by L M Krier
‘Jo, you know that even if I knew anything, I wouldn’t be at liberty to discuss it with you. And you also know that’s not because I don’t trust you. Far from it. You’ve never given me reason not to. But there are already enough internal enquiries going on into what went wrong the first time Kateb gave them the slip, so there needs to be a tight lid kept on everything now.’
‘Of course, boss, understood. Neil himself is as straight as a die, though, I’d bet money on it.’
‘But would he? Bet, I mean? You know as well as I do that if someone is leaking information, they’re not likely to be doing it for free. They’ll be getting a nice little back-hander, so the most likely suspects are anyone with financial problems. Like gambling. If there’s anything you know, even if it goes against the grain, it would be helpful if you’d tell me.’
Jo shook his head emphatically.
‘Not Neil. He doesn’t gamble. Not at all. He’s a Quaker. Won’t even buy a lottery ticket, or a raffle one, although he sometimes gives money to the charity running it. Hardly drinks, either. Keeps quiet about it because you can imagine what a hard time he’s had about the whole thing in the past in our wonderfully inclusive service, especially back in the days when he and I were starting out. It was bad enough for me, with a Spanish name, getting called a spic all the time.’
‘The three of us should get together one evening over a jar and compare the insults we’ve had thrown at us. I should warn you, though, that mine is usually the winning hand.’
After Jo had left, Ted went downstairs to talk to the Ice Queen to see if she had any updates. He wanted to crack on with lines of enquiry but nothing had yet come through from Marston informing him of who was pursuing what angle following the arrests.
‘I agree that starting with the forger should be a priority now. I haven’t yet seen or heard mention that anyone has been questioned in connection with the counterfeit documents. Would you prefer me to telephone Mr Marston to raise the matter, or will you do it?’
‘I don’t want to let any history between me and Mr Marston get in the way of this enquiry. But knowing how obsessed he is with chains of command, it may well be more diplomatic, coming from you. Perhaps you can let me know? I’ll just try one line of my own, to see if I can get a name of who the gang might have been using for their documentation. It was clearly of high quality. We don’t want to be wasting time going after a small-timer if they weren’t the one involved.’
Ted was texting as he went back up the stairs. He wasn’t sure of a response but it was worth a try. If anyone knew the best forger in the area, it was likely to be Green, with his connections. He’d suggested one or two but warned they were unlikely to be of the right calibre.
‘Best forger Greater Manchester?’
He would have liked to be out doing something positive but for now, he would be at his desk wading through the statements his team had taken from the family members, about Bacha’s stay with them. He doubted there would be much there to take them forward, but he couldn’t assume that without checking.
It was mid-morning when his mobile announced an incoming message. He opened it to find himself looking at a photo of a beach scene. A small cove, sheltered by a backdrop of cliffs of layered rocks, intensely blue sea lapping on to white sand, with not a soul in sight. There was no covering message. The phone number it had come from was hidden. Other than knowing it obviously wasn’t anywhere in Britain, Ted was none the wiser as to where it was or what it meant. He went out into the main office to find Océane. He held out his phone to her, showing the photo.
‘Océane, is there any way to find out where this was taken, please?’
She looked at it and smiled up at him.
‘I can do better than that, boss. I’ve actually been there, believe it or not. It’s Diaz Beach, near Cape Town. Definitely not on the tourist trail. It’s a bit of a hike to get there, and you’re advised not to swim there as the ocean can be dangerous. Oh, and you take food at your own risk, otherwise you get mugged by the baboons. Other than that, as you can see, it’s a beautiful place, if you want peace and quiet, solitude, communing with nature, that sort of stuff.’
So Green had returned to South Africa. His situation had clearly not yet calmed down sufficiently for him to stay in the country. Ted didn’t think him the type merely to take a holiday. He interpreted the message as a very definite ‘Do not disturb’ notice being hung up. He hoped, at least, that he would be safe there, for the time being.
