Five minutes later, Quintel had all the information he needed. He ended the call and quickly briefed Jason during the short journey back to their hotel. It was mid-evening now and Jason suggested they stay out and grab some food. Quintel was hungry but wanted to lose the motor for the night, and needed to check back in their room first.
Once back in the room, he quickly freshened up and took a leak before turning the TV news on for one last look before they headed out. “Breaking News: from the scene of the Manchester bombing” read the tickertape. He un-muted the sound as Jason emerged from the bathroom. The screen was filled by one of Sky’s senior news reporters, stood outside North Manchester General Hospital. “A casualty from the cemetery bombing has sadly died,” the news reporter said, adding, “and it has now been confirmed that the deceased is Jim Reedly, the deputy chief constable of Greater Manchester Police.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was about ten-thirty and Vinnie was starting to think about his bed. He hadn’t rung Christine, as he needed more time to think about whether he should approach Bury or not. He’d still not heard from Jimmy, the retired undercover officer, and the film was nearly finished. He’d seen it before anyway so he switched his TV from the online source back to the normal digital TV. Then his phone rang and he saw that it was Jimmy, at last. He muted the telly and answered the call. ‘How’s retirement treating you? Or is it too hot on the Costa del Sol?’
‘Retirement? I wish, I’ve never been busier,’ Jimmy said, before going on to explain that he was now freelancing for the regional government who were keen to clear out all the Brit criminals living under the radar whilst being wanted back in the UK. Apparently, only the week before he’d been able to bubble one bloke from London who’d been on the run from the Met for twenty years. He’d been given bail prior to being sentenced for a string of armed robberies on cash-in-transit vans so fled to the Spanish sun and had been there ever since - until he bumped into Jimmy.
‘You undercover operatives, you just can’t leave the buzz, can you?’ Vinnie said, smiling.
‘Easy money, and if it helps clear the turds off the beach? Win-win,’ Jimmy answered.
Vinnie spent the next minute giving Jimmy a quick update as to his current situation before broaching the real reason for the contact. ‘Do you remember Paul Bury?’
‘I think he was a super when I knew him, he SIO-ed at least a couple of undercover jobs I did in Belfast back in the day.’
‘Straight?’
‘As far as I could tell. There were some over there who were as bent as a dog’s hind leg, but Bury wasn’t one of them. Don’t get me wrong, he could be as slippery as the next, and was very good at playing the “I’m only a simple country boy at heart” bullshit, which often disarmed folk. Especially the English. Why do you ask?’
Vinnie took a deep breath and then told Jimmy. He trusted the guy and thought that if he understood the context it might illuminate his thought processes.
‘I see,’ Jimmy said, ‘that should make for a very interesting documentary when your reporter friend has finished, but she needs to be careful, there are still some dangerous players over there.’
‘Looks to me as if Bury is the one taking the risks?’ Vinnie said.
‘Yeah, but I’m sure he can look after himself is all I meant, your mate could find herself guilty by association.’
It was a good point Jimmy had made, especially when Vinnie remembered Christine’s visit to The Blarney Stone. He thanked Jimmy and promised he’d make an effort to come and see him sometime soon. He was overdue a holiday and could think of nowhere nicer than a Spanish Costa at this time of year.
He ended the call and was about to turn the TV off when he saw a “Breaking News” tickertape on the bottom of the screen. He un-muted the sound and turned the channel to Sky News. He sat down as he read of Reedly’s demise. He couldn’t believe it, how could he die from a sore arse? But then he wondered if blood poisoning had set in, or something like that? He remembered how he’d said one side was a mess. But it must have been fast acting; he’d seemed fine only a few hours ago.
Vinnie spent the next ten minutes trying to get through to Harry Delany, but his phone seemed to be permanently engaged, which was understandable. And as it was gone eleven Vinnie gave up and left Harry a message to call back if he needed anything doing during the night. If not, Vinnie would see him early doors in the morning.
