The Badge & the Pen Thrillers

by Roger A Price

  ‘What about the pub?’ Jason asked.

  ‘We’ll try the other place first; it’s just round the corner.’

  *

  Paul parked the car on the single storey car park at the side of Minshull Street Crown Court. He was lucky, Christine thought, probably got the last space. She said her goodbyes and headed off in the direction of Lesley’s flat. Twice in one day, it must be a record. But she was slightly worried. Sometimes her sister would get really wound up about something which another person would think nothing off. That was the way with depression. But Christine knew that to the person concerned the problem was as serious as the person perceived it. The only plus being that if it was something minor, relatively speaking, then hopefully it could soon be put right.

  The last serious wobble Lesley had was when she’d been made redundant from her job a couple of months ago, but she’d seemed fine since then. She’d enjoyed having the spring off, and was now ready to get back to work, which was why this morning’s letter offering an interview couldn’t have come at a better time. So what could have changed so drastically since an hour or so ago? She just hoped the interview offer hadn’t been rescinded, that would do it for Lesley.

  Christine finished her musings as she approached Lesley’s flat. It was actually a small modern terrace with a kitchen and lounge downstairs and one bedroom and bathroom upstairs, but everyone called them flats. The front door had a half-glazed upper with a hardwood solid lower half with a letter box, laterally in the middle.

  As she walked down the short path to the front door, she stopped in her tracks. The door was ajar. There was no sign of damage, or anything nefarious. It would be Lesley who left the door open, but the last time she had asked Christine to come round and had done so, she’d been on a real downer. As she’d explained later, she didn’t know how long it would take Christine to get there, and she couldn’t be bothered coming to the door to let her in. It hadn’t made much sense to Christine then, other than to know that depression was an evil all-encompassing blanket which sapped every ounce of energy and reason from those it affected. Now she was really worried.

  She quickened her pace, and gently pushed the door open whilst shouting, ‘Only me, sis, be with you in a sec.’

  Initially, she heard nothing. But then she did.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The noise was muffled, strained even, but somehow Christine knew it was Lesley’s voice, not that it could be anyone else’s, but she recognised it as hers. It came from upstairs. Christine bounded up the steps two at a time, crashing into the wall as the stairs split onto their second level. At the top she heard the noise again; it was definitely coming from the bedroom at the front. The door was closed. She grabbed the handle and rushed in. What she saw brought her to an abrupt halt.

  To her right was a double bed and on it was Lesley, sat up with her back propped against the landing wall. Her hands were tied with a ripped sheet and silver gaffer tape covered her mouth. Her eyes were pleading, scared, but with a warning in them. They were looking through her in the unfocused way a drunk or a drug addict might look. Christine started to turn around, then she heard two clicks. One was the sound of the bedroom door being closed, and the second one was far more metallic. Her spirit sank.

  She spun around as quickly as she could, only to have her fear confirmed. She was looking at the pointy end of a handgun, aimed at her chest. She looked up at the person who was holding it, which was when she received the greater shock.

  ‘Sit down on the bed and put your hands on top of your head, we have some questions we’d like to ask you,’ the gunman said.

  Before she’d spoken to Dempster the other day, Vinnie had shown her two rough surveillance photos of Quintel and his sidekick Jason. Just in case they were paying their man a visit; she could make an excuse for her call and leave quickly. The photographs had both been taken at distance but she was sure that the large brutish looking man in his mid-thirties stood here with a gun in his hand in front of her, was the same man as Jason from the surveillance snaps. But what the hell was he doing here?

  Christine did as she was told, guessing compliance was the only thing to do as she tried to make sense of what was happening and evaluate the threat. She wished she’d asked Paul to drop her off at the door now, she might have seen the door ajar before he drove off. Her mind struggled to compute what she was seeing. Why and how was Jason here? And if it was him; where was Quintel?

