Walk On By: DI Ted Darling Book 7

by L M Krier

  Ted’s stomach started turning cartwheels as he heard the piano introduction and realised he was shortly going to have to sing in public for the first time in his life. And the last, if he had anything to do with it. He silently cursed himself for picking a duet which left him singing the first verse solo.

  His eyes desperately sought out Trev in the sea of faces in front of him. He sometimes sang to him when they were alone together. The only way he was going to get through this ordeal was if he pretended to himself that this was just like any of those times, with only the two of them.

  His first few notes were hesitant but the whoops of encouragement from Trev got him through the verse, then he could at least pause for breath while Willow did her solo. He’d never heard her sing before and was stunned at how good she was. Despite no practice together, the harmonies worked seamlessly when they came together and suddenly, despite himself, Ted found he was almost enjoying the experience.

  They’d planned to do one number as a try-out, We’ve Got Tonight, then have a break while someone else took a turn at the microphone. The crowd were having none of it. At the end of the first song, they were baying for more. Ted and Willow launched straight into their next number, Islands in the Stream.

  Willow was good. But somehow those present took Ted completely to their hearts. Few knew who he was, other than a friend of Willow and Rupe. Fewer still knew what he was, otherwise the steady stream disappearing regularly outside, Trev included, would probably have dried up. But they couldn’t get enough of the self-effacing small man with the easy-listening voice and clearly no idea of how good he was.

  Whenever Ted tried to take a break, they called him back for more, until his voice was straining under the unfamiliar effort. They loved him even more when they discovered he could sing Queen numbers as well as country songs.

  He managed a quick break, with Trev plying him with iced drinks for his throat.

  ‘I’m not sure I can wait for carriages at six. It is so incredibly sexy watching you up there performing. I might just have to drag you away earlier and have my wicked way with you. I’ve never seen you let your hair down so much, especially not in the middle of a big case. I like it.’

  Ted was part of a quartet, belting out Bohemian Rhapsody, when he felt his mobile phone vibrating in his pocket. He backed away from the microphones and lights, read the text message and groaned, then made his way through the crowd to Trev. He was disconcerted to discover his voice had now almost gone. Those last falsetto notes had about finished it off.

  ‘Got to go. Sorry. Urgent briefing. Do you need money for a taxi?’

  His voice was barely above a whisper and Trev had to lean in close to hear what he was saying, his face falling in evident disappointment.

  ‘Go carefully, and thanks so much for doing this for me. I was so proud of you, up there. I’ll show you how grateful I am when you get back from work. And hurry back. A husky voice makes you sexier than ever.’

  With any luck, it would take Ted less than an hour to get to Central Park at that time of the morning, even if he played it cautiously and kept within the speed limit. He just wished he had time to go home and change out of his DJ. He was going to get some odd looks and some wisecracks, turning up like that for a briefing. He had a spare set of clothes in the boot, as always. They were casual wear, but at least it would be better than turning up as he was. He didn’t dare stop until he got there, but if he made good enough time, he could slip into the gents to change quickly before putting in an appearance in front of Marston and everyone else.

  Even when he saw a police car lying in wait as he drove through a built-up area, Ted was not concerned. He was keeping an eye on his speed, driving impeccably and hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol, despite feeling like breaking his long, self-imposed ban. He’d stopped drinking in time, before it had become an addiction instead of just a way to relax. He didn’t want it any more. He certainly didn’t need it. Most of the time.

  He groaned aloud when the car pulled out of its place, the headlights came on and the blues started flashing as it drew up behind his car. He hated doing it, but he reached for his warrant card before his driving licence, as he indicated and pulled in close to the kerb to stop. Needs must when the devil, in the shape of Marston, called.

  The area car stayed where it was for some moments, its lights still flashing. Ted knew they would be checking his registration number before approaching the vehicle. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. He really didn’t need this, not right now.

  Eventually, the passenger got out and walked slowly up to Ted’s vehicle, straightening his hat as he did so. Ted let his window down and waited for him.

