hassle. Something went wrong and it was this bloke’s fault. Nothing was ever done about it, never enough evidence in a lot of these cases apparently – no one’s willing to talk, and some of the big guys have the filth in their pockets anyway, so evidence disappears.’
Connie wiped her palms on her trousers.
‘Flint said his family knew who was responsible – they didn’t have proof as such, but from the chatter after the shooting, they were certain enough to make their move. But this so-called businessman had everything tied up in his assets, and he had protection. It wasn’t easy to make him pay through the usual channels. No one could get to him in his ivory tower.’
She was afraid to ask, but knew she had to. ‘So, what did they do?’
‘Best way to get to him was through his kid – his pride and joy. Like Jonny had been to his dad, Flint’s uncle. By all accounts you don’t mess with this family and get away with it. Anyway, he bided his time. Then, wham!’ Brett smacked one closed fist into his other open hand.
Could her dad be the businessman he was talking about? It seemed like too much of a coincidence, Connie didn’t want to believe it. She shut her eyes, pressing her fingertips against them. Don’t cry.
She took a moment, not trusting her voice. ‘They got revenge by killing this businessman’s child?’
‘Yeah, that seems to have been the outcome. As far as I know they did it in such a way that it looked like an accident – wrong time, wrong place kind of thing. A fight among rival fans at a football match, or something.’
Connie bit the inside of her cheek, hard. The metallic taste of blood trickled down her throat. The bastard. All these years her dad had known Luke died because of his dodgy business dealings. How could he live with himself?
The information flooded her brain, she struggled to comprehend it. If the revenge had been exacted though, then why wasn’t Luke’s death enough? Why come after her?
‘If he got his revenge, why would Flint and his family still want to carry this on? Surely the debt was paid.’
‘Not sure.’ Brett moved away from the window, sitting back down opposite Connie. ‘I heard this and that, like how the man continued doing business in the same way, even after his son’s death. Still does. He uses other people to help him import dodgy stuff – puts their lives at risk for his own benefit. Never gets his own hands dirty, of course.’
‘Drugs?’
‘I don’t know what he’s into, but apparently he didn’t learn his lesson. He crossed Flint’s dad again years later, caused him more grief using one of his lads for a deal. They got banged up for it and he got away scot-free again. I guess they got pissed off with him. There was something else, another reason – one call mentioned that he’d royally fucked them over. Flint said things like, Who did he think he was, taking them for fools, trying to pull the wool over their eyes? I never knew the details of that, though. But it sounded like the final piss-take and they meant business then.’
‘Why not kill him, the businessman?’
‘Apart from the problem of getting to him? Too easy to trace I suppose. Flint’s dad didn’t want a direct trail that’d lead back to him, bringing trouble to his doorstep. Plus, better to watch the man suffer, no?’
Did Brett know she was the sister of the dead boy? The businessman’s daughter – the one Flint wanted to get to?
‘I don’t understand what Hargreaves had to do with this, why he was murdered.’
‘I can’t say I do, either. I heard Flint on the phone – not the PIN one – his smuggled mobile, talking about a “suitable messenger”. Brett made quotation marks with his fingers. ‘They wanted someone to not only deliver the message, but to find their way to the right person, too,’ Brett said. Shrugging, he added, ‘I’ve no idea about the particulars of this part of the plan, I wasn’t privy to it. I knew this guy was someone who you had a history with, though. That was common knowledge on the wings after it all blew up. I knew the name Connie Moore, because you’d done a favourable report for him – got him released. Then he’d raped someone.’
Connie winced. She’d no idea her reputation had spread as far as Manchester.
‘How did Flint carry this out?’ she asked.
‘Obviously he had help on the outside – his dad was the one who got everything in place, linked it all up. The man had a lifetime of people who owed him favours. Or were scared to death of him. Flint didn’t know I was aware of so much, he thought I was only interested in what he could do for me.’
‘Which was?’
‘You have to understand, I was due to be released within months and I had no one. All I ever wanted was to fit in, Connie, you know? I wanted a family. I’d heard on the grapevine that Jenna had helped put away some gang members – drug-related offences. I just wanted to find her. Be some kind of family again. Anyway, she was in witness protection and the hope of finding her, slim. That was Flint’s side of the deal – get me to Jenna. And he knew the right people, had already made good contacts. A shame I was too late.’ He turned his face away from her.
‘Good contacts?’
