by Conrad Jones
‘Tell me about that.’
‘We were concluding our business when Charlie McGee turned up. It was late so I shook their hands, said goodnight and left.’
‘This was in the office not on the stairs?’ Jo asked.
‘Nope. It was in the office. When I left, both men were in the office and very much alive.’
‘What exactly was your business there that night?’ Jo asked.
‘Walter wanted to move into the champagne market, you know, go a bit upmarket. The fizziest thing his punters drink is a Jager bomb! I told him he was flogging a dead horse but he wouldn’t listen.’
‘And?’
‘I offered to supply him with some bubbly on the cheap.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Charlie McGee has made a statement that you were leaving as he arrived and that when he reached the office, Walter Ricks was already dead.’ Alec paused. ‘He said that he heard three silenced shots before you came down the stairs. That you shook hands and you ran from the scene in a hurry.’
‘Your witness is lying. That would suggest that he knew the gun which killed Mr Ricks had a silencer fixed to it and there’s only one way that he could know that,’ Goodstone said. ‘Do your forensic results confirm that?’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t kill Walter,’ Del said, flatly. ‘Charlie McGee killed him.’
‘Why would you say that?’ Alec asked.
‘He was in the office when I left. It makes sense,’ Del said, shrugging. ‘I’ve heard there’s a contract out on McGee. A contract taken by our Russian associates and we all know that they had a hold on Jazz, don’t we.’ He looked from Alec to Jo. They nodded. ‘The Karpovs set Jazz up in business and they could have knocked him down just as easily. If they told him to jump, he jumped and didn’t stop jumping until they told him to.’
‘Do you think that’s why he went to see Ricks so late?’ Alec asked. ‘Because of the contract?’
‘You’re asking my client to speculate,’ Goodstone intervened, without looking up.
‘I’m just asking his opinion.’
‘He doesn’t have one in here.’
‘I’ll answer that,’ Del said, calmly. ‘If you want my opinion, I think that he found out that you lot had acquired informers on his crew, didn’t he?’
‘We can’t talk about that,’ Jo said.
‘That might have pushed him over the edge.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘The entire city knows that there was a contract on him and where it had come from. He would have been in a panic, anyone would. Good news travels fast.’
‘Good news?’ Alec frowned.
‘Look, Charlie McGee shot my friend. If there’s a contract out on him, happy days. I’m not going to lose any sleep over him.’
‘He says that you tried to kill him outside the club.’ Alec didn’t soften the blow.
‘Does he?’ Del said, straight-faced. ‘And why would I want to do that?’
‘You obviously dislike the man,’ Jo pointed out.
‘I don’t like a lot of people but that doesn’t mean I run around town shooting them.’
‘We have a witness who says he saw you pull the trigger,’ Alec said. He watched Del’s face. It showed no reaction. That worried him.
‘Oh, you do, do you?’ Del said, shaking his head.
‘Yes, we do. Are you prepared to do a line-up?’ Alec asked. Del looked at his brief and whispered in his ear.
‘My client is prepared to take part in your identification parade providing it is noted that he has cooperated throughout your investigation.’
‘It will be noted,’ Alec said. He was disturbed at how easily Makin had agreed to take part.
‘I’ll give you another little tip,’ Del said. He leaned forward. ‘I’ve heard that McGee carries a Beretta. A nine-millimetre. That’s what Walter was shot with isn’t it?’
‘It was a nine-millimetre, yes.’
‘There was no gun at the scene?’ Goodstone asked.
‘We found a gun on McGee but it wasn’t the murder weapon.’
‘Was it a silver thirty-eight?’ Del asked.
‘Yes,’ Alec answered, intrigued. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Jazz, I mean Walter, had that old thing for twenty-years. He kept it locked up in his desk, only took it out when he was blind drunk, showing off. I don’t think it was ever fired.’ Del shook his head. ‘McGee took that gun from the desk. I’m telling you that for nothing.’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘And another thing. Have you lot found the Wicks brothers yet?’ Alec and Jo exchanged glances. They didn’t answer, waiting for Del to speak. ‘They have been missing for years now and you won’t find them but I’ll tell you this, I’ve heard there’s a video knocking about somewhere, that shows what happened to them.’ He nodded to make the point. ‘I heard the place was an abattoir in Cheshire, demolished since but there’s no way a narcissist like McGee would ever delete something like that. He would keep it to show people what a hard man he is. That’s the way his mind works. You have a little dig beneath the surface and you might be surprised at what you find.’
