‘Did ten years in the Met, came up here to arrest some villains when I was in the Regional Crime Squad and met this local lady who asked me to marry her. I’ve spent all my time trying to civilise the local natives, but it’s not easy.’
Harrison was a bear of a man who seemed to smile and laugh easily. It was hard not to like him and Macallan relaxed. The reception they’d receive from other forces was always a lottery. The police service is made up of human beings and you could never be sure which kind would be your host for the day. There was no doubt from the off though that Harrison was onside and there to do the job.
He introduced his senior analyst, who was the equivalent of Felicity Young and a DI from criminal intelligence, and then they squeezed themselves into a room that just about held them all. Harrison apologised, but they all knew that there was never enough space in any police building and it was a permanent battle trying to find a room for any private business.
They did the small talk and introductions as their host poured tea into a collection of seriously chipped mugs then Harrison got down to the real business of the day. ‘First things first: as you know, we’ve already been providing intelligence in response to the requests from your guys investigating the girl on the beach and the missing UC. We’ll give you every assistance because at the root of this is Pete Handyside, and we want him as much as you do.’
‘Thanks, and if it’s okay with you, I’ll give you a rundown on what we have so far.’ Macallan pulled out her file; she’d made copies of the briefing notes for Harrison and his team. The atmosphere in the room was confident and there already seemed to be a mood for cooperation at all levels.
Before Macallan continued Harrison broke in again and she saw the smile had dropped from his face. ‘One thing I need to tell you: what’s said in here stays in here. We have a problem. As you know, Frankie Dillon, who was on the Brighter Dawn that night, was an ex-detective and a disgrace to the job. He was eventually locked up and I was involved in that particular case. But when he was released he spent time and a lot of Handyside’s money on recruiting other bent officers. As we speak, I can tell you that Handyside has someone else inside this force who has access to criminal intelligence.’
Macallan sat back and, although she didn’t need the news, it never came as too much of a surprise. The top tier of criminals couldn’t compete unless they invested heavily in corrupting officials, whether it was local politicians, civil servants or, increasingly, sources inside the telecommunications companies. Bent lawyers and accountants were normally easy enough to find, but the most successful organised crime teams always had a broad range of paid sources. Someone inside law enforcement was an absolute priority, and from a business point of view was invariably cost-efficient. Drug raids were a nuisance, and it was always better to know when they were coming. Just toss the friendly cop the odd low-level twat dealer plus a fat envelope and everyone was a winner – apart from the twat.
‘Does it compromise this case?’ Macallan prayed he’d give her some hope.
‘The problem is that we have no idea at the moment who it is, but there is an operation in place to try to identify the source. However, what I propose is that any sensitive request you have is channelled through the people in this room. Handyside will know we’re looking at his operation so we keep general enquiries going through the main system and that way we don’t spook them unnecessarily. Whoever is leaking will expect to see enquiries from your end to us and vice versa.’
‘That sounds good to me,’ Macallan said, figuring it might work to their advantage. She kept her thoughts to herself but knew that feeding what was known in the trade as disinformation into the system could be a useful tactic. Slightly on the edge, legally, but always worth considering.
She looked round the table. There was general agreement, and they decided that the two senior analysts would have direct contact during the life of the operation. All correspondence between any of them would be copied into Harrison and Macallan.
Macallan spoke again and felt the anticipation of an arrest stir the old instincts. ‘The other issue that we need to get underway is to find Alan Hunter and Frankie Dillon and bring them in again when we’re ready. I anticipate that we’ll soon have enough evidence with Ingrid Richter’s statement and, hopefully, some DNA from the boat. If we can confirm the presence of the other girls it adds to the evidence chain.’
‘Have you found out any more about the other girls on the boat?’ Harrison asked.
‘We’re trying through Europol but the truth is that depending on where they came from and what their backgrounds were, we might never find out. They picked the wrong one with Ingrid. She comes from a middle-class family and had already been reported missing.’
Harrison took a moment and looked at his colleagues before answering. ‘We anticipated that you would want to see Hunter and Dillon, but they’re off the radar. Gone. There’s no sign of them at their home or usual haunts. No phone traffic and we’ve tasked our sources to report sightings, but zilch coming back.’
‘What’s your guess?’ Macallan said, feeling her optimism dipping again.
‘I know Pete Handyside and have taken him on numerous times over the years. You have to respect him – he’s smart and a real professional. What marks him out is his business acumen, and he never hesitates when something has to be done. The man doesn’t flinch. Given what happened on the boat and the fact that a girl survived . . . my guess is that he got rid of them. They fucked up. That’s how he works. The only people he trusts are his wife and his right-hand man, Maxi Turner. Anyone else is disposable if there’s a business case.’
Young listened intently to Harrison and, as always, she doodled and made notes. It occurred to her that Harrison seemed to have made the classic mistake she’d seen committed so often by senior detectives: he couldn’t let go. A world full of problems and they obsessed about the one man they couldn’t put away. The personal references to Handyside, the years of failing to take him: that had the potential to burn out the best detectives once they lost focus. She scribbled ‘too close to the problem’ on her pad.