‘Yeah. Do you know how many prison officers, police, other officials take backhanders? How many are willing to take a cut to turn a blind eye, or get you information?’
There was no need to answer. While she’d been at Baymead a number of officers had been suspended for allowing prisoners to have contraband items; a few had even got
prison sentences for smuggling in drugs and mobile phones. She could certainly believe there were corrupt officers both in the prison and police service – it was a problem that had been reported to be on the rise.
The pieces of the puzzle were slowly fusing together, creating the most hideous picture, with her at its centre. She didn’t want to hear any more. It was the police’s job to wrap this up.
‘You have to tell the police this, and tell them where they can find Flint.’ She stood up and opened the door, ready to call DC Clarke upstairs.
Brett’s hands flew up. ‘No way. I’m the last person who’s going to drop someone else in the shit, send them to prison again and ruin their life, and on what evidence? My story? It’s circumstantial, Connie. Look, I’ve been there. I’m not going to be a party to it. You won’t get me to grass him up. If you want Flint for this, you’ll have to fit him up yourself.’
Connie was sure that Lindsay would come through with the hard evidence to connect Flint to the murder. Her job was to get a name, address, a place to start looking for Flint.
‘Okay, I understand that. Can you at least tell me his name, area he lives, anything?’
Brett chewed on the tip of a finger. ‘His name is Aiden Flynn.’
‘Thank you, Brett. I know you won’t tell them all you’ve told me, but you are going to have to speak with the police. They need to rule you out of the murder investigation. It’s likely that DC Clarke will want to take you in for questioning now.’
‘Whatever.’ He pushed up from the chair and stretched his arms high, his hands almost touching the ceiling. Connie got a flash of his torso, a tattoo evident on his right side. Was it a bird? She shook her head and smiled. Would she ever again look at someone with a tattoo and not immediately think they were involved with this case?
‘I’m so sorry things didn’t go the way you planned, Brett. Sorry, too, that your stepmum drew everyone into her lies. Don’t blame Jenna, she was only young herself. She was trying to protect her mum.’
Brett frowned. ‘What makes you think it was my stepmum lying?’
Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that, he’d probably be angry that Connie had been to see her.
‘Er … something she said. I was up that way, so I visited.’
‘Really? That seems to be going beyond the duty of a psychologist. I’m surprised she said anything, she never did to me.’
‘I think it was one of only a few lucid moments. She said she shouldn’t have blamed you, that it was her fault. She’d planned the fire to get the insurance money and it’d gone horribly wrong. She never meant for your dad to die, or for Jenna to have to protect her by lying to the police.’
He snorted. ‘Well, well. Right up to the end, eh?’
‘What do you mean?’
Brett scratched his head. ‘She was always going to protect her daughter over me, wasn’t she? But I’m surprised she kept it up until the end. I guess she’ll take that to her grave.’
‘Take what?’
But Brett turned and walked out without further comment.
Connie sank back into her chair, closing her eyes against the brightness of the room. A headache throbbed at her temples; she rubbed her fingertips in a circular motion with no expectation of relieving it. Too much had just happened, the pain would only get worse. Better to go home before it progressed. Clarke would take Brett into the police station. She’d ring Lindsay, let her know about the conversation she’d had with Brett, and Aiden Flynn would be found.
Maybe this part of the nightmare was coming to an end.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
DI Wade
Lindsay watched as Clarke brought Brett Ellison into the station. Her overall impression of him was that he was a lanky child, unsure of himself, vulnerable. His face though, well, that told a different story – prematurely aged and hardened from his years in the system.
She’d let Clarke and Mack conduct the interview. Until they had Flint – Aiden Flynn – in custody, they didn’t have any evidence to link Brett to the murder. When Mack returned an hour later, he filled her in. Brett had told them the bare minimum about his dealings inside the prison, as Connie had warned them he would. They’d got more from her when she’d phoned in; she’d filled in some of the gaps she knew Brett was unwilling to divulge. Perhaps he’d tell them more later – if Flynn started pinning stuff on Brett, she was sure he’d talk then. Unless he wanted to go back to a YOI.
‘Who’s with Connie now that Clarke’s here? I thought you were meant to be taking over from him.’ Mack walked over to Lindsay’s desk, where a precariously placed pile of files wobbled on the far edge.
‘Careful.’ She reached across and placed a hand to steady the pile. ‘I’m going in a sec, after I put these back.’ She pointed to the files.