‘You seem to know a lot about McGee suddenly,’ Alec said, eyebrows raised.
‘People like him are always cut from the same mould.’ He stopped talking and clapped his hands together. ‘Anyway, let’s get this line-up organised so that I can go home to my kids.’
‘Interview terminated,’ Jo said, for the tape. ‘We can have it done in the morning. If you need a few hours with your brief, you can stay here if you like.’ Del nodded that that was acceptable. Alec and Jo left the room and a uniformed officer stepped inside.
‘What do you think?’ Jo asked.
‘I don’t think he shot Ricks. I don’t know if he shot McGee but if he did, we can’t prove it yet.’ He stopped and looked at her. ‘Makin said that McGee is known to carry a Beretta.’
‘So?’
‘If he shot Ricks with it, then he must have disposed of it somewhere between the nightclub and where he was shot, right?’
‘Right,’ Jo agreed. ‘I’ll get a search team back over there now.’
chapter 28
Charlie didn’t sleep very well on his first night on the third landing. His brain was whirring away all night, figuring out his next move. The options were limited and each risk had to be a calculated one. If he made a mistake, he would be killed. He needed allies and he needed power. Money created power inside and out. Drugs created money. First off, he needed a supply of drugs very quickly. There wasn’t time to arrange a delivery although that would happen quickly. There were already plenty of drugs on the wing, he just needed to find them and take them. He could hear the PO’s moving methodically along the landings, opening the cells so the inmates could go and collect breakfast, three at a time, then he could hear them being locked up again. He could hear abuse being hurled from below and it echoed off the walls. He lay on his bunk with his eyes closed until his cell door was opened. The PO called him out. He stepped out onto the landing and looked around. A short fat nonce was outside the cell to his left. Jack Howarth was to the man’s left, two cells away. Jack didn’t look at Charlie but he could feel Charlie’s eyes burning a hole in his head. Charlie always glared at him as if he was something vile on the bottom of his shoes. Charlie McGee was no better than him. He just thought he was.
The PO’s ordered them down the stairs and they moved quickly and quietly. Charlie pushed past the other man and nudged Jack with his elbow. He towered above him and Jack had to look up to make eye contact.
‘Are you not talking, Jack?’
‘Okay, Charlie,’ he answered, nervously.
‘I need those packets.’
‘I haven’t got them.’
‘You fucking what?’
‘They were taken from me.’
‘By who?’
‘I can’t really say.’
‘I suggest that you d
o say, Jack or I’m going to pick you up by your feet and smash your skull open on the wall.’
They reached the second landing where Volkov was waiting to give Charlie some abuse. He was about to speak when Charlie spat in his face for the second time. The expression on the Russian’s face was priceless. He couldn’t believe it, wiping at the green goo with his sleeve like a demented man possessed. He let off a tirade of foul-mouthed abuse, half Russian, half English although it was difficult to distinguish. Charlie didn’t give him a second thought. His focus was on Jack. ‘I’m fucking warning you, Howarth. Don’t fuck me around. Where are those packets?’
They were descending the first staircase as Charlie pressed for an answer. He looked across the landing and made eye contact with AJ. Jack blushed and Charlie knew the answer immediately.
‘You’re blushing, Jack,’ Charlie said.
‘Am I?’
‘Has that lanky streak of piss got my packets?’
‘No,’ Jack said, looking straight ahead, never once taking his eyes from the stairs. ‘He took them from me but I don’t think he has them anymore.’
‘Officer Clough?’
‘I think so. I’m very sorry, Charlie. They put me in a tumble drier and turned it on. That’s why my face is a mess. I can’t fight against men like them,’ he said, apologetically.
‘Did he know that those packets were mine?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right, well that makes my next move very simple. Now he knows that I know he stole my property, if I don’t respond then I might as well hang myself. That lanky cunt will be sorry he ever heard of me.’
