Vengeance

by Price, Roger A

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Hi Christine, how did your filming go?’ Vinnie asked into his phone.

  ‘Straightforward enough, thanks.’

  ‘Are you in any rush to get back to Manchester?’

  ‘No, my editor wants me to keep covering Preston; though at some stage I need to get back to other work.’

  Vinnie’s interest in this secretive exposé Christine was working on was piqued, but he wouldn’t pry just yet, especially as he needed her help, his earlier idea was a goer now. ‘Look, do you fancy meeting up for a late lunch? I’ve got a proposition to put to you.’

  ‘O - Kay,’ she replied slowly, adding, ‘but remember the last time that happened you nearly ended up getting me killed.’

  The Moxley job, still fresh in Vinnie’s memory. ‘True, but what a scoop you got.’

  ‘That’s not fair; you mentioned the scoop word. Now, I’ve got to know.’

  Vinnie smiled as he gave Christine directions to a restaurant on the outskirts he’d noticed near the motorway junction when he’d first arrived.

  *

  Fifty minutes later, they had both eaten a club sandwich with fries, and Vinnie was enjoying relaxing in Christine’s company. Over lunch, he’d told her about Harry being stonewalled and him sending Vinnie out on his own agenda until they knew exactly what they were up against.

  ‘What, you mean like, corruption?’ Christine asked.

  ‘Could be, but I’m not sure it’s that, but there is certainly a hidden level to this,’ he answered. Vinnie then told her about his trip to the hire firm.

  ‘Bummer,’ she said.

  ‘Well, then my luck changed. One of the local criminal intelligence officers recognised the face and description, said he’s called Warren Dempster, a local petty thief who lives on one of the outer estates, not too far from the murder scene, though I don’t think that’s too relevant.’

  ‘He’s not Quintel or Jason then?’

  ‘No, too scrawny, and anyway he’s not an assassin. When he’s not robbing the locals of their DVDs he’s known for hanging around the big boys’ tent.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  “‘Delusions of his own self-worth” is how the intel officer put it. Apparently, he gets used by the serious villains as a gopher, though he apparently likes to think of himself as some kind of quartermaster, a Mr Fix-it.’

  ‘Ok, so where do I come in?’

  ‘Well, I could just go straight in and lock him up, but he’d no doubt just say he was paid to hire a car by some unknown shadowy figure, or even worse, just sit there and go “no comment” on interview. And we’d be no nearer Quintel or Jason, in fact they’d probably get tipped off that we’d pulled Dempster.’

  ‘What about the burglary, where the licence came from?

  ‘My, aren’t you the Miss Marple,’ Vinnie said, noticing a flash of red in Christine’s cheeks. He carried on, ‘Only kidding, no you’re right to some degree, he’d probably say he was given the licence by whoever had propped him to hire the motor, we’d charge him with burglary of course, but he’d probably only get done for handling. Hardly much of a threat.’

  ‘Ah, I see, so what do you want me to do?’

  Vinnie grinned, he’d remembered on the Moxley case they had gone on the knocker – door-to-door – and where he’d usually get told to fornicate with himself, it amazed him how much further Christine had got coming from the press angle. “Vanity interviewing” she’d called it, saying how everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame at some time. He reminded her of this and then added, ‘Seeing that this Dempster has such an ego, I thought if you went in with the investigative reporter angle, and say how you’d been pointed in his direction as he was known and respected as the local “go to man” he might slip up and come out with some intel we can use. We can always revert to plan A and lock him up later. What do you say?’

  ‘Sounds like fun. And can I use anything I get?’

  ‘When it’s safe to do so without compromising the investigative side of things.’

  Christine didn’t answer right away; Vinnie knew this was always a difficult point between the press and the police, each with very different agendas. He broke the impasse. ‘It worked well last time. Look at the scoop you got.’

  ‘There you go mentioning the S word again. Ok, I’m in but I’m not waiting until after some court case, Vinnie Palmer. If we get something we can use, then redact it if you must but I’ll need to give my editor something in the next twenty-four hours. I can always use the “unnamed local resident says” routine.’

