He’d just had an interesting visit to the address off Central Drive where Jason and he had called at a few days earlier. This time the cocky little shithead couldn’t do enough to help – especially given that currently he only had one good hand - he gave Quintel a boxed unfired Glock 17 pistol and loads of ammunition for free. Quintel said he wouldn’t be bothering him again and he’d seemed relieved. The gun had come with two barrels; one of which had been cut at the end with a dye so a silencer could be screwed onto it. Or flash eliminator, as Jason would have called it. The cocky twerp had also thrown in a used silencer which fit.
Quintel tried the composite pieces out and found it remarkably easy to change the barrels and then fit the silencer. He had never used a silencer before but understood why they were called Flash Eliminators when he tried it out before he left. The flash was totally eliminated, as was the annoying cocky twat, whom neither he nor anyone else would ever be bothered by again.
Now it was time to find a hotel before it became too late. He didn’t fancy sleeping in the motor.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Vinnie had just about started to feel warm again by the time he and Harry had finished writing their witness statements covering the day’s events. It may be springtime but the temperature could still vary massively from one day to the next, especially as night time came. Harry had finished his deposition first and made a welcome brew. Vinnie finished his and sat back to take a sip.
‘I still can’t work out how or why Quintel and Jason came after Christine?’ Harry said.
‘I’ve been thinking about that too. At first I wondered whether it was something to do with the exposé she’d been working on, but I don’t see how?’
‘What was that again, exactly?’
Vinnie then briefed Harry as fully as he could.
‘Well, if she did piss someone off suggesting the Catholic Republicans are getting more than their fair share of the peace cake; one, it’s a bit extreme taking out a reporter, which you would think would only highlight the issue; and two, one hell of a coincidence that the disgruntled ex-IRA member concerned would hire Quintel and Jason to do it. Apart from anything else, they’ve got plenty of their own assassins or ex-assassins to use.’
‘Exactly, and you know I don’t believe in coincidences.’
‘Or fairies, I know. So what then?’
‘Dempster perhaps?’
Vinnie then told Harry how he’d asked Christine to do a random call on his behalf soon after Charlie had been murdered, and how they had discovered that Dempster had been the snout that introduced Charlie to Quintel and Jason.’
‘Still doesn’t add up,’ Harry said.
‘Nor to me. Look, I never got the chance to speak to Christine’s source, nor Christine for that matter. I’ll nip up and see her at the Royal Preston Hospital, give her this spare phone,’ Vinnie said, removing an old Nokia from the desktop charger in front of him, adding, ‘Have a quick chat and get Paul Bury’s number from her.’
Harry looked at his watch, which prompted Vinnie to do the same; 10.05 pm.
‘I’d come with you, but it’s getting late and Darlington is waiting in his office to see me, so give her my best and keep me updated,’ Harry said.
Vinnie said he’d ring him later, unless it got too late, and reached for his Volvo keys on his desk.
It only took ten minutes at this time of day to reach the vast hospital at the northern end of the city, and once he’d shown his warrant card he was soon walking down the main corridor of ward twenty. It was designed with bays containing four beds in each and he found Christine sat up by a window. She’d just finished using the trolley telephone and smiled as he approached. He sat down next to her bed and she spoke first.
‘What, no kiss this time? It was the sand musk thing after all.’
Vinnie stood up and kissed her gently on her cheek. ‘Better?’
‘I was only kidding, but if it works?’
Vinnie asked her how she was, and she told him she should be released the following day. X-rays confirmed no fractures, just a small scalp wound, which they’d fixed with butterfly stitches, and a nice bump; but the painkillers were doing their job. ‘It’ll be a while before I can visit the hairdresser again though,’ she added with a smile.
Vinnie gave her his spare phone and she thanked him. Her phone was in a million pieces back at Lesley’s. He told her that he’d given Lesley a quick call as soon as he’d reached the office in Preston, and Christine thanked him, saying she’d just spoken to her and she seemed remarkably ok. Vinnie looked around and even though all the occupants of the other three beds seemed asleep he suggested they should talk some more in the day room.
As expected it was empty, and Christine told Vinnie all that had been asked of her, and thought it must be something to do with Dempster. He told her that they’d checked Dempster’s address on their way back to the nick, just in case, though it would probably be the last place Quintel would go. ‘And if he had, I’m confident Dempster would have belled me,’ Vinnie said.
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing. The house was all in darkness and there was no answer at the door. A neighbour confirmed he was out, had been all evening.
‘But I’ve had another thought, a darker one; what if it is to do with the feature you are working on? I mean, how sure are you about your source, Paul Bury?’
‘It would be a bit of a—’ Christine started to say.
‘Coincidence, I know,’ Vinnie said, finishing off the sentence.
‘And don’t forget, Quintel did ask me why I’d mentioned Dempster’s name?’
‘You may have just hit a nerve when you used his name, but in the absence of anything to the contrary, I think you’re right, so the threat’s over. But just to be on the safe side, why don’t we keep you under the radar?
‘Without getting too elaborate, we could keep you out of the public eye and put out a press release saying a body has been found where you were…,’ Vinnie said, not wanting to use the word “buried”.
