The Dogs in the Street

by J M Dalgliesh

  “Do you know them?” Holt asked, glancing over his shoulder. Caslin blew out his cheeks. Pointing at the image, he nodded.

  “That one there, standing at the back, is Paraic Nelson. A younger version, anyway.”

  “The others?”

  “We’ll have to find out,” Caslin stated. Holt’s expression didn’t change, his gaze lingering on his boss for a moment before he turned back to the screen. Caslin’s mobile phone vibrated on the coffee table, indicating he’d received a text. His eyes flicked towards it and then to the clock on the wall. Picking up the phone, he saw it was from an unknown number and opened it. The message was simple, Meet 6 a.m. York Racecourse. Pressing the home key, he stared at the phone for a second.

  “Would your friend know?” Holt asked. Caslin looked at him, quizzically.

  “Know what?”

  “Who they are?” he said, pointing at the image on the screen.

  “Probably. Listen, Terry, let’s keep this to ourselves for the time being. We need to identify these others. Can you take a copy and run it through Nelson’s known associates?”

  “First thing,” Holt said, standing up. Stifling a yawn, he touched the side of his face, evidently still sore. “I’ll see myself out.”

  “Terry,” Caslin called after him, “be careful. None of this ended with Schmidt’s death.” Holt, having stopped in the doorway, bobbed his head in agreement and left without another word.

  Caslin reread the text message. The feeling that to attend would be dangerous, was tough to ignore but by the same token, a little voice, at the back of his mind suggested he might get some answers, if he did.

  Caslin passed through the village, having left the A64, and picked up the Bishopthorpe Road, taking him to the racecourse at York. There was very little traffic on the minor roads, early morning commuters sticking to their usual faster routes. Pulling into the public car-park, he found he was alone. Not knowing where the meeting was set to take place, Caslin drove along the access road, lined with barriers, towards the stands. Off to each side were parking areas stretching several hundred metres in every direction, predominantly flat and laid to grass, separating the racecourse from the highway. Even at this time, the sounds of nearby construction machinery moving on the site of the old chocolate factory, adjacent to the racecourse, could be heard.

  The night had passed slowly due, in the main, to an inability to get any sleep. Resisting the urge to contact the sender of the mysterious text, Caslin had denied himself the possibility of satisfying that particular curiosity, at least in part. If they’d wanted to say more, they would have. Coming to a stop, alongside the entrance to the stands, he got out of the car, drawing his coat about him. The mornings were turning fresher by the day. The midday temperatures may still be pushing towards eighteen degrees but at dawn, despite the blue skies and the promise of warmth, they were more commonly in single figures. An early morning mist had also descended into the Vale of York overnight, the moisture in the air adding to the sense of the coming autumn. Reaching back into the car, he took out two coffees that he’d purchased on his way.

  Sipping at one of the brews, he placed the other on the roof of the car and looked around. The only movement he could see came from the traffic on the nearby dual carriageway, barely visible through the mist. With no race meeting planned for the weekend, there was little reason for anyone to be here at the crack of dawn on a Thursday. Caslin pondered his vulnerability. Having confided in no-one about the meeting and with no knowledge of who would show up, being here was very much an act of faith. He wasn’t overly concerned. Instinct told him on this occasion, there was little to fear. Glancing at the time, it was already 6:15. The turnstiles were closed, the entrances barred. Caslin turned his back to them and waited.

  Five minutes later, another car arrived, driving slowly into the car park and taking a circuitous route before joining the arterial access road towards him. Caslin watched, still drinking his coffee, as the newcomer carried out what he considered to be a sweep of the area. Only a single occupant was visible inside. Apparently satisfied that Caslin was alone, the car stopped, barely fifty feet from him. The driver’s door opened and a man stepped out. Dressed for the weather, he wore a bulky overcoat with the collars turned up and sported a dark woollen hat.

  “I figured as much,” Caslin called out, offering up the spare cup. Aiden Reece approached, shoulders hunched and hands pressed into warm pockets. Accepting the coffee gratefully, he offered a greeting.

