Vengeance

by Price, Roger A

  ‘It works both ways,’ Christine started, feeling the need to stand her corner, but without wanting to sound over-defensive; it reminded her of some of the chats she’d had with Vinnie. She continued, ‘In fact I currently have an excellent working relationship with a local detective inspector.’

  ‘I know you have, and if he’d have been a tosser, I wouldn’t be here,’ Bury said.

  Christine was a little taken aback by this, and wondered how far into her life Bury’s “background” had encroached.

  ‘Look, I can see the surprise in your eyes, but please take no offence, you have to realise that during the troubles I worked in SB – Special Branch – so I’m a bit of a covert policing specialist, you might say.’

  She smiled as she said, ‘Yes of course. Does all the sneaky-beaky stuff still go on?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s massively scaled down. After the peace agreement, the new chiefs wanted to leave the past behind and slashed some of the covert departments in both new forces. Most unit heads in the newly partitioned NIUCS – Northern Irish United Crime Squad - were past their retirement dates and encouraged to leave and enjoy the fruits of their efforts.’

  ‘Did the same happen in the PSNI – Police Service of Northern Ireland?’

  ‘Not sure, but it did in NIUCS, that’s for certain.’

  ‘And you think there was another agenda?’

  ‘Not at first; it made sense to downsize these units and as the officer in overall command of Specialist Operations at NIUCS I understood this. I even questioned my own tenure, but was told that I was needed to oversee the transition.’

  ‘Please go on.’

  ‘I soon started to feel side-lined. Decisions were being made on unit heads replacements, and I wasn’t being involved in the selection processes.’

  ‘That does sound strange. May I ask what religious persuasion you are?’

  ‘I’ve never been too persuaded by any religion, but technically I guess I’m a Protestant. And that is partly the issue. I noticed that all the unit head replacements were Catholic. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of these stanch secular types, I’m married to a Catholic lass, and at first welcomed the influx of Catholics at these new senior levels in this new force.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But, one or two of them seemed to have Republican leaning tendencies – forget the religion, that’s irrelevant to me.’

  ‘So, you think there is positive discrimination in favour of Catholics, some of whom are still Republican in their political affiliation.’

  ‘Without doubt. But it might go further than that,’ Bury said, with obvious caution in his voice.

  Christine didn’t pry straight away. She let the pause hang, hoping it would weigh on Bury. She smiled as sweetly as she could, but eventually broke the impasse herself. ‘As previously promised, anything you say to me is in confidence and you will have total control of the final edit. That said, I don’t want you to tell me something you are not comfortable with. Tell you what, why don’t I get a round in?’

  ‘You have to understand,’ Bury said, with a measured tone she hadn’t heard him use hitherto; ‘the units under my command were covert ones, undercover officers, touts, and suchlike. The access the heads of these specialist units had was total. And things started to go wrong.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ Christine said, trying to hide her excitement. This could be a whole new direction for the programme.

  ‘Without going into specifics at this stage, but for example, if an undercover investigation into a Republican sympathizer was suddenly compromised, what would you expect the outcome to be?’

  Christine hadn’t expected a question, so she considered it carefully before she answered. She knew the IRA had given up the armed struggle but she also knew others in the Republican camp had not. ‘I’m guessing, even during this new détente, that a compromised undercover officer would be in grave, if not mortal danger.’

  ‘Exactly. Not only were jobs going wrong at an unprecedented level, and notwithstanding that the causes of such failings were never clear, no officer, or tout, fell foul. Sure, we put measures in place afterwards, but in some of the instances the bad guys had had plenty of time for a little summary retribution before we pulled the assets out.’

  Christine wasn’t too sure where this now going, and said so.

  ‘It was as if some agreement had been reached. Someone at a senior level under my command was leaking information to scupper jobs, but on the understanding that no one got hurt. There, I’ve said it, so I have.’