*
It had taken Vinnie a while to close his mind and allow the beer to induce sleep but it had eventually done so, and he’d awoken at five desperate for the loo and had stayed up. By 8 am he was arriving at Harry’s and his temporary office in Preston, having first spent a fruitless ten minutes with Dempster on his way in. The place was buzzing with activity and Harry was already sat at his desk; he may have been there all night for all Vinnie knew. He walked in and closed the door as Harry spoke.
‘How did you get on with Dempster?’
The question took Vinnie by surprise; he wouldn’t have thought its answer was a priority given the news the previous evening. ‘Oh, er not so good,’ he stuttered at first, before adding, ‘the poor guy is proper shit-scared, and who can blame him, but I believe he’s had no further contact from Jason or Quintel. He wants them nicking as much as we do. Says he’ll bell me straight away if anything changes. Though he did add that it had been in the local news about the milkman - Devers’ - death, mainly because it was common local knowledge that he was related to Jim Reedly.’
‘So any shithead on Quintel’s payroll could have fed the details to him, and they just plotted up the cemetery and got lucky?’ Harry said.
‘Looking that way, and if it was an opportunist thing, then the circs of Devers’ death could be straight?’ Vinnie added.
‘We’ll have to think about that one, applying for an exhumation order is not a step to be taken lightly, and no judge will grant one without good cause.’
Vinnie knew all this and was getting frustrated. He was about to ask Harry about Reedly when Harry continued.
‘The Army have a large barracks in Fulwood, north Preston, which is the North West headquarters to the 42nd Infantry Brigade, among others. It also has a Royal Military Police base there and an SIB – Special Investigations Branch – office within it.’
Vinnie nodded, he knew that the SIB was the Army’s equivalent to the CID – their detectives.
‘The local CID here have a good relationship with the SIB and often have game nights with them in the Warrant Officers’ mess.’
‘Game nights?’ Vinnie asked.
‘Don’t ask; it involves such sports as beer draughts and bar-diving.’
Vinnie had seen bar-diving done, it was where a drunk would dive from a bar as far as he could reach, hoping the two rows of mates in front would catch him. Whoever dived the furthest, won. He’d seen it done many times in Rugby club bars, though he’d never been tempted to try it. But he’d never heard of “Beer Draughts”, and asked Harry to explain.
‘Apparently, it involves two teams of six and a giant chess board. The counters are made up of half-pints of lager and dark ale, and if you get jumped, huffed or whatever they call it, one member of the huffed team has to down that beer in one.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ Vinnie said.
‘Anyway the locals have set up a meet for you and me to see one of the SIB’s commanding officers. Now we know Jason and Quintel have access to hand-grenades for God’s sake, they must have some military connections. I’ve already emailed the details of both of them as we know it, and the CO has promised cross-referenced checks before we arrive, so when you’re ready.’
Vinnie was impressed and said, ‘No probs, Harry, sounds like a good line of enquiry, but shouldn’t we be discussing something else first?’
‘Like what?’ Harry asked as he rose from his desk.
‘The death of Jim Reedly, for one?’
‘Oh damn, I forgot to ring you back last night, sorry, it got late, my phone never stopped
,’ Harry said.
‘I can imagine.’
‘I’ve had to direct all enquiries via a prepared statement being handled by the chief’s office, but that doesn’t stop the local press who have my number hounding me. In fact I’m surprised your mate Christine Jones hasn’t been on the blower, or has she?’
Harry had made a good point, he’d not heard from Christine, which was strange in itself, and he told Harry as such.
‘We’ll have to decide what to tell her when she does make contact,’ Harry said.
‘What do you mean?’ Vinnie asked.
‘Sorry again, Vinnie, I keep forgetting I’ve not told you yet. Come on, I’ll explain en route to the barracks.’
‘Explain what exactly?’
