The Badge & the Pen Thrillers

by Roger A Price

  They just had to find him first.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Christine Jones put the phone down from speaking to Vinnie and tried to understand what he’d meant by “it’s not what you think”? Her inquisitive mind was racing, and as desperate as she was to ring him back, or give Harry a call, she resisted the temptation. On the plus side, he’d also said that he needed to see her later, and the thought pleased her. She was enjoying Vinnie’s company more and more, and she was fairly sure he felt the same. Whether it was more than a platonic extension to their professional roles or not, she wasn’t too sure, but she planned to find out. It had been a while for her and that aside, she was genuinely fond of Vinnie. But she didn’t want to spoil things by getting it wrong. That said, she’d seen the look of concern in his eyes when she had told him of her scare at The Blarney Stone. It had seemed deeper than a friend’s apprehension, much deeper. She’d have to wait a while longer.

  She shook off the thoughts as she turned her mind back to the job in hand; her editor, June, had asked her to start pulling together her work on Northern Ireland since the peace process, into some sort of order, so they could start planning a schedule. It was an onerous task, especially as things were still live and very fluid, but she was sure that the programme’s producers would be in turn putting some pressure on June. Probably Sally Ainsworth who’d been at their last meeting.

  She laboured on and by two o’clock she was fairly happy that she had the opening nailed - it had pretty much written itself to be fair, outlining the history of the 1999 power-sharing agreement, its aims, an up-to-date summary of where things appeared to be now, publically anyway, and the programme’s objectives. She stopped to eat a sandwich at her desk and her phone rang, it was Paul Bury.

  ‘I just wanted to apologise for what happened the other night at the Blarney Stone,’ he said.

  ‘I was probably overreacting, but thanks. More importantly, have you any idea what actually happened?’

  ‘I have, but could do with a face to face with you. How are you fixed this afternoon?’

  Christine looked at the pile of work she had done that morning and decided it was time to get some air, plus she was happy she’d done enough to allow June to feed her lions, she’d email it to her before she left. ‘Ok, what about the same place, in say, thirty minutes? Oh wait, I could do with running an errand on the way, is an hour and a half ok?’

  ‘Perfect, the sun’s out, so I’ll see you in the rear beer garden again.’

  That agreed, Christine ended the call and headed to the Ladies to freshen up and check her teeth for stray bits of salad.

  Five minutes later she was off towards the stairs when Vinnie called.

  ‘Sorry for being so brief before, but I’ll explain when I see you, but suffice to say, we now know exactly who Jason is.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, look it’s my turn to be brief now. I’m just off to see Paul, so perhaps we can meet up this evening, and chat proper then?’

  ‘Excellent. Look I might need to ask a favour, as in do you think Paul would agree to meet me?’

  Christine was taken aback slightly, then said, ‘Not sure, probably depends on why?’

  ‘Nothing to do with what you’ve got going on with him,’ Vinnie said, before adding, ‘It’s just the suggested motive that Reedly’s advocated. I thought with Bury’s service in Northern Ireland he might have some historical knowledge, or even just an overview which might help, but I don’t want to cock-up your relationship with him.’

  ‘I’ll ask him, but on two conditions.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘If he agrees, I can be present?’

  ‘Wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Vinnie replied.

  ‘And what’s the story with Reedly?’

  ‘Later I promise, I just can’t talk now.’

  Christine could hear a lot of loud office chatter in the background to Vinnie’s call, so believed him and said her goodbyes. She’d have to wait, but the suspense was eating into her.

  *

  ‘Don’t lose the fucker again,’ Quintel said, as Jason accelerated away from the kerb into the Manchester traffic.

  ‘I’m sorry about before, but we are only one car, Boss,’ Jason said.

  ‘I know the traffic in this city is a nightmare, but if we pull this little stocking-filler off, we can probably start naming our own fees when the whole job is over.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah I get that.’

  ‘So stop being so professionally over-fucking-sensitive and don’t lose the twat.’

  Jason didn’t answer and Quintel concentrated on keeping his eyes on the motor. It was three-up ahead of them slowing towards a line of traffic held by red traffic signals at a major crossroads.

  ‘The sun is bright and more importantly, behind us, so as long we keep heading east they’ll see rock all in their mirrors,’ Jason said.

  Quintel didn’t reply; Jason was just trying to show off, or make up for earlier.

  *

  Five minutes after setting off, Christine jumped out of the black hackney carriage and asked if he could return in an hour. She had a quick house-call to make. The driver said he’d be back in exactly an hour for five minutes, but only if he was free. She paid him with a healthy tip hoping that would help, and rushed across the road towards a modern town house.

  An hour later the black cab was there as promised, and fifteen minutes after that she was outside the pub with the bay window. She entered and checked the front snug, just in case, on her way past. It was empty. Even the main bar only had a few in it. They all had city suits on and looked like dinnertime drinkers who had decided not to bother returning to the office. She was surprised to see that she had beaten Paul to the pub on finding the beer garden/back yard empty too, apart from one suited-smoker just finishing a cigarette. Having popped her head out the rear door she about-turned and headed towards the bar as the smoker followed her back inside. For a second she smelt his nicotine breath as he followed on close behind her through the doorway. It had been seven years since her last cigarette, and the man’s second-hand breath smelled lovely. But the brief pang went as soon as it had arrived. It was the best thing they could have done when they banned smoking from inside offices and other buildings, like pubs, or she would still be on thirty a day.

