To Dream of the Dead mw-10

by Phil Rickman

‘We think you do, Jason,’ Mumford said.

  Mebus flinched slightly.

  ‘What happened to his mouth, Andy?’

  ‘Resisting a chat.’

  Bliss sighed. No paperwork, no rules.

  And a strong element of serendipity.

  It came down to history. And fear.

  It was not a result that Mumford would have obtained if he’d still been in the job and history hadn’t cut as deep. Jason Mebus knew too much about the tragic death of Mumford’s nephew, Robbie Walsh. Therefore Mebus was afraid of Mumford in a way he wouldn’t be afraid of a serving copper.

  Mumford had the look of a brooder.

  As it turned out, Jason was already in a state of deep unease. What he’d thought would be no more than some drug-trade disposal had turned out to be part of the highest-profile crime in this town in living memory.

  ‘Jittery from the off,’ Mumford had whispered. ‘I’m talking about cocaine, and his eyes are all over the place and wondering who Jumbo is. I didn’t do no introductions.’

  ‘Just fishing at this point?’

  ‘Trying to get you a bigger fish, boss. I know this bastard. He’s vicious, but he en’t over-ambitious. No way he’d go uptown on his own.’

  ‘Right.’

  Good detective, Mumford. Looking across at the Plascarreg’s prison-block profile, it had already occurred to Bliss that there was no way Gyles Banks-Jones would come down here on his own.

  There was someone else in this. A middleman.

  ‘Go on, Andy…’

  ‘And I’m saying things like, bit out of your league yere, en’t you, boy? And I’m tossing names at him.’

  ‘Which names in particular?’

  ‘The names you give me: Gyles Banks-Jones, Steve Furneaux, Charlie Howe. And that was when he… when he first tried to get out of the vehicle.’

  And hurt his mouth on the dash, apparently. And other parts you couldn’t see, Bliss suspected.

  Starting to feel queasy right down to his gut. The information better be solid as a rock because — as Mumford, presumptuously, had already apparently conveyed to Jason Mebus — no way was this going anywhere near Gaol Street.

  ‘I never killed him,’ Mebus said. ‘You gotter believe me, dad. Why would I? Why would I do an ole feller like that? I en’t never even heard of him.’

  ‘Now, that’s not true, is it, Jason?’ Mumford said. ‘You had every reason to wish him no good.’

  Bliss could tell that Mumford hated it when Mebus called him dad. Even the thought of having a son like this…

  ‘Him being a magistrate and all,’ Mumford said. ‘You don’t remember?’

  Bliss smiled, pretty sure that Ayling had come off the bench a good ten years ago, but Mebus wouldn’t know that.

  It was about pressure.

  ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t recognise his face?’ Mumford said.

  ‘I didn’t fucking look at his face.’

  ‘Squeamish?’

  ‘I used to work in a slaughterhouse, dad.’

  That was how thick Jason was.

  ‘Who was with you?’ Bliss said.

  ‘Justin. My brother. But all he done was drive, yeah?’

  ‘So the bloke you met…’

  ‘Never seen his face. Head to foot in waterproofs, and a black balaclava with eyeholes.’

  ‘No kidding,’ Bliss said.

  ‘Swear to God—’

  ‘Where’d you meet him?’

  ‘In the forest, as arranged.’

  ‘Which forest?’

  ‘Dean. In this… where they been clearing trees?’

  ‘That would be called “a clearing”, Jason. And this was arranged by?’

  ‘Birmingham.’

  They’d been into this. All controlled substances, including supplies to be delivered to Gyles Banks-Jones’s jeweller’s shop, came in from ‘Birmingham’. Mebus was just a distributor, he didn’t know the people he was dealing with. This was normal; if he was nicked, that was where it ended, nobody he could finger to the cops. It was just ‘Birmingham’.

  At least, Mebus assumed it was Birmingham.

  ‘So you’d had a call on the mobile,’ Bliss said. ‘From Birmingham.’

  ‘I knew the voice.’

  ‘Male or female?’

  ‘Male. Brummy accent.’

  ‘And he asked if you were up for something a bit different. Tell me exactly what he said.’

  ‘He said somebody was gonner to be topped, kind o’ thing, and—’

  ‘That was the actual word he used?’ Mumford said.

