Shadows

by Conrad Jones

  “I’d smash her back doors in,” he heard Ade’s voice in his head. “I could do that some damage,” bounced around his mind. The crudity of his words was more poignant now. Was it pool-room ‘banter’ or something more?

  The maid’s outfit and her bra had been ripped open at the chest, exposing her breasts. The skirt was pushed up to her hips. Braddick stepped forward to look at scratch marks on her thighs.

  “Fucking hell, Ade,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “What did you do?”

  Ade didn’t answer. Ade was next to the girl, sitting up against the headboard. He was naked, his arms by his side. His head was tilted slightly at the neck. A black leather belt dug deep into his throat, fastened to the bed rail above him. His eyes were open, bulging, the whites flecked with red. His tongue lolled from the corner of his mouth, already blackening.

  “Autoerotic gone mental or suicide?” his sergeant asked. “What do you think, Guv?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I think I need another DS,” Braddick said quietly. He shrugged. “Who knows, sex game gone wrong? Murder suicide? Or maybe someone wants us to think that is what happened.” Braddick shrugged again. It didn’t feel right. Ade Burns was stupid enough to be suckered into taking a brass to a hotel but killing her? That might have been a game gone too far but Ade wasn’t the type to top himself. Something didn’t sit right. “Let’s get the experts in, eh? Are CSI on the way?”

  “They are downstairs. We wanted you to see him before we let anyone else in. I’m having all the CCTV checked.”

  “Good man. There’s nothing we can do to help him now except to find out what happened. Get them in and we’ll see what they find. It will be what it will be.” Braddick patted his sergeant on the arm. He walked out of the room and nodded to the other officers. “I don’t want any fucking gossip flying around the station. If anyone asks, tell it as it is. No dressing it up. Once the forensics are back, the truth will come out anyway. Are we all clear?”

  “Guv.”

  Braddick nodded and walked away. There was no anger, no sense of loss, no feeling of shock, just complete numbness.

  32

  Braddick looked up from his screen when the door opened and Google walked in with a laptop under each arm. He had called two minutes earlier to say that he had something. Braddick cleared some space on the desk and pulled a chair up next to his.

  “I hope you have something good for me, Google,” Braddick sighed. “I feel like we’re swimming through mud at the moment.”

  “I heard about Ade this morning,” Google said, shaking his head. “Fucking unbelievable. Everyone’s stunned. So soon after Cain and Mike Pilkington too.”

  “I know. No funerals for years and then three turn up at the same time,” Braddick said sourly. “We need a break on this.”

  “This might give us some leads,” Google said, sitting down. He turned the laptops at a better angle. “At first we couldn’t find anything on the CCTV from the bridges that stood out. Nothing obvious jumped out crossing the straits and then returning to the mainland in our time window. Until we found this,” he said, pointing to the left hand screen. Braddick looked and frowned. He shrugged for Google to expand. “See this big articulated lorry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here it is crossing the bridge onto the island and here it is again driving through Holyhead twenty-five minutes later. At first glance there is nothing unusual in that. Hundreds go through every day.”

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “What is unusual is that this truck never reaches the ferry terminal itself and it never parks up on the truck stop, which is located here next to the Road King. They have to register when they arrive. Four hours later, here it is crossing back over the bridge to the mainland.”

  “I’m not getting this, Google. What am I missing?”

  “It stopped somewhere and I think I know why.”

  “Go on.”

  “Watch this bit. We know that the lorry reached here at least.” Google pointed to a stretch of road on a map. “We have it on CCTV from the petrol station here, you can see it driving past now but it doesn’t go any further.” Google took off his glasses and pointed to the screen. “Now in this bit of CCTV, three black SUV’s drive past the railway station here but they didn’t pass the petrol station. This road that they are on heads to the old harbour.”

  “And that is where the fish factory is?”

  “Yes. It is at the end of this road here.” Google used the map again. “Then on this footage, two and a half hours later, the three SUV’s go back past the railway station but they never go past the petrol station but,” Google paused and raised his forefinger. “The lorry does, here.”

  “You think the SUV’s are in that lorry?”

  “I am sure they were. Either that or they sprung rotor blades and flew off the island.”

  “That would explain what the fisherman said to me.”

  “Pardon?”

  “One of the fishermen from the trawler said the engine noise was muffled.”

  “That’s why. They were in the back of that artic.”

  “Good work, Google. Who owns it?”

  “It is registered to a haulage company in Amsterdam. We have tracked it when it left the island. It uses the A55 along the coast and then the motorway network to Liverpool. We lose it in the city for a few hours and then we picked it up heading north to Hull where it was put on a ferry to Rotterdam. I think that shipment was taken to Holland to be broken up and sold. Less chance of us finding it and a lot less chance of the original owners finding it.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Braddick said, shaking his head. “Why risk exporting it again. The hard work was getting into the country in the first place. I wouldn’t risk another border crossing. They could sell what they had in the city.”

  “Maybe. We’re tracing the owners of the haulage company now.”

  “It will be a dead end,” Braddick said. “They are way ahead of us here. We’re going nowhere with that are we?”