  ‘Fair enough, but what’s with the “we” bit?’

  ‘Because if we are doing this, then you get to be my bitch. Sorry, I mean junior reporter.’

  A short time later Vinnie drove onto the council estate where Dempster’s last known address was. According to the intel officer, Dempster spent a lot of time in a Labour club which adjoined the estate. He told Christine he’d drive around to locate where the club was and Dempster’s address before they made an approach. Get a feel for the place, just in case this was a bad idea.

  The place had seen better days, but he’d certainly been in far rougher areas. He tried to remember to drive around at normal speed; cops’ natural default was to crawl around such streets, taking in all around them. It was probably what made them stand out as cops.

  Glancing up ahead he could see the rundown Labour Club, no doubt Dempster felt more at home there than he did at home. His sort usually did, probably had his own stool at the bar. The concrete fronted building looked the same age as the council estate it edged, probably built in the 60’s, when such estates were shooting up everywhere on the outskirts of towns and cities. Idiotic social engineering thinking of the time thought it was a good idea to house all the problem families on these estates among decent families who needed housing help. It was a disaster for those decent folk and for everyone else as towns and cities grew outward and eventually enveloped these estates.

  Vinnie knew from his early years as a foot patrol cop, just how problematic and deep rooted some of these problem families were, all shoved into the same streets. He guessed it was still the same; the only difference being that it would now be son, or grandson, of the people he used to deal with causing most of the problems. Do-gooders who claim criminals aren’t subjects of their environments are all talking rubbish. Sure there were exceptions to any rule, but it was mostly rubbish.

  ‘Let’s leave the club for now,’ Vinnie said. ‘It’ll be more difficult to pull off the scam in that environment.’

  ‘I’m glad you said that, look Vinnie, I’ve been thinking, as chivalrous as you no doubt are, and as much as I am looking forward to abusing you as my intern, it might be better if I approach Dempster alone.’

  Vinnie was about to argue when Christine carried on, ‘If it all comes to nothing, and you need to revert to a cop, it’s better for me that he’s taken me on face value. Not that I’m bothered, but it may save complications later.’

  Vinnie knew that she was probably right, but was concerned about her safety, probably more than he would normally be. He pulled up outside a rundown terraced property with a small overgrown front garden with an unusual centre display consisting of a faux leather three-seat sofa.

  ‘Here we are, look I’ll go with that, but I want you to have my number ready to text on your mobile, so that all you have to do is press send. That can be your signal that you need some help, and I’ll be straight in after you, agreed?’

  ‘Ok, James Bond, agreed.’

  ‘Exactly what are you going to tell him?’

  ‘Not sure until I open my gob,’ she said, before flashing her perfect teeth at him as she opened the car door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Vinnie couldn’t help admiring Christine’s legs as she strode confidently down the weed covered garden path and knocked on the front door. A couple of minutes later it was opened by a spotty white man in his late twenties with long, dark, unkempt hair. Vinnie imm
ediately recognised him as Dempster from the mugshot he’d seen in the nick. He also recognised him from the car rental company’s CCTV still photo. He was wearing the same stain riddled AC/DC T shirt. Idiot.

  Dempster opened the door wider and Christine disappeared inside. The door then closed. Vinnie glanced at the phone in his hand, and then weighed up the front door. It was half-glazed at the top, and the bottom half was made of wood with peeling red paint. It had black streaks within it which Vinnie was sure would be rot of some kind. He’d never known the difference between dry and wet rot. But rot was rot and a well-aimed fart would have that door off its hinges, he thought.

  He relaxed a little and looked at his watch. She’d been in there two minutes. He’d already agreed with himself that if she wasn’t out after ten, he’d ring her anyway to check up; he’d stand the bollocking she’d no doubt give him later. But he didn’t have to wait that long; at nine minutes the door reopened and Christine came back out.