  ‘I didn’t know he meant it literally. It was fucking horrible, dad, in the back of that van…’

  ‘White van, right?’ Mumford said.

  ‘They said it wasn’t hot. False plates and that. We met in the Forest, he gives me the keys and half the money.’

  ‘What build? Short? Tall? Fat? Thin?’

  ‘I dunno — medium? You couldn’t tell how fat or thin under all this gear.’

  ‘Voice, how old?’

  ‘He din’t say much. I’d had the instructions on the phone. Where to put the… parts. He just hands over the keys and pisses off. He likely had a car somewhere, or a bike? Motorbike?’

  ‘So you looked in the back of the van?’

  ‘Well… yeah.’

  ‘What did you see.’

  ‘There was like a… two parcels? The big one, it was like this roll of black plastic. The… littler one, that was just a bin sack.’

  ‘So you did which one first?’

  ‘The big one. The river.’

  ‘They specify which river?’

  ‘The Wye. We left our wheels in the forest, went off in the van.’

  ‘No problems?’

  ‘Nah, not this time of year, at night. We found this track, rolled it down the bank, went round and dragged it to the water. Just unrolled it from the plastic, straight into the river.’

  ‘What happened to the plastic?’

  ‘Put it back in the van like I was told.’

  ‘All right,’ Bliss said. ‘Let’s talk about the small parcel.’

  ‘Can I have a fag?’ Mebus said.

  ‘No. I want to know about the head.’

  ‘I hadn’t to open it till we got there. There was a bag to carry it in, like a holdall?’

  ‘Carry it where?’

  ‘Rotherwas Chapel. This old church, back of the council tip? You know the place?’

  Bliss nodded. As a matter of fact, he did. Private chapel of the Bodenham family, Catholics. Lovely building. Too lovely to be stuck on the edge of an industrial estate.

  ‘So what went wrong, Jason?’

  ‘Two cop cars is what. Two cop cars parked up near the tip. Nearly shit myself. Like they was waiting for us.’

  ‘Sort of cop cars?’

  ‘Usual sort. Blue and yellow?’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘Turned off, soon’s we could without it looking obvious. Drove straight back into town.’

  ‘Didn’t you think to try again?’ Mumford asked.

  ‘Oh yeah. Like if they was still there they wouldn’t notice the same white van? No way, dad. Justin, he wanted to dump the van somewhere, but we had to get back to our own wheels, din’ we?’

  ‘You had specific instructions where at Rotherwas Chapel to put the head?’

  ‘In the porch. Somewhere no foxes could get at it, you know? So anyway, we drove around town a bit. I didn’t know what to do. I’m thinking it better be a church, right? I was thinking the porch at the Cathedral, but we got there and there was some service going on or summat, so we was fucked there, too.’

  ‘Nobody you could call and ask for advice?’

  ‘I told you, no.’

  ‘What time was it now?’

  ‘Dunno, seven-ish? Mabbe a bit later. All the churches round town, there was like nowhere to park or people about. And then I remembered this place, the ole monastery down Widemarsh Street. Had, like… reason to go there b
efore and I knew how quiet it was. We was getting a bit desperate by then, look.’

  ‘So you parked up…?’

  ‘Some street round the corner. Takes the bag in there, thinking we could leave him on a wall in the ole monastery?’

  ‘And that’s where you left the bag, is it?’

  ‘Nah, we took the bag away with us. Anyhow, we seen this cross thing with the steps. Seemed better than a wall.’

  ‘Whereabouts did you put the head?’

  ‘You telling me you don’t know?’

  ‘No, Jason, I know. I’m just making sure you know. Where exactly did you leave the head?’

  ‘In one of them spaces. There’s like these openings, like church windows? Justin found this brick to prop it up.’

  ‘You had to touch it?’

  ‘We had these rubber gloves. They all went back in the van before we poured the petrol all over it and set it alight.’

  ‘And you’d been left petrol for that, had you?’

  ‘Four cans. Had to be a serious fire. We had to hang around, make sure it was well burned out.’

  Bliss wondered if Gloucester had found it yet. Wouldn’t be much use DNA-wise, anyway.