  “Not really, Guv but at least we know what happened and how.”

  “It was like a military operation,” Braddick said. “I mean look at that,” he said, pointing to the SUV’s on the screen. “They hid a snatch squad in the back of a lorry, hit the drug deal and then they load up again and disappear into nowhere. It is very impressive. It was planned to perfection.”

  “It does back up what we know already. This outfit is well-run, well-funded and well-organised.”

  “With ex-military personnel in its numbers. These tactics prove that. It all points to one crew.”

  “The Karpovs.”

  “Without a doubt.”

  JO PICKED up the brown envelope from her post tray. She opened it and tipped the contents onto her desk. A mobile phone and a wireless camera tumbled out. She checked inside to see if there was any paperwork. It was empty. The sender had turned the phone off. Jo turned it on and waited for it to reboot, hoping that it wouldn’t be locked or password protected. It was neither. The log showed that the phone had received three messages and two photographs from a withheld number. She looked at the photographs and recognised the homeless man, who she had known as George.

  “Gorgeous George,” she said to herself. “I knew you were a UC. Now I know who you are, I can look for you,” she said, picking up the telephone. She sent the image to her own phone by text message and then dialled the DS from Matrix.

  “Yes, Guv,” he answered.

  “I’m sending you an image of a homeless man known as George. The working girls call him Gorgeous George. He’s our UC, I’m sure he is.”

  “I recognise him. I’ve seen him around. He is always in the Baltic Triangle down near Jamaica Street.”

  “That’s him. Can you circulate that image to Matrix and uniform. We need to find him quickly.”

  “Has he been compromised?”

  “I think so.”

  “I’m on it. I’ll let you know if we have any joy.”

  �
��Thanks.” She hung up and looked at the image. Gorgeous George wasn’t gorgeous at all. He was plain. He was normal, even unnoticeable but then that was why he was accepted as a UC. The girls called him gorgeous because he looked out for them. A hot cup of coffee and a cigarette on a cold night went a long way. He was a well-liked character and as such, people might remember where they last saw him. She touched the screen with the tip of her nail. “Where are you, George?”

  On the picture, George was staring into the camera, looking confused. He looked confused and frightened. The background was blurred, even when she zoomed in but she thought that she could see several pairs of wellington boots. The second picture showed a face that she didn’t recognise, badly beaten, cut and bruised. That picture had been sent to the phone via text message. Someone sent the image to the phone. She thought about it as she picked up the phone and dialled the technical evidence lab.

  “Hello, tech lab.”

  “It’s DI Jones here,” she said, looking at the camera. She ran her fingers through the ends of her hair as she spoke.

  “Hi Jo, what can I do for you?”

  “Who is that?” She recognised her voice but couldn’t put a name to it.

  “It’s Wilks,” the tech said.

  “Wilks!” Jo said, excited. They had started cadet training together but Wilks had dropped out to pursue a career in science. “I haven’t seen you for I don’t know how long.”

  “Too long. I heard that you were back at HQ. When you went UC, we thought that you had left the force.”

  “No, that is just the way it works. No time for goodbyes,” she chuckled. “But you can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m still around. How are you?”

  “I’m happy thanks. We’ll have to grab lunch sometime.”

  “Definitely. That would be great. Look, I know that you’re snowed under but I’ve got a mobile phone and a wireless camera that I need stripping. It could be linked to the Steff Cain case.”

  “Really? I knew Steff. That was devastating news.”

  “It was. I need everything that you can get from them and I need it yesterday, please. Any chance?”

  “No problem. I’ll put it at the front of the queue. On my way.”

  “Thanks, Wilks.” Jo hung up and walked to the window to think. Liverpool One was booming below her, the shops and restaurants packed with locals and tourists alike. She missed being down there, missed gliding through the crowds unnoticed and unseen. Life on the streets was a different world. Most of the shoppers down there never gave a second thought to people who lived in the gutters, ate from the bins behind sandwich shops or sold their bodies to survive. George was down there somewhere. It was a harsh life and a short one for most. She didn’t want to go back but she missed it. A knock on the door disturbed her. “Come in.”

  “Have you got five minutes?” Braddick said, poking his head around the door. She thought that he looked tired. His stubble was longer, speckled with grey. “I need to run over some updates with you if you’re free. I need your thoughts on where we are at. I feel like my head is going to explode.”

  “I know the feeling,” Jo said, gesturing to the chair opposite hers. “I’m so sorry to hear about Ade Burns.” She didn’t want to ask what he thought about the situation. News of how he had been found had trickled through the building. It seemed to be pretty obvious what had happened.

  “He was a strange one,” Braddick said with a shrug. “But he was a good detective. At least I think he was.” His eyes were tinged with sadness for a moment. The silence was awkward.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to tell me what a perfect DS he was,” she said. “You think that he may have been bent, right?”

  “You don’t beat about the bush do you?”

  “What’s the point?” Jo shrugged. “I tend to say what I’m thinking. Everyone knows where they stand that way.” She paused and thought about her next words. “You do think that he was bent though, don’t you?”

