'Already? Jesus.' Frank can't believe it. 'The bodies aren't even cold.'
'Well, this is my concern, Frank. You may have a few blabbermouths on your team.'
Frank lets it go. It's not worth getting into a shit fight. Searle and he both know that big crime scenes are about as easy to keep contained as water in a sieve. Too many people, too many ways for the information to get out there. Rose tells him there's a Facebook memorial page already.
'I'm not sure I understand the extra interest, sir. We haven't done the autopsies yet. And the local press usually aren't too much of a problem. How do you mean, it could get nasty?'
Denise comes back with the coffee.
Searle sips with relish. 'Marvellous,' he says as Denise closes the door behind her. He puts his cup down and fixes Frank with a stern expression. 'The thing is, Frank, these journalists aren't locals. All the tabloids have called already. You know what these bastards are like.' Searle actually shivers. 'Pack of hyenas, all of 'em.'
'Am I missing something?'
All warmth has gone from Searle's face now and Frank can feel the copper behind the bureaucrat, the steel beneath the surface. 'It's the boy, Frank.'
Keane nods. 'What about him? Is there a problem?'
'You could say that. It might turn out to be nothing, in which case there's no problem. On the other hand, if I'm catching their drift, and the situation isn't handled delicately, it could turn into a big fucking A-grade problem.' Searle smiles and fixes Frank with his blue eyes. 'And I'm happy to say that it will be your big fucking A-grade problem, DCI Keane. I have no intention of seeing my name up in lights on this one.'
'I'll bear that in mind, sir. What, exactly, is the nature of this problem?'
Searle frowns and, instead of an answer, asks a question. 'Have you spoken to the uncle yet? The one working on the film? Or anyone else on the production team?'
Christ, Searle might be a pen-pusher but there's no arguing with his grasp. Frank makes a mental note to check on the chain of command at MIT. Someone was going direct. Frank and MIT weren't prioritising talking to the film company yet. Searle knew that. The order of the investigation is not a misstep by Frank: the kid's friends and family members are the obvious first points of contact but Searle's interest means that Frank would be wise to take note.
'DS Cooper will be speaking to him today, I'm sure. And I'll make sure she'll be speaking to the production company too. Get the lie of the land. With the murders looking like a domestic – at least initially – the fact that the boy is earning some holiday money running errands working with his uncle wasn't our priority, not with the resources we have.'
Frank makes a mental note to speak to Cooper as soon as he's left. The movie hadn't been high on his list of priorities. Until now.
'Yes, well, resourcing is always an issue, Frank.'
Searle takes another sip and Frank realises that they're approaching the nub of this conversation.
'You know much about the movie business, Frank?'
'It's full of dickheads?'
'You see, that's really why I've brought you in this morning. You really need to sharpen up your diplomatic skills, Frank. There are more films shot in Liverpool than any other city in the UK. Did you know that?'
Frank shakes his head.
'And it generates a lot of cash and jobs. The CC is particularly proud of our relationship with the film industry, Frank. When you're doing your investigation into the missing boy I suggest that we do as much as we can to avoid getting in the way of the film's progress.'
Frank has to think for a moment before he speaks. 'You're saying we should go easy on the uncle?'
'Not at all, DCI Keane. But the last thing we need is their schedule interfered with unnecessarily. These journos? They're sniffing around for more than the usual blood and sex story. So far the only connection between the film and the murders is the uncle – but it's the production company they're interested in.'
Frank shifts in his seat. He's beginning to feel like a lazy schoolboy. He can't see why the journalists would be interested but it's clear that Searle knows something. Searle's got more background on this case, on his case, than he does himself. It's not a good feeling.
'This production company . . .' Searle opens the file in front of him and flicks a few sheets over. 'Hungry Head. They're part-owned by a name. A celebrity.'
'And the tabloids want to link the murders to the movie so they can bring in the celebrity.'
'Precisely.' Searle closes the blue file and smiles. He lifts his cup and takes a sip. 'Tread lightly, Frank.'
