The Blue Notes

by J. J. Salkeld

  Twenty minutes later that job was done, but as had been agreed in advance of the operation the search team had started going through the whole office. They’d be at it until long after the staff arrived for work the next morning, and Jane was absolutely certain that they’d turn up nothing at all. But that wasn’t the point. Because the only way to offer their informant even a tiny bit of protection from Dai Young was to make it look as if the search was much less clearly directed than it was. Jane Francis was still pretty sure that Pepper Wilson was talking out of her arse with all that stuff about Young being the kind of villain who’d pull your toes off with a pair of rusty pliers, but it did no harm to take precautions.

  She left the site at one in the morning, after she’d spoken briefly to Young’s office manager, who arrived looking shocked and surprised. The intel file said that this woman was completely straight, with no knowledge of any of Young’s businesses, and if she did know anything then she was a brilliant actress, Jane decided. Because even after she’d explained that the police were acting on information received, and after she’d quoted the statutory basis for the police’s action and shown her Warrant, the woman still looked utterly bemused. Jane decided to leave her that way, and went back to the station.

  The forensic accountancy consultant that they’d hired specially, and at vast cost, was going through the files on the cloned hard drive for the second time when she arrived back at Constabulary HQ.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but there’s nothing of interest here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely. Whoever had this computer, and I’m guessing that it’s a woman, just kept a few personal files on the local hard-drive. There’s no financial data here at all. Quite a few pictures of kittens in bottles and baskets, but that’s about it.’

  ‘Shit.’ Jane Francis was tired, and annoyed. She turned to the long-haired lad from tech support, whose name she could never quite remember. It was something vaguely American sounding, she thought. Chad, perhaps. ‘Is there any chance that the files are hidden on here?’

  ‘Almost certainly not, I’m afraid. We’ve got a couple more checks to run, just to be sure, but I’d say that this is your lot. There’s nothing else to find, I’d say.’

  ‘Any chance that the drive you cloned has been swapped for another one, in the very recent past?’

  ‘No signs of that, though we could never prove anything either way. Not definitively, like.’

  ‘All right. Well, let me know if you find anything.’

  She walked thoughtfully back to her own office, and composed a quick email to DI Dixon, explaining that they’d found nothing, but that a full report would follow in the morning. She didn’t draw any conclusions, but then she didn’t have to. The information that they’d had was solid, she was certain of it, so the conclusion was as obvious as the nose on the new Chief’s face, which was unusually long and thin. They must have a positively maggot-infested apple in the barrel, and that was a huge problem. But thankfully it wasn’t hers, so she sent the email, and left the building. Her husband and baby daughter would both wake up when she arrived home, and she didn’t mind. In fact, she was rather looking forward to it.

  Davey Hood woke up, mid-dream, and knew what he was facing before his eyes even focussed. It was a 9mm hand-gun with a laser torch taped to the underside of the barrel, and Hood brought his hand up to his eyes.

  ‘Get up, and keep quiet’, said the voice. But Hood stayed where he was.

  ‘Go on, pull the trigger.’

  ‘You think I wouldn’t?’

  ‘I’ve got no idea. What do you want, anyway?’

  ‘To take you to a meeting. Now get up.’

  ‘Or what? If you shoot me, I doubt I’ll make this meeting of yours, mate.’

  The man took a step back.

  ‘Fucking hard man, are you? I wonder if your old mum is quite as hard, like. Oh, aye, we’ve got a bloke sat outside her house now. He’ll only give her a beating, like, but at her age, well, you never know, do you?’

  Hood didn’t reply, but got out of bed, put his legs into the work trousers that he’d left on the floor, and pulled on his work polo shirt from yesterday. He doubted anyone would mind.

  ‘Let’s go’, he said.

  ‘What, no threats? Aren’t you going to tell me that you’re going to kill me if we touch your old mum?’

  ‘Actions speak louder than words.’

  ‘I’m shitting myself. No, wait, it’s actually me who’s holding the gun, isn’t it?’

  Hood walked ahead of the man down the stairs, and opened the front door. A big man stood next to a people carrier parked right outside, his hands folded across his gut, bouncer style. Hood knew that he could disarm the man behind him easily, as they exited onto the street. He’d hesitate rather than pull the trigger, and Hood could predict, without turning, exactly where in space the weapon would be. And the fat bloke by the car wouldn’t be a problem, unless they decided to settle the matter through an impromptu pie eating contest.

  But Hood didn’t take the bloke behind him, and instead walked to the vehicle, and waited for the big bloke to open the door. Then he climbed in. There was no-one else inside. The man with the gun, who Hood could see was about his own age, but thin and unfit looking, got into the driver’s seat, and the big bloke followed Hood into the back. He felt the people carrier’s springs compress under the extra weight. Christ, these two couldn’t be more amateur if they tried. He could break both their necks before the driver had a chance to aim that handgun, let alone fire it.

  They drove in silence, and after a minute or two Hood knew exactly where they were going. Sure enough, another five minutes brought them to the parade of shops. The driver parked at the front, got out, and looked up and down the street. There wasn’t a soul about, so he kept the gun trained on Hood as he got out of the vehicle and followed the big man to the shutters at the front of the shop. He was pretty sure that Hood was all talk, but the boss had told him not to take any chances.The big man bent down slowly, the effort visibly increasing as his right hand reached the padlock at the bottom of the door.

