“Perhaps she’s got money. What makes you think she hasn’t?”
“Because this is Barry Foreman’s girlfriend we’re talking about and I don’t reckon he’s the sort of man who’d let her have more than peanuts for spending money. And according to her mother she’s never ever had two pennies of her own to rub together, even when she lived with her.”
“New boyfriend?”
“With two tiny babies?”
“Some men like babies,” Laura said, and could immediately have bitten off her tongue. She turned to Thackeray and reached out a hand which he avoided.
“Sorry,” she said. “That was stupid of me.”
Thackeray looked at her for a long moment, although what he saw was not Laura’s stricken face but a peacefully sleeping infant in another mother’s arms. He shook himself sharply.
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” he said. Impulsively she leaned over and kissed him and the kiss turned into a longer embrace.
“I’m all right,” she said, when they came up for air. “It’s all right. We’ll get by.”
“I’d hoped we’d do a bit better than that,” he said.
“We will, we will,” she said and kissed him again, and this time they did not break off.
Chapter Six
Alderman Sir Jebediah Hustler, whose portrait gazed down from above the ornate stone fireplace in Committee Room B at Bradfield town hall, would have felt at home amongst the grey suits and iridescent ties which assembled there the next morning for a meeting of the Heights Regeneration Zone Action Committee - HR-Zac for convenience. Jebediah had been a man who combined a harsh regime in his mills and the rows of back-to-back hovels which he rented to his workers with a shrewd self-interest when it came to local government. If there was owt in democracy for the masters, then Jebediah wanted his share, whether it came in the shape of prestige and a knighthood or harder currency. The cold blue eyes set in a face of florid self-satisfaction almost entirely surrounded by well-combed iron-grey hair and whiskers, could have been overseeing the proceedings of HR-Zac, and would certainly have presided over its deliberations with approval.
Councillor Dave Spencer who was actually in the chair was a less imposing figure, but he dressed with as much vanity as his Victorian predecessor and watched with equally sharp and self-interested eyes as his hand-picked committee took its seats around the highly polished boardroom table - not least to make sure that the regulation complement of women and ethnic minorities was present. It was so much more convenient when they could be combined in the figure of one Zufira Ahmed, a director of her father’s import-export business and a governor of Sutton Park school, he thought, as Miss Ahmed took her place and slipped her long white head-scarf back from her dark hair, letting it trail elegantly across her darksuited and much admired breasts.
Spencer had made sure that Zufira’s father’s support for the regeneration project was assured before he had secured the daughter’s nomination. Dave Spencer prided himself on his business savvy. If only he had not committed himself to a career in politics when he was sixteen and still filled with anti-Thatcherite zeal, he thought, he might have been on one of those rich lists himself, at least for the county of Yorkshire. Still, he consoled himself, there was time. He did not have to go on chivvying dozy officials and timid councillors into the twenty-first century forever. As his girlfriend, who was in management herself kept telling him, it was where the chivvying might lead which was important at his stage of career, after all.
Spencer tapped his pen against the carafe of water in front of him to bring the meeting to order.
“Glad you could all make it,” he said. “And I’m delighted to welcome a new member to our ranks. Superintendent Jack Longley from Bradfield police HQ, who I’m sure will give a very welcome perspective to our discussions. Welcome, Jack. We’re glad to have you on board. Let me introduce you to the rest of the action group: Grantley Adams you may know - and all our sympathy goes out to you and Althea at the moment of course - no change there, Grantley?”
Adams shook his head sourly, glancing round the table and reserving a particularly vicious glare for Jack Longley.
“And next to Grantley is Geoff Wright from Wright and Purser up at Long Moor, another of our generous industrial sponsors, Zufira Ahmed, from Ahmed Trading in Aysgarth Lane, Steve Brady from the town planning department here at the town hall, Jim Baistow from Baistow Construction, Jude Laythwaite from education and leisure services, and Barry Foreman who runs his own security company. I’ve had apologies unfortunately today from the housing department and from Ray Hayter of the Afro-Caribbean community liaison committee. And from our Tory representative, Mr. Harvey. No surprise there, I suppose, as there’s not much in this for them - politically speaking, of course. You’ll soon get to know everyone, Jack, and although we don’t expect you to be carrying a police cheque book you can rest assured we’ll value your contribution as much as anyone’s.”
Jack Longley had nodded dourly at each of the committee members as they were introduced but he glanced down at his council blotter before meeting Barry Foreman’s bland smile of welcome. He was sure that Thackeray’s suspicions of the man were unlikely ever to be proved, even if justified: and Foreman was embedding himself into Bradfield’s establishment too securely to be vulnerable to anything but a case of the most cast-iron variety. But Longley was not above hedging his bets. Thackeray was not given to wild flights of imagination and experienced enough to pick up a faint odour of corruption which others might miss. Longley gazed resolutely into the sharp blue eyes of Jebediah Hustler on the wall facing him and did not look away until the rest of the introductions were completed.