  Christine watched as Bury sat back in his chair, and exhaled loudly. She gave him a moment before she replied. ‘Did you voice your concerns?’

  ‘That I did. And I was told that I was being paranoid and destructive. They virtually accused me of being a closet Unionist terrorist, said there was no place for me in the modern northern Irish police service, and if I didn’t go I’d be shipped off to London on some bollocks, never to return. So I went. I’d done my time so I retired.’

  ‘I’ve one question left,’ Christine said, edging into it slowly.

  ‘I know what you’re going to say and no, I have no evidence of this, but by God I will. You still on board?’

  This was turning into something else completely now, she couldn’t believe it. ‘Oh yes, Paul, am I. But we will need proof, proper proof, and we’ll no doubt have to tread carefully.’

  ‘That’s an understatement, so it is,’ Bury said, as he stood up and pulled the stinky overcoat on, before turning back to face her.

  ‘I’ll be in touch, but it may take a while. Give me a couple a minutes before you leave, and please say nothing of the latter part of our conversation to anyone, not your DI friend and not even your editor, until I have the proof. Just keep going as per your original story, then it’ll look no different.’

  ‘Sure, Paul.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise,’ Christine said.

  ‘Good, because my life might just depend on it,’ Bury said, before he turned and strode out the pub.

  Christine thought Bury looked a little taller as she watched him leave.

  She finished her wine in one swig. This could be huge, but she would tread carefully. Paul Bury seemed an intelligent and reasonable guy, he spoke lucidly with only a soft trace of accent, which was easy to listen to. And he was clearly no fool to have reached such a senior rank. But he could still be wrong. Years of suspicion and paranoia operating in such unprecedented circumstances such as Bury had been in would have affected the most rationale of minds. She couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors he’d seen or the personal pressures he’d experienced; all of which must have had some effect. But potentially, this could be massive. She’d keep her own counsel as promised. She then got up and headed into the main bar, which was getting busier. She needed more wine.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vinnie spent most of Friday helping Harry with the mundane admin involved in getting the HOLMES system fully functional, and all the initial actions issued and everyone out. Vinnie oversaw the setting up of the house-to-house enquiry team headed by a Lancashire DS called Graham something. He’d seemed a bit surprised when Vinnie had told him to leave the depository next to the crime scene off his list of addresses to be visited. He told him it was sensitive and he’d cover that omission in his policy log. He didn’t like raising flags within the enquiry team, but he wanted to keep his visit there under wraps for the moment.

  After lunch, Harry asked him to come with him as he attended a pre-arranged meeting with the Lancashire chief at the force headquarters at Hutton on the outskirts of Preston. Vinnie drove the six or seven miles to the HQ and asked Harry what to expect.

  ‘I’ve set up a fifteen minute meet with the chief, ostensibly for a quick update. We’ve got him from 2.15 pm to 2.30pm before he heads off to London for a meeting or conference or whatever,’ Harry answered.

  ‘And the real reason?’

  ‘Reedly was bullshitting me when I
spoke to him yesterday, and I want to know if the Lancashire chief is complicit, and if he’s not, what’s going on? You’re my witness.’

  ‘Witness to what?’

  ‘Witness to what’s said. I know we are Manchester officers, albeit on a regional unit, but the chief of Lancs has overall primacy on the whole investigation, as it’s happened in his area, and also because he’s still a chief constable. Make no mistake Vinnie, all the chiefs piss in a very private barrel.’

  Ten minutes later they had passed the security gate at the entrance and parked in the visitors’ bays at the front of the main headquarters building. Vinnie had been here many times before, but never to the top corridor. They were admitted and met by the chief inspector who acted as the chief’s staff officer. He recognised the insipid groveler from previous visits, usually to collect surveillance authorities and other high-level documents that had needed a signature from the top floor. Previously the staff officer had always taken pleasure in making Vinnie wait in reception, and then gone over the top at how lucky he was that the chief or his deputy had deigned to grant whatever authority they were after. And by the smug look on his face, he’d not changed any.

