Particular Stupidities (The Romney And Marsh Files Book 5)

by Oliver Tidy

  As Marsh was wondering what on earth that confusing statement was supposed to mean she noted a hint of puzzlement touch the features of Spicer and Grimes.

  Romney continued, ‘Turns out that Fower’s sortie up to Chatham provided us with an opportunity to acquire some excellent intelligence.’

  ‘What wash Fower doing up there on hish own, guv?’ said Grimes. ‘Shurely it washn’t work.’

  Romney shook his head like a proud father who’d just watched his favourite, fearless son try a difficult trick on his BMX for the tenth time only to come the inevitable cropper once again. ‘Misguided initiative. He got caught up with us in Chatham yesterday. Became aware of a few things. Thought he’d try and help out in his own time, atone for his mistakes of earlier in the day. Foolish, but you’ve got to admire his spirit.’

  ‘Bloody shchupid, if you ashk me,’ said Grimes. ‘Shoundsh like he could have goch himshelf killed.’

  ‘Well, it’s done now, said Romney, looking a little uncomfortable. ‘He’ll learn. Back to what I was saying: as a direct result of his actions we now have information that could help us with a couple of open investigations. Maybe even bring them to satisfactory conclusions.’

  ‘Which onesh?’ said Grimes.

  ‘Lance Leavey’s death and concealment, and the lead thefts from the churches. And if things go as well as they could we might also have the opportunity to feel the collars of a couple of disreputable scrap metal traders on our patch and bring a gang of violent youths to book for the attack on Fower.’

  ‘Lanshe Leavey’sh death and the lead thefsh are welached?’ said Grimes.

  ‘Thought you’d be pleased to hear I’ve made a breakthough in your investigation,’ said Romney.

  ‘How?’ said Grimes. ‘How are they welached?’

  Romney outlined what he’d learned about Lance being part of the gang that stripped church roofs of their metallic assets. ‘I want to nick everyone involved in everything,’ said Romney. ‘Including the Holloways. Bearing in mind what Lance was part of and where his body was found, they must have something to do with how it got there.’

  Grimes said, ‘But you weren’t chold that they have ash a matter of fach?’

  ‘No, but you don’t have to be a member of Mensa to make the connection that’s staring us in the face.’

  ‘But they reported finding the body, guv,’ said Spicer.

  Romney was becoming a little exasperated in the face of his team’s reluctance to go with his flow. ‘And as I said to Elvis, it wouldn’t be the first time someone with a body to get rid of has tried an audacious double bluff on the police. Cheeky bastards.’

  ‘So what are you proposing?’ said Marsh.

  ‘I’m proposing that the redder their hands are when we come down on them the more chance we’ve got of getting individuals with fragile loyalties and sensitive dispositions to squeal on each other once we get to work on them in separate rooms. That’s something else that’s worked for us before, if you remember.’

  ‘So what are you proposing?’ repeated Marsh.

  ‘We let them carry on as normal. Let them think they’ve got away with Fower’s assault. But we’ll do our homework and lay our plans, and when they move their stockpile of God’s leadwork we’ll be waiting. We’ll be able to take up Lance Leavey’s death then.’

  ‘They still have the lead they’ve nicked?’ said Spicer.

  ‘According to my source they’ve still got a lot of it. Apparently, they nick it and stockpile it for a while and when the heat eases they offload it,’ said Romney.

  ‘At the Holloway’sh?’ said Grimes.

  ‘We believe so.’

  Grimes said, ‘Sho what are we going choo do, guv, apartch from nothing? I mean, how will we know when they’re going choo move itch? Are we going choo puch a shurveillanshe cheam on them?’

  ‘No need,’ said Romney. ‘I’ve got someone on the inside. All we have to do is make sure everything is in place for a swift response when the time comes. In the meantime, we need to find out everything there is to know about our gang.’

  Romney’s text message alert signal went off just as he asked if they had any questions. There were none and as they headed out he took his phone out of his pocket. Julie Carpenter, it seemed, was just as keen to enjoy what remained of her single life as Romney was to facilitate it.

