by David Field
‘It doesn’t. That was the good news. The bad news is that the Ice Maiden wants to see you yesterday.’
‘Van Morton?’
‘How many Ice Maidens do we have here in Ivory Tower? Actually, it was her punka walla, Mani Happy Returns, or whatever his name is. He blasted my ear off, and told me to get you to explain what the fuck I was up to as soon as you got back.’
‘OK, get everyone organised outside in ten minutes. Before that, I need to call upon a little inter-constabulary co-operation.’
He was smiling a few minutes later as he walked into the outer office alongside Dave and looked down at where Geoff, Cathy and Brandon were seated in front of their computers.
‘Newcastle just confirmed that Jasmin Ballantyne was pushing for some shadowy mob from out of town,’ Mike announced gleefully. ‘Out of their town, anyway, but I’d bet my firstborn that the town in question was Brampton. It seems that a well-heeled family of Middle Eastern origin traded in its camels for more lucrative business opportunities than taking dates to market.’
‘And he calls me a racist!’ Dave complained.
‘So she was done in for crossing them?’ Cathy asked.
‘According to my oppo. in Tyneside Drugs, she’d decided to branch out by selling for another syndicate as well. More local, but Italian by persuasion.’
‘Where’s the Giles connection?’ Geoff asked.
‘Pass,’ Mike replied with a shrug of the shoulder.
‘Do I begin to sense that my services are no longer required?’ Brandon enquired.
‘Not by us for much longer, probably,’ Mike confirmed, ‘but your landlady may have other ideas, so there is a way in which you could help us wind this up.’
‘Ask, and it shall be granted,’ Brandon replied in a fair imitation of a clergyman whose Sunday morning mind was concentrated on Sunday lunch.
‘I want you to work with Cathy on the Pockridge and Baynton folios. I’m damned sure that they were connected with each other, and I’m not going to abandon my original theory of the link between their deaths and the Winthrop hanging until I can see how they’re also connected – if they are – with what we’ve got on what I propose to call “the desert connection”. My credentials as a racist bigot will come up for re-examination when we close this one down.’
‘How exactly can I help there?’ Brandon asked.
‘Not your usual work, admittedly,’ Mike confirmed, ‘but you’ve already got access into the local housing records, and as I recall, both ladies were Council tenants, one of them in sheltered accommodation. Dave will hand you over a copy of the personnel file of a man who worked at the time – and still does – in a security capacity for the same Council. That’s too much of a coincidence for a suspicious old bugger like me. Geoff can take over the final two folios that Cathy was working on.’
‘What about me?’ Dave asked.
‘You may be running the show if I’m taken into protective custody after my impending visit upstairs to the igloo of the Ice Maiden, to answer for why we ignored a red flag recently. Even if I’m released, you still have plenty to do.’
‘What?’ Dave asked as Mike turned to leave.
‘You’ll be getting married in two months’ time,’ Mike reminded him. ‘Go and get fitted for a ball and chain or something.’
‘Actually, about that, I have a big favour to ask of you.’
‘I thought you already did,’ Mike reminded him. ‘Saying nice things about you at your wedding is going to require all my powers of inventiveness. So what other miracles would you like me to perform?’
‘It’s Joy,’ Dave replied, in a voice that suggested imminent tears. ‘We were hoping that the wedding could come before the operation, but her specialist had kittens when he heard how far away the wedding is – pressure on the reception venue – and he insists on going in asap if Joy’s life is to be assured. So he’s found a spare date on his chopping list, and it’s next week. Hence my weight loss and Joy’s current depression. I really want to be there for her, Mike, and you’re the one who went off at the mouth recently about family coming first.’
‘Hoist by my own petard,’ Mike grinned. ‘For all the use you are, I’m sure I can spare you, but keep in touch. Take a fortnight’s leave, operative immediately.’
‘Bless you, mate,’ Dave almost cried. ‘You’re really not quite such an arsehole after all.’