  ‘You said you didn’t look at it much. The head.’

  ‘It was dark, wannit? We took the bin sack out the bag, lifted it up the cross in the bin sack. Then I gets it in position and like… eased the bag away, real slow and careful.’

  ‘So you didn’t notice anything odd about it.’

  ‘Only what we’d been… They said to be real careful and not dislodge these bits of stone? In the eyes?’

  Clincher.

  ‘Kind of stone?’ Bliss said.

  ‘This, like… like you get on graves and stuff? Bit like that.’

  ‘So you left the head in the wrong place, eh?’

  ‘Just done what we thought was best.’

  ‘You had a reaction to that? From Birmingham?’

  ‘Nah. But I en’t had the rest of the money neither.’

  ‘How do you normally receive it?’

  ‘Sometimes a bloke on a Harley. Varies.’

  Bliss glanced at Mumford, who nodded. Would explain why Jason was jittery. Were Birmingham cross with him? And when people like that were unhappy with your performance, how would they convey their displeasure?

  ‘All right, Jason,’ Bliss said. ‘Let’s go through the highlights again. That first call. Birmingham. They say why they wanted you for this job?’

  ‘Well, we… handled goods for them for a good while, ennit? They knew us.’

  ‘Nothing this big, though, I’m guessing, Jason.’

  Jason said nothing.

  ‘Worthwhile, was it?’

  ‘Not bad.’

  ‘So when they called you first, they just said this feller was gonna be topped. They give any indication why?’

  ‘I just thought mabbe somebody they been supplying hadn’t paid his bills. Din’ reckon on no council big shot, no way.’

  ‘You mean you didn’t ask.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They tell you why they wanted the two bits in different places?’

  Mebus shook his head.

  ‘Didn’t it even occur to you to ask?’

  ‘It occurred to me…’

  ‘Mother of God,’ Bliss said. ‘You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you, Jason?’

  ‘They said he had to be made an example of. That’s why I thought a poor payer.’

  ‘You never said that before.’

  ‘I only just remembered.’

  ‘Give me strength. Who sawed Ayling’s head off, Jason? Was that you? Deep in the forest, with a chainie that eventually went up in flames with the white van?’

  ‘No! I told you. It was already done.’

  ‘So you never saw his eyes.’

  ‘No.’ Mebus suddenly lurched in his seat, his gaze swivelling from Bliss to Mumford and back. ‘Hey, none of you’s wired, are you?’

  Bliss shook his head in weary disdain.

  ‘How about you escort our friend back to his estate, Jumbo?’

  49

  Sharpest Knife

  Jumbo got the message: time for cop talk. Bliss watched him follow Mebus towards the Plascarreg, clap the kid once on the back, then go his own way diagonally across the field. Leather bomber jacket, bouncy walk; he looked like a battered old medicine ball.

  ‘Well,’ Bliss said. ‘That was a bit of an eye-opener, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Thought you’d like it.’

  Mumford spread himself on the long back seat, stretched his legs out where Mebus had been sitting.

  ‘Yeh, but what… what am I gonna do with it, Andy? Walk into Annie’s sanctum, tell her she’s got this case all to cock? Explain exactly how I know she’s fallen for what she was supposed to fall for?’

  ‘Rotherwas Chapel. I noticed you liked that.’

  ‘The stones in Ayling’s eye sockets were from what the council still prefers to call the Rotherwas Ribbon.’

  ‘Was that on the news?’

  ‘No way, it was what they held back. Served its purpose, too. Told me Mebus wasn’t lying.’

  ‘So Rotherwas Chapel…’

  ‘The official ancient monument at the foot of Dinedor Hill. The one they can’t destroy to put a road through. That was just perfect.’

  ‘If you wanted to fit up the Serpent-lovers?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Likely Jason done ’em a favour,’ Mumford said. ‘Takes you a while to put it together, it don’t look like you were led there by the nose kind of thing.’

  ‘That’s true. So where’s this go next? I tell Annie she’s a stupid cow, but don’t worry about it because I only know the truth on account of I’ve been working on me own with a private investigator, unethically, on the verge of actual criminality and—Jesus, Andy.’

  Bliss thumped the top of the seat. Down the field, two seagulls took off like a storm warning.