  Feeling buoyed, Romney phoned the mobile number he’d persuaded Martin to give him. It was answered on the second ring.

  ‘You know who this is, Martin?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Good. My officer in the hospital has taken a turn for the worse. That’s bad news for you. But I might still be able to save your neck. In return I need you to find something out for me. Who knows, things turn out all right for you, you might end up with another life experience worthy of being inked on to your arm.’

  *

  Grimes tapped on the frame of Romney’s door after lunch looking a little confused. Romney waved him in.

  ‘What’s up?’

  Grimes helped himself to a chair. ‘A couple of thingsh bothewing me, guv.’

  Romney stared at the elephant in the room and braced himself for some more interpreting of Grimes’ new language. It occurred to Romney how quickly he’d picked it up. It made him wonder whether he should have another bash at French.

  ‘Firshch off, we vishiched the Hollowaysh’ shcwap bushinesh chwishe and never found anything. Not a chwashe of what we were looking for.’

  ‘So they’re good at hiding the stuff and we’re crap at looking for it. And don’t forget they are the Holloways – lying and thieving are just ways of life for them. It’s in their DNA. Frankly, knowing us and knowing them I’m not surprised they bested us.

  ‘Lance Leavey was found dead on their property, right? In a shipping container that they kept things in – next to their scrapyard. He had no reason that anyone can think of for being within twenty miles of Aylesham other than because he was involved in stealing lead and selling it for scrap. If you’re looking for evidence that the Holloways are involved in the lead thefts, there it is.’ Grimes shrugged. Romney said, ‘What’s the other thing?’

  ‘Who do we think killed Lanshe?’

  ‘No idea. But we’ll find that out as soon as we’ve got a few of them isolated in the cells.’

  ‘Only if it wash the Hollowaysh,’ said Grimes. ‘Why would the Chacham boysh shchill be dealing with them, lech alone notch ach all ouch war with them? And if it washn’ch the Hollowaysh, how the hell did Lanche end up in that locked conchainer?’

  ‘Maybe it was a joint effort,’ said Romney. ‘Maybe Lance was rocking the boat they’re all in.’

  ‘Buch if the Holloways are involved surely they wouldn’t jushch leave the body to roch in a shared conchainer. They’d have jushch goch wid of ich shomwhere.’

  Romney sat back and massaged his face. ‘Look, I know how it seems. I don’t disagree with you. In theory. But what else have we got? It’s not impossible, is it?’

  Grimes made a face and said, ‘No. Highly improbable buch noch imposhible.’

  ‘Don’t forget what Sherlock Holmes said, something about whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’

  *

  They met at the end of the day to update the whiteboard with what details Marsh had been able to dig up on the Chatham four. She stuck up mugshots of Nathan Coates and Shane Stally – two of the four who had police records – and wrote the names of the other two: Mason Chubb and Fred Bailey. She provided a brief summary of each, including convictions, ages, occupations and addresses.

  Coates, the gang leader according to Martin, had spent eighteen months of his twenty-seven years at Her Majesty’s pleasure in Maidstone prison for causing Actual Bodily Harm. Stally, twenty-six, had served nine months in the same place for handling stolen goods. Both had day jobs working for the same construction firm. Chubb and Bailey, both twenty-three, had no
police records. Chubb worked in a pub in Chatham and Bailey was unemployed.

  Grimes’ questions and concerns had been niggling away at Romney throughout the afternoon and he felt it was worth sharing the burden with the others.

  They discussed possibilities, theories and ideas for a few minutes before Marsh said, ‘We could do this all night and it still wouldn’t get us anywhere. Until we have them in custody with some leverage to loosen their tongues we’ll still just be guessing.’

  It made enough sense to Romney to call it a night.

  ‘Don’ch forget I’m back ach the denchishch in the morning, guv,’ said Grimes.

