Vengeance

by Price, Roger A

  Chapter Thirty-One

  ‘I didn’t really want to tell you all this over the phone, but as it’s getting late, I thought you’d want to know rather than wait until the morning,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘I’d rather not have heard all this at all, but yes, thanks,’ Harry replied.

  ‘If Reedly is right, at least the motive should open up new lines of enquiry.’

  ‘If he’s right. But potentially, yes. That said, the need for caution and a covert approach to this is all the more necessary now. Have you collected your sidearm?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, and two clips of ammo. I’ll be in the office early in the morning, if only to beat the traffic. Is there anything you want me to do before then?’

  ‘We’ll need to consider applying to court for an exhumation of Devers’ body, but I’ll get the original pathologist’s report faxed here first. My first task is to brief the chief constable; he will be pleased.’

  ‘I was thinking about paying Dempster a visit. I could do that tonight if you want?’ Vinnie said.

  ‘Leave it until the morning, Vinnie, he’ll more than likely be in his pit then and you may as well have an evening off while you can.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll be heading back to Manchester just as soon as I’ve been to see Darlington.’

  Vinnie didn’t envy his boss on that one. If Reedly was correct, finding Quintel and his thug mate would only be the start of it. He ended the call and went into his kitchen to grab a cold beer before returning to the lounge. He relaxed into his leather recliner before musing over events. He purposely hadn’t told Harry about Christine’s evening with Paul Bury. What she was doing was all about life in Northern Ireland now, many years post the peace agreement of ninety-nine - or the "Good Friday Agreement” as it was known as. Although Vinnie knew that the power-sharing agreements had been made in Belfast on Good Friday in 1998 between the UK and Irish governments, it wasn’t until December 1999 that they came into effect. What Reedly was suggesting was from many years before that.

  Vinnie made the short visit to his fridge and back before thinking about Paul Bury. He’s a man who traversed both these very different times, and it may be worth asking Christine to see if Bury could add anything that might prove helpful. He reminded himself of Reedly swearing him to secrecy, so he would have to give this one some thought first. Then his phone rang, and he couldn’t believe the timing when he saw who the caller was.

  *

  Quintel eased himself onto an easy chair with a beer from the mini-fridge, and took the top off it as Jason joined him. ‘We’ll have to get us some more of those things; I mean, how much fun was that?’

  ‘Well, we do have one left,’ Jason said, before taking a sip of his drink.

  ‘I know, but will your mate in Birmingham be able to supply us with a few more?’

  ‘We may have to leave it a while.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, when he sees the news about the cemetery he’ll probably not want to know us until the shit dies down. Just in case.’

  Quintel could understand that - the man was a pro and wouldn’t want anything connecting them in any way - for now, anyhow. He’d turned Sky News back on, but there were still no details of the casualties. ‘You’d have thought by now that some fucker would have leaked the details of Reedly’s death?’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry, Boss, there is no way that he could have survived the blast. Not from that distance.’

  Anger flashed through Quintel as he answered. ‘I’m not fucking worried, I just like things confirmed. Which is why I’m the boss. You’d be wise not to forget that, Jason.’

  Jason put both hands up in surrender, and Quintel accepted his tacit apology, before adding, ‘It’s not you who will have to speak to that annoying Irish twat.’

  Jason nodded, and Quintel’s phone vibrated and danced on the table in front of him. It was a text from the annoying Irish twat. He must have been watching the news.

  Twenty minutes later, Quintel had gone through the security protocols and was stood in a phone box near their city centre hotel whilst Jason kept the hire car’s engine running nearby. He rang the two halves of the number for the client’s “B” call box. It was answered after the first ring.

  ‘Did you get the fucker?’ the client asked.

  ‘Awaiting confirmation, but it’s academic; it was from point blank range, damn near,’ Quintel said.

  ‘I hope the fucker lived in agony for a bit first. Like the agony him and his kind made me live in; except mine lasted for twenty fucking years.’