‘It’s ok, you can say it. No, I’m cool with that; in fact you don’t have to say anything straight away.’
‘True; it can take us a couple of days to “find you”,’ Vinnie said, adding, ‘and even then we can say that the body is unidentified. Should buy us plenty of time to make sure the threat is over and that it was all Dempster related.’
Strategy agreed, Vinnie asked Christine for Bury’s phone number, which thankfully she’d noted down in her diary. She told him that Bury had agreed to meet Vinnie so a call from him shouldn’t spook him.
‘What if he asks about me?’ she added.
‘I’ll say I can’t reach you, use that as a need to see him urgently. But first I think we both need a good night’s sleep.’
Vinnie walked Christine back to her bed but stopped her while they were still alone, in the corridor.
‘What’s up?’ she asked.
So he told her. He was wracked with guilt that this horrendous ordeal which she and Lesley had been through was all because he’d asked her to knock on Dempster’s door. He said he would never forgive himself.
Typical Christine, she said that they couldn’t possibly have guessed these unintended consequences, even if there was a link. And in any event, it all ended ok thanks to Vinnie; so he’d made good by any fault he was wrongly feeling.
He smiled, and thanked her for her words. He then felt a deep connection between them in the short pause that followed, but then broke it by saying that she should ring him as soon as she was discharged and he’d come and get her. He’d ring Paul Bury in the morning and hopefully set a meet for the afternoon. He pecked her other cheek, and said, ‘Don’t worry, Christine, I promise you I’ll catch Quintel.’
‘We’ll catch Quintel together. I’m signed up all the way after what he did.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
Quintel checked the regional news channels over his fried breakfast, but they weren’t giving much away. Spoke o
f a fatal shooting the night before, of a suspect who had already opened fire on a police officer. The chief constable of Lancashire, Brian Darlington, had said that the incident had been automatically referred to the Independent Police Complaints Commission to investigate. There would be a full press conference at twelve noon. There was no mention of finding the kidnapped TV reporter. Jason must have buried her well, bless him. In fact the bulletin he watched had made no link between the two incidents, which the recovered motor would no doubt provide. The filth were obviously keeping that little gem back for now. He could understand why, though. If they mentioned that the recovered car was the one believed used in the earlier kidnapping of one of the media’s own, they’d be ragging Darlington non-stop.
Quintel smiled. There was a chance that plod wouldn’t find her body at all. They might know the car was the one used, but they had no one to ask about it. It was probably as well that Jason hadn’t survived.
After breakfast, Quintel went shopping in Blackpool and bought a holdall and some fresh clothes, the sooner he could get out of Dempster’s favourite tin foil suit, the better. He’d already drawn too many sideway glances since booking into this four star hotel in Blackpool’s South Shore district. Clothes sorted, he soon found a car wash place and had the motor cleaned up, the smell of Scandinavian Pine effectively masked the musk of whichever dirty bastard Dempster borrowed it from.
He then hit the M55 motorway which led to the M6 and then to the M61where he headed south towards Manchester until he came off at the Bolton West services. He had to walk over the bridge to the northbound side to retrieve the hand grenade Jason had stashed behind a tree the previous day. He was glad he’d got Jason to show him, in case they ever became split up; he was always thinking.
He was then going to head back to Blackpool, when he had a change of mind. He couldn’t do anything until the client told him who the main target was, so he had a better idea. He’d head to Birmingham and go and see Jason’s ex-army mate. He didn’t have his phone number but felt sure he could remember how to get to the house. He’d met him with Jason, so there shouldn’t be any problems. He fancied a further grenade and could do with a back-up gun. The only one worth having from the cocky twat he’d seen in Blackpool was now under the spare wheel in the boot of the Nissan.
It was late afternoon before Quintel arrived back at his hotel, all sorted. The Birmingham man had asked where Jason was, and Quintel wasn’t sure he quite believed the load of fanny he’d given him as an excuse, but he’d still sorted him out.
He was now the proud owner of a second grenade, and a second Glock, and loads of ammo. He’d leave all the hardware in the boot of the car, safe in the knowledge that no one would want to nick that shit heap. But to be on the safe side he parked it on the hotel car park under a lamppost, where he could see it from his room. Then he headed to the hotel bar.
Three beers later and the client was texting him. Quintel had noticed a pay phone booth in the hotel lobby, so texted the details to the client, who told him to ring ‘A’. The client picked up on the first ring.
‘Did you get your logistics sorted today?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, all good, including some extra help,’ Quintel said.
‘Extra help? Who the fook are you involving now?’
‘No one. I mean extra-hardware type-help. But why would it matter who or how many people I use?
‘Where are you?’
‘Why?’ Quintel asked without answering, the client was seriously trying his patience.
‘‘Cause you sound like you’re in a public place.’
‘That’s where public phones are,’ Quintel said, no longer being able to resist some sarcasm.
‘Nar, you clever twat, I mean I can hear a lot of background noise.’
Quintel explained where he was.
‘Right, well, be careful you’re not overheard.’
Quintel opened his mouth to answer, but thought better of it so said nothing.
‘You still there?’
‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘It’s good you’re fully tooled up, it’ll help.’
‘You didn’t answer my question about why it would matter who I use, if anyone, to complete the contract,’ Quintel said.
‘And you never answered my question.’
Whether it was the three bottles of lager, Quintel couldn’t be sure, but this bloke was really getting on his tits tonight. He dug deep, sighed, and answered. ‘I’m not in anyone’s earshot.’
‘Good, now don’t repeat what I say. My name is Bobby McKnowle.’
He said it in an arrogant way. Quintel wasn’t sure if it was supposed to mean anything, or was just another example of the client’s general big-headed attitude, so he just said, ‘Ok.’
‘And the reason you don’t need any more staff is because I’m going to come over and take Jason’s place, so I am.’
Quintel hadn’t seen this coming, the last thing he needed was this ranting hothead getting in the way. As best as he could, he tried – without losing his rag – to talk McKnowle out of it, while stuffing the last of his one-pound coins into the slot. He reminded McKnowle that by coming over he was putting himself on offer, after all that was the whole point in hiring Quintel in the first place.
‘I know you are right,’ McKnowle said.
This admission took Quintel by surprise; he wasn’t used to him backing down so quickly. Actually, he’d not known him to back down at all. But his elation was short lived.
‘But I won’t get in the way, and I still want you to do the business. But with your man being out it gives me an opportunity to join you. I know I’m taking a risk, but if you’d any idea how much and over how long that bastard has made me suffer, you wouldn’t begrudge me this. And if it’s the money you’re worried about, don’t.’
Quintel had to admit the thought of being back to 50K had flown through his mind, ‘It’s not that,’ he lied.
‘You can have it all, and I’ll not be taking issue over the reporter with you, so that’s 110 large, and I’ll throw in a bonus,’ McKnowle said.
Quintel had to admit the figures were stacking up nicely, but the thought of McKnowle chewing his arse wasn’t a nice one. Then he sighed again, one of resignation this time. ‘Ok, you’re the boss, but we do it my way?’
‘Absolutely, I’ll only help. You’re the man, I just want to watch if I’m honest,’ McKnowle said, before telling Quintel that he’d text him his flight details later, he’d need picking up from the airport the following day.
Call over and Quintel headed back towards the bar. He wasn’t quite sure why McKnowle had revealed his name over the phone. If he wanted him to know it, he could have waited until they were face to face. In fact, why tell him at all; an unnecessary risk. There must be a reason but he’d no idea what?
He churned the name over and over in his mind. It didn’t mean anything, but there was a nagging familiarity to it.
Chapter Forty-Nine
It was late by the time Vinnie had arrived home, and he was starting to feel pretty jaded. All he wanted to do was shovel a microwaved TV dinner down his neck together with a couple of bottles of that French lager he liked, and then hit the sack, but he knew he should give Harry a quick ring first.
He waited until he’d eaten and then put a quick call into his boss. He propped Harry with the suggestion about keeping Christine under the radar for a few days, supported by the disinformation he’d discussed with her at the hospital. Harry was up for it and said he’d get on it tomorrow. The chief’s office was going to release a brief statement early on with a full press conference due at noon. The timing would work well and Harry would personally attend the briefing to support Darlington.
The call over, Vinnie considered another bottle of lager as his mind was still racing, but as active as it was, the heavy blanket of fatigue was starting to win the battle. He headed for his bed and once there, he laid musing, not so much about the events of the day, as dramatic as they had been, but mor
e on the shock he’d felt at the depth of his feelings towards Christine. They were certainly becoming more entrenched than he would have otherwise admitted to himself. He fancied her, yes, but this was something stronger. He then thought about his estranged wife, also called Lesley, from whom he’d soon be divorced. It was after the race against time to recapture the escaped killer Daniel Moxley that had brought things to a head. It had been true to say that they’d had problems before that job exposed the depth of them, and as much as he had loved her, what she had done was unforgiveable. But that was in the past. Mentally, he had moved on, though it might take a while before he could talk to, or use another Lesley’s name without first thinking of his ex-wife.
When all this was over, he would make a serious play for Christine. He hadn’t expected to feel like this about anyone, not for a long time, but the thought of nearly losing her had certainly crystallised his feelings towards her. Plus, she loved the Blues.
*
Vinnie woke up feeling mentally refreshed but still physically tired, though he wasn’t sure why that should be; bar some frantic digging he hadn’t done much exercise the previous day, though emotive strain always seemed to knock him sideways a bit, physically. That would be it. He’d be fine after two cups of coffee.
Thirty minutes later, he tried ringing Paul Bury. It just rang straight to answer machine. He didn’t leave a message. He then treated himself to a rare breakfast of toast and marmalade and tried the number again. This time it rang out – it was turned on – but eventually rang to the answer machine nonetheless. He left a message, but was careful. ‘This is the person who you agreed to meet via a mutual friend. We have a shared past, though mine is still active, please call back, I’ll be by my phone.’
That should do, it would tell Bury who he was but mean nothing to anyone else who might listen to it. He didn’t have to wait long for a call back.
The Badge & the Pen Thrillers Page 46