  “Hello Nate,” he said, almost apologetically.

  “Old habits dying hard, are they?” Caslin asked but no reply was forthcoming. It was obvious that he wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough night. Reece appeared pale and gaunt, in comparison to how he’d been the other night, back at his flat in Kleiser’s Court.

  “They’re watching you. You know that, don’t you?”

  Caslin glanced around them, “Aye, guessed as much. I’m being careful.”

  “You lost your tail,” Reece said, drinking his coffee. “Impressive.”

  Caslin looked him in the eye. If he was being followed, he hadn’t noticed but the experience in his hotel room, in Dublin, made him suspect he’d be under someone’s watchful eye. Multiple, unnecessary deviations on his journey had brought him to the racecourse, just in case. Likewise, the assumption his mobile was compromised inspired the purchase of the burn phone. The realisation he’d failed to spot someone shadowing his drive to the racecourse despite a heightened state of awareness was however, unnerving to say the least.

  “You were following them, following me?”

  Reece grinned, “I learned from the best.”

  “And they were?” Caslin asked but Reece looked away. “Never mind,” he said, swilling the remnants of his latte, at the bottom of the cup and finishing it off. “Do you feel like telling me who’s doing the watching? I’m assuming you know.”

  Reece laughed, “You’re captivating, these days, drawing a lot of people to you.”

  “Let’s start with yours, then. Renton Sands. Provided you do work for them, of course. Which I have a hard time believing, seeing as they’ve never heard of you.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Reece said, perching himself atop a half wall, behind him. “There’re a couple of reasons for that.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “Plausible deniability,” Reece stated as a matter-of-fact. “I’ll bet they don’t have my name on record anywhere. Besides, I can hardly lodge my real name with them, under the circumstances. Neither will you find mention of Heinrich, by the way.”

  Caslin’s eyes flicked across at him, instantly alert, “You recognised his picture the other night, in my case file, didn’t you?” Reece inclined his head slightly, indicating so. “Why didn’t you say?”

  “You’re a good man, Nate. You don’t know what it is your getting close to.”

  “Well then, it’s about time you told me,” Caslin bit back, angrily. “What’s Heinrich Schmidt to you?”

  “Former special forces, German Intelligence. Was working in the private sector as a high-level fixer, for Renton.”

  “What exactly did he fix for them?”

  Reece shrugged, “Whatever was required. Men like that…they don’t have a conscience.”

  “Men like you?” Caslin asked, drawing a stern look from his friend.

  “Heinrich was on another level.”

  “And you? What is it that you do for a living?”

  Reece ignored the question, “You have them worried, Nate. That fact alone, should worry you.”

  “I got turned over, in Dublin,” Caslin said defiantly. Reece seemed surprised, at least momentarily.

  “I doubt that was Renton. It’s not their style.”

  “You knew?”

  “No,” Reece said, with a shake of his head. “It wouldn’t be beyond them to approach you abroad, mind you. Had anyone paid you a visit from the company, we wouldn’t be talking.”

  “Why not?” />
  Reece fixed him with a cold stare, “Because you’d have turned up floating in Dublin Harbour the next day, or not at all, which is more probable. Your death abroad would muddy the waters of any subsequent investigation.”

  “I pegged them as working for an intelligence agency, to be honest. Mi6, Special Branch, or someone else you most likely know. Correct me if I’m wrong but you knew I’d reach for Nelson, eventually.”

  “I expected you to. If you were even half the policeman I thought you’d make, back at Hendon.”

  “Your past with Nelson,” Caslin said, “why not just tell me?”

  “I didn’t know how compromised you were,” Reece replied.

  “Compromised?”

  “Yeah. They’re all over your investigation. You must have them spooked, if they made contact with you in Dublin. For them to risk breaking cover like that-”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Caslin said, cutting him off. “Why are the Secret Service protecting Nelson?”

  “Protecting…using…”

  “You’re really pushing the limits of friendship, you know. What the hell are you now, Aiden?”