  “Before yesterday, I didn’t know for sure but today, yes I do think that.”

  “Trust your instincts. They’re probably right. There’s no point in pretending Burns was an angel. It will all come out in the wash. Paying him lip service in the meantime won’t help. I can’t think of anything worse if I am honest.” She smiled. Braddick nodded but didn’t add anything. “I am glad that you are here. I was just going to ring you.” Jo sensed that he was uncomfortable. She picked up the mobile, careful not to smudge any trace and showed Braddick the pictures. Braddick didn’t recognise them. “That is George, the guy I told you about. I think he’s our UC and I think that he posted this to me because he knew that he had been compromised. I think he’s in trouble.”

  “Are they wellington boots in the background?” Braddick asked, squinting at the screen.

  “I thought so when I first saw it.”

  “So that would mean the picture was taken in the Kodak building with the trawler men behind him?”

  “That’s exactly where I am at,” Jo agreed. “They knew that the UC would turn up there eventually and they wanted to identify him. They planted the camera and the phone, take the picture and then send the image to the phone to let him know that they know who he is. He would have crapped himself when that image came through.”

  “At least he had the foresight to take them with him.”

  “I’ve got technical on the way. They may be able to pull something off them. I’m worried about him, Braddick.”

  “I am too. If he knows that he has been compromised, why hasn’t he come in yet?”

  “To protect Cain’s informer, maybe.”

  “In which case we may have another dead copper on our hands.” He sat back and sighed. Jo nodded that she agreed.

  “I’ve sent the image to Matrix and uniform. If he is still out there, someone will find him. Fingers crossed.”

  “What about Mike Pilkington?” he asked. “Where are we on that?”

  “We have some footage from the scene. He was pushed.” She turned her laptop to face him. “You can see Mike here at the cash point and then here at the crossing. See here,” she said, pointing to his hand.

  “He has his car keys in his hand.”

  “Yep, then we see this guy stood behind him.” Braddick leaned closer to see a well-built male in sunglasses and a beanie hat. “He steps forward and looks at the traffic and boom!” She slapped her palm on the desk. “The timing was perfect. A short hard push in the small of the back was enough to topple him over. Mike drops his keys as he falls so no one notices the killer picking them up.”

  “Any chance of facial recognition?”

  “They are running it but they said, ‘don’t hold your breath’. They are ninety percent sure it’s the arse that ARU shot dead at Mike’s house.”

  “Good. Let’s hope it hurt,” Braddick sighed. “What about the search of his house?”

  “You heard about the gun being found?”

  “Yes. They called me last night.”

  “They told you it was dirty?”

  “Yes. Did you know the brothers who were shot with it?”

  “The Rakovs,” Jo said, nodding. She played with her hair as she spoke. “They were Ukrainians trying to break into the big time. I remember them well from when I was UC. They were nice guys, pretty harmless actually but they were always swimming upstream.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They didn’t have the steel that it takes to make it on the streets. The local dealers didn’t trust them and the foreign muscle only worked with their own. They bounced around town from club to club for months. I heard they had taken a few good hidings for selling in the wrong places but they kept coming back. Rumour has it that the Turks gave them some courier work. They would sometimes use foreigners to transport gear. If they got caught in transit, it wasn’t a Turk that did time. Apparently, they set up a delivery of heroin to be brought in on a light aircraft but it was the first time that they had used the importers so they were nervous.
There were whispers of a police sting. They coerced the Rakovs to meet the flight and bring the gear into town but they were hijacked and they got wacked. The killers emptied fourteen, nine-millimetre cartridges into their vehicle.”

  “Messy.”

  “There wasn’t much left from the shoulders upwards. Most of them was scraped off the windows.” She nodded. “I remember whispers on the streets after the killings. Some said that the Turks had done it themselves to cut them out and to stop them eventually establishing themselves as competition.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time the Turks squashed the opposition.”

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t buy into it. The Rakovs were a couple of cocky wannabies. They could never have cut it. They were never big league and never would be, not in a million years. I fed back what I was hearing to my handler but no one ever mentioned who the hit man could be, which is unusual. People always speculate and gossip but there wasn’t even a whisper about who had done it.” She leaned back and stretched. “A couple of months later a wave of heroin hit the streets. It was Turkish brown. I knew that whoever hit the Rakovs had kept the smack.”

  “That’s no coincidence is it,” Braddick scoffed. “They just sat on the gear for a while until the dust had settled.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Who was selling it?”

  “The dealers linked to Liquid and Gold.”

  “The Karpov’s clubs. For fuck’s sake!” Braddick snorted. “Where do they get off the fucking bus?”

  “They have got it stitched up from Moscow to Manchester. Their intel is amazing. I have to take my hat off to them,” Jo said. “They must have eyes and ears in every outfit in the city. There were no end of people working for them when I was on the streets. Even people who didn’t work for them claimed that they did. It gave them kudos and a little protection too. They connect to the underworld and hear where the deals are going down and take the lot, drugs and money. Nice work if you can get it and less risky than importing. Why smuggle it in when you can steal it from someone else?”