  ‘This way gentlemen, but you’ll have to be brief, the chief has a very busy schedule, and it’s my job—’ the staff officer started, and Vinnie couldn’t help but interrupt him.

  He wanted to end his sentence for him with “—to wipe his arse,” but managed to restrict himself to, ‘Still not got an operational role yet?’

  The staff officer didn’t answer, but gave Vinnie a hard look, and so did Harry a moment later as they were shown into an ante room.

  Ten minutes passed before Groveler showed them into the main office. Vinnie had wondered if they’d been left there on purpose, and was starting to regret his dig at the staff officer. The chief’s main office was a huge grand affair, with an enormous mahogany desk at one end and a table and six chairs in front of it. At the opposite end were four easy chairs situated around a coffee table. The chief of Lancs was an imposing man, over six feet tall and with a stocky but athletic build, short grey hair, and Vinnie reckoned he was in his late fifties. His name badge over his left breast shirt pocket bore the name CC Brian Darlington. He met them in the centre of the suite and directed them to the easy chairs.

  Salutations and introductions over the chief ushered his staff officer away, which gave Vinnie an inward smile.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t got longer with you, I’ve just come off the phone from the home sec whom I’m meeting later, and I have a train to catch with a car waiting outside. The home sec will be asking me how things are progressing, so an abridged update would be handy,’ the chief said.

  ‘Early days, sir, as you know, but DI Palmer here has a lead on the getaway vehicle, which we are following up covertly at the mo. I haven’t shared that with the rest of the enquiry team yet,’ Harry said.

  As agreed before they came in, Harry being the superintendent and SIO would do the talking. Vinnie was there just to listen unless asked a direct question.

  ‘That’ll do for now, and do keep me briefed on any significant developments, Harry, but why the cloak and dagger?’

  ‘Not too sure what we are dealing with, just yet, sir.’

  ‘Explain.’

  Harry paused before he continued, and given his concerns Vinnie wondered how far he would go.

  ‘Be quick,’ the chief added.

  ‘I think DCC Reedly is not telling us the whole background as to why he was targeted in the first case.’

  Vinnie saw the chief’s eyes narrow as his friendly face disappeared.

  ‘You accusing your force’s deputy of lying, superintendent?’

  ‘There may well be good operational reasons why certain background elements are sensitive, sir, that’s all. I’m not calling him a liar so please don’t take offence. And I do hope this conversation is in confidence.’

  ‘Rationale?’

  ‘The press related strategy to protect Charlie’s undercover status was not written by us, which would be usual, but came through your office, and displayed an element of pre-planning.’

  The chief appeared to consider what Harry had said for a moment before barking for his staff officer. Vinnie enjoyed watching the Groveler rush into the office, gushing with obsequious platitudes.

  ‘Who wrote the initial press strategy for Superintendent Delany?’ the chief asked.

  ‘It came from Mr Reedly’s office in Manchester, sir.’

  ‘And do we normally allow a neighbouring force to tell us how to do our job?’

  ‘No sir, but with it coming from Mr Reedly, I thought—’

  ‘No, you didn’t think; you should have run it past me first, now get out.’

  Vinnie absolutely loved this, and gave the Groveler his best sarcastic grin as he shuffled red-faced out of the office.

  Then the chief asked Harry to repeat what he had been told to say, which he did, and included the fact that the Home Office appointed pathologist had also been given instructions, by someone, prior to his examination of Charlie’s body. And although disinformation is normal in protecting sensitive elements such as the undercover status of Charlie, and the fact that he was investigating an on-going threat to Reedly, it was as if they were being led to ensure it was done properly.

  ‘This may be no more than Reedly’s office trying to ensure on-going protection for their DCC,’ the chief said.

  ‘True, sir, but when I spoke to him yesterday, I was, er I was…’

  ‘Spit it out, I’ve got a train to catch.’