His desk phone interrupted him.
‘Mr Marston says he would like your team to go and question the forger whose name has come up as the most likely to be behind this operation. Bring him in, if you think it appropriate, but for now our main interest is what new identity he’s provided for Kateb, if any.’
The Super gave him the contact details before adding, ‘Ted, you will talk to me, if ever the situation between you and Mr Marston stops you from doing your job effectively, won’t you?’
There was seemingly genuine concern in her voice as she said it. Ted made reassuring noises before he hung up and went back into the outer office. He’d already decided to take this one himself, with one of his team as back-up. He felt a need to be out there, doing something. Proper policing, rather than endless paperwork and Marston’s constant briefings.
Virgil was still at his desk. He would be perfect for what Ted had in mind. He went over to him, pulled up a spare chair and sat down next to him.
‘This announcement may contain items which could be interpreted as having racist overtones,’ he said ironically before he began.
‘Wassup, bro?’
Ted laughed. He could always rely on Virgil to take things the right way.
‘I want to set up a meeting with the forger we think may be behind the fake documents Kateb and the others have been using. At the moment, there’s probably not enough to arrest him on and he’s small fry in comparison to some of the others. What we do need from him is the new name Kateb may now be travelling under. It needs someone who sounds convincing to phone him up and arrange a face-to-face meeting to see what, if anything, we can get out of him.’
‘So, you needed a gangsta and you immediately thought of me. I’m touched, boss. What do you need me to do?’
‘Here are his contacts. I would like you to phone him and convince him you need to see him urgently for a new ID. Arrange a meeting as soon as you can. I’ll follow you there, then we can both talk to him. Nothing too heavy, just mark his card for him and suggest it’s in his best interests to cooperate. At the moment, I’m only interested in finding out Kateb’s new identity. And letting the forger know we’re on to him.’
‘On it now, boss. Just don’t watch me while I’m talking street-talk, you’ll make me laugh.’
It wasn’t long before Virgil came to find Ted in his office.
‘Meeting all set up, boss. This evening, six o’clock, in a pub car park near Ancoats.’
‘Ancoats, eh? An upmarket forger? I thought that was the height of trendy now?’
‘Trendy or not, we’re on, boss, and he seemed to swallow what I told him. I’ll take the Beamer. It looks more the part than a service vehicle and that’s what I’ve told him I’ll be driving.’
‘I’ll follow behind in my trusty little Renault. That certainly doesn’t look like a vehicle which any self-respecting police officer would be driving.’
‘Are you planning on arresting him, boss?’
‘Not at this stage. Not unless he refuses to cooperate. All we need from him at the moment is Kateb’s new ID, if he is the one who supplied the documents. If not, he can probably tell us who did. Just a friendly chat, at this stage, not a formal interview, which might scare him off.’
Steve was on the sandwich run at lunchtime for those who, like Ted, were planning a quick bite at their desks. Ted had gone through all the witness statements from the family, more than once, and circulated anything relevant via Marston. He also told him he would be interviewing the s
uspected forger later that day.
It was mid-afternoon when he was summoned downstairs to the Super’s office. She already had coffee on the desk for them both.
‘Mr Marston’s just informed me that Bacha has been assaulted whilst on remand,’ she told him. ‘He’s in Forest Bank, or rather, he was, briefly, but he’s now been admitted to hospital. He was assaulted by another remand prisoner. A serious sexual assault. Not, sadly, that unusual, but given the speed with which it happened, it does raise the question as to whether or not this was pre-arranged.’
‘Whoever the informant is, they’re up to speed with everything and moving quickly. I don’t suppose many people would have known yet where he was taken on remand. And I agree, it seems suspicious, so soon after his court appearance. How is he?’
‘Not in a very good way. If this was intended as a warning to him not to say anything, it’s probably been very effective. We don’t have all the details yet, but it would seem, from early reports, that he was deliberately put with someone with a history of this sort of thing, who was supposed to be kept separate from younger male inmates. Especially attractive ones.’