Macallan shook her head, realising they’d just taken several steps backwards. ‘Eric Gunderson?’ She knew the answer before it was given.
‘It was initially treated as an accident because that’s not an unknown end for deep-sea fishermen. However he turned up in the river at the same time they disappeared so we have to presume it’s connected. I’ve asked the CID to make fresh enquiries.’ Harrison sat back, knowing that what he’d disclosed so far was a body blow to the Scottish team. Dead and, worse still, missing-presumed-dead suspects were a nightmare for an investigation team.
‘Not sure where this leaves us and we’ll have to think it through. I know it won’t do any good, but if we wanted to see Handyside do you think he’d go for it? We know they worked for him and there’d be nothing wrong with approaching him as a voluntary witness.’ Macallan thought there might be a problem with the proposal as they were on Harrison’s ground. Senior detectives could be sensitive about foreigners trampling all over their patch and upsetting their criminals, but he looked like he’d expected the request.
‘He would, in the same way you want to see what you’re dealing with. It’s the same for him. Most of them at that level will tell you to fuck off if you don’t have a warrant. Not Pete – he’s polite, and you’ll think you’re with the wrong person. He doesn’t fit the usual profiles – looks a bit of a throwback to another age and would be more at home working in the City or behind a desk.’
She turned to McGovern, who shrugged, knowing what the question was.
‘Let’s do it then and see if we can get him today. Felicity, why don’t you go through what you’ve got here and see if there’s anything we can take back up the road? Is that okay with you, Tony?’
His warm smile came back. ‘They did one of ours and, trust me – you’ll get whatever you need from this force. I’ll make the call to Handyside and see if I can set i
t up. Anything else?’
Macallan explained that they were sure there had been spotters and that the cigarette ends McGovern had noticed should give them a DNA profile.
‘Good enough, and might be a break for you.’
Given what they’d learned at the meeting, that was probably more optimistic than realistic. Whoever had watched the events at Eyemouth Harbour were up to their necks, no doubt, but proving they had committed any crime was near impossible. If they were pros they just needed to sit tight and wait on their lawyer doing his or her job.
As Harrison and his team left the room, Macallan’s phone came to life. It was a Fettes number, and when she answered it turned out to be O’Connor. ‘Just a heads-up. Ingrid insisted on discharging herself today and booked into a hotel with her parents. They have a family suite so she’ll not be on her own, and she’s agreed to attend as a day patient for her psychological assessment and treatment. They don’t want a cop sitting on their door – they think it’ll just attract attention and the press. There’s nothing we can do to stop her, but the docs are very concerned about her ability to cope with her memories.’
‘I don’t like it, but I agree that we can’t force her. Can we stick a couple of uniforms near the hotel just in case?’
‘It’s taken care of – they’re already in place. Do you want anything else done?’
‘Not at the moment; we’ll be back up the road tonight and I might go and see her in the morning, although I want to get the Flemings in.’ She put the phone down and felt a knot of worry squeeze her gut as she told McGovern what had happened.
Harrison came back into the room fifteen minutes later and sat opposite Macallan. ‘He’s up for it and, as always, couldn’t be more polite. Quote: “I’ll do anything to help the police.” He’s suggested you see him at home, and at the end of the day if we’re not detaining him we might as well go along with that, but be careful what you say. Most of our modern gangsters like to bug their homes as much as we do. Do you want a couple of our local boys to stay close to you?’
‘It’s fine. Jimmy here is Scotland’s answer to Rocky Balboa and I don’t intend to have more than a short meet with the man.’ She shook hands with Tony Harrison, feeling that at least they had an ally on Handyside’s home turf. That couldn’t do any harm.
27
As Macallan walked between the manicured lawns to the door of Handyside’s home, she had to admit it had style. Understated, and the beautiful twenty-five-year-old Jag parked outside looked perfectly at home. Handyside answered the door dressed in a sparkling white shirt, open at the neck, and chinos that had been perfectly tailored. It was supposed to be a casual look, but it showed a great deal of care and he was groomed perfectly. He apologised that his wife had to go out earlier on, which wasn’t quite the truth. She knew how he worked; he’d told her to go to their gym and he’d meet her there in an hour. His wife never questioned him, but he saw the worried lines round her eyes and had drawn her close to him before she’d left the house.
‘I’ve told you what to do if needs be, now stop worrying and go work up a sweat. I’ve arranged a babysitter and we’re going out for dinner tonight.’
It wasn’t up for argument, but she’d sensed that their life was about to change and that there was nothing she could do about it. She just had to trust that whatever happened, he would do everything in his power to protect her and their infant children, and if it came to it, she was certain that he would sacrifice himself if he was forced into a decision on their future.
The interior of the house had the same feel as the outside. Tasteful but spare, and the balance was perfect. For a moment Macallan imagined she might live in something like this some day with Jack and Adam. She allowed herself a hint of a smile, thinking that at least it proved Handyside had good taste. She got what Harrison had told them – it simply didn’t feel like they were in the company of a man with such a fearsome criminal reputation. He was polite, and it was obvious that he would be easy to underestimate without prior knowledge. He was just as courteous with McGovern as he was with Macallan, although he couldn’t have missed the ice-cold non-verbals McGovern was dripping all over the carpet.