  ‘Funny thing,’ Mumford said. ‘I’ve only realised since I retired how much quicker the process is when you don’t have to make out reports.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Bliss pulled off his beanie, ran a hand through the wasteland of his hair. ‘Doesn’t help that after I spoke to you last night I went to see Charlie Howe.’

  He saw Mumford briefly shut his eyes.

  ‘Boss, you dick.’

  ‘It was indeed a bad, bad move, Andy.’

  ‘What did you think, he was getting old? Lost his teeth?’

  ‘I figured we could have a private chat, agree to keep off each other’s backs. Andy, what’s the matter with me?’

  ‘I figured you wasn’t yourself on the phone.’

  ‘Annie’ll’ve heard all about it by now.’ Bliss sank his chin into the pillow of his arms on the back of the passenger seat. ‘Amazing how fast you can go down. Seen it happen to other fellers but usually it gets a bit of a push from the booze or gambling. Never gonna happen to me.’

  ‘All right,’ Mumford said. ‘You wanner have a think about what you got? Lay it all out?’

  Bliss was grateful. Never had a sounding board like Mumford before or since.

  ‘Half of what’s left of me brain’s turning it over and over as we speak, Andy. How much of Jason can we rely on? I still think the butchering was possibly part of his contract. The killer did a lovely neat job on Ayling — one judicious thrust, one accurate little wound that closed up so fast there wouldn’t be much blood.’

  ‘Meaning why would he want to do the messy stuff himself if he could pay an ex-slaughterman?’

  ‘Exactly. I’m guessing there was only one parcel to begin with in the back of that van, and the Mebuses had to haul Ayling down the forest and whizz the head off.’

  ‘Bone could ruin your chain,’ Mumford said.

  Bliss rolled his eyes.

  ‘Lot of rain to wash the blood away, mind.’

  ‘Now that is a good point.’

  ‘Also,’ Mumford said, ‘if anybody foun
d the signs, they’d think it was just evidence of some poacher having a go at one of these wild boar you keep hearing about in the Forest.’

  Bliss nodded.

  ‘And Jason’s keeping quiet about that bit,’ Mumford said, ‘on account of it’s got a smell of violence about it. It’s a bit more than waste disposal. Leaves you asking the question, did he do the whole thing?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘En’t got the balls. En’t got the brains.’

  ‘So we’re looking for a pro, aren’t we?’ Bliss hunched himself higher up the greasy passenger seat. ‘And a contract killer puts the crime into a whole different arena. It’s hard to imagine the Friends of the Serpent having a quick whip round and dispatching their hardest member into the underworld with a bag of unmarked twenties. I think we’re firmly back in Jason’s world.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘Fact — Jason and various members of Jason’s family and friends obtain wholesale coke from Birmingham, Bristol, Gloucester, Newport. Comes into the Plascarreg, as we’ve all known for years, for distribution to the usual suspects, plus the new breed of middle-class party animal supplied by the likes of Gyles Banks-Jones. Which is where I came in.’

  ‘There don’t have to be a connection,’ Mumford said.

  ‘Yeh, but there is a connection, Andy. And it’s through a man called Steve Furneaux. Steve is Gyles’s next-door neighbour. He was the last person, or — assuming he didn’t do it — the last but one person to see Clement Ayling alive. And, unless all my instincts are playing me wrong, he’s a cokehead. Quite long-term, I’d guess. For a long time, Steve was on the fringe. Suddenly he’s looking like a main player.’

  ‘Form?’

  ‘No way. All right, let’s approach it from the other side. Mebus gets a call from Birmingham. I think we have to assume Birmingham is Jason’s euphemism for the people he doesn’t talk about… whether they’re Birmingham or Gloucester or Newport. Whatever, Birmingham calls and discloses to Mebus that a man is going to be topped and an example has to be made of him. Now… if we assume Dinedor is just being used to lay a false trail, who wants Ayling dead? And why?’

  ‘Not a clue, boss.’

  ‘OK… Let’s think out of the box, as Steve would say. Ayling, Furneaux and Charlie Howe — all members of the same quango. One of these outfits nobody knows what the hell it does but it’s obviously above the rules of democracy and public scrutiny.’