‘Leave now, before I change my mind,’ Mike grinned back at him.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Sorry about this, Mike, but I can only follow the protocols,’ Van said condolingly as she beckoned him into the chair alongside Mani Dhaliwall.
‘That’s OK,’ Mike assured her. ‘At least we’re dealing with M13 this time, and not some voodoo princess from F9.’
‘You’ve met Bernice Grace, obviously,’ Mani observed with a faint smile.
‘Once too often,’ Mike replied. ‘She nearly got several of us killed. Sorry about crashing your red flag, by the way.’
‘And I’m sorry for demanding your immediate attendance up here yesterday,’ Mani replied with another smile. ‘Van tells me that you were returning from conducting enquiries on Exmoor, and that it was one of your staff who used your override.’
‘Name of Petrie,’ Van reminded him, the long-standing dislike getting the better of her.
‘It doesn’t matter who it was,’ Mani reminded her, ‘what we need to know is why.’
Mike smiled across at Van.
‘Not for the first time, two of our operations have met in the middle. The man we know as Tariq El Zarw is known to you as Hassan Hadad. We’re interested in him because, as El Zarw, he was obviously anxious to obtain a USB belonging to a murder victim called Jeremy Giles. Mr Giles in turn knew more than was good for him about something or other that was going on in Brampton. My first thought was that it was a lengthy vendetta regarding a murder way back in Brampton’s history, but I’m being forced into the reluctant conclusion that Hadad is basically a hired thug involved in anything that will earn him a handsome stipend.’
‘We believe him to be organising something in connection with the upcoming EU Summit,’ Mani confirmed, ‘and like you, we’ve been obliged to swap theories. As you know, “Operation Delilah”, under DI Morton here, was launched when we received intelligence that suicide bombers were being slipped into Brampton posing as sex slave trafficking victims. We now believe that to have been disinformation peddled to us by someone inside this service, intended to divert our attention from the truth.’
‘A leak, you mean?’ Mike asked.
‘We spooks call them “moles”, as you already know after your encounter with F9, but they fulfil the same function. It begins to look – thanks in no small measure to what your team have come up with – as if the hub of the planned outrages is our Mr Hadad – your Mr El Zarw.’
‘So the Turkish connection was a mis-feed as well?’ Mike asked.
‘No, we still believe they’re behind it, except that now it begins to look as if they’ve decided to leave the job to local muscle, some of whom may be devoted to Allah, but most of whom are devoted to the pound sterling.’
‘Assuming we’re bowling at the same wicket,’ Mike asked, ‘how do you suggest we play it from here?’
‘My people want all the intelligence gathering to be from ground level, so carry on as if you’re still looking for a murderer,’ Mani instructed him. ‘In particular, don’t refer to this conversation when briefing your own team, since we don’t know precisely how far the leak goes down the line. Let them think they’re still going after a murderer.’
‘Well of course, they are,’ Mike reminded him. ‘Whatever the motive for Giles’s murder, he’s still dead, and we want his killer, or killers.’
‘And we want that wrapped up by the time of the EU Summit, but not too far away from it that they have time to recruit another team.’
Mike grimaced across at him.
‘You don’t ask a lot, do you? Any particular
time of day you’d like me to order the mass arrests?’
‘We know what we’re asking, Mike,’ Van assured him, having observed the warning signs, ‘but you can see why the timing of this will be critical.’
‘And what happens with “Delilah”, while my lot are chasing a hostile bomb squad?’
‘We’re “your lot” as well, remember,’ Van reminded him. ‘Now that I’m back in the saddle, I report direct to you, according to Willows. I know you’ve had your hands full with this Giles thing, but now that all the eggs have dropped into the same basket, you’re in direct command of my team as well as Petrie’s.’
‘Our instructions are for Delilah to continue as planned,’ Mani advised him. ‘Whoever is leaking stuff has almost certainly blown that diversion, and will warn their paymasters if we do anything to suggest that we’ve rumbled what’s really going on.’
Mike smiled ruefully across at Van.