  Christine bought a white wine for herself and a pint of lager for Paul and then headed back outside before sitting at the same table they had used last time. She left the seat empty with its back to the wall; no doubt Paul would want to take up his usual watchful position. Several sips of wine and a few minutes passed before Paul appeared in the yard. He joined her and took a quick slurp from his pint, before he thanked her and apologised for being late.

  ‘The traffic is mental today,’ he said, adding, ‘had to drive like an idiot; reminded me of the good old days; still got it.’

  ‘Wasn’t too much better for me, I was just lucky to grab a cab as soon as I left the office, and the way some of them drive you’d think they were all ex your old mob.’

  They both smirked and then she added, ‘Anyway, I get the idea you’ve got something to share?’

  ‘Yeah, I do. Last night McConachy thought he was going to meet a group of likeminded Republicans.’

  ‘As in, we are all for power-sharing with the Protestants, but really want to kick them all out of Northern Ireland?’

  ‘There the ones. But according to my source it was either hardliners, or even Protestants who were waiting for him.’

  ‘I’m confused,’ Christine said, and she was.

  Paul went on to elaborate that publically McConachy was seen as a moderate. An ex-Republican who had now got into bed with the Brits and the Unionists and was enjoying the trappings of power. She got that. ‘I guess being First Minister of the Northern Ireland regional assembly was as near to being Prime Minister of the Province as one could get. And power is a seductive mistress,’ Christine said.

  ‘Absolutely, but when the armed struggle end
ed, there were extremists on both sides who would never, ever agree to anything involving a compromise.’

  ‘Understood,’ she said. Then Paul added that if Christine was right, then McConachy wasn’t the all-round appeaser that many, including the Westminster government, thought he was. That he is suspected of slowly but stealthily ensuring that senior positions are taken by Catholics. Catholics who still long for the Republican dream of a united Ireland.

  Christine was really buzzing now. If what Paul was saying was true, the reverse discrimination theme of her proposed documentary went far deeper than the Police Service of Northern Ireland and a few local councillors. ‘I don’t suppose there is any chance of speaking to your source of information?’ she asked.

  ‘If you knew where I was getting this from, you wouldn’t believe it. It’s not from some old Protestant tout who is upset at the slow but pervasive power shift, as I witnessed before I retired.’

  ‘I didn’t really think about it, but that would have made sense,’ she said.

  ‘It’s from someone firmly on the extreme side of the Republicans.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Precisely because they feel that McConachy is selling them out, and they want him out.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting they would kill him?’

  ‘No, they’d not go that far. They know if they did that the Unionists would get the blame, and the more moderate in the IRA would kick off, and so then would the ex-Unionist terrorists in response, and all hell would break loose. They just want McConachy replacing.’

  ‘If McConachy is, as we suspect he is, then why doesn’t he simply let his ex-IRA hardliners know that he is really on their side?’

  ‘Good question, perhaps, he doesn’t trust them to keep his secret? Perhaps he wants to achieve his aims while appearing to be all things to all men, which will ensure he clings onto power. It’s a political minefield.’

  ‘So what do you think went wrong the other night?’

  ‘I don’t think my source has the control of things he claims to have. I think he set up the meeting, hoping McConachy would see it as an opportunity to meet some good old boys on the QT, but the good old boys had other ideas and someone then warned him off. I think the source was hoping I’d witness the meeting and then publically embarrass McConachy, but it got out of hand.’

  ‘Are you sure your source, or tout, or whatever you call him, is trustworthy? No offence, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your old job.’

  ‘None taken, but yes I do think he is becoming unreliable, but they all do in time. Especially the best ones.’

  Christine finished her wine as they chatted more, but she was unsure exactly where this left her. Potentially, her scoop was getting much larger, but how to prove it? As much as she hated documentaries that asked the unanswered questions, she could see her project heading that way. Sally Ainsworth would no doubt think it too much to ignore. Christine could keep the programme to the police and at the local level that she’d originally imagined, statistics alone would almost prove the point – the numbers of Protestants replaced by Catholics in the police was obviously disproportionate. But to leave out a suggestion that the First Minister himself had an agenda aimed at slowly ousting and replacing all Protestants in key positions, it would be too much to omit.

  However, she could do with something to back it up, at least enough to defend any lawsuit. As she mused about this she realised she’d forgotten Vinnie’s favour, so quickly asked Paul.

  ‘So you’ve told him about me?’ Paul said.

  She sensed his disquiet and spent the next few minutes reassuring him of Vinnie’s credentials and trustworthiness.

  ‘Aye you are. I suppose I’ll have to meet your man now, if only to satisfy myself he’s all you say he is. But what does he want?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with what we are doing. In fact, he’s no idea of what we are up to,’ Christine lied.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He just knows of you and he is after picking your brain about something that allegedly went on in the Province back in the nineties, an overview, that’s all.’