  She didn’t have to wait long to have the last thought answered. The door opened and in walked Quintel. He looked shorter close up than she would had imagined, and uglier, but easier to recognise from the photos. He took the gun from Jason and told him to tie her hands, which he did using some more of the sheet from Lesley’s bed. She ignored him, keeping her eyes on Quintel and the gun. When Jason had finished, he stood back next to Quintel.

  ‘This is definitely her?’ Quintel asked.

  ‘Yes, Boss. Hundred per cent. I got a good look at her when she reappeared from here earlier and jumped the cab,’ he answered.

  Christine’s mind was straining to understand what this meant. They must have been here when she visited earlier, or had seen her when she’d left. Did that mean they had the house under watch? But why? Or had they been following her? Her heart sank as she assumed it was the latter. She was a TV news reporter, it would be easy to sit outside her office and wait, she’d turn up eventually.

  ‘So, this is your sister, apparently? Quintel asked, adding, ‘but you obviously don’t live together, as there is only one bedroom. Unless you are into some weird incesty thing,’ Quintel asked.

  Christine’s terror edged sideways slightly, with a flash of anger at the repulsive little man’s remark. She ignored the question.

  Quintel then walked over to the bed and back-handed Christine across the face, her cheek stung as her head swung to one side, and she could feel the heat increasing on that side of her face.

  ‘Don’t fucking ignore me,’ Quintel said.

  ‘Well ask me a proper question,’ she replied, slightly shocked by her own boldness. She tensed for a further slap, but none came.

  ‘Ok, here’s a question; you’ve been sticking your nose into things you shouldn’t have, why?’

  Christine’s mind raced once more, trying to read the subtext in the question: which things? Had this something to do with Dempster? It couldn’t be anything to do with Paul Bury and her documentary, it must be Dempster. Then as if to confirm the latter, Jason spoke.

  ‘Who was that fucker who drove you away from the pub?’

  This also confirmed her worst fears, that she had indeed been followed. They must have tailed her from the office. Damn, she wished she hadn’t called in at Lesley’s now. God knows what this would be doing to her. She glanced at Lesley bound and gagged next to her, sheer terror in her pretty blue eyes.

  ‘Just an old workmate, catching up. Look can’t we sort this out, please I’ve not done anything.’

  ‘Yes you have, you’ve been sticking your reporter’s nose where it’s not welcome,’ Quintel said.

  ‘It’s my job to nose around, and if I’ve offended you in anyway, please just tell me where and I promise I’ll leave it alone.’

  ‘Oh you’ll leave it alone alright, I can promise you that,’ Quintel said.

  This was definitely to do with her visit to see Dempster, and now she feared for his safety as well as her own. She just hoped they didn’t know of her friendship with Vinnie. These guys obviously think they are clear away, just tying up loose ends perhaps? She had to say something. ‘Look if this is about me going on the knocker in Preston after the fire, I only spoke to one guy, Dempster I think his name was, and only then because someone on the estate said he was “the go-to guy”. But he was useless, he knew nothing.’

  ‘Is there a back entry to here?’ Quintel asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Christine answered before Quintel turned to Jason and told him to go and fetch the car around and then come back. Jason left and th
en Quintel put a further piece of gaffer tape on Lesley, but across her eyes this time. Dread coursed through Christine, wondering what it could be that Quintel didn’t want her to see.

  Quintel had put his gun down on the dresser at the foot of the bed whilst he used both hands on Lesley, and then he picked it up again and headed towards Christine.

  He grabbed her hair with his free hand and pulled her head down in a violent jerk. Then she felt a searing pain on the back of her head, followed by darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It was gone four before Vinnie caught his breath. He’d spent most of the day sorting out actions – lines of enquiry to be issued as individual tasks – with Harry before turning to his covert enquiries. He’d made a series of phone calls trying to find someone in the Home Office or the Northern Ireland Office who remembered deputy chief constable Jim Reedly’s work back in the nineties, when he’d been a detective inspector on secondment. Most replies had directed him to Carstair as the then Northern Ireland Secretary of State, but the dead don’t talk. Harry had tried using his higher rank in a couple of calls to the Home Office in case Whitehall rank-snobbery had been a factor, but to no avail.