  She got back in the passenger seat and said, ‘Let’s get out of here,’ as she searched her handbag for something.

  ‘Everything ok?

  ‘Yes, I’m just looking for my perfume to mask the scent of that smelly cretin.’

  Vinnie smiled as he drove off, but something caught his attention in the rear view mirror when they were about thirty metres away. It was Dempster leaving. He was walking away in the opposite direction so Vinnie pulled over and adjusted his door mirror angle so he could watch.

  ‘What is it?’ Christine said.

  ‘I don’t know what you said in there, but he’s just left, and I don’t believe in coincidences.’

  Christine quickly filled Vinnie in as he watched Dempster walk down the long road in the opposite direction. Apparently, he’d lapped up the “go to guy” routine and said he was “indeed the man to know on the estate” but he couldn’t help her as “he’d no idea how the fire had started, or who could have done it”.

  Then Christine had mentioned that for the right information there might be some cash in it.

  ‘How did that go in?’ Vinnie asked as he did a three point turn in the road. Dempster was a safe distance ahead of them now so Vinnie moved the car forward slowly, maintaining the gap.

  ‘He turned a bit then; his eyes lit up at first, but then he scowled and asked me if I was a cop?’

  ‘Obviously not an avid watcher of the regional news.’

  ‘Said he was no grass, if I was a cop. I tried to reassure him, but I’m not certain I did. I could see this moral dilemma raging behind his eyes – dosh versus being a grass – he eventually said, he might be able to find out but he “wasn’t sure that I wasn’t a cop”. So I left him, said I’d call back in a day or so.’

  Vinnie knew that Dempster was the type to grass up his own mother if he thought there was a tenner in it for him, but guessed the difference here was that he knew he was involved, albeit in a minor role, so if he grassed up Quintel and Jason it could no doubt rebound on him.

  ‘What do you think he’s doing?’

  Vinnie didn’t answer straight away as he watched Dempster near the T junction at the end of the road. On the right hand side, the corner was cut off by a triangle of grass, and in the middle of it was a phone box. ‘You must have touched a sore spot,’ he said as he started to accelerate.

  ‘How come?’ Christine asked.

  ‘He’s heading for that phone box.’

  ‘He could be ringing the police to see if I am a cop?’

  ‘He could do that from his mobile. There’s only one reason villains use phone boxes, and that’s to make dirty calls.’

  ‘What do we do now?’ Christine asked.

  ‘We have to stop him. How do you fancy confirming his fears?’

  ‘Suppose so.’

  Vinnie pulled up sharply by the kerb and got out as Dempster was opening the glass door to the phone box. He turned to face Vinnie. ‘A word, Warren?’

  ‘Who the fuck are you? Another reporter?’

  Vinnie told him and saw Dempster look over his shoulder towards the car.

  ‘Fucking knew it. Reporter, my arse.’

  ‘A word, Warren, that’s all, before you make any phone calls that may end your life.’

  ‘What the…,’ Dempster said, before he let the phone box door go, and started to walk towards Vinnie.

  ‘Not here, jump in the back seat, and we’ll go for a drive,’ Vinnie said, adding, ‘or else you are on your own when Jason comes after you.’ He knew he was taking a risk using Jason’s name, but by the look of fear in Dempster’s eyes, it had done the trick.

  ‘Five minutes,’ Dempster said, ‘but for fuck’s sake get me off the estate quickly.’

  As Vinnie approached the driver’s side he noticed that Christine had moved across and was now at the wheel. Nice one. He clambered into the front passenger seat and turned to face Dempster who was hunched down in the rear.

  ‘Where to? Christine asked.

  Dempster directed her off the estate and onto a major A road named Ribbleton Avenue. It headed east out of the city.

  ‘I knew you were no reporter, man,’ Dempster said.

  ‘You’re a smart lad, Warren, but look, we thought we’d try a covert approach, didn’t want your neighbours knowing you’d had the old bill at your door.’

  ‘I appreciate that, man.’