  ‘They were certainly busy times back then, but why is he asking now?’

  Now that she had Paul’s tacit agreement about seeing Vinnie, she didn’t want to explain too much, not that she knew it all, but she’d let Vinnie explain it face to face. She knew she had to say enough to keep Paul’s interest, so just said, ‘Oh it’s something to do with a murder or attempted murder or something.’

  She could see that she’d piqued his attention.

  ‘Aye, right you are then, you may as well bring him here when it suits. Can I drop you off anywhere?’

  Brilliant, Christine was chuffed, and she knew Vinnie would be pleased. She thanked Paul and said she’d love a lift back into the city centre, save her a cab fare, and they both got up to leave.

  *

  ‘There the fucker is,’ Quintel said, squinting against the late afternoon sun refracting through the car’s windscreen.

  ‘Got it, but there’s two of them now.’

  ‘Just don’t lose the fucker this time. As soon as they split, it’ll be game on,’ Quintel said as he slid further down the front passenger seat and Jason started the hire car’s engine.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  As soon as they left the pub Paul accelerated severely and took a series of left and right turns before braking hard to a stop and turning around to stare out of the rear window.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Christine asked as soon as they pulled up. She’d spent the last couple of minutes hanging onto the grab rail above the passenger door so as not to end up in Paul’s lap.

  ‘I thought we were followed away from the pub?’

  ‘You could have warned me, or were you trying to get me on your knee?’

  Paul smiled before he answered, ‘Sorry, I just clicked into counter surveillance mode. But the thing is I felt like I was followed away from the hotel on my way to meet you. That was the real reason why I was a bit late.’

  ‘And were we being followed?’ Christine asked, as she too looked over her shoulder.

  ‘When, before or now?

  ‘Either,’ she said.

  ‘It doesn’t look like it. The car I suspected of having followed us away from the pub looked like the same one I saw earlier. Same make, model and colour, but I didn’t get a look at the registered number, so can’t be sure - and it’s obviously not behind us now.’

  He turned to face Christine and the look on her face must have displayed what she was feeling.

  ‘Look, sorry to scare you, it was probably nothing, it’s easy to get paranoid in my old job, and I’m a bit rusty and a bit jumpy too, if truth be known.’

  ‘Sure?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure, please ignore it.’

  It took a further twenty minutes before they were nearing the centre, and Christine’s nerves had settled by then. Her phone alerted her of a text message from her sister Lesley. She had a separate ringtone for both calls and texts from Lesley, as she knew she had her problems, and never wanted to miss a call from her. Lesley was five years older than Christine, divorced and lived in a modern flat near to Piccadilly Gardens in central Manchester, it was where she’d called in on her way to the pub earlier. They weren’t too close, but she knew Lesley sometimes suffered from bouts of depression and Christine was her crutch when needed. She was surprised to hear from her so soon though; she’d seemed fine when she’d left her. Which didn’t bode well.

  Lesley wasn’t a morning person and was between jobs, which Christine knew so she sometimes popped in on her way to work, which didn’t always go down too well, but at least she knew she’d be in. So, today she had taken the opportunity to pop in for a brew on her way to meet Paul. They rarely found enough time for each other as it was, and Christine felt guilty that she only saw her sister mainly when things were not too good. And to be honest, it was that biased view of only seeing her when she was down that probably ke
pt her away at other times. Since she’d started popping in during the “tits down times” as Lesley called it, they had grown a little closer. Christine had made a note to self, that even when Lesley started work again, they should both make more time for each other.

  What really surprised her though about receiving the text, was not just the fact that she’d only seen her that morning, but that she’d been on a total upper at the time, as she’d received a letter inviting her for a job interview at a city centre ladies outfitters, just what she was good at; talking about clothes and selling them.

  Christine opened up the message which just read “need to see you, urgent, can you come round ASAP”. Christine tried to ring Lesley, but her phone just rang out.

  ‘You look tense, everything alright?’ Paul asked.

  ‘It’s just my sister, probably nothing, she’s got a job interview tomorrow and is no doubt getting stressed,’ Christine said as she looked out the window to see where they were. ‘Look, Paul, her flat’s near here, can you drop me if I direct you. It’s close to Minshull Street Crown Court.’

  ‘Is there a car park near there?’

  ‘Yes, at the side of the court, which is round the corner, why?

  ‘Well, I could do with some fresh gear as I’ve been over here a little longer than I’d originally planned. If you direct me to the car park, will that do? Or do you want me to take you straight to her flat first?’

  ‘No, it can’t be anything too serious, I only saw her for a brew on my way to see you. I’ll show you where the car park is. It’ll only be a couple of minutes’ walk for me from there.’

  *

  ‘I can’t fucking believe you lost the bastard again. I thought you were a surveillance expert?’ Quintel said.

  ‘I was, six years ago, but we are just one car. In the Army we could have ten cars and two bikes just in one surveillance team,’ Jason said.

  ‘I know, I know, and the car did shoot off like a boy racer was driving it. Take us back to where we found the twat earlier.’