‘This really is history repeating itself, isn’t it? Delilah became a diversion for that Makitos business, and now we’ve been diverted into a murder enquiry that has unwittingly unearthed an assassination plot at EU level.’
‘We were certainly badly misdirected,’ Mani confessed, ‘but we’re always at risk of misinformation like that. Once we start following the wrong leads, we have a habit of putting our noses to the ground, like tracker dogs following a strong scent and missing a weaker scent altogether. Sorry if we sent you all on a false scent.’
‘It’s been a little out of the ordinary, certainly,’ Mike admitted. ‘but it hasn’t been totally fruitless. The Delilah link led us to the discover of the deaths of a handful of illegals being recruited as sex slaves, while the Ursula Winthrop lure gave us far more information than we originally had on several deaths up and down the country that may or may not be connected with Hadad and his cronies. It begins to look as if Giles’s death was down to them in some way – perhaps he clocked what was going on.’
‘By all means continue your enquiries into that,’ Mani said encouragingly, ‘but I can only repeat that nothing can occur that’s likely to reveal – even “in-house” – that we’ve got Hadad’s team in our headlights.’
‘I can be very discreet if I have to,’ Mike assured him, ‘and once I get into a case, nothing stops me from bringing it to a successful conclusion.’
‘The “successful conclusion” we’re looking for here is a safe EU Summit, which is only a matter of weeks away now,’ Mani reminded him. ‘No cowboy heroics, OK?’
‘I’ll leave those to your goons in flak-jackets,’ Mike smiled back. ‘Old fashioned policing is my weapon of choice.’
Chapter Eighteen
Mike sat staring at the outer office through the glass of his dividing door, his dark thoughts elsewhere. Somewhere in his organisation, and probably inside Avory House itself, was someone who was leaking operational information to a mob of serious dudes who were intent on disrupting the upcoming EU Summit meeting in a no doubt very explosive way. He had no way of knowing who it was, but he was required to solve a murder that no doubt involved the very same outfit, and it could be anyone out there manning the computers. Geoff, Cathy, Dave – and that was the worst suspicion of all.
Surely not, he tried to convince himself. Dave was incompetent in all the wrong places, but surely his heart was in the right place? And his brain was apparently in marriage mode, and worse – he was facing the prospect of a woman very close to his heart going under the knife in a very personal way. Surely he didn’t have time – or even the smarts - to be passing on operational intelligence to an ethnic group of which he no doubt heartily disapproved?
On the other hand, he’d been the one to dive into the Pelican Club case in an attempt to divert Van from her work with Operation Delilah. But that had led to a totally different bunch altogether, and it had been Dave himself who’d revealed the link between Hassan Hadad, his sister Johara Begum and much younger brother Imran Hashem. Surely he wasn’t capable of that level of double bluff? Or was Dave’s uncharacteristically accurate work yet another attempt to divert everyone away from the real agenda for the EU Summit?
He was just congratulating himself on having given Dave time off when he looked up to see Cathy Norman in his doorway. He smiled.
‘Is it yoghurt time already?’
‘No sir – just letting you know that Brandon’s found something interesting in connection with the death of Emma Baynton. He’s working on it right now.’
‘And why couldn’t he tell me that himself?’ Mike enquired. Cathy hesitated for a moment, then took the plunge.
‘You mentioned one time that you have a son, and I heard on the grapevine that he’s a musician. Is his name by any chance Steve?’
‘Steven, certainly. Why, has he just gone viral on the Internet? If so, he can begin to repay me for all that expensive university education.’
‘I just wondered if his was the name behind “The Steve Saxby Experience.” Only if so, they’re the backing band for a great new American singer who’s touring in the area later in the year.’
‘If her name’s Gina Hamilton, then that’s probably my son in the also-rans, yes. Where exactly are they appearing, and when? He never tells his mother and I anything, but I’d just love to see his face if the old farts turn up unannounced at one of his “gigs”, as I believe they’re called.’
‘The concert dates are on the Internet – that’s how I found out. I’ll download you a list, if you like.’