Handyside showed the detectives into a spacious lounge furnished with an unusual mix of old and new pieces. It took a real eye to make it work and Macallan had the feeling that this was down to the imagination of this unusual man rather than his wife, unless it was a well-paid interior designer. Something about the layout and care for space and light matched up with Handyside, who smiled warmly at the two detectives. The fact that he knew they suspected him of being involved in the murders of the women on the Brighter Dawn and the UC didn’t raise his blood pressure by a single notch. This was his way of life: confrontations with the law had to be dealt with as part of the business, and as long as he’d done his job, the odds were that he’d survive to see his old age. It was all about staying focused and having a plan B – and plan C if necessary. He had nothing but contempt for most of the criminal bosses he encountered, who were no more than aggressive animals that acted on instinct. Eventually most of them paid a heavy price for their stupidity and greed. The ones he’d cleared from his path to take his place at the top of the hill certainly fell into that category. There was always the chance of sheer bad luck wrecking what he’d built up, but he’d even factored that into what he liked to think of as his war plans.
In any case, for Pete Handyside there was no point in worrying about something he couldn’t control. He put out his hand to Macallan, who wasn’t expecting the gesture; it was soft yet seemed to hold back on a deep reserve of physical power.
McGovern hesitated when it was offered his way, but gave it a try and thought he could mash the gangster’s knuckles a bit then enjoy watching him twitch. Handyside looked a good couple of stone lighter than the detective and McGovern waited for a reaction. It never came, and he was thrown when the pressure he applied was equalled by Handyside, who stared intently at the surprise in the detective’s eyes. McGovern realised that if Handyside wanted to, he could go all the way till his fingers broke under the strain. It was as if the man was enjoying a sport where the opposition just wasn’t in the game. Handyside’s expression was like a curious predator playing with a catch that wasn’t even worth eating, and in that crude moment, Handyside taught McGovern that he was a man who might not deserve his affection but certainly deserved his respect.
Macallan saw it and felt a moment of pity for her DCI, who wasn’t used to being on the wrong end of a physical challenge. McGovern’s face had paled and the contrast with Handyside’s cool demeanour was stark as they unlocked their hands.
Macallan thought again how accurate Harrison had been with his assessment of Handyside. He acted the per-fect gentleman, the soft voice warm and the North-east tones restrained, and every part of the lounge held expensively framed photographs of a petite, attractive woman side by side with Handyside through a range of ages all the way up from the smiling young couple who’d just been married. Pride of place above the fireplace was a silver-framed picture of two laughing infant boys. It was impossible not to react to the feeling that a family who cared for each other lived in this house and without thinking Macallan picked up the photograph of the boys and tried to imagine Adam in a few short years.
‘Handsome boys. You must be very proud.’
She noticed the space between McGovern’s eyes scrunch in a ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ look. Macallan ignored it, knowing that acting the officious bastard just wouldn’t work with a gangster who controlled the whole of the North-east through a potent mix of will and intelligence. They were there to spar, Handyside knew it, and he accepted that anything that happened on both sides was an act, at least for the time being. This was all about feeling each other out and deciding what tactics they’d pick before the real fight.
‘I am, Superintendent. A few years ago I would have laughed at the idea that I would end up the doting father, but that’s exactly what’s happened. In those
days I went off the rails a bit, but you know that already. What about you?’
‘Baby boy. Same for me – sometimes I have to pinch myself that it actually happened.’
McGovern realised what was going on and eased back into his seat. He’d seen her do this thing before. Some people would have sneered at this form of verbal intimacy with a man like Handyside, but Macallan worked her designs instinctively. It hadn’t been taught in detective training because there was no way to teach it. She reacted to deep instincts and she’d once told him that it was as if she needed to communicate with the killers on more than one wavelength, to feel where they really lived and breathed. Harkins used to joke that it was her equivalent of Spock’s Vulcan mind probe. Whatever it was though, McGovern knew he couldn’t tap into the unspoken conversation that was taking place at the same time as the polite exchanges about their offspring.
Although McGovern had already dropped into a seat without asking, Macallan waited for an invitation to sit; she wanted to match her host in courtesy. He smiled again and stretched his hand palm up towards an antique chair. Handyside took the seat opposite her, side on to McGovern, who now had a ringside view of the exchanges between the detective and the man who (legend had it) could take the decision to kill as if he were ordering a coffee; the same man who smiled warmly from the family pictures spread all over the room.
‘Now tell me, Superintendent, what is it I can do for you? I appreciate it has to be about Alan and Frankie. I read the papers; this thing with the girl on the beach is hard to take in. The fact that they occasionally did some work for me is upsetting to say the least.’
‘Do you know where they are?’ Macallan asked the question, but she knew they were still circling, probing for weak spots, and that the answers she wanted would not come at this meeting. It didn’t matter; she was just using every sense in her body and mind to assess Handyside’s reactions.
Shores of Death Page 20