  ‘Did you know you have a rear light out?’ the constable asked him without preamble.

  ‘No, I didn’t know that, constable. I have spare bulbs. I can easily replace that,’ Ted replied, although his hoarse voice was barely above a whisper.

  Ted reached towards the glove compartment for his driving licence but the officer stopped him with a brusque, ‘Leave both hands on the steering wheel, where I can see them. Driving licence.’

  ‘It’s going to be hard to hand you that without moving my hands from the steering wheel,’ Ted said reasonably. ‘My licence is in the glove compartment. Do you want me to pass it to you?’

  ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. And you have no valid reason to suspect that I have. Do I smell of alcohol to you, officer?’

  ‘Hard to tell with that aftershave, mate. It’s a bit strong.’

  Ted was rapidly losing patience. He didn’t like the other man’s attitude at all, especially as he was chewing gum the whole time he spoke. He would have liked to mark his card for him. But he certainly didn’t want to risk being late for Marston’s briefing. His throat was getting increasingly sore and he wanted to get on his way.

  ‘I’m going to pass you my driving licence now. Together with my warrant card. Mate.’

  He reached carefully for both, handed his licence to the officer and made a pointed show of looking at his number as he badged him.

  ‘Now, I need to be at a briefing at Central Park. I have your number, constable. You and I will talk again. In the meantime, I suggest you lose the attitude. And the chewing gum.’

  As Ted put his car in gear and pulled away, the constable spat out his gum with a resounding, ‘Fuck.’

  Even the slight delay had robbed Ted of the time in which to change. He was only going to make the appointed hour by the skin of his teeth if he sprinted all the way from his car, pausing just long enough to sign in. The duty sergeant on the front desk had clearly seen it all in his time and did no more than raise an eyebrow as he directed him to the right room. Clearly the sight of a senior officer arriving for a briefing still in evening dress and reeking of expensive aftershave was not as novel as Ted feared it might be. As he took the stairs two at a time, he ripped off his bow tie and stuffed it in his pocket. He might as well feel comfortable.

  It was a much reduced selection of senior officers, gathered around a table in a smaller room. Ted’s own Super was there, as was Alex Porter, from Armed Response. But Ted noticed immediately that Neil Smith from Fraud was conspicuous by this absence. He wondered if his interview with CCU had not gone well or if Marston was just being paranoid.

  Ted slid into a seat next to Superintendent Bill Wilson, Commander of the division responsible for policing Manchester’s busy international airport. His presence gave Ted a clue as to the reason for the hastily summoned briefing.

  His voice now barely above a whisper, he leaned closer to him to say, ‘Hello, Bill, fancy seeing you here. How are you, and how’s Pat?’

  They’d known each other long enough to be on first name terms in private, and with Ted’s voice now so faint, no one else would be able to hear him.

  ‘Not too bad, either of us, thanks.’

  He was interrupted by Marston’s voice, sounding as tetchy as ever.

 
‘Ladies and gentlemen, if we can make a start, please. This is not a social occasion, although clearly, DCI Darling, we have called you away from one.’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ Ted responded, or tried to.

  Marston looked increasingly irritated as he leaned forward in his seat to catch what Ted was saying to him.

  ‘Are you sure you should be here, Darling? We’re on the brink of a breakthrough in a big operation. We don’t want you infecting everyone here with some sort of virus.’

  ‘Just voice strain, sir. Nothing serious. Or catching.’

  ‘Shall we get on, Mr Marston?’ the ACC asked. ‘Ted, I think it would be a good idea, in the circumstances, if you said as little as possible. Has some coffee been ordered? I’m sure we could all do with some at this ungodly hour of the morning, and certainly DCI Darling sounds in need of something.’

  ‘It has been ordered, sir. Now, may I proceed?’

  It was pompous, at best. An implied rebuke to a senior officer. Luckily for him, the ACC was more interested in getting on with the case than putting Marston down in public. He inclined his head in assent towards the Chief Superintendent. Ted strongly suspected that it was not the end of the matter, though.