‘Yes please – now return to the backing you’re supposed to be giving Brandon, and let me have the results before the next flavour of yoghurt you have in mind as a reward for my disclosing family secrets.’
His smile faded as Cathy headed back into the outer office, and he was once again alone with his thoughts. On a whim he dialled Van’s number.
‘My place or yours?’ he enquired. Van snorted in slight disapproval before answering.
‘If yours is still polluted by the presence of Dave Petrie, make it mine.’
‘I bet you say that to all the DCIs,’ he quipped. ‘I’ll be up there at the speed of the next lift.’
Up in Van’s office it seemed very quiet, almost as if they’d been taken out of operational circulation. Van was gazing out of the window as he walked in.
‘Fancy a coffee?’ he asked.
‘Yes, but not that dreadful stuff downstairs. Let’s do Costa’s. Your turn on the wallet.’
Safely insulated by the noise from hissing steam jets and hyperactive students bonding over their latest assignment scores, Mike felt able to unburden.
‘I hate to say this, but I think the leak that Mani was alerting us to came from your side of the house.’
‘How so?’ Van enquired indignantly.
‘Well,’ Mike explained as tactfully as he could, ‘if we assume that the entire Operation Delilah – enquiring into the possibility of terrorists working undercover as prostitutes - was a furphy designed to divert our attention from the real agenda, then the “mole”, as Mani insists on calling him or her, must have been in place then. Whose idea was it in the first place?’
‘No idea,’ Van confessed. ‘The first I knew about it was when ACC Willows called me in, briefed me, and put me in charge. I think it came via Vice.’
‘And no idea who in Vice, exactly?’
‘Not right now, no, but I can find out.’
‘That would seem to be a good start. I’d hate to think it was one of mine, but Homicide didn’t come into it until Linda Clifford got stiffed.’
‘Have you checked Petrie out?’ she enquired with a downturn to her mouth.
‘You never really took to him, did you?’ Mike enquired in the understatement of the year. ‘But although he’s a bit thick, very lazy, shoddy with paperwork, and with all the charisma of a takeaway carton, I don’t think he’s bright enough to be bent. If he is, then I’ll be obliged to reassess my entire opinion of his operational effectiveness.’
‘Is he really getting married? And who’s t
he victim?’
‘A lady called Joy, who’s surprisingly nice. She’s also having a double mastectomy next week, so I’ve given Dave the time off. If he is the mole, then at least we have him safely off the pitch for a short while, mind engaged elsewhere.’
‘Sorry to hear about the illness,’ Van conceded guiltily. ‘I’ll try to be nice to him, the next time I see him.’
‘Take it easy – I don’t want you overstressed. Now, if you’ve finished that coffee . . ’
Back in Room 209, Brandon and Cathy were already seated in his visitors’ chairs.
‘Sorry I missed the yoghurt detail,’ he joked as he took his normal seat behind his desk and examined the elated faces in front of him. ‘Which of you wishes to announce that you’ve just won the lottery?’
‘I think I may have the winning numbers, anyway,’ Brandon announced. ‘The Emma Baynton death – Folio P8.’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, just before she died – a few days before, actually – she lodged a formal complaint against some of her neighbours.’
‘She was living in sheltered accommodation for the elderly and infirm,’ Mike objected. ‘What was the precise nature of her complaint? The elderly couple downstairs partying on until the early hours of the afternoon?’
‘Not her immediate neighbours – what she described as “a load of Pakis” practising rifle drill on the back lawn of the block opposite. Before he left, Dave advised me that we might be looking for a Muslim connection, and this seemed too good to pass up, so I dug a little deeper.’
‘And?’
‘And it seems that the complaint was allocated to one of the Council’s own security officers, diverted from other duties. When he appeared to do nothing about it, she telephoned the Council and demanded that they take action. Two days later, she was dead.’
‘Did you by any chance get the name of the security officer in question?’ Mike enquired eagerly, ‘and was it by any chance one Tariq el Zarw?’
‘How did you guess?’ Brandon replied sarcastically. ‘His was one of the names that Dave left with me.’