‘You’re not going to hurt me, are you?’ Jack asked, looking at him for the first time.
‘AJ moves most of the gear on the wing, doesn’t he?’ Charlie asked, ignoring his question. They joined a queue of three other inmates and waited patiently to get their food tray. Charlie saw toast and cereal. The toast was cold and the cereal was soggy but it was better than nothing. Being fussy in prison would leave you hungry and make you weak. He couldn’t afford to be weak.
‘Most of it,’ Jack mumbled.
‘Where does he keep his stash?’
‘How the fuck would I know that, Charlie?’
‘Because you’re sneaky little nonce, now don’t fuck me around, where does he keep it?’
They collected their trays and headed back to the stairs. Charlie glared at AJ, hardly concealing his anger. AJ remained impassive. He had seen it all before. The big hard men walking into prison like they owned the place. Most of them were chewed up and spat out within a week. It was the smart men who made it to the top of the ladder not the angry ones. Anger burns a man out in prison.
‘They spread it out around the wing apparently,’ Jack said, from the corner of his mouth. ‘They stash it in the back of their radios, only in the double cells and then there’s always one man watching the gear.’ He saw AJ watching him and trotted up the stairs quickly. ‘I’ve said too much already. Now leave me alone please.’
They walked up to the second landing and Volkov had prepared himself for when Charlie returned. He scratched at the door like a singed hound trying to escape a fire. His voice was almost demonic and he screamed at Charlie. Charlie paused to watch for a second, almost fascinated by his madness. Charlie’s presence was driving the Russian into a frenzy. Charlie took a bite of toast and chewed, sipped his tea and put a spoonful of cereal into his mouth too and then he walked up his door and spat it all into Volkov’s face. The Russian fell back onto the cell floor and hammered at the concrete with his fists. He howled like a banshee, his frustration echoed from the walls. Laughter spread from the landings as the incident was spread from cell to cell by those who had watched it. Even the men who hated Charlie McGee thought it was funny to hear the Russian psycho howling. If he wasn’t bright enough to stand back when Charlie approached, then he deserved everything that he got.
They reached the top landing and turned for the cells. Charlie put his food tray into one hand and grabbed Jack by the scruff of the neck, yanking hard on it.
‘I have to be seen to discipline the people who let me down, Jack,’ Charlie said.
Jack gurgled as he lifted him up and tossed him over the railings. He somersaulted in the air before he hit the safety nets fifteen feet below and bounced like an injured trampolinist. The nets held him and stopped him hitting the concrete below but he was hurt. PO’s scurried along the landings.
‘McGee!’ Officer Clough shouted. ‘In your cell right now. You’re on report …’ he continued to rant but Charlie couldn’t hear him anymore. The laughing and cheering had reached epic levels. Everyone enjoyed seeing a nonce being thrown off the landing, even the screws enjoyed that. A kerfuffle began near the gates to the wing. The new daily intake had arrived. Charlie looked down at the men behind the bars. Matt and Justin were being processed. They looked up and nodded a silent hello. There were four men on the wing that he could rely on. Now that Matt and Justin had arrived there were six plus himself, suddenly, the odds had evened up a little.
chapter 29
Mr Ahmed was waiting patiently in reception for the detectives to come down. His wife looked very worried and stroked his arm constantly. When the door opened and DC Will Naylor walked out, they stood up and greeted him. They were both speaking at the same time and he couldn’t understand a word that they were saying. Will was a young detective with a promising future. Alec had already earmarked him for the sergeant’s exam next year. He was dressed immaculately in a grey Armani suit with a matching shirt and tie. He held up his hands to quieten them.
‘Mr Ahmed.’ he spoke clearly but calmly. ‘I’m afraid that your wife will have to stay here while we do the line-up.’
‘No, no, no,’ Mrs Ahmed said, distressed. ‘He can’t do it. The man said he would blow his brains out!’
‘What man?’ he asked, looking at Mr Ahmed. ‘Have you been threatened, sir?’