  However, towards the close of play Vinnie had traced Carstair’s old secretary, a woman in her late seventies now who had retired to the south coast of England. But a quick phone conversation had only served to confirm that ‘Jim’ had worked in the Province out of Carstair’s office, before she started to ask “what was for tea”? Her husband then came on the phone to explain that the poor woman was suffering from dementia. He made his apologies and ended the call.

  ‘How did you get on with the secretary?’ Harry asked, so Vinnie explained.

  ‘Ok, what next?’

  ‘I could pay Reedly another visit and try to drill down into his memory to find who he might have pissed off the most, when he was justifying all those killings.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But, I’d rather be armed with more info before then. I’m still not convinced Reedly’s not rubber-dicking us.’

  ‘Nice turn of phrase, Vinnie; but explain? Not the phrase that is.’

  ‘Well, if Reedly was turning illegal killings – the ones where too much force was used – into lawful ones; and I say, if? Then he might not want to open up too much on the specifics of induvial incidents in case we stumble across a dodgy one. And let’s be clear, if there are any dodgy ones, it will be from within that number that our killer will have come from.’

  ‘Darlington voiced a similar concern when we last spoke, though he didn’t quite use the same words as you.’

  ‘Darlington knows Reedly well; does he think he’s straight?’

  ‘I think using terms such as straight or bent is too simplistic an answer, I mean it was a war in all but name, and the forces for good were under enormous pressure to gain any advantage,’ Harry said.

  ‘Granted,’ Vinnie said, adding, ‘ok, allowing for discretion on some of his judgements then when it came to writing a killing off as legit, or marking it up for investigation as a potential homicide. What does Darlington think?’

  ‘He thinks Reedly is a bit of an arrogant “wide-boy”, a “bullshitter”, but basically honest. So where are you going to get the “more info” from?’

  Vinnie iterated his earlier conversation with Christine, said he’d look her up tonight and hopefully he could get to see Paul Bury this evening, and see where that led. Harry agreed and said he’d be on his phone if Vinnie needed anything, though he wouldn’t be going home anytime soon. He had a meeting later with the super who was running the investigation into Carstair’s murder, together with the DCI from Manchester who was lead on the enquiry into the bombing at the cemetery at Blackley, where they would look for cross reference options. And then Darlington was expecting an update.

  Vinnie wished him luck and was glad he was only a detective inspector, and suggested they grab some food from the canteen while they could. Harry agreed.

  *

  It was just after six when Vinnie arrived back at his home where he had a quick wash and shave and changed his shirt before aiming to link up with Christine. He tried her mobile several times, but each time it went straight to voicemail; it was either one hell of a conversation, or her phone was switched off, which would be a first. Then he tried her home landline and that ran out to answer machine as well. But he noticed that after the ringtone stopped and before Christine’s personalised message kicked in there was a long musical interlude – several other messages. He wasn’t the only one trying to track her down. As far as he was aware she didn’t do the gym or anything like that which would explain her being incommunicado. He knew she had a sister, but didn’t know exactly where, not that a visit there would take her far away from her smart phone.

  Then he tried her office phone and was surprised, and relieved when her desk extension was answered. But the relief was short lived.

  ‘Newsroom, June Jackson here.’

  Vinnie recognised the name; it was Christine’s editor, though he’d never met her. He introduced himself and was pleasantly surprised to discover that June knew who he was. Christine had obviously talked about him. He had known her last editor from when they had worked together on Christine’s documentary about the hunt for Daniel Moxley, but that had been some time ago and June hadn’t been there too long.

  ‘I was hoping you might be able to tell me where Christine is?’ June said, adding, ‘she’s been gone hours. I’ve even tried the hospitals in case she’d been in an accident. I’m starting to worry.’