  ‘Right, we finally have Kateb in our sights. A certain Antoine Fournier is booked on an easyJet flight to Marseilles via Paris Charles de Gaulle leaving this afternoon at 17.35 from Terminal One. His seat was booked using a cloned credit card, so I think we can be certain that this is our man.

  ‘So now we have to decide on the best way to proceed to bring him in. There are already armed officers at the airport, on routine patrol, of course. I would suggest, therefore, Superintendent Wilson, that officers are deployed to observe the check-in area and to be ready to approach the suspect as soon as we get a positive ID.’

  ‘Sir, can I say something, please?’ Ted put in, straining to make himself heard.

  ‘Is it essential? Only I agree with the ACC. It would surely be better for you to conserve what remains of your voice for emergencies.’

  ‘Knowing DCI Darling’s experience of such operations, I’d be more than happy to listen to what he has to say, sir, if he can manage it,’ Wilson responded.

  ‘I agree. Ted, if you can do so, tell us what you think of that idea,’ the ACC told him. ‘And can someone get on the phone and hurry that coffee up. I think we all need some, especially you, Ted.’

  What Ted would really have liked was some of his green tea with honey. He was prepared to settle for anything liquid to ease the soreness in his throat. He was surprised that it was the Ice Queen herself who stood up to use the phone to ask for the coffee and for some bottled water.

  Ted decided to address the ACC directly. He’d given up trying to get through to Marston.

  ‘Sir, Kateb is going to be more nervous than ever now and therefore potentially dangerous. If he sees too many firearms officers about, he might even turn tail and not bother checking in. Superintendent Wilson can correct me if I’m wrong but it is theoretically possible for him to get inside the terminal with some sort of a concealed weapon.’

  Wilson was nodding in agreement.

  ‘The one place we can be one hundred per cent sure he can’t get to carrying anything at all which could cause harm is on board the aircraft. He’ll have had to pass through security, metal detectors and everything else. I suggest we let him get as far as boarding, then send someone onto the plane to arrest him there and remove him. For me that’s minimal risk, maximum chance of success.’

  The door opened to allow a young constable to enter with a trolley containing the coffee, water, and some dubious-looking croissants of uncertain vintage. Everyone fell instinctively quiet, not wanting to continue a closed briefing in front of anyone not cleared to attend. It made the young woman look decidedly uncomfortable, but she pushed the trolley over to a table near the window and parked it there. Marston ignored her. It was the ACC who thanked her and said she could safely leave them to serve themselves.

  Superintendent Wilson and Inspector Porter were nodding their heads in unison at what Ted had been saying.

  ‘Sir, that makes sense to me,’ Wilson said.

  ‘I would suggest, sir, that it should be an AFO in plain clothes, carrying a concealed weapon, who goes on to the plane to make the arrest,’ Porter added. ‘Just in case.’

  ‘Even though we can be almost sure he can’t smuggle on a weapon of any sort on board, we don’t know what his capabilities are otherwise. Could he, for instance, grab someone from a nearby seat as a shield and threaten to break their neck if approached?’ the ACC speculated. ‘I’d be happier if we had someone like an SFO, in plain clothes, with a concealed weapon, and with proven close combat skills.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  All eyes were on Ted. He made an elaborate show of looking behind him, although he knew he was the only former serving Specialist Firearms Officer in the room. He addressed the ACC.

  ‘Sir, remember I am ex-SFO.’

  ‘But as you were quick to remind me the other day, you’ve done recent update training. Is your firearms training up to date?’

  ‘Yes, sir, always.’

  ‘And can you do this job? Get Kateb off the plane without risk of injury?’

  ‘Probably, sir’ Ted said guardedly.

  ‘Probably? That’s no use,’ Marston spat. ‘We can’t put “probably, sir” on a risk assessment.’

  The ACC gave him a stern look over the top of his reading glasses.

  ‘I think DCI Darling is right to be cautious. There is still much about Kateb we don’t know. For those present who don’t know you, Ted, could you please remind us how many black belts you hold in martial arts?’

  ‘Four, sir.’