Twenty-Two
After the meeting with Charlie Searle, Frank gets into the Golf and heads for the MIT office in Stanley Road. As always, leaving Canning Place in his rear-view mirror feels good and Frank resolves to get the desk moved permanently as soon as he can. He calls from the car and talks to Cooper about interviewing the movie people.
At Stanley Road he pulls into his spot and heads upstairs. The place is surprisingly empty and all of the officers are on phone calls when Frank walks in. He waves to Caddick, Rose and the others and opens the door to his temporary office.
On his desk is a plate of fish and chips.
Standing next to it is a bucket overflowing with plastic sachets of malt vinegar.
From the MIT office comes a gale of laughter.
Frank walks around to his side of the desk and puts an exploratory finger on a chip. They're warm. Frank takes a sachet of vinegar and rips it open. He sprinkles the contents over the plate and takes a chip. Munching happily he picks up the plate and walks back into the main office and stands in front of the crime wall.
'Very amusing.'
Frank puts the plate down on an adjacent desk. 'Anyone like a chip?'
As the MIT crew gather round somewhat tentatively – Frank not being someone that practical jokes are played on with any great regularity – there seems to be a tacit understanding that the plate of fish and chips marks the beginning and end of any discussion of the vinegar incident. Frank has no doubt it will be endlessly discussed and replayed over the coming months – and he still has to deal with the serious fallout with Em, and perhaps with Searle, should he choose to exercise a bit of disciplinary muscle – but here, at MIT, the matter is closed.
With everyone assembled, Frank passes along Charlie Searle's concerns about the press. Although there isn't a table big enough for everyone to fit around, they make do with pushing a couple of the desks together. Those without chair space lean against adjacent cabinets.
'Hollywood?' says Theresa Cooper.
'According to Superintendent Searle.' Unlike some other coppers Frank has worked with, he seldom refers to senior officers by anything other than their full rank and name if there are juniors in the room. It doesn't sit right with him to do otherwise. Charlie Searle might be a bit of a pole-climbing rugger-bugger but, as far as Frank is concerned, that's immaterial.
Cooper makes an encouraging gesture for him to keep talking.
'Oh, details,' says Frank, 'right.' He smiles. 'It seems that the Birkdale case has attracted interest from the tabloids.'
Em Harris sits up a little straighter. 'Already?'
'Already. The Sun, the Mail, a couple of others have been sniffing round. Searle's been batting them away since daybreak.'
'We haven't even done the autopsies!' Cooper checks her watch automatically. She's due at the morgue at twelve. 'Fuck me.'
'It's quick for a reason. The missing boy – Nicky – is a film nut. He's working, or was working, on a movie.'
'The Tunnels,' says Scott Corner.
Frank glances at the lanky DC. 'What?'
'That's the name of the film. The Tunnels.'
For a moment Frank wonders if Corner's the link to Searle. If so, that will have to be stopped. Or, reflects Frank, perhaps I'm a suspicious twat and he's just a movie fan. Frank bends his head and kneads the top of his skull in a futile effort to spark some life back into his brain. Looking down he sees that one of his sh
oelaces is undone and for some reason this depresses him.
He looks up and sees Harris staring at him. And I need to stop fucking other officers, he thinks. Frank is conscious that the rest of the team are waiting for him to speak. He blinks and comes back to Scott Corner.
'It turns out that this movie is partly funded by a company which is owned by a celebrity.' Frank mentions a name. Someone lets out a low whistle.
'And that information stays inside, is that clear? If the journalists dig around it won't be because we've given them any encouragement.'
'But the boy isn't connected directly?' Cooper frowns.
'That's not the point, Theresa. The reason Superintendent Searle's got his dander up is that any connection, no matter how slight, means that this case is bigger news for the red tops. Celebrity plus murder equals sales.'
Frank pauses. 'And they're leaning towards Nicky being the killer.'
He leans back and folds his arms while everyone absorbs the information. He looks at Theresa Cooper.
'They can't do that,' she says. 'Can they?'
Harris glances up from her files. 'They can do whatever they like, Theresa. The question is, how are we going to handle it?'