Mack craned his head around her to look at the time on her monitor. ‘You’ve left her on her own for over an hour.’
Lindsay’s shoulders dropped. ‘Shit!’ She shot up, swiftly grabbing the pile of files and ramming them into Mack’s arms. ‘Can you sort these? I have to run.’
She hadn’t realised that much time had passed – she’d intended to leave the station and head to Connie’s work as soon as Clarke arrived with Brett. Then she’d got sidetracked.
‘Don’t panic,’ Mack shouted over the top of the files, ‘we’ve got Brett here, and the others have got an address for Aiden Flynn, they’re going there now. She’ll be fine.’
Yes, she probably would. But still, Lindsay didn’t want to leave her without protection until he was in custody, securely locked up. Better safe than sorry.
Her finger was dead from keeping it pressed on the buzzer. Connie wasn’t responding. Lindsay dialled her mobile. No answer. She stepped back into the road to look up at the window. No movement. She must’ve decided to pack up for the day and go home. Lindsay walked back across the market square, under the town hall to the car park. She’d go straight to Connie’s. Hopefully she’d be home by the time she got there.
During the drive she mulled over the case, mentally ticking off the evidence. They would get Aiden Flynn for the murder, she was sure of it – the evidence in the van, DNA and timings of his release would tie him nicely to that. There was also the strong circumstantial evidence of the brain injury linking him to the tattoos on Hargreaves’ body. With further investigation, Lindsay hoped they could gather harder evidence on that strand. But there were loose ends. Bloody untidy ones. Who had helped him? Multiple people would’ve been required for his plans to work. It was a difficult operation breaking Hargreaves free, getting to Connie once she’d changed her name – he’d had accomplices for sure. And not just his dad and his henchmen on the outside. The insiders were still unknown. All Lindsay could hope for was that, upon questioning, Aiden Flynn would give some of them up.
That was doubtful, though. She’d have to accept that sometimes things didn’t tie up neatly in a bow. There were so many variables in this case and coming out with all the answers was far too optimistic. They’d have to settle for the main guy, at least to begin with.
As Lindsay began driving up Connie’s road, the hair on the back of her neck bristled. She pulled over at the bottom of the hill, parked and turned the engine off. Her scalp tingled. For a reason she couldn’t fathom, she knew something was amiss.
She picked up the radio to request a back-up car. She was told to wait, that assistance would be there shortly. She didn’t want to wait. What if Connie was in danger? She texted Mack: Connie’s house. Now. It would only take five minutes or so for him to get here, Connie’s house being only two miles from the police station, but those minutes could be vital ones. She’d only ever gone to Connie’s through the front entrance, there was no side path to reach the back of the house. Looking at the other buildings, it seemed there was a back road that led to the rear of the houses. It’d probably be easier to gain access through the back. If that was needed.
Her heartbeat was rapid, her breathing shallow. What was she expectin
g? She found the right gate and slowly edged it open, squeezing through. With her back tight against the wall of Connie’s house, Lindsay made her way to the kitchen window.
She stopped breathing.
A quick glance had revealed two males inside. This was worse than she’d thought. She assumed one was likely to be Aiden Flynn. Who was the second? Could it be Niall after all? She hadn’t seen Connie. What had they done with her? Lindsay had to get in there. Stop this before it was too late.
Another peek through.
Connie’s legs were splayed and motionless on the floor, her upper body obscured from view.
Please don’t have killed her.
The men had their backs to the window and were closer to the lounge than the kitchen. The smaller of the two squatted down over Connie, pulling her hair. He lifted her head from the floor, then dropped it, a dull thud reaching Lindsay’s ears. She should get in there, do something. But if she burst in she had no weapon – no way of restraining two men. No way of stopping them from hurting Connie. Her heart pleaded with her to go in, get Connie to safety. Her head screamed at her to wait for back-up. She screwed her eyes up tight. How much time had passed? Was the back-up going to be here now? Where was Mack?
Go in. If you don’t, you’ll regret it.
If you do, and you fuck up, like you did on Dartmoor, then lives could be lost.
She’d have to wait.
A scream burst from the house.
Lindsay kicked the door again and again until it splintered and fell open.
‘Police!’
She heard scrambling footsteps heading away from her. As much as she wanted to check on Connie, she stepped over her still body and chased after the men with no plan in her head, just adrenaline coursing through her veins. She’d made the wrong call; they were going to easily outrun her.
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