  Ted had the satisfaction of seeing Marston look taken aback.

  ‘The important thing, as I see it, is to arrest Kateb swiftly and discreetly, without causing any panic, especially to passengers on the plane. So the last thing we want to do is to send visibly armed officers on board. If we can do it this way, I think the risks are minimal and therefore justifiable.

  ‘We can presumably find out from the airline which seat Kateb has reserved and make sure the one next to him is kept free for you, Ted. Bill, I imagine your people can get Ted through security, even armed. The question is, do we put him on first, or wait to make sure that Kateb definitely boards the flight?’

  ‘Sir, if I was in Kateb’s shoes, I’d want to be last on. That way, they’ll be moving the steps and getting ready to taxi, so he’d expect to be away fairly promptly. I’d prefer to be first on and in my seat when he boards. Just please don’t let them take off with me still on – I don’t much like flying.’

  The ACC looked at his watch and took a large swallow of his coffee, grimacing at the taste.

  ‘Right, Ted, you certainly need to go home and change ...’

  ‘Sir, I have a change of clothes in my car.’

  ‘You interrupted me,’ the ACC said, but there was no note of reproach in his voice. ‘I was going to say change your clothes and also change into an officer who is at least capable of speaking enough to make an arrest and issue a proper caution. Go and grab a couple of hours’ sleep. You look as if you need it. And try gargling with TCP.’

  ‘Aspirin’s better,’ Alex Porter put in. ‘Gargle with it, then swallow it.’

  ‘I always swear by hot lemon and honey for the boys,’ the Ice Queen put in.

  ‘I’d put a measure of Balvenie in it, but I know you won’t, Ted,’ Bill Wilson added.

  ‘All right, everyone, can we please get back to the matter in hand. It’s starting to sound like a medical phone-in programme,’ Marston said impatiently. ‘Darling, certainly, go and get yourself sorted out, but I want you back on duty at 2pm. In the meantime, we can sort out the logistics of seating and access.’

  ‘I’ll sort you out a side-arm too,’ Porter told him. ‘You can sign for it when you get back. Any preference?’

  ‘M&P40 from choice, Alex, if you can.
Nothing too bulky, and as safe as possible.’

  If he didn’t encounter any delays, Ted would have four hours before he needed to be back on duty. He was already sucking his lozenges on the drive back, hoping to appease his throat enough to let himself at least be heard by Kateb.

  It was a long time since he’d been on a similar operation, a pre-planned one. Not since he’d given up his firearms service to stop Trev worrying about him too much. He’d never told his partner how much he missed those days. He recognised, with hindsight, that it was the right thing to do. He could never have stuck by his decision to stop drinking altogether if he’d stayed in that role. A drink with the team at the end of the shift had been such a part of the culture.

  He left his car on the driveway. He’d need it to go back out. He’d already decided to stop off at the station and pick up his service vehicle as he was going to be on duty. The little Renault hadn’t let him down yet, but he didn’t want to risk it not cooperating for such an important operation.

  He was hoping to find Trev back and knew as soon as he went in that he was. He could also guess, from the trail of clothing negligently dumped everywhere between the front door and the bedroom, that he had arrived home stoned and somewhat drunk.

  Ted carefully gathered up Trev’s DJ, trousers and shoes to put away neatly, as well as his own, and put their evening shirts and underwear into the laundry basket. True to form, Trev was spread-eagled across most of the bed, sleeping the sleep of the innocent. Even the cats, who usually worshipped him and lay as close as they could, were keeping their distance from the smell of cannabis and alcohol.

  Ted smiled indulgently as he watched him fondly for a moment. He didn’t like to cramp his much younger partner’s style. They had a tacit agreement. Ted would turn a blind eye to a bit of blow, but never to anything more than that.

  He suddenly found he wanted nothing more than to slide into what little space remained in the bed and hold his partner in his arms. He didn’t anticipate any real danger in the operation which lay ahead of him, but he needed the reassurance. He knew his chances of waking him were somewhere close to zero, but just to hold him close would be enough.