  ‘Again?’ said Romney. ‘How many more visits have you got to go?’

  ‘Should be the lasht one tomowow, all being well. I’m having the weal onesh ficthed.’

  ‘Is he charging by the hour or the tooth?’

  ‘A bich of both, I think. And he’sh a she. Lovely lichle Ashian woman. If anyone needsh any work done I’m shure I can getch you ahead of the queue.’

  ‘Well, if she can fit you out with a set of something that will enable us to understand a word you’re saying, I’m sure I’ll be shpeaking for everyone when I shay we’ll all be vewy, vewy gwateful.’

  Even Marsh laughed.

  Before Marsh pushed off, Romney asked her, a little too casually, if she’d managed to run a timed five kilometres yet. She said she’d been busy and hadn’t but that she was planning to that evening. Romney told her to let him know. And then he said he planned to run that evening too and how would she like him to drive down and run with her on the seafront. She thanked him as sincerely as she could but said that she couldn’t say what time she’d be ready. Romney seemed a little disappointed. Marsh was a little pleased.

  It was too much to expect that Julie Carpenter would want a repeat performance on consecutive evenings, given that she was in a serious relationship with someone else, but Romney checked his phone with half a hope anyway. As the feel-good factor of the previous evening had worn off throughout the day, Romney had found himself reflecting on the knowledge that she had a fiancé in her life and all that that entailed.

  By the end of the working day and facing an evening at home alone – where he would inevitably end up wondering whether Julie was spending the night with her future husband, enjoying a meal together, a drink, maybe a bed and sex – Romney was beginning to feel a little morose. He decided that a good, long run would help.

  A text message came through just as he was shutting his office door, throwing his stomach into free fall. He fumbled the phone out of his pocket to see that it was from Zara asking if he fancied a quiet night in with a bottle of wine and a DVD of her choice. It made him feel strange and a little guilty that he hadn’t thought about her all day. He replied quickly with a particularly loving message saying that nothing would give him greater pleasure – but please, no more chick-flicks.

  ***

  17

  Before Romney had his jacket off, his desk phone was ringing with news of a summons upstairs. He took his time finishing his coffee, straightened his tie and went to find out what had put the twist in Boudicca’s knickers so early in the day.

  He breezed past the gatekeeper with the briefest of glances in her direction and felt her cold glare on the back of his neck. Superintendent Vine’s door was open. He tapped on the frame and walked in without waiting for an answer. ‘You wanted to see me, ma’am?’

  Vine stood, crossed to the door and gently closed it. She returned to her seat, fixed Romney with an expressionless look and said, ‘Take a seat.’

  Romney sat and crossed his legs. Then he crossed his arms. If he’d been a religious man the tone of Boudicca’s voice and the colour of her stare might have encouraged him to cross himself.

  ‘What were you really doing up at Medway hospital yesterday?’

  The question surprised Romney. ‘Looking in on young Fower. Like I said. Ma’am.’

  ‘Why? And please don’t insult my intelligence again with that musketeer mentality line.’

  Romney realised that the station chief was not happy with him. It took a bit of the shine off his good mood. It made him a little defensive. It also concerned him. He wished he’d thought to get in touch with Fower after Boudicca’s visit to see what reason the young policeman had given to her and Blanchett, two senior uniformed officers, for his presence and his beating all the way up in Chatham.

  Romney went with an evasive half-truth: ‘We have been conducting enquiries in the area related to a couple of open investigations, ma’am. As we were up there, I thought it was only right that I called in on him after learning of his hospitalisation.’

  ‘Where did you hear about it?’

  ‘Here, ma’am. Just station gossip in the morning.’ So far so good, Romney thought.

  ‘Do you know what Constable Fower was doing in Chatham on Tuesday evening?’