  Vinnie asked June what she knew and she gave him a brief rundown up until the point when she’d dashed out to meet her source, which Vinnie knew was Paul, but didn’t let on. ‘Have you tried ringing the source she was going to meet?’

  ‘I would if I had his number.’

  Things were obviously done very differently to the way the police would handle a source. He resisted the temptation to criticise. ‘What about her sister?’ he asked.

  ‘Never thought of that, Christine doesn’t tend to mention her much, but she might be on our HR files as next of kin, I know that neither of her parents are still alive.’

  Vinnie heard the phone receiver bang down on a desk and waited a couple of minutes before June came back on the line. She gave Vinnie both an address in central Manchester and a mobile contact number for Lesley, Christine’s sister, before passing her own number to Vinnie, and asked him to call her as soon as he had any news. She said she would do the same. He told her to leave it with him. He then tried Lesley’s mobile first; it was switched off. The address wasn’t too far away so he grabbed his Volvo keys and headed for the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Pain wasn’t possible in a dream, was it? Of all things that one could dream vividly, Christine was sure pain wasn’t one of them. The throbbing from the back of her head was breaking the reverie she was in, drawing her into a transition from sleep towards consciousness. She could hear her own breathing, loudly. It sounded rapid and shallow. It sounded internal. As if she was listening to her own inhalation and exhalations from within. The pain grew worse and jarred her back to being fully aware. She opened her eyes. Still blackness surrounded her. Terror shot though her at the not knowing of her environment. Alert and tense now, she tried to calm herself as she learned more as her eyesight adjusted.

  She could make out dark grey shapes, they were her legs. She was prone on one side, and her breath was bouncing off a hard object in front of her, explaining her earlier sensation. She felt her head, which was sore, and then reached out in front. The obstruction felt as if it was covered in carpet. She could hear a low constant droning noise beyond the carpet and all around her. She explored her space with her hands and realised she was totally enclosed. And the rumble, it was road noise. She realised she was in the boot of a car, but alive and relatively unhurt. She thought of Lesley, she hoped those two bastards hadn’t harmed her. She would be severely traumatised as it was.

&n
bsp; She heard muffled voices coming from beyond the carpeted partition in front of her. Not totally clear, but it was Quintel and Jason, she was certain of that. She cupped her hands around her forward facing ear as she strained to listen.

  ‘Why didn’t we just do her back there, Boss?’ Jason asked.

  ‘Two reasons; one, it would be easier to dispose of the body if we do her where we bury her,’ Quintel said.

  Dread coursed through Christine now at the realisation of her predicament. She no longer felt the pain at the back of her head, or acknowledged any discomfort from her physical incarceration. Dread and fear were tempered by the driven need to escape and flee. But why would these animals want her dead?

  Quintel continued, ‘And secondly, she mentioned Dempster. That made things personal. To her we are more than two random killers fulfilling a contract. She knows us, and I want to know how and why?’

  Contract? Christine thought. Had she heard correct? Who would want her dead? Ok, her documentary might flatten a few pints of Guinness for those concerned, but this was taking it a bit far. She wracked her brains to think of all those she had spoken to over the previous weeks whom she might have upset.

  ‘Any problems slotting her sister?’ Quintel asked.

  ‘Ah, I was meaning to tell you about that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was about to pull the trigger when I heard someone banging on the front door, and I mean banging.’

  ‘So?’ Quintel said.

  ‘Well, you were out back waiting in the motor, and it sounded like trouble. If anyone had come around the back you’d have been blocked in.’

  ‘You saying it was the filth at the door?’

  ‘Well, it didn’t sound like the postie, so I legged it. Wanted to get the motor out as quickly as poss.’

  ‘I thought you took off a bit smartish,’ Quintel said.

  Christine hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath until she exhaled loudly on hearing that Lesley was still alive, thank God.