  “I’m trying to find out what’s going on. The same as you,” Reece said flatly. “I’ve not figured it out yet.”

  “You’ve been following on, behind Emily Coughlan, haven’t you?”

  Reece nodded, “Yes, piecing together all that she did…or at least, I’m trying to.” He drained the last of his coffee, tossing the cup aside. “Before I left Hendon, I was approached.”

  “By whom?”

  Reece smiled, “They didn’t tell me. Apparently, my psyche-profile fit the parameters of…how should I put it…a certain, moral flexibility. That, plus my background, second-generation Irish-immigrant, tallied with what they were looking for. Ulster was well down the road to peace, Sinn Féin were in the driving seat with the IRA but not everyone was happy about it, you know? The paramilitaries were splintering right before our eyes. Whereas before, in the main, the IRA leadership were the focus. Suddenly we were facing several militant factions, opposed to the peace process and hell-bent on bringing it down, at any cost. The scramble to identify these guys, their networks and plans became the priority or risk it all unravelling. It was bordering on chaos, for a time.”

  “They sent you in?”

  “That’s why I left as I did. I was fresh faced, unknown. I knew the country, I knew the people. I wouldn’t stand out. To be honest, it was an awesome opportunity. Do you remember how excited we all were to be on the verge of hitting the streets?”

  Caslin smiled, “We were a lot younger, back then.”

  “Imagine being selected for this. It was like Christmas to a five-year old. Not to mention my career path was set. I was adamant that assignment would make me.”

  “I sense a hefty but, coming?”

  Reece laughed, without real humour and tinged with a bitter edge, “Man, I was naïve. I figured, once I was done, I’d go back to my normal life.”

  “How did it play out?”

  “I was good, Nate. Damn good. Far better than my handlers had hoped for, let alone expected. I got myself tight in with one of the splinter groups, a breakaway from the Belfast Brigade of the Provisionals. That’s where I first came into Nelson’s circle.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Nelson?” Reece asked, Caslin nodded. “He headed up their internal security, or as they liked to call it, the Nutting Squad. A proper bunch of lunatics. Most of the Provos ran a mile from that duty but not Nelson, he was well up for it. They took the lead in interrogating informers, suspected infiltrators but also got to debrief anyone who’d been picked up, either side of the border. A group with almost absolute power. They assessed how much information was given up and if they considered it too much, you were done for.”

  “I’ve heard the horror stories,” Caslin said.

  “Believe them,” Reece replied. “Then expect the reality to be far worse. Even the faintest whiff of you crossing the line put you up for a kicking, at best but more often than not, you’d see a bullet before sunrise and they’d find you on some waste ground, next to a primary school.”

  “Nelson?”

  “He loved it, absolutely loved it. You know, one time, a guy was suspected of giving information to the Garda. Nelson was a childhood friend of his. The two families would hang out together, best men at weddings and the like. They sent Nelson round to bring him out for a beer. Broke his legs and caved his head in, with a hammer. His kids found him hanging from their climbing frame, in the morning.”

  Caslin stared off, into the distance, “Was he guilty?”

  Reece shrugged, “No-one knew. He denied it, as did the family. I doubt Nelson cared either way. As I understand it, he was either responsible for, or played a part in the killings of multiple British agents. Perhaps, fifteen to twenty, over the years. Some were snitches but many were active agents.”

  “Like you?”

  “Just like me.”

  “Who were you working for?”

  “The lines get blurred, Nate,” Reece said, appearing thoughtful. “When it started out, the group were an offshoot of the military, called the FRU, the Force Research Unit. By the time I was in, we were integrated with the intelligence agencies, Special Branch and the Counter Terrorism Special Forces. Who you’d find at the top of the pyramid, I have no idea.”

  “You’re out, now?”

  “Very much so.”

  “What happened? You said you got in too deep or was that more dazzling bullshit?” Reece stared straight ahead. His demeanour visibly shifting to one of melancholy.