Spencer zipped through the printed agenda quickly and it was obvious to Longley that his own presence at the meeting was purely cosmetic. Many of the crucial decisions around rebuilding the Heights and upgrading the infrastructure in that part of town had already been taken in principle and most of the business people round the table had evidently committed funds to the programme and been allotted roles in its implementation, subject to Whitehall approval. That some of them might add financial gain in the long term to the undoubted kudos their involvement brought in the short did not seem to cause anyone any unease. Longley increasingly wondered what he was doing there. He was not used to playing a violet of the shrinking or the hothouse variety. But as Councillor Spencer announced item ten on the agenda his antennae quivered and he decided that as he was there, at Spencer’s invitation and with the Chief Constable’s approval, he might as well make his presence felt
“Right, we’ll turn to youth policies now,” Spencer said briskly with a glance in Longley’s direction. “As most of you know this has been one of the most difficult areas to tackle as it involves so many agencies: education, youth service, the courts, the police, probation, community groups, social services - you name it they’re all in there - all failing together.” Longley kept a straight face although the little sally was greeted with chuckles of approval from the businessmen present. Zufira Ahmed merely looked pained. Those who knew Longley better might have been concerned at the way his almost bald crown flushed slightly under the electric lights but Spencer did not know him well enough to be perturbed.
“Not to put too fine a point on it, kids on the Heights are running wild and no one so far has come up with a means of cutting crime and getting them into employment,” the councillor went on. “So we’re open to suggestions, the more innovative the better. What we need to build into this scheme is something to get the kids off the streets and into jobs so that whatever we invest doesn’t get vandalised the moment the construction workers move out.”
“Performance in the schools is improving …” Jude Laythwaite, the representative of the education department said tentatively.
“But how long will that take to work through, Jude?” Spencer came back sharply. “We need results now not in ten years’ time.” In ten years’ time, Longley thought unsympathetically, Spencer’s political care
er might have been destroyed by the impact of the lawless young. He was aware that the councillor’s sharp gaze was now focused in his direction.
“What chance more intensive policing, superintendent? Residents up there complain they never see a bobby until there’s a crisis.”
“We have a community officer up there most of the time,” Longley said mildly. “Like everything else, it’s a question of resources. I’d have thought your best bet was that project they’ve already started up there, give the kids some skills to get decent jobs …”
“That’s just an amateur effort, isn’t it?” Barry Foreman put in unexpectedly. “Not enough capital, not enough security, as I hear it. What you need is summat much more hard-edged and professional.”
“As it happens the Project is seeking some extra funding from the council right now,” Spencer said, without enthusiasm. “They’ve had some trouble with vandalism …”
“Just what I’m saying,” Foreman said. “You can’t have tinpot prefabricated classrooms where any little toe-rag can barge in off the street and chuck computers around. Stands to reason. You need it done properly.”
“With respect, Chair, I think Mr. Foreman’s right. This is something the college could do much more effectively,” Jude Laythwaite said. “At the moment it’s just a few untrained people who live locally. There’s one old girl who’s eighty if she’s a day. If we get approval for the private finance initiative and rebuild, I’m sure accommodation could be provided for these sort of activities and for proper staffing instead of amateurs who’ve just strolled in with their own agendas.”
“And how long will that take?” Longley asked. “I thought you were looking for quick results?” He glanced at Spencer who was watching the exchange with a faintly satisfied look in his eyes.
“Well, we are,” Jude Laythwaite came back quickly. “But I rather think that’s where the police could be helping. Half the problem is these gangs of marauding youngsters drugged up on God knows what up there.” The education officer was evidently not prepared to give an inch of her professional territory.
“If you locked a few more of them up there wouldn’t be half the problem, would there?” another voice broke in. “If we’re seriously going to put some private sector housing up there we’ve got to make the place safe. Folk won’t pay good money to live in a jungle.” The speaker was Jim Baistow, head of the largest of the local construction firms and Longley guessed that he had a sharp eye on the chance of his company building some of the new housing on the Heights. The views alone would be worth an extra ten thousand on a decent house on the hill, he thought. All you needed to do to make a killing was to subdue some of the current residents - or better still, perhaps, get rid of them altogether.
“I’ll take back what you say to headquarters,” Longley said, face flushed, unable to conceal his anger any longer. “But if the success of this project depends on more police officers on the Heights, then I think you’re on a hiding to nothing. We don’t have the resources. In the meantime it might do some good if the council paid some attention to security in those tower blocks, to the inadequate street lighting, and to keeping kids in school during the day instead of letting them play truant and wreak havoc around the neighbourhood. You can’t rely on one or two police officers to solve all the problems that exist on the Heights. All we can realistically do is pick up the pieces when things get out of hand. You need a coordinated effort up there. And I wouldn’t have thought rubbishing this computer project the locals have got going was a very bright idea. Surely what you need is exactly that sort of community involvement. If you’ve got it, flaunt it. Isn’t that what they say? Don’t uproot the bloody thing just because it doesn’t fit your bureaucratic model. Christ, I thought it was the police force which was supposed to be behind the times.”
The rest of the committee gazed at Longley in amazement for half a minute before a babble of members tried to take him up at once.
“Order, order,” Dave Spencer said, tapping the water carafe with his pen again and again before the meeting calmed down.