‘So does this mean we’re possibly looking at corrupt prison officers as well, if they allowed this to happen? That means the gang’s reach may be wider than we thought.’
‘That’s something CCU will be looking into. They’ve already begun, and now they’re a visible presence at Central Park, it should hopefully make it harder for the informant to get at sensitive information.’
Virgil’s black BMW purred into the pub car park and pulled up next to a dark-coloured Ford. Ted parked his Renault a short distance away. Virgil got out and swaggered over to the front of the Ford as its driver got out. He was completely in character, his movements more like those of a boxer on his way to the ring than how he usually walked. The other man was almost as tall as him but thin as a lath. Vigil did the whole dap greeting thing. There was nothing about him to arouse the other man’s suspicions, much less to suggest that he was a police officer.
Even as Ted walked towards them, the other man paid him no attention. He saw simply a short, insignificant bloke in a suit, no doubt heading for a pint after work before he went home to the missus. He was busy talking to Virgil, though he paused as Ted drew level with them.
‘Mr Jackson? I’m a police officer. I’d like to have a word with you, if I may?’
Jackson’s eyes darted from Ted to Virgil, who flashed him his widest smile as he said, ‘Yeah, me too. Shall we sit in my car?’
There was nowhere Jackson could go. They had him effectively cornered. Virgil saw him safely installed in the front passenger seat of the Beamer then got in behind him. Ted sat down in the driver’s seat. Virgil slid onto the middle of the back seat, his elbows resting on the front seats, chin on his hands, a silent, looming presence.
Ted produced his warrant card, then took out a photo of Kateb and showed it to Jackson.
‘I believe you may have supplied this man with false documentation, Mr Jackson. It would be helpful to our enquiries if you could tell me the new identity you arranged for him. Not the one as Inspector Galton, but the later one.’
‘Never clapped eyes on him before,’ Jackson said, scarcely glancing at the photo, then added. ‘He’s making me nervous, sitting behind me like that.’
‘He makes me nervous too, sometimes,’ Ted replied pleasantly. ‘But I’m his senior officer. He has to do as I tell him. Now, could you take a proper look this time, Mr Jackson?’
He looked at it, warily.
‘If I tell you anything, I’m dead. Or at least finished in this town for good. I want Witness Protection or something.’
‘All I’m asking you at this stage is if you know this man and if you’ve provided him with false documentation at any time.’
He shook his head adamantly.
‘Never seen him before.’
‘Fair enough. In which case, I’ll be on my way and leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening.’
Ted made to get out of the car. Jackson’s voice went up half an octave in panic as he squawked, ‘You can’t leave me alone with him!’
Ted paused in his movements, appearing to consider the situation.
‘If you’ve nothing to tell me, then there’s no point in my hanging around.’
‘All right, all right. I have done stuff for him.’
‘Anything recent?’
‘A new passport. And a driving licence. This last weekend. He sent someone to pick them up yesterday. He doesn’t … didn’t come in person.’
‘Thank you. Now, think very carefully, Mr Jackson, because this next question is the most important one. What was the new name on those documents?’
‘I don’t know. It was something French. I can’t remember. I had to get him to spell it for me.’
‘Think very carefully. It’s important. I’m a patient man, but DC Tibbs ...’
‘Antoine. I remember that. Antoine something.’
Virgil shifted slightly in the back seat and cleared his throat with a menacing rumbling noise.
‘Wait! I’ve got it written down. I remember. It’s in my notebook. He printed it for me so I got the spelling right. It’s in my pocket.’
Ted made a gesture with his hand as he said, ‘Slowly, Mr Jackson. Very slowly, when you’re putting your hand in your pocket. You don’t want to make DC Tibbs nervous.’
The man’s hand shook like a leaf as he reached in his pocket, then fumbled his way through the pages of a small notebook.
‘Yes, yes, here it is,’ his voice was showing relief. ‘Antoine Fournier. Here, look.’
