‘Go on.’
‘He just knows of you and he is after picking your brain about something that allegedly went on in the Province back in the nineties, an overview, that’s all.’
‘They were certainly busy times back then, but why is he asking now?’
Now that she had Paul’s tacit agreement about seeing Vinnie, she didn’t want to explain too much, not that she knew it all, but she’d let Vinnie explain it face to face. She knew she had to say enough to keep Paul’s interest, so just said, ‘Oh it’s something to do with a murder or attempted murder or something.’
She could see that she’d piqued his attention.
‘Aye, right you are then, you may as well bring him here when it suits. Can I drop you off anywhere?’
Brilliant, Christine was chuffed, and she knew Vinnie would be pleased. She thanked Paul and said she’d love a lift back into the city centre, save her a cab fare, and they both got up to leave.
*
‘There the fucker is,’ Quintel said, squinting against the late afternoon sun refracting through the car’s windscreen.
‘Got it, but there’s two of them now.’
‘Just don’t lose the fucker this time. As soon as they split, it’ll be game on,’ Quintel said as he slid further down the front passenger seat and Jason started the hire car’s engine.
Chapter Thirty-Five
As soon as they left the pub Paul accelerated severely and took a series of left and right turns before braking hard to a stop and turning around to stare out of the rear window.
‘What was all that about?’ Christine asked as soon as they pulled up. She’d spent the last couple of minutes hanging onto the grab rail above the passenger door so as not to end up in Paul’s lap.
‘I thought we were followed away from the pub?’
‘You could have warned me, or were you trying to get me on your knee?’
Paul smiled before he answered, ‘Sorry, I just clicked into counter surveillance mode. But the thing is I felt like I was followed away from the hotel on my way to meet you. That was the real reason why I was a bit late.’
‘And were we being followed?’ Christine asked, as she too looked over her shoulder.
‘When, before or now?
‘Either,’ she said.
‘It doesn’t look like it. The car I suspected of having followed us away from the pub looked like the same one I saw earlier. Same make, model and colour, but I didn’t get a look at the registered number, so can’t be sure - and it’s obviously not behind us now.’
He turned to face Christine and the look on her face must have displayed what she was feeling.
‘Look, sorry to scare you, it was probably nothing, it’s easy to get paranoid in my old job, and I’m a bit rusty and a bit jumpy too, if truth be known.’
‘Sure?’ she asked.
‘Sure, please ignore it.’
It took a further twenty minutes before they were nearing the centre, and Christine’s nerves had settled by then. Her phone alerted her of a text message from her sister Lesley. She had a separate ringtone for both calls and texts from Lesley, as she knew she had her problems, and never wanted to miss a call from her. Lesley was five years older than Christine, divorced and lived in a modern flat near to Piccadilly Gardens in central Manchester, it was where she’d called in on her way to the pub earlier. They weren’t too close, but she knew Lesley sometimes suffered from bouts of depression and Christine was her crutch when needed. She was surprised to hear from her so soon though; she’d seemed fine when she’d left her. Which didn’t bode well.
Lesley wasn’t a morning person and was between jobs, which Christine knew so she sometimes popped in on her way to work, which didn’t always go down too well, but at least she knew she’d be in. So, today she had taken the opportunity to pop in for a brew on her way to meet Paul. They rarely found enough time for each other as it was, and Christine felt guilty that she only saw her sister mainly when things were not too good. And to be honest, it was that biased view of only seeing her when she was down that probably kept her away at other times. Since she’d started popping in during the “tits down times” as Lesley called it, they had grown a little closer. Christine had made a note to self, that even when Lesley started work again, they should both make more time for each other.
What really surprised her though about receiving the text, was not just the fact that she’d only seen her that morning, but that she’d been on a total upper at the time, as she’d received a letter inviting her for a job interview at a city centre ladies outfitters, just what she was good at; talking about clothes and selling them.
Christine opened up the message which just read “need to see you, urgent, can you come round ASAP”. Christine tried to ring Lesley, but her phone just rang out.
‘You look tense, everything alright?’ Paul asked.
‘It’s just my sister, probably nothing, she’s got a job interview tomorrow and is no doubt getting stressed,’ Christine said as she looked out the window to see where they were. ‘Look, Paul, her flat’s near here, can you drop me if I direct you. It’s close to Minshull Street Crown Court.’
‘Is there a car park near there?’
‘Yes, at the side of the court, which is round the corner, why?
‘Well, I could do with some fresh gear as I’ve been over here a little longer than I’d originally planned. If you direct me to the car park, will that do? Or do you want me to take you straight to her flat first?’
‘No, it can’t be anything too serious, I only saw her for a brew on my way to see you. I’ll show you where the car park is. It’ll only be a couple of minutes’ walk for me from there.’
*
‘I can’t fucking believe you lost the bastard again. I thought you were a surveillance expert?’ Quintel said.
‘I was, six years ago, but we are just one car. In the Army we could have ten cars and two bikes just in one surveillance team,’ Jason said.
‘I know, I know, and the car did shoot off like a boy racer was driving it. Take us back to where we found the twat earlier.’
‘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 then 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 killin
gs.’
‘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.
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