“Well,” he said, when silence was restored. “Thank you for that very interesting contribution, Superintendent. I’m sure that’s given us all some very useful talking points to take back to our constituencies with us. Perhaps we can defer this discussion until our next meeting when perhaps we will all have had the chance to come up with some constructive suggestions for youth work on the Heights. Does that seem reasonable?” Longley glowered at the chair but the rest of the members nodded or mumbled their assent and Spencer moved quickly on to the next business, with an encouraging smile.
The meeting dragged on for another half hour with Longley increasingly convinced that he had nothing useful to offer. When it broke up he found himself waylaid by Jim Baistow as he gathered his papers together.
“Interesting point you made there about policing,” Baistow said. “I’d like to bend your ear some time about the possibilities of private security up there, something Barry Foreman over there has raised a couple of times.”
“Really?” Longley said noncommittally. Foreman was obviously another one with his eye on the main chance.
“Are you interested in the horses at all?” Baistow changed track so suddenly that Longley could only look at him with some bemusement.
“Racing,” Baistow explained. “I’ve got a box at York in a couple of week’s time if you’d like to join me. Some of the other committee members are coming. Should be a grand day out.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Longley said ungraciously. “I’m not a betting man.” He turned away only to find himself following Barry Foreman into the lift. Longley hesitated for a moment before he stepped inside, afraid that Foreman would refer back to his outburst in the meeting but to the superintendent’s surprise he too took an entirely different tack.
“All right, is he, that DCI of yours?” Foreman asked pleasantly enough as he pressed the button for the ground floor. “Thackeray?”
“As far as I know. Why shouldn’t he be?” Longley said carefully, a tiny niggle of unease at the back of his mind.
“It’s just that he popped in to see me for no apparent reason the other day,” Foreman said. “I thought he looked stressed out, to be honest. Involved in this big operation on the Heights, is he? I thought it was a bit rich you pleading poverty just now when you’ve got all that going on up there.”
“I know nowt about any operations on the Heights, Mr. Foreman,” Longley said. “And if I did, I wouldn’t be at liberty to discuss them with you.”
“Oh, I see. All a bit hush-hush, is it,” Foreman said, tapping the side of his nose and smiling. “Say no more.”
“I’ve no idea who’s been putting that about …”
“Oh, well, you pick things up in my trade, you know. Quite a few of my lads have been in the Force at some time.”
And most of them have been thrown out of it, Longley thought grimly but said nothing as the lift doors opened and he followed Foreman out into the entrance hall. He wondered if the drug squad knew that their operation had been compromised. One way and another he needed a long session at county HQ and he did not think that his superiors would be too pleased with what he had to tell them.
“There’s enough there to make two spliffs at the most,” Dizzy B said angrily as DC “Omar” Sharif turned up his not very carefully hidden stash of cannabis at the back of the drawer beside the bed in his hotel room. “You’d have difficulty weighing it.”
“It’s an illegal substance,” Sharif said without sympathy. “You’re nicked.”
“Look, I’ve been in the job myself. I know you don’t have to do this. It’s not even an arrestable offence any more.”
“That may be how they carry on where you come from. Here it’s different. In any case, I know damn well you’ve got form. You were done for possession with intent to supply. I’ve every right to arrest you on suspicion of dealing.”
“Checked that out, did you? That was bollocks, anyway,�
� Dizzy B said. “I was going on tour. Needed a decent stash. Some over-enthusiastic copper got carried away. I only got a fine, man. The magistrates had more sense than you lot’ll ever have”
“Then you can take your chances with another lot of magistrates, can’t you?” Sharif said. “Perhaps you’ll be lucky again. But I wouldn’t bank on it. Soft isn’t the name o‘t’ game in Yorkshire.”
“What are you doing turning me over anyway?” the DJ asked as he flung his leather jacket round his shoulders and prepared to follow the DC downstairs. “I’ve only been in Bradfield five minutes, and I won’t be here again in a hurry, I can tell you.”
“We’re checking up on everyone connected with the Carib Club,” Sharif said. “You just come under the general heading of associates. There’s folk in this town want that dump closed down. And if you’re the excuse that’s just fine by me.”
“In other words you’re just fishing, man,” Dizzy said with disgust.
“Oh, no, it’s you idle bastards go fishing. We go tiger hunting. And if you know who the tiger is in this particular jungle you could do yourself a lot of good by filling us in. Guarantee your ticket back to Manchester or London or whichever swamp you surfaced from, I’d say, instead of a spell at Her Majesty’s. Know what I mean?”
“Up yours,” Dizzy B muttered as he took the back seat offered in DC Sharif’s unmarked car. DC Val Ridley glanced round at him from the driving seat.
“To what do we owe this pleasure?” she asked Sharif as she started the engine.
“What do you think? Do they ever go anywhere without their stash?”
“That could be construed as a racist remark,” Dizzy B said.
“Could it?” Sharif asked with a smile that could have been construed as a sneer in the DJ’s direction. “I thought I was talking about musicians. Colour don’t come into it, bro!”
Death in Dark Waters Page 7