  Vinnie noted a change in Dempster’s tone and attitude, but wasn’t sure why. He knew Dempster had sorted out the transport for Quintel and Jason, but didn’t know if he actually knew anymore about what was going on, he’d have to tread carefully. ‘Look, I’m going to level with you. We know you sorted out the motors for Quintel and Jason.’

  ‘Says who?’ Dempster said.

  ‘Says this print out,’ Vinnie said as he showed Dempster the photo. ‘You’ve not even changed your T shirt.’ Vinnie could see the recognition register in Dempster’s eyes, even if it wasn’t really clear that it was him in the picture. That was the thing about seeing a photo of yourself; you always recognised yourself, even if it wasn’t clear to others.

  After a pause, Dempster said, ‘Look, Jason is a mean bastard, and he gave me no choice with the motors. Anyway, it’s not a crime to rent a car.’

  ‘It is with a knocked-off driving licence, especially one which has come from a burglary,’ Vinnie said.

  Dempster then made the obvious comments about being given the licence by Jason, but Vinnie pointed out that the use of the licence was still a crime.

  ‘Why haven’t you nicked me then?’

  ‘You’ll have to face that later; it’ll be either a minor fraud or Burglary, or both. Depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On how helpful I tell the CPS you’ve been.’

  ‘Look, I’ll stand a handling charge, because I honestly didn’t do the break – burglary – but I’m not having a poncy fraud.’

  Vinnie knew he had to be careful that he didn’t turn the conversation into an interview, which would be highly improper, with Dempster being the suspect. ‘Just tell us what you can about Quintel and Jason, and we’ll do what we can for you. It’s them we are interested in, not you.’

  ‘First up, I don’t know any Quintel geezer, only that mad bastard, Jason.’

  ‘Go on,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘Look mate, I’ve done what you’ve asked so far, can’t we call it quits?’

  Vinnie had no idea what he meant, and caught a quizzical sideways glance from Christine too.

  ‘You don’t know who I am, do you?’ Dempster said with a renewed confidence in his voice.

  Vinnie decided not to try to bluff him. ‘No, I don’t know what you’re saying.’

  ‘Fuck me, you lot, talk about left and right hands and all that shit.’

  Vinnie didn’t say anything, so Dempster carried on.

  ‘I’m the daft twat who introduced your undercover cop to Jason. The one that got barbequed.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Four hours later, and Vinnie had just taken the
head off a pint of lager in a boozer near his home in Stretford, Manchester, as Christine was returning from the Ladies. It was a quiet, traditional backstreet boozer which was presently quiet. Give it a couple of hours and it would start to get busy. They had dropped Dempster off and Christine had jumped out to pick up her own motor and cover Frank Delany’s teatime press update, before doing a short piece to camera for the evening news. This was the first time they had had any chance to talk.

  ‘Bet you weren’t expecting that little tester from Dempster, were you?’ she said as she sat down next to Vinnie.

  ‘Not in a million years.’

  ‘What does it mean? Apart from the fact that my scoop is getting even more scoopier.’

  Vinnie had been weighing this question up since he’d dropped her off. He knew that those who handled informants were always kept separate from any investigation teams, and for good reason. The firewall between the two worlds existed to provide security for those who acted as informants, and to provide scrutiny of their use without compromising the investigation team. As SIO on the ground, he knew that intelligence existed about Jason trying to hire a hitman, but not how it had been obtained. A snout was the obvious first thought, but it could just have easily come from a listening device, or even a phone tap, though now he knew where and from whom. Just knowing now gave him huge problems, and Dempster’s handlers would not be overjoyed to learn that their source had outed himself, and had become criminally involved by the hiring of the motors. The whole thing was turning iffy. ‘I’m not sure, is the short answer. But it’s bound to have an effect at any subsequent court proceedings against Quintel and Jason. We’ll have to show the judge everything in private, and he may allow the case to proceed, or he may not.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Well, first off, Dempster will have to be prosecuted for the offences he’s committed, but under the circumstances CPS may agree to just caution him.’