‘Reedly’s not dead. It’s just a ruse to protect him from further attempts on his life. It was Darlington’s idea, neat eh? Anyway, come on, Major Crompton is waiting for us.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
As Vinnie drove his Volvo, Harry brought him up to date. Reedly had been moved to a military hospital while his bottom recovered and would then be taken to a police safe house. It was a good plan to keep him safe, apart from the fact that the press was descending on them. Darlington had said that the ruse would only buy them so much time before the story would start to unravel. The funeral would be expected to occur within ten days at the latest, and neither he nor Harry had any idea how to blag that one. It would have to involve too many people and be unmanageable. As it was, Reedly’s family had to be brought into the plan, and it would no doubt leak out from there at some stage.
‘We all trust one person implicitly,’ Vinnie said.
‘Exactly,’ Harry replied.
Vinnie knew it was a principle of intelligence operations that each person trusted at least one person with their life, knowing that they could tell that person anything. That person would also trust at least one person implicitly; but often it was a different person, and so it went. Vinnie had always found senior officers the worst offenders; they thought rank meant they should know everything. Vinnie had got himself in the soft stuff many times as a junior detective when he’d refused to tell a boss something which he actually didn’t need to know. Need to know was based on need, not rank. Or “need to know, not nice to know” as he’d often said.
‘Who’s got the job of dealing with the press?’ Vinnie asked.
‘The chief’s bum wiper – Russell Sharpe,’ Harry answered.
They both laughed as Vinnie imagined the chief inspector being hounded over the next few days.
‘Or to quote the chief “Sharpe can do it, he’s got nothing else to do”.’
They both laughed again, and then Vinnie iterated what Reedly had said to him about the possible motive coming from his work in Ulster during the nineties. He also told Harry about Christine’s enquires and the ex-cop Bury who was feeding her.
‘That’s very interesting,’ Harry said.
‘I know, and if Reedly is correct in his guess regarding motive, I was wondering if you would sanction me setting up a meet with Bury through Christine? His historical knowledge might help to confirm or deny Reedly’s suggestion.’
‘Is he safe to talk too?’
Vinnie said that he was and explained Jimmy’s phone call from the Costa del Sol.
‘Ok, but only tell him the least you have to, and only that, if you are 100 percent happy with him.’
Vinnie nodded as he swung his car from the busy, but oddly named Watling Street Road, into the private entrance to the barracks, which had a guardhouse and closed gate. A soldier approached and as Harry spoke to him through his passenger window, Vinnie’s phone rang. It was Christine. ‘Can’t speak for long,’ he whispered as he took the call.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Reedly?’ Christine asked.
‘Look, it’s not what you think, I’m going to have to go,’ Vinnie said as he watched the soldier return to his post and start to raise the barrier, ‘I’ll ring you later, promise, in fact I’ll need to see you.’
‘Ok, but I’m going to be busy until tonight, give me a ring then and we can meet up.’
‘Will do,’ Vinnie said, before ending the call and driving through the entrance.
‘Christine Jones?’ Harry asked.
‘Yeah, I’ve not told her about Reedly, but have arranged to see her later.’
‘Tell her the truth, Vinnie, but make sure she understands that she is the only one to know who is on the outside. I take it you trust her fully?’
Vinnie said that he did, and as he needed her to get to Bury, he needed to trade something with her. And he reminded Harry that they had total editorial control at the end of it over anything Christine would seek to broadcast. She’d not let them down last time over the Moxley affair, and in any event, she wasn’t covering the murders now.
‘Ok,’ Harry replied, before directing Vinnie where to drive.
It was the first time that Vinnie had been to the barracks, and he was amazed at how big the place was, even though it was the Army’s command place for the whole of the north west of England. He drove into the grounds proper and around a massive parade square before Harry passed on the gate guard’s instructions to take the third left and pull over by the building with the red painted door. He’d also put a yellow car pass in the windscreen. As soon as they had parked up a red-capped soldier appeared through the red door to greet them. They followed him into a reception area where both their warrant cards were taken from them and replaced with signed visitor passes. The red-capped soldier then led them up a flight of stone steps and on to the far corner of the first floor in what clearly was a Victorian era building. In fact, all the buildings Vinnie had seen so far looked to have originated from the late 1800s.