Frank gets up and wanders across to the crime wall, still in its early days, almost empty. The wall isn't needed but Frank likes it and he thinks the rest of the team do too. It makes them feel they're in a cop show instead of working in an office, which is something, he supposes. He taps the photo of Nicky Peters.
'What's worrying me is that if the scum are peddling the line that Nicky did mummy and daddy and is now on the run, it might force the hand of our man.'
'Unless Nicky is the killer,' says DC Ronnie Rimmer. 'He had the taser receipt in his room. Into all sorts of weird shit, probably, when we start digging. Druggie, maybe.'
'Are we thinking that?' says Cooper. 'Seriously?' She puts out a hand and counts off on her fingers, point by point. 'Even our average punter wouldn't keep that taser receipt. Weird shit? The kid likes horror movies. Druggie? Less weed than a possession charge. Give me a break, Ronnie.'
Frank exchanges a glance with Em Harris. There's nothing he can read on her face but he's happy to see Cooper spreading her wings.
Theresa is at the front of the table.
'At the moment we're looking for someone who's missing, been abducted, or is a suspect. I'm pretty sure that once the DNA comes in from the labs, Nicky won't be in the frame at all, but that's based on nothing more than guesswork. Until we do get some hard forensics, our public stance has to be that all avenues are being considered. But between ourselves? Unless we pull our fingers out we're going to have victim number three before too long.'
'He's already dead,' says Harris. She looks at the faces around the MIT office. 'What? Oh, don't give me that. If Nicky Peters isn't a suspect he's already dead.'
Frank rubs the bridge of his nose.
'This isn't helpful. I know it's your case, Theresa, but with Superintendent Searle barking in my ear I'm going to put my interfering head on and give you some flat-out instructions for this case, and this alone. All our other stuff will have to fit around this one at least until he's happy. You can get back behind the wheel once we've got over this bumpy bit. Right?'
Cooper sits back and keeps her expression neutral. Admittedly Frank Keane is the SIO on the case, but so far she's getting less leeway than he'd indicated might be the case. Frank doesn't care. It's this sort of political stuff that Theresa's got to deal with as she rises.
'Good,' says Frank. 'Theresa, you go to the autopsies as planned. Get as much from that Glaswegian gobshite as you can. Em, you take the Peters couple and dig into their backgrounds. Finances, social, sex, work, you know the score. You get over to Terry Peters for a good chat. Nice and easy, Nicky's missing, anything you can tell us. But like the Super said: tread lightly.'
Harris says nothing and Frank feels himself redden a little. He glances at Theresa Cooper and then presses on.
'Scott, Peter, you keep on with the kid's mates, the school. Facebook, phone stuff. Talk to Ellie about freeing up some plod to do some door-knocking. The boy might be hiding. Could be injured. Start local and spread it as best you can from there. Make sure the first few streets are covered in detail. Talk to the railway people. The line runs close to the house and I seem to remember a body that was dumped in the bushes not far from there a few years ago. Stayed hidden for months. Get the track searched.'
Scott Corner raises a hand. 'The kid's Facebook page? I already had a quick look. It might be nothing but his relationship status was "it's complicated".'
'Good,' says Frank. 'It might mean something. Keep digging. See if you can find the complication.'
He looks out of the window, frowning. What else? With a snap of the fingers he turns to Ronnie Rimmer.
'Ronaldo. You're not bad with words. There'll be some enquiries from the press coming in, just like we talked about. I know it's not our usual style but I want a press statement that sounds like we know what we're doing. Spend a bit longer on it than usual and remember three things: Nicky is missing and we're concerned. All avenues are being explored. We ask for restraint in all reporting. Play down any connection to the movie. We don't have anything solid right now so we may as well keep Superintendent Searle sweet for as long as we can. If something shows up that does connect the murders to the movie then that's another matter. Right now we don't need to rock the boat. Show me and Theresa before you put it out.'
Rimmer nods and jots a note down on the pad in front of him.