‘Yes.’ Mr Ahmed replied. ‘He told me that I must identify someone else or he will have me killed. I’m afraid I cannot tell lies so I don’t want to do it.’
‘Okay, let’s go in here,’ Will said, guiding them into an interview room. The paint was peeling and the walls had graffiti on them. It smelled of disinfectant and vomit. ‘Sit down.’ The couple sat down and she began stroking her husband’s arm again. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘I was driving my cab,’ Mr Ahmed began.
‘He was in the city centre,’ Mrs Ahmed added.
‘A chap got in and asked me to take him to Calderstones Park.’
‘The Woolton entrance he said, didn’t he?’ Mrs Ahmed filled in the details.
‘Mrs Ahmed,’ Will said, smiling. ‘I really need you to shut up. It is very important that I hear what Mr Ahmed has to say, okay?’ His smile covered over his abruptness but it had the desired effect. ‘You took him to Calderstones Park?’
‘Yes. But when we got to Menlove Avenue, he pulled out a shotgun, a short one.’
‘A sawn-off with two barrels?’
‘Yes. Just like the one he shot the man outside the Paradise club with.’
‘I see. And he threatened you?’
‘Yes. He said that if I identify him then someone will come into my taxi and blow my head off.’
‘Okay, Mr Ahmed. Listen to me very carefully.’ Mr Ahmed nodded and held his wife’s hand, she stroked his arm again with the other hand. ‘You witnessed this man attempting to murder another man. Your witness testimony will put him in prison where he belongs and where he can’t shoot you.’ Will sat back and looked serious. He held up his index finger. ‘If you don’t identify him then he will be freed today. We don’t have any other evidence that will stand up in court. The problem, Mr Ahmed, is that he will always be worried that you might change your mind at some point in the future. He will be free to make sure that you don’t ever change your mind. Do you understand me, Mr Ahmed?’ The couple looked at each other and nodded. ‘Good. then let’s go and put him beh
ind bars, shall we?’
Fifteen minutes later, Mr Ahmed picked Derek Makin from a line-up. Alec was watching as he did so. He didn’t flinch or falter. There was no doubt in his mind.
‘Look at the expression on Makin’s face,’ Alec said, grinning. The dimple in his chin deepened to a pit. ‘He didn’t believe for one minute that he was going to be identified. That has spoiled his day no end! Take him back to the interview room and charge him.’
Will Naylor nodded and smiled. ‘I’ll enjoy that.’
‘I bet you will.’ Alec said, smiling.
Jo walked into the room. She had watched it from inside. ‘That came as a surprise to him,’ she said, chuckling dryly. ‘They have recovered a nine-millimetre Beretta from a drain outside the Paradise club. Dr Libby called.’
‘And,’ Alec asked.
‘An attempt was made to score the inside of the barrel with something metal, like a screwdriver, but Dr Libby reckons that he can ignore the score marks and lift the rifling pattern from underneath, especially from inside the suppressor. He’s begun preliminaries and he said not to quote him yet but he’s almost one hundred percent certain that it is the gun that was used to shoot Stuart Radcliffe and Walter Ricks.’
‘Which puts McGee in the woods almost.’
‘Almost,’ Jo agreed. ‘Let’s hope that he can tie the gun to McGee with forensics.’
chapter 30
Fifteen miles across the city[EM26], on Netherley Road, Tarbock Green, a green-belt area on the outskirts of the city, a renovation was underway. The farmhouse and its outbuildings were being gutted and turned into luxury apartments, aimed at affluent city workers who wanted to see grass, trees, and cows from their kitchen windows. Bolek, a Polish joiner, had the job of stripping the main kitchen before the electricians and plasterers could come in. Once they were done, the painters would do a first fix and then he could do his real job, fitting the wood, the kitchen units, skirting boards, and doorframes. Until then, he was a labourer. Not that it mattered. As long as they paid him, he would brush the floors. He had a different attitude to a job than the local tradesmen. Their favourite saying was, ‘That’s not my job, ask the … blah, blah, blah.’ Painters would do nothing but paint, plumbers nothing but plumbing and fuck everybody else on site. Bolek didn’t get it. They were lazy in this country, always looking for an excuse and someone else to blame.