The door at the end had Major Crompton’s name on it, and one knock later, their escort led them in before disappearing back down the corridor. The room was massive, with a huge mahogany table facing the door with a large sash window behind it. Sunshine streamed in through partly open blinds. In front of the desk were a number of easy chairs around a light oak-effect table that looked modern, budget, and out of place.
Behind the desk was a small man in his thirties with short black hair, but with a considerably longer cut than their escort had had. He looked friendly enough as he stepped from behind the mahogany desk with his hand outstretched. Major Crompton introduced himself and gestured towards the light oak-effect table where a tray sat with a steaming teapot and cups.
‘Tea ok, chaps?’ the Major asked, and Vinnie and Harry both said that it would be very welcome, and introduced themselves.
Tea poured, the Major spoke first. ‘I’ve good news and bad news.’
‘Bad first, please,’ Harry said.
‘The bad is that we’ve identified the nominal you know only as Jason.’
‘Isn’t that the good news?’ Harry asked.
‘For you perhaps, but not for us, you see he used to be one of ours.’
‘Ah, I see. And your good news?’ Harry asked.
‘We’ve no intel on the nominal you call Jack Quintel. And he definitely has never been one of ours. Even with a fake name our facial recognition software would have ID-ed his photo you emailed me. Incidentally, I put a call into some desk-jockeys I know in Whitehall and your man Quintel doesn’t seem to exist.’
Vinnie already knew that there was no trace on any databases of Quintel, he’d never had a national insurance number, paid tax or drawn benefits. It had been one of Charlie Parker’s objectives to obtain Quintel’s DNA or a print if possible, but the poor man’s murder and the subsequent fire not so very far from where they were now had put paid to that. But at least they’d got a breakthrough on Jason.
‘Since I spoke to your officer at Preston this morning the phone’s been red hot,’ Major Crompton said, adding, ‘well, ever since yesterday really when we were told about the grenade attack at the cemetery, awful business. It certainly appears that the anti-personal device used came from us or fro
m the manufacturer. In fact, I’ve sent a sergeant over there this morning to check their inventories, but I know it’s academic.’
‘Why’s that?’ Harry asked.
‘Because you wouldn’t believe how much stuff we misplace or have stolen from us annually. It’s been a bit of a hot ammo casing for us politically, and something we’ve been working on for the last six months. We’ve locked up ten serving and twenty-two retired servicemen and women, but that stays between us gents.’
Vinnie and Harry nodded and stayed silent, letting the Major continue.
Jason was Jason Moriarty, who had served six years in the Signals Corps before being discharged to an address in Preston, his home town. He was single and in his thirties.
Vinnie was starting to feel excited as he asked, ‘Do you have a discharge address?’
‘I do Inspector, but don’t get a hard-on just yet. He was discharged six years ago and the address he gave then is now part of the new flyover they are building across the River Ribble at Ashton.’
Vinnie groaned, and Harry rubbed his head.
‘Whole swathes of terraced streets were knocked down about two years ago when work first began.’
‘What about pension payments?’ Harry asked.
‘Typical ex-signals man I’m afraid. His bank account is an on-line one and his link-address is a post office box, but I’m guessing you could do some obs on it, not that he’ll visit it much, I suspect, if at all. We’ve had a peek into his on-line account, and the only transactions are his pension being withdrawn every month in several cash point withdrawals from all over the country. I’ll give you a copy of all I have before you leave.’
Vinnie was impressed with what the major had achieved in only a couple of hours, but disappointed about Jason’s address; but at least they now knew who he was. The major went on to explain that they were also very interested in helping them locate ex-Lance Corporal Jason Moriarty so they could find out where he and his mate were getting their hardware from. The Major said he understood that their investigation took primacy, but as he put it, “we want a go with him when you boys have finished your stuff”.
The Badge & the Pen Thrillers Page 40