  ‘Get on with it, Frankie’, said the man with the gun, and Hood smiled. This was going to be too bloody easy. And after that it was going to be fun.

  Eventually the shutter slid noisily up, like a train rattling over points, and the big man went inside, flicking on the lights. Hood followed him in, without being told, and the weedy bloke with the gun came in last. ‘Upstairs’, he said, and Hood set off ahead of the other two towards the stairs at the back of the shop.

  He walked slowly up the stairs, but still the fat man fell behind, and Hood could hear him wheezing by the time he’d reached the top. He moved a step to his right, swivelled and kicked the fat man hard in the balls. As he started to fall forwards Hood shoulder barged him, and kept driving with his legs. For a moment he thought that the big man would keep falling forwards, but then he felt his weight swing through the perpendicular, and the bloke went over backwards, taking the man with the gun with him.

  Then Hood moved fast, and had the gun in his hand before either man had moved. They were both lying on the half landing, the fat one making a noise like a fast deflating tyre, the other one like a kid crying. Maybe he was. Hood stood and watched them for a moment, then told them to get up.

  ‘You do know that I’ll shoot both of you dead, if either one of you gives me a reason, don’t you?’

  He told them to sit down on a couple of mis-matched chairs in the abandoned open plan office, and instructed the small one to give him the vehicle keys, and both to hand over their wallets. He took out their driving licences, and put them in his pocket. Then he threw the wallets onto the floor.

  ‘How long until your mates arrive?’

  Neither man answered, so he pointed the gun at the heart of the smaller bloke.

  ‘You’re giving me a reason.’

  ‘All right. About five minutes.’

  ‘How many?’ />
  ‘Two.’

  ‘Good. And I’ll be having your phones too, lads. And, just so we’re clear, when your mates arrive you call them up here, just like nothing’s happened. If you don’t, you know what happens?’

  ‘You’ll shoot us?’

  ‘Aye, but not to kill, like. I’ll shoot you both in the knee. Very painful, is that. Not just now, but for the rest of your lives. Not that you two idiots have got long to live, I’ll bet, no matter what happens from now on.’

  When Hood heard the shutters rattling he took a few steps back, and smiled when the weedy one called out that they were upstairs. A middle aged man came up the stairs first, and flinched when he saw the gun.

  ‘Take him’, he shouted to the two men on chairs, who stayed exactly where they were. Hood had known they wouldn’t move, and he kept the weapon trained firmly on the newcomer.

  ‘Up you come’, he said. The man thought for a minute, and came up the stairs. Hood could hear the other bloke running for it.

  ‘Wallet and phone’, he said.

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I should have been clearer. Wallet and phone or you’ll take a bullet in the left knee and the right ankle.’

  The man threw down his wallet and his phone. Hood pocketed the phone, and looked at his ID.

  ‘Alan Farmer. Not quite the organ grinder, but at least you’re one of the slightly cleverer monkeys, eh? So you listen, because there’s actually a chance that you’ll remember what I’m going to say to you. Anything happens to my mum, tonight or at any time in the future, then you all die. All of you, and Young too. And that happens even if I’m already dead. Because I spent twelve years fighting with a group of blokes who’ll take care of you without a second thought, if anything happens to me. Some of them have got PTSD, no doubt about that I’m afraid, but it won’t stop them beating you until it’ll look like you walked over an IED. And tell your boss that I want to see him, and soon. You got that?’

  Farmer nodded.

  ‘Good. You people are a right shower, a fucking joke.’

  Farmer held up a hand.

  ‘Can I speak?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘We only wanted to talk.’

  ‘Fuck off. Use the phone if you want a chat, like. Now, I’m going to check on my mum, and if I see anyone hanging about there I will come back and deal with the three of you myself. And, by the way, feel free to follow me down the stairs. You don’t have to count to ten, nothing like that. But if you do decide to do that then it’s game on, like. You do understand that, don’t you?’

  Hood walked slowly down the stairs, and back to the front door. No-one followed. He pulled up the shutters, and then strolled to the people carrier, got in and drove off. He’d just check on his mum, and then go home. He doubted that there’d be anyone outside, or that he’d get another visit tonight, but he’d still email a few of his mates about what had happened. If he turned up dead, even if he slipped getting out of the bath, then those three would be gone in a week, along with Young. He didn’t have the slightest doubt about that.

  Rex Copeland started his car and pulled out after Hood. He’d recognised Alan Farmer, and it was pretty clear what was going on. He’d been parked well down Hood’s street earlier on, so he hadn’t seen the gun when they’d got into that people carrier, and by the time he pulled into the road leading to the parade of shops the three men were already going in. So he hadn’t seen the gun, and no reason to believe that Hood was doing anything against his will. It was just a typical villains’ meet. Nothing more, nothing less. He’d been right about this the whole bloody time. And as he drove he started to think about how he’d break the news to Pepper in the morning. It was a pleasant train of thought.