  Romney recalled the lines he’d fabricated for Grimes and Spicer in CID’s meeting room the day before. He’d gauged from their reaction that they’d gone down fairly well and thought they were worth trotting out again. More importantly, owing to his lack of foresight, he didn’t have anything better prepared. He swapped the avuncular tone he’d employed in CID with something more professionally critical. ‘Misguided initiative. He got caught up with us in Chatham the day before. Became aware of a few things. Thought he’d try and help out in his own time. Foolish, but you’ve got to admire his spirit.’

  An uncomfortable, extended silence was supported by Vine’s bleak, grey eyes boring into Romney’s. Romney understood that the combination of silence and staring was designed to let him know that she didn’t entirely and unreservedly believe him.

  While Superintendent Vine could lay claim to a high rate of success when playing mind games with junior officers, even some senior ones, what she still had failed if not to grasp then to accept, to her discredit, was that while such tactics might work on lesser mortals, Detective Inspector Romney was not one of them.

  Romney thrived on confrontation. Indeed, battles of will generally resulted in Romney’s ordinary thresholds for resisting submission and defeat being elevated to levels that the best interrogators in the country would be impressed by. Such qualities had contributed in no small part to making him the successful detective he had become.

  ‘Let me put it another way, Inspector,’ said Vine, breaking the spell that wasn’t working as well for her as it was for him, ‘did you know in advance that Fower was going to be in Chatham on Tuesday evening?’

  He wanted to ask her what had happened to ‘Tom’ but thought better of it. ‘Do you mind me asking what all this is about, ma’am?’

  ‘Just answer the question.’

  ‘I will when you tell me why the answer is so important to you. As one senior officer showing professional respect and courtesy to another. Ma’am.’

  Vine’s ample bosom rose and fell like a gentle tidal swell as she took in and then released the calming breath she needed. In that long moment Romney understood that Fower had not dropped him in it. If he had, Vine would not have needed the delay to regroup her thoughts.

  Romney realised that it was then in his best interests to tell his lie first. ‘Actually, I can’t remember exactly what was said. Fower might have hinted at his intention to try to find out something that would help CID. He’s very keen to get another chance with us. I imagine that was behind his misguided actions. While we’re on the subject of Fower, I’ve been meaning to find time to speak to you about giving him another shot at Acting Detective Constable. He’s the sort of officer who would do well with CID. Very committed. Hard working. When he’s fully recovered, of course.’

  Boudicca had lost and they both knew it. Romney refrained from displaying the smugness he felt for his little victory. In any case, it would have soon been wiped off his features.

  Delivered as something of a parting shot, Vine said, ‘Put a note in your diary for next Monday, please. I’ve been in touch with the Aylesh
am Neighbourhood Watch. They have a scheduled meeting in the community building. It was suggested that we might like to attend. I’ve accepted their invitation.’

  Inside, Romney was fuming. ‘To what anticipated end, ma’am?’

  ‘To the end of furthering and fostering good relations with the community. If we have policing issues in that locality, and according to you we do, then we need to do something about it. It’s called pro-active policing. My predecessor didn’t do enough of this sort of thing. Liaising with the public, providing their concerns and questions with a platform and a listening ear, is statistically proven to have long-term benefits for relationships between communities and those who police them. If it goes well I shall look at instigating more across our area.’

  ‘And you believe that CID’s presence is absolutely necessary, ma’am?’

  Vine smiled without warmth. ‘Oh, yes.’

  His phone started ringing in his pocket. He did not answer it and he did not turn it off. After several rings, Boudicca said, ‘That’ll be all, Inspector.’

  Romney forced out a respectful ‘ma’am’ and left. He answered the phone in the stairwell.

  ‘Hello, Martin. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’

  ‘They’re moving the lead,’ said Martin.

  Romney’s mood swung. ‘When?’

  ‘Tonight. After five-a-side. They’ve asked me to go along.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Cos there’s a lot of it to move and it’s heavy.’

  ‘Did they tell you where they’re taking it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What time does football finish?’

  ‘Nine.’

  ‘Are you at work today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch. And Martin...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t think about letting me down, old son. The consequences of such a thing for you do not bear thinking about. Make myself clear?’