‘Thank you, Mr Jackson. You’ve been most helpful. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else. We know where to find you.’
Ted leaned across to open the door as the man all but fell out of the passenger seat and scuttled back to his own vehicle in evident relief.
‘You have a pleasant evening now.’
Chapter Twenty-four
Once Virgil had gone, anxious to get home to his wife and baby daughter, Ted took out his phone to call Marston. Much as he disliked his temporary boss, he needed to keep him informed as soon as possible of Kateb’s new identity. It was an important breakthrough, although Ted wasn’t after any credit or praise. From Marston’s tone, almost polite, he was clearly not alone. Ted suspected it may have been the ACC he was with.
‘Sir, DC Tibbs and I have just got the name Kateb is likely to be travelling under now. It’s Antoine Fournier. F-O-U-R-N-I-E-R. Will you circulate it, sir, or do you want me to?’
‘Good, thank you, DCI Darling, that’s good work. You can safely leave that information with me.’
Ted smiled to himself as he started his car and pulled out of the car park. He could imagine what Marston would have liked to say to him.
He decided to go back to the station and tackle paperwork before he went home. Trev was going to teach his English learners so would be back later. Ted thought he might as well profit from a quiet hour or so to catch up. The more hours he put in during the week, the more he would feel justified in his absence on Saturday evening. Even if it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. Standing up in public to sing, making a fool of himself, was right up there with the idea of streaking naked through the Merseyway precinct, as far as he was concerned. But Trev was tolerant of his work and seldom asked a lot of him, so he felt he owed him this. And he’d made a promise.
At least he was highly unlikely to meet any of the guests again, which was a small consolation, as they would be the Beautiful People with whom Willow and Rupert mixed in their professional lives. He’d have to face the two of them again in the future, having made a complete prat of himself, but he could live with that. They had become good friends. He just hoped he wouldn’t let Willow down. Trev had no doubt built up her expectations of his partner’s abilities, but, being totally tone deaf himself, his judgement on the matter was hardly reliable.
He thought he’d better show w
illing and practise a bit more on his drive back, so he slid the CD into the slot and tried his best to match his voice to the mellow tones of Kenny Rogers. At least the range suited his voice, but that was about all he could say about his performance.
Bill wasn’t on the front desk when Ted arrived at the station. He was doing shorter hours until he was fully recovered. Sergeant Wheeler was on duty and greeted Ted when he signed himself in.
‘All of your team have knocked off, sir, but the Super’s still in. She asked me to tell you to go and see her if you came back in.’
Ted knocked briefly on her door then went in. The Ice Queen was looking tired, working at her computer. She seemed almost pleased at the distraction.
‘I know you won’t have coffee in the evening but can I offer you a cup of tea? I’d welcome the excuse, if I’m honest. I’m trying to balance budgets yet again and going under for the third time.’
She didn’t often let her guard down to become a mere mortal in the workplace, so he sat down and accepted her offer, then told her of their latest lead.
‘Have you informed Mr Marston?’
‘I have, and I’ll circulate it round everyone, just as belt and braces. Part of me hopes Kateb’s found on Saturday evening. Trev’s dragging me to a black tie affair I’d rather not go to and I’m looking for a good excuse.’
She made drinks and sat back down. She was smiling now, more relaxed.
‘Oh, dear. We’ll have to have a special signal. Send me a text if you need rescuing. Seriously, though, you should go. Heaven knows, we get to spend precious little time with our nearest and dearest in this job.’
It was a fleeting moment of her showing her human side, then the professional mask was back as she asked for details of ongoing cases, including the assault on his mother.
Ted had promised to pick up another takeaway on his way back, knowing Trev was busy. He opted for Thai food this time and put it in the oven on a low light to keep it warm until they were ready to eat. He was assaulted by cats as soon as he got in, shamelessly lying about being starving, despite the evidence that Trev had already fed them before he’d gone out.