  Hood was driving slowly, and the streets were midnight, midweek deserted, so Copeland hung back as far as he dared. And so, by the time he realised that Hood had spotted him, it was too late, because the MPV had turned into a network of Victorian side-streets and was already out of sight. ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’ said Copeland out loud, before stopping and radioing in the registration number of the MPV. And as he drove slowly back to his own flat, keeping his eye open as he did, he thought about where a simple squaddie could have learned counter-surveillance skills like that. But it was just something else to talk to Pepper about, wasn’t it?

  Thursday, 16th April

  8.46am, CID office, Carlisle Divisional HQ

  ‘Don’t say a word, you hear me?’ Henry Armstrong was almost shouting into the phone. ‘I’ll have a lawyer here in twenty minutes. A good one.’ He listened for a moment, frowning. ‘Aye, bloody right I’ll be straight down. And remember, not a word, until your brief gets here. Make sure they’re taping, OK?’ This time he didn’t wait for a reply. ‘It’s Dixon and Jarvis, I assume? Aye, OK. Just don’t take the bait, love, no matter what they say.’ He stopped, and this time he listened. ‘Of course I know it’s all bollocks, love. Don’t you worry about that. Not for one second, like.’

  Then Henry ran to Pepper’s office, and didn’t wait to knock.

  ‘Those bastards have nicked Josie. Josie Jackson.’

  Pepper looked up from her computer. That morning she was struggling a bit with sudden movement and loud noises, and Henry wasn’t exactly a hangover cure at the best of times. His enduring taste for brightly coloured cords and striped shirts only made matters worse.

  ‘Which bastards have nicked who, exactly?’

  ‘Professional Standards. They’ve nicked Josie Jackson. She’s one of the volunteers, works on CCTV.’

  ‘Oh, aye. The posh totty. Like I said before, she’s a bonny looking lass, Henry.’

  He was already red in the face, or he’d have blushed.

  ‘Well, they’ve nicked her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They say they’ve got her cold for leaking the details of that raid. All bollocks, obviously. I need to get her a lawyer, right now.’

  ‘No worries, I know just the man.’

  ‘He’s your favourite?’

  ‘No, the opposite. He’s every copper’s nightmare. Clever, hard-working, and he hates us. He’ll be here in five.’

  ‘Shall I get down there?’

  ‘Aye, and I’ll be right behind you. She’s not under eighteen, is she?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Shame. Even so, you get straight down there. Oh, by the way, Henry. She didn’t do it, did she? You’re quite sure?’

  ‘Of course not. She’s been fitted up by whoever did do it. It’s obvious, is that.’

  ‘All right. That makes sense. Tell that sanctimonious wanker Jarvis that Phil Thomas is on his way in. And I assume I tell Thomas that you’re paying his bills?’

  ‘Too right. Whatever it costs, Pepper.’

  She smiled. ‘Young love. You can’t bloody whack that with a stick, can you?’

  Phil Thomas talked to Josie Jackson for fifteen minutes, which was plenty long enough to convince himself that she was entirely innocent. That happened infrequently, and he didn’t much like it when it did. He actually preferred it when he wasn’t sure, or when he thought that the police or the CPS was trying it on, and going for that bit more than they could prove. Because in situations like this, where an innocent young kid was suddenly faced with the reality of accusation, and with the heavy machinery of the state, then that would be really scary, he knew that. He’d been inoculated against it all years ago of course, and these days he knew most coppers for what they were. Chippy bureaucrats with short attention spans and shed-loads cynicism, not omniscient demons of justice. Lots of them were bone idle, and a few were downright nasty. He didn’t find them intimidating, not any of them. So he’d make sure that DS Dixon didn’t bully or bullshit Josie any more than he was legally entitled too. But the problem, Thomas knew, was that a genuinely innocent first-timer would be cowed and overawed, even with him there. There was just no way round that. But he was ready, and he would push back against all that heavy machinery.
He would push back hard.

  When the tape was running Dixon re-stated that this was an interview under caution, identified himself, his DI, and Thomas.

  ‘Where were you yesterday, Josie? From 3pm until you were arrested this morning?’

  ‘I was at college yesterday afternoon, and I came in for my shift here, at Carlisle nick, just before six.’

  ‘And you were here until midnight, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. My shift finished at midnight, and I left at about twenty past. It’ll be on CCTV, I expect,’ she added, helpfully. But Dixon didn’t look as if he welcomed any help.

  ‘And did you have your mobile phone with you?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And is this the number?’ He read it out, and Josie said it back.

  ‘Sorry, I say it differently.’

  ‘But you confirm that it is your number?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And did you make or receive any calls between 3pm and the time that you were arrested?’

  ‘No.’ There was no hesitation.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Certain. I sent a few messages and texts, went online a bit in my break, but that’s it. I hardly ever make voice calls. Who does? If you’re under thirty, I mean.’

  ‘So who did you text, or message?’

  ‘A few people.’

  ‘Who, exactly?’

  ‘Just friends. Sally, Colette, a couple of others.’

  ‘DC Henry Armstrong?’

  She hesitated this time, just for a moment. ‘Yes. We exchanged a couple of texts.’