  “The woman, in the picture.”

  “You were close?”

  “Yes,” Reece stated, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, “She was another way in. Well regarded. Well loved. Once I was able to get close to her, I was closer to them.”

  “Who?”

  “The leadership. It was the only way to find out what they had planned. I’d already positioned myself alongside Nelson and she became the next target, for me to acquire.”

  “You didn’t bank on falling for her, though. Did you?” Caslin asked. Reece looked to the floor.

  “And I did. In a big way,” he said, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have let it happen. Geez…she was a fucking Provo. One hell of a wildcat but…something about her was…,” his voice tailed off as he looked skyward, drawing a deep breath. “She didn’t want to kill people. I truly believe the violence troubled her more than most. She was an idealist, a reluctant revolutionary.”

  “Often they’re the most dedicated.”

  “Not wrong,” Reece agreed.

  “Where is she now?”

  “She’s dead, Nate. Sylvia’s dead.”

  Chapter 21

  “Nelson was a twisted bastard,” Reece said, with a faraway look, “but effective. The man had gravitas. One look into his eyes and you knew how dangerous he…or rather, how much trouble you were in.”

  “I had the same feeling,” Caslin agreed.

  “Always on a hair-trigger and with freedom to act, whatever took his fancy was fair game,” Reece said. “And when he turns his attention to you…”

  “Is that what happened? He saw through you?”

  Reece rocked his head from side-to-side, “I got the impression he was looking at me. Maybe he suspected, maybe he was casting the net more in hope than expectation. I don’t know. I was uncomfortable, I’ll say that.”

  “What could’ve put him on to you?”

  Reece shrugged, “There were a few high-profile takedowns that shook the foundations a bit.”

  “Your intel?”

  “No, not mine,” Reece said. “If I had offered up everything that came my way, I wouldn’t have lasted a week. There was one time where I thought I’d blown it. They’d abducted one of the RUC. That guy was knocking on Heaven’s door, he probably had less than an hour to live before the rescue team got him back.”<
br />
  “You?”

  “That time I could get the word out but it could’ve burned me. Should have, to be fair.”

  “How come you got away with it?”

  “It was levelled at someone else,” Reece said, reliving the moment etched upon his face. “You can hear your heart thudding against your ribcage, believing everyone in the room knows it was you and then someone else gets fingered. One hell of a relief, I can tell you.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t recall. Doesn’t matter, anyway. He was dead five minutes later.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “Nelson was getting paranoid, slinging accusations all over the place. Looking back, I reckon it was getting to him. The power, the demand for results, either went to his head or set him off, I don’t know. Personally, I figured I could ride it out but my handlers were getting edgy. The word came through to pull me out.”

  “You left?”

  “I should have,” Reece said quietly.

  “You refused?”

  “Point blank. I was spinning a lot of plates and was probably overly ambitious in my ability to keep them up. Plus, I had other reasons to stay.”

  “Sylvia Marshall?”

  “Yeah,” Reece said, his eyes glazing over. “Bottom line, if I left, I would never get to see her again. I wasn’t prepared for that. I mean, it was always the plan so I knew the day would come but…”

  “How did your handler’s take it?”

  “As you’d expect. It wasn’t a request. They pushed it again at the next meet but I wasn’t having it, concocted some bull about an imminent attack to buy some time. It worked for a while.”

  “And then?”

  “Like I said. It wasn’t a request.”

  “They pulled you anyway?”

  “They tried, I resisted. Cutting a long story short, I guess they started to question my loyalties. If I wouldn’t come willingly, the decision was taken somewhere by someone, to put me down,” Reece said, relaying a story he hadn’t shared with anyone previously. It showed.

  “They tried to kill you?” Caslin asked, struggling to believe what he was hearing.

  Reece shook his head, “Not directly. That would’ve made it clear what I was. No, they commissioned one of the Unionist Paramilitaries to do it for them, such was the way of things back then. That way it looks like a tit-for-tat shooting. Common enough, over the years.”