'DC Rose, you run the central file here. Get everything running through HOLMES as usual; that's your responsibility. The data's the sheep and you're the fucking sheepdog, right?' The Home Office Large Major Enquiry System, designed to reduce human error in investigations, has been running for well over twenty years. Every officer in the room is well aware of the requirements but giving one person overall responsibility, as he has just done with Rose, helps ensure the system is adhered to.
Frank looks around the room. His voice takes on an edge and everyone there sits up that little bit straighter. 'I want everything going in and out of HOLMES via a portal on Rosie's computer. That doesn't mean he's doing everything. I just don't want any more data going up the food chain without me seeing it first. Superintendent Searle linked Nicky Peters' working on the film directly to the case and seemed to know we hadn't made that connection a priority.'
'He could just have been responding to the press.' Harris spreads her hands. 'Just saying it's possible.'
'Yeah, maybe,' says Frank. 'But I don't want to assume that's the case. This morning is the last time I want to be surprised by a superior officer appearing to be better informed about our case than I am.'
Frank glares around the MIT office. 'Is that clear?'
There is a chorus of grunts. Frank Keane's assumption that Searle has a mole feeding him titbits rankles. Harris regards him blankly. He's still working his way into the role but things like this are, she feels, a misstep.
Now is not the time to point that out.
'I'll get out to the movie people later this afternoon with Theresa.' Frank looks at Cooper, who nods assent. He checks his watch. Almost midday.
'OK, that's it.' Frank makes a shooing motion with his arms. 'Go. Get me something. And remember . . .'
The entire MIT group wait for Frank's words of wisdom but nothing comes out. 'Fuck it,' he says eventually. 'It's gone.' He sits down and studies the file in front of him as the group breaks up. Em Harris waits for everyone to drift away and then approaches him.
'I'll get over to Birkdale,' she says and pats Frank on the shoulder. 'Let you know if I get anything.' Her voice is warm and Frank – to his astonishment – feels tears behind his eyes.
'Yeah,' he says, keeping his head down, feeling both stupid and redeemed as she walks towards the door. 'You do that, Em.'
Twenty-Three
With the press all over the story, the word gets to Josh Soames about the mur
ders and Nicky being missing on Monday morning and the day's filming takes place in a muted atmosphere.
There's been some discussion about abandoning the schedule but they don't. None of them knows what they are expected to do so they opt for a 'show must go on' approach.
'They were killed on Saturday?'
Ethan Conroy's talking to Quinner in the production trailer outside the tunnels. Both of them are drinking coffee. McElway's talking softly on his mobile off to one side. McSkimming from The Sun has been particularly persistent. In fact, it's McSkimming who has given Soames, Conroy and McElway most of the information, Terry having been less than forthcoming in his call to the office.
Quinner nods. 'That's what they're saying. It's hard to get anything concrete from anyone. Susie's calling the police to see what they can tell us.'
'Jesus.'
Quinner leans back against the wall. The news of the murders has put the attack on Big Niall to one side. Quinner hasn't mentioned that to anyone. Yet.
'Do we need to think about saying anything to the press yet?' McElway looks worried. Knowing who the investor is in Hungry Head, the last thing they want is a press feeding frenzy. No such thing as bad publicity? McElway knows that's horseshit.
'We'll have to do something,' says Conroy. 'But not just yet. We can palm McSkimming and the others off for a while. The kid's missing too. We can't say anything about that until the police tell us what's happening.'
'Is the kid on the payroll?' says McElway.
'His fucking name's Nicky, John.' Quinner shakes his head and McElway puts his hands together in a gesture of apology.
'Jesus, what a mess.' Conroy paces aimlessly around the office, the floor creaking underfoot.
'Who spoke to Terry?' says Quinner.
'He called Susie about half an hour ago. Didn't say much. Just that he was at home. It was Terry who found the bodies. He identified his brother early on Sunday and has been speaking to the police on and off yesterday.'
'They're coming in today,' Susie calls out from her desk in the main office. 'Not sure what time.'
Down Among the Dead Men Page 9