  The client was off on one, it was time to intercept. ‘If only, but we had to make sure. We had one chance to get at him after last time, and you know what we had to do to make this happen.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ the client said, as his tone calmed. ‘I’m just thinking out loud, is all.’

  ‘As soon as we hear confirmation I’ll let you know, then we can discuss your next instructions,’ Quintel said.

  ‘On that, there might be a slight delay. The fooker is slippery and recent events will have made him more cautious.’

  Quintel had no idea what the client was saying. He didn’t even know who the target was. The man had been very circumspect on the details thus far. ‘Ok,’ he said, ‘just let us know when you want us.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve a nice little job for you in the meantime,’ the client added.

  Quintel recalled their previous conversation, when the figure of ten grand had been mentioned. ‘Is this the ten large job you mentioned earlier?’ Quintel knew it would be, but this was a good way to reaffirm the additional fee without being too crass. Only once that was confirmed would he be interested in whom.

  ‘It is, and it should be a piece of piss for you. Just someone getting in the way.’

  Quintel guessed it was an informant of some kind, so knew better that to treat it as “a piece of piss”. ‘Over on our side of the water?’ he asked.

  ‘Been both, but on your side at the mo,’ the client said, before he gave Quintel the details.

  Five minutes later, Quintel had all the information he needed. He ended the call and quickly briefed Jason during the short journey back to their hotel. It was mid-evening now and Jason suggested they stay out and grab some food. Quintel was hungry but wanted to lose the motor for the night, and needed to check back in their room first.

  Once back in the room, he quickly freshened up and took a leak before turning the TV news on for one last look before they headed out. “Breaking News: from the scene of the Manchester bombing” read the tickertape. He un-muted the sound as Jason emerged from the bathroom. The screen was filled by one of Sky’s senior news reporters, stood outside North Manchester General Hospital. “A casualty from the cemetery bombing has sadly died,” the news reporter said, adding, “and it has now been confirmed that the deceased is Jim Reedly, the deputy chief constable of Greater Manchester Police.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It was about ten-thirty and Vinnie was starting to think about his bed. He hadn’t rung Christine, as he needed more time to think about whether he should approach Bury or not. He’d still not heard from Jimmy, the retired undercover officer, and the film was nearly finished. He’d seen it before anyway so he switched his TV from the online source back to the normal digital TV. Then his phone rang and he saw that it was Jimmy, at last. He muted the telly and answered the call. ‘How’s retirement treating you? Or is it too hot on the Costa del Sol?’

  ‘Retirement? I wish, I’ve never been busier,’ Jimmy said, before going on to explain that he was now freelancing for the regional government who were keen to clear out all the Brit criminals living under the radar whilst being wanted back in the UK. Apparently, only the week before he’d been able to bubble one bloke from London who’d been on the run from the Met for twenty years. He’d been given bail prior to being sentenced for a string of armed robberies on cash-in-transit vans so fled to the Spanish sun and had been there ever since -
until he bumped into Jimmy.

  ‘You undercover operatives, you just can’t leave the buzz, can you?’ Vinnie said, smiling.

  ‘Easy money, and if it helps clear the turds off the beach? Win-win,’ Jimmy answered.

  Vinnie spent the next minute giving Jimmy a quick update as to his current situation before broaching the real reason for the contact. ‘Do you remember Paul Bury?’

  ‘I think he was a super when I knew him, he SIO-ed at least a couple of undercover jobs I did in Belfast back in the day.’

  ‘Straight?’

  ‘As far as I could tell. There were some over there who were as bent as a dog’s hind leg, but Bury wasn’t one of them. Don’t get me wrong, he could be as slippery as the next, and was very good at playing the “I’m only a simple country boy at heart” bullshit, which often disarmed folk. Especially the English. Why do you ask?’

  Vinnie took a deep breath and then told Jimmy. He trusted the guy and thought that if he understood the context it might illuminate his thought processes.

  ‘I see,’ Jimmy said, ‘that should make for a very interesting documentary when your reporter friend has finished, but she needs to be careful, there are still some dangerous players over there.’