  ‘Can I speak candidly, sir?’

  ‘I wish you would; and for the record, we don’t all dance around the maypole together, naked and holding hands.’

  Vinnie couldn’t suppress a laugh, until it was half out, but then quickly regained his composure.

  ‘He gave me the mushroom treatment.’

  Vinnie had no idea what that meant, but judging by the chief’s expression, he did.

  ‘Enough said, Harry,’ the chief started, his demeanour softer. ‘I’ll have a proper word with Jim Reedly tomorrow when I’m back from London. But this conversation stays between us, understand?’

  Vinnie and Harry both said “yes” in unison, and with that the chief showed them the door and barked at the Groveler to show them out. Vinnie didn’t say anything until they were driving away, towards the city. ‘What’s the mushroom treatment mean?’ he asked.

  ‘Being treated like a mushroom is an old cop expression; it means to be kept in the dark and fed shit.’

  This time Vinnie lost it properly and nearly crashed the car laughing. When the mirth subsided, he asked why Harry had decided to be so bold, a high risk strategy he’d have thought.

  ‘I was a bit unsure whether we could trust the chief, as we don’t know him, and because of his rank, but after we’d visited Charlie’s bereft parents the other night, he told me to not hesitate if I needed anything. To which I first assumed he meant resources, but then he added that if anyone gave me the mushroom treatment, I was to tell him.’

  ‘Ah,’ Vinnie said, ‘I understand why you used that phrase now.’

  ‘Yes, I’m not normally that emboldened when taking to a senior officer, but when he’d first mentioned it I had again assumed he was talking about anyone who was reluctant to assist us. It might be a regional homicide unit that we are now on, but we are still Greater Manchester officers operating in Lancashire Constabulary’s air space.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘He’s obviously a very shrewd man; it makes me wonder whether he suspected Reedly from the off.’

  ‘Well, we are in his hands now, Harry. I do hope we’ve made the right decision?

  ‘So do I Vinnie. If we both end up on the traffic department after this, we’ll know why.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was dark by the time Quintel and Jason checked into a new hotel. They picked one in Leyland, south of Preston, not too far from the motorway network. Handy fo
r getting about and they could pick up the local news in the aftermath of their work a short while earlier. That said, it would also be all over the national presses and media anyway, due to Carstair’s status as a retired home secretary, but they still had local things to attend to. Jason was taking a shower so Quintel took the opportunity to update the client. He dialled the number from memory and it only rang a few times before the barking voice of the client answered.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m fine thanks, how are you?’ Quintel said, instantly regretting his lack of professionalism.

  ‘Don’t be taking the piss. I’m not paying you to take the piss.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘There are plenty of boys who would love a crack at this, if I didn’t need unknowns.’

  ‘Sorry, again, long day. I’ve got an update for you—’ Quintel started to say.

  ‘Before you say any more, it’s now time we took more security measures. If you are going to tell me what I hope you are, it’s going to get very serious from now on.’

  ‘Ok, do you want me to sort out a draft folder?’

  Quintel knew the that client would want added security at some stage, and as unfortunate a disruption killing Charlie had been, he was just a nobody compared to Carstair. When this had been discussed previously, Quintel had suggested setting up an email account to which only they would have the password. Thereafter messages could be left in the draft email folder, where they could never be intercepted, as they were never actually sent. He’d used this method before and as long as you used publicly owned computers such as in cyber cafes, it was fool proof and left no footprints on privately owned equipment. When he’d suggested this, the client hadn’t appeared too interested. He hadn’t known why.

  ‘No, I’ve a better idea,’ the client said.

  ‘It’s no problem, all you’ll need is the password, which I’ll text you in parts.’

  ‘I’m not good with computers,’ the client said, adding, ‘and I struggle with these modern phones if I’m honest, technology moves too bastard fast. Look, here’s what we’ll do.’