  ‘Looks to me as if Bury is the one taking the risks?’ Vinnie said.

  ‘Yeah, but I’m sure he can look after himself is all I meant, your mate could find herself guilty by association.’

  It was a good point Jimmy had made, especially when Vinnie remembered Christine’s visit to The Blarney Stone. He thanked Jimmy and promised he’d make an effort to come and see him sometime soon. He was overdue a holiday and could think of nowhere nicer than a Spanish Costa at this time of year.

  He ended the call and was about to turn the TV off when he saw a “Breaking News” tickertape on the bottom of the screen. He un-muted the sound and turned the channel to Sky News. He sat down as he read of Reedly’s demise. He couldn’t believe it, how could he die from a sore arse? But then he wondered if blood poisoning had set in, or something like that? He remembered how he’d said one side was a mess. But it must have been fast acting; he’d seemed fine only a few hours ago.

  Vinnie spent the next ten minutes trying to get through to Harry Delany, but his phone seemed to be permanently engaged, which was understandable. And as it was gone eleven Vinnie gave up and left Harry a message to call back if he needed anything doing during the night. If not, Vinnie would see him early doors in the morning.

  *

  It had taken Vinnie a while to close his mind and allow the beer to induce sleep but it had eventually done so, and he’d awoken at five desperate for the loo and had stayed up. By 8 am he was arriving at Harry’s and his temporary office in Preston, having first spent a fruitless ten minutes with Dempster on his way in. The place was buzzing with activity and Harry was already sat at his desk; he may have been there all night for all Vinnie knew. He walked in and closed the door as Harry spoke.

  ‘How did you get on with Dempster?’

  The question took Vinnie by surprise; he wouldn’t have thought its answer was a priority given the news the previous evening. ‘Oh, er not so good,’ he stuttered at first, before adding, ‘the poor guy is proper shit-scared, and who can blame him, but I believe he’s had no further contact from Jason or Quintel. He wants them nicking as much as we do. Says he’ll bell me straight away if anything changes. Though he did add that it had been in the local news about the milkman - Devers’ - death, mainly because it was common local knowledge that he was related to Jim Reedly.’

  ‘So any shithead on Quintel’s payroll could have fed the details to him, and they just plotted up the cemetery and got lucky?’ Harry said.

  ‘Looking that way, and if it was an opportunist thing, then the circs of Devers’ death could be straight?’ Vinnie added.

  ‘We’ll have to think about that one, applying for an exhumation order is not a step to be taken lightly, and no judge will grant one without good cause.’

  Vinnie knew all this and was getting frustrated. He was about to ask Harry about Reedly when Harry continued.

  ‘The Army have a large barracks in Fulwood, north Preston, which is the North West headquarters to the 42nd Infantry Brigade, among others. It also has a Royal Military Police base there and an SIB – Special Investigations Branch – office within it.’

  Vinnie nodded, he knew that the SIB was the Army’s equivalent to the CID – their detectives.

  ‘The local CID here have a good relationship with the SIB and often have game nights with them in the Warrant Officers’ mess.’

  ‘Game nights?’ Vinnie asked.

  ‘Don’t ask; it involves such sports as beer draughts and bar-diving.’

  Vinnie had seen bar-diving done, it was where a drunk would dive from a bar as far as he could reach, hoping the two rows of mates in front would catch him. Whoever dived the furthest, won. He’d seen it done many times in Rugby club bars, though he’d never been tempted to try it. But he’d never heard of “Beer Draughts”, and asked Harry to explain.

  ‘Apparently, it involves two teams of six and a giant chess board. The counters are made up of half-pints of lager and dark ale, and if you get jumped, huffed or whatever they call it, one member of the huffed team has to down that beer in one.’

  ‘Sounds like fun,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘Anyway the locals have set up a meet for you and me to see one of the SIB’s commanding officers. Now we know Jason and Quintel have access to hand-grenades for God’s sake, they must have some military connections. I’ve already emailed the details of both of them as we know it, and the CO has promised cross-referenced checks before we arrive, so when you’re ready.’

  Vinnie was impressed and said, ‘No probs, Harry, sounds like a good line of enquiry, but shouldn’t we be discussing something else first?’

  ‘Like what?’ Harry asked as he rose from his desk.

  ‘The death of Jim Reedly, for one?’

  ‘Oh damn, I forgot to ring you back last night, sorry, it got late, my phone never stopped,’ Harry said.

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘I’ve had to direct all enquiries via a prepared statement being handled by the chief’s office, but that doesn’t stop the local press who have my number hounding me. In fact I’m surprised your mate Christine Jones hasn’t been on the blower, or has she?’

  Harry had made a good point, he’d not heard from Christine, which was strange in itself, and he told Harry as such.

  ‘We’ll have to decide what to tell her when she does make contact,’ Harry said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Vinnie asked.

  ‘Sorry again, Vinnie, I keep forgetting I’ve not told you yet. Come on, I’ll explain en route to the barracks.’

  ‘Explain what exactly?’

  ‘Reedly’s not dead. It’s just a ruse to protect him from further attempts on his life. It was Darlington’s idea, neat eh? Anyway, come on, Major Crompton is waiting for us.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  As Vinnie drove his Volvo, Harry brought him up to date. Reedly had been moved to a military hospital while his bottom recovered and would then be taken to a police safe house. It was a good plan to keep him safe, apart from the fact that the press was descending on them. Darlington had said that the ruse would only buy them so much time before the story would start to unravel. The funeral would be expected to occur within ten days at the latest, and neither he nor Harry had any idea how to blag that one. It would have to involve too many people and be unmanageable. As it was, Reedly’s family had to be brought into the plan, and it would no doubt leak out from there at some stage.

  ‘We all trust one person implicitly,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘Exactly,’ Harry replied.

  Vinnie knew it was a principle of intelligence operations that each person trusted at least one person with their life, knowing that they could tell that person anything. That person would also trust at least one person implicitly; but often it was a di
fferent person, and so it went. Vinnie had always found senior officers the worst offenders; they thought rank meant they should know everything. Vinnie had got himself in the soft stuff many times as a junior detective when he’d refused to tell a boss something which he actually didn’t need to know. Need to know was based on need, not rank. Or “need to know, not nice to know” as he’d often said.

  ‘Who’s got the job of dealing with the press?’ Vinnie asked.

  ‘The chief’s bum wiper – Russell Sharpe,’ Harry answered.

  They both laughed as Vinnie imagined the chief inspector being hounded over the next few days.

  ‘Or to quote the chief “Sharpe can do it, he’s got nothing else to do”.’

  They both laughed again, and then Vinnie iterated what Reedly had said to him about the possible motive coming from his work in Ulster during the nineties. He also told Harry about Christine’s enquires and the ex-cop Bury who was feeding her.

  ‘That’s very interesting,’ Harry said.

  ‘I know, and if Reedly is correct in his guess regarding motive, I was wondering if you would sanction me setting up a meet with Bury through Christine? His historical knowledge might help to confirm or deny Reedly’s suggestion.’

  ‘Is he safe to talk too?’

  Vinnie said that he was and explained Jimmy’s phone call from the Costa del Sol.

  ‘Ok, but only tell him the least you have to, and only that, if you are 100 percent happy with him.’

  Vinnie nodded as he swung his car from the busy, but oddly named Watling Street Road, into the private entrance to the barracks, which had a guardhouse and closed gate. A soldier approached and as Harry spoke to him through his passenger window, Vinnie’s phone rang. It was Christine. ‘Can’t speak for long,’ he whispered as he took the call.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Reedly?’ Christine asked.

  ‘Look, it’s not what you think, I’m going to have to go,’ Vinnie said as he watched the soldier return to his post and start to raise the barrier, ‘I’ll ring you later, promise, in